Very belated Halloween story... at Christmas?! I started writing it back in October and somehow just haven't been able to get words on paper, but HOW I've missed writing Rayna and Deacon. I can't tell you how grateful I am for the really sweet reviews people have been leaving on my other stories the past few months - you could have no idea how much you've encouraged me to write more, it makes so much of a difference to me to hear that you re-read my stories and that in this awful bullshit wasteland we've been left in after Marshall and co. ruined our show, that there's some solace to be found in fanfic. I won't ever stop writing for Deyna, I just couldn't, I love them too much, and I MISS them. They can take our show but they can't touch our fanfic! (Yeah still not ok about it.)
Also I'm working on an actual Christmas story (that I'll probably post by, say, Valentine's Day, because my holiday timing is impeccable obviously), and the next chapter of Forged in the Fire, which is one of my favourite stories to write - I won't leave you hanging, I promise! And again, thank you for the really kind reviews. They mean a lot, a LOT a lot.
So... Happy Halloween ;)
The sun had started to set as they'd driven the last few miles on the quiet highway. It was a watercolour event, diluted by the bone-wracking chill that hung in the October air, making the tips of the roadside evergreens look as though they were on fire, but only half-heartedly so.
Rayna hugged her sweater tighter around herself and leaned in closer to Deacon. Cold was rolling off the window and warmth was rolling off him, and she closed her eyes and happily surrendered to the better option as he slipped his arm around her and pulled her into his body.
"We're nearly there baby," he said, kissing her hair, and she hummed, nestling her face into the crook of his neck. She could quite easily have fallen asleep, but they would be checking into their hotel in a few minutes and she didn't want to have to wake straight up again. They had the night off, their first in weeks, and Rayna had been fantasising about cider donuts and some alone time with Deacon the entire drive to Vermont.
"It's beautiful out there, ain't it?" Deacon said, eyes on the streaky sky. "Peaceful as could be."
The rich blur started to sharpen as their bus pulled off the highway and slowed to the new speed limit. They'd played in Vermont a couple of times but only in the summer, and Rayna was a much bigger fan of the fall; everything seemed to quieten somewhat, nostalgia blooming potent in the air and evenings truer in their darkness. Leafy towns got the chance to shine, and she was glad for the route they were taking on this tour, the Northeast saved for the cooler months.
Welcome to Highgate, a crooked sign at the side of the road read. Population 3,272.
"Hey Bucky," Rayna said, leaning around Deacon, "why are we playin' a show in a town with only 3,000 people?"
Bucky, sitting on the opposite couch attached to a cup of strong black coffee, looked up from the leather-bound organiser he was leafing studiously through. "Oh, you're not playing here. You're playing in Burlington, we just couldn't get enough rooms in any of the hotels there with this date being added onto the tour so late. Apparently there's an annual maple syrup convention and the place gets completely swamped." He gave a slightly bemused frown at the notion. "We're staying in an old Inn in Highgate that's pretty charming, by all accounts. Has quite the history - it used to be part of the underground railroad."
"An old Inn, on Halloween?" their bandmate Jimmy chimed in, looking up from the guitar he was messing around with. "Better hope it ain't haunted."
"Oh that's right, it's Halloween!" Rayna's eyes widened in joy. "I hadn't realised - I don't even know what month it is these days."
Deacon chuckled and squeezed her knee, leaning into her. "Boo," he whispered, and she smirked at him.
She knew exactly what the look in his eye was in reference to: a few years ago she'd inadvertently started a Halloween tradition between them, dressing up in a dangerously short nurse's outfit while he'd been in the shower. He'd come out of the bathroom, a towel draped around his waist, to see her leaning over the kitchen counter in their small apartment, waiting impatiently for him. "Boo," she'd purred, and it still made her laugh to remember how quickly that towel had hit the floor. The trick or treaters knocking on their door had been fresh out of luck that night.
He'd returned the treat the following year, taking her to the cabin he'd just bought for her and watching her take in the pumpkins and spider's webs he'd decorated the place with while she'd been doing radio interviews all day. He'd dropped his coat on the couch as he'd led her into the bedroom, the caveman briefs - and nothing else - he had on underneath making her giggle, him too, until he'd taken them off and she'd quickly forgotten what was so funny.
"This looks like the place," their driver called from up front, pulling into a narrow private road lined with trees. "Highgate Manor Inn, folks."
The drive was bumpy under the wheels, leaves fluttering to the ground all around the bus like golden confetti. Rayna looked up at the building ahead of them; its wooden facade had once been painted yellow, weathered to a dull beige now, and tall pillars lined the wraparound porch. Shutters hung at the windows, peeling and loose, and Rayna was sure she could see someone watching them from an upstairs room as they came to a stop.
"Barb?" she called. "You're stayin' here with us tonight, right?"
Their driver chuckled, shutting off the engine and turning around in her seat to look at Rayna. "Scared, doll?" She cracked the knuckles on her sizeable hands. "I'm stayin', don't you worry. I wouldn't leave you here alone with this bunch of wusses. I ain't afraid of no ghosts."
They climbed off the bus and dragged their luggage out of the hold, Rayna shivering in the gust of wind that whipped her hair around her face. Her eyes traced the twists of the vines that circled some of the pillars and slithered up the side of the house, flourishing while the rest of the garden withered. It looked like it had been beautiful once, and she imagined the sorry rose bushes and wilted lilies colourful and alive.
Deacon grabbed their bags and she gave him a grateful smile, zipped up her coat and crunched across the gravel beside him. Her band and crew were bigger these days, and their group followed Bucky - somewhat reluctantly - towards the front doors, Barb at the rear twirling the bus keys around her forefinger and whistling the tune from The Shining. A couple of unoccupied rocking chairs creaked back and forth on the porch as they passed, and Jimmy turned around, giving Rayna and Deacon an I-told-you-so look.
"If there's so much as a flickerin' fuckin' light in here, I'm sleepin' on the bus."
"I think the ghosts can still get you out here, Jimmy," Rayna mused.
"Nah, they can't get in unless you invite 'em. I seen the movie of it."
Deacon reached out his hand to grab the door Jimmy was holding open for them. "That's vampires, man. Vampires can't get in unless you invite them. Ghosts can do whatever the fuck they want."
"Well I'll be safe from the bloodsuckers at least. Could be either in here - look at this place."
The belly of the house was far bigger than it had appeared from the outside. The ceiling stretched high above them, imposing chandeliers suspended on wrought iron chains swaying in the wind that followed them through the doors. Panelled walls lined the room, the smell of damp wood mingling with must, and their shoes were obnoxiously loud on the floorboards as they shuffled in.
"Anyone here?" Bucky called, leaning over the unmanned reception desk, and after a moment a door opened to their left and a tall woman in a knee-length black dress walked out, brushing nonexistent wrinkles over her thighs.
"And how can I help you?" she asked, blinking dark lashes. Her skin was the colour of rich chocolate, smooth and unlined, though her hair was white-grey and set in a beehive high on her head. She spread her hands on the desk before her and looked at Bucky expectantly.
Rayna glanced at Deacon; he gave her a tilt of an eyebrow and shifted closer to her.
"Ahm, we have rooms booked for the night," Bucky said. "Rayna Jaymes' party?"
The woman stared at him for a beat before she - too deliberately - brightened and pulled a folder from a drawer.
"Yes," she said, though Rayna could swear there was nothing on the piece of paper she consulted. "Rayna Jaymes, party of eleven. We've been expecting you Mr Dawes. I'm Isabella Morton."
"I… Good, good, nice to meet you," Bucky, also frowning at the empty paper, stuttered. "I, ah, wasn't aware you had my name. We always book in Rayna's name."
Isabella Morton smiled wordlessly at him, closing the folder without breaking eye contact. She slid it back into the drawer and produced several dull brass keys, each attached to a small piece of cloth bearing a number.
"Your rooms are up the staircase on the first floor, doubles to the left, singles to the right. You have rooms 7 to 12." She slid all but one of the keys towards Bucky, who took them and started handing them out. Her gaze landed on Rayna and she held up the remaining key so it dangled between her fingers. "But not you. This is yours."
"So we're in room 13?" Rayna asked. "Are we on a different floor?"
Isabella grinned, jarringly out of place. "We don't have a room 13," she replied, flashing bright white teeth. "Call us superstitious."
Rayna swallowed, stepping forward and taking the key. She turned the cloth over in her fingers; it had no number at all.
"You're on the top floor. Best accommodations in the house. The lady of the manor herself used to reside in that room. Before."
"Before?"
Isabella tilted her chin down, eyes still on Rayna. "Before she didn't."
Deacon reached for Rayna's hand and nodded, mumbling a thank you and tugging her towards the grand staircase. She let him, looking back at a perplexed Bucky over her shoulder.
"What the hell," Deacon whispered when they were out of earshot, "was that?"
"I have no idea, but thank God we're only stayin' here one night. And we are sleepin' with the door locked."
They climbed the stairs to the first floor, the band filing off to their rooms in both directions. Everything was dark wood, the floors to the walls to the doors, and there was a bite in the air that felt like it was seeping into Rayna's bones. Beyond an intricately carved set of double doors was a far narrower staircase that creaked as they climbed it, Rayna making Deacon go first.
The small hallway at the top led to only one door, and their key fit the lock, though it took two hands for Deacon to be able to turn it. It swung open to reveal a vast attic room, an elegant, if worn, four poster bed in the centre. It was sparse, the only other furniture a white rocking chair, a loveseat at the foot of the bed and a huge gilded mirror beside the long, curtainless window at the far end. The small bathroom was simple too, a clawfoot tub filling most of the space.
"We're in the attic?" Rayna said, standing in the doorway and not trying to hide the apprehension in her voice. "This is a classic horror movie setting, Deacon."
"Guess we don't get room service, huh?"
"Not unless Isabella likes stairs."
Deacon leaned close to her so that his breath spilled over her neck, his arms circling her waist from behind. "You know, no one can hear you scream all the way up here, Ray…"
She shoved him playfully with her shoulder and he laughed, his fingers creeping under her sweater to toy with the waistband of her skirt.
"Hmm," she hummed, twisting in his arms and pulling him into the room, and he kicked the door closed with his foot. "Wanna test that theory out?"
He kissed her as he nodded, his hands finding her ass, and she gripped his biceps and let him walk her backwards towards the bed. His mouth was warm, and she craved the taste of him even as she sucked on his tongue and sighed in the back of her throat; she could never get enough of him, no matter how they indulged in each other at every chance they got.
"Deacon, what are you doing?" she asked when he pulled away and lifted the bottom of the frilled sheets that hemmed the imposing bed.
"I'm checkin' for horny ghosts,' he replied with a wink. "Gotta keep you safe, baby."
She snorted, shaking her head at him and he stood back up, satisfied that only dust particles and a few shrivelled spiders were lurking under the bed. She kissed him, smiling into his lips.
"The lady of the manor?" she said as he tugged off her panties and dropped them to the floor. "I wonder what happened to her."
"Before," Deacon mimicked, sucking the sweet spot on her neck. She shuddered, a hand flying into his hair. "Maybe Isabella likes to give the guests a good Halloween scare."
Rayna's legs bumped against the edge of the bed and she tumbled onto it, Deacon falling on top of her; she reached for his belt and wrestled the buckle open, losing her train of thought as his fingers made their way up the inside of her thigh. She gave him a breathy moan, throbbing in all the right places in anticipation, and he kissed her deeply as his hand grasped her flesh and eased her legs open wider. Something about him doing that always turned her on even more, and she arched her back, willing him to touch her right where she wanted. He teased her for a few seconds longer, and when she bit his lip impatiently he shifted his weight off her just enough, his fingers reaching the top of her thigh and grazing her ever so lightly. She gasped, eager for him, and his fingers slid into her right as a booming knock at the door sounded.
"Who the fuck?" Deacon muttered, pulling back from her and trying to catch his breath.
Rayna's head dropped onto the comforter. "Great timin', Buck, as ever," she groaned quietly, pouting and sitting up as Deacon zipped up his jeans and headed for the door.
"Sir," came Isabella's clipped voice; she sounded almost annoyed.
"Er, can I help you?" he asked in surprise. He glanced at Rayna and she got quickly up off the bed, adjusting her skirt.
Without invitation, Isabella pushed the door open fully and strode past Deacon, who stared after her. She came to a halt before a flushed Rayna. "I forgot to inform you of the schedule for your evening meal. We shall be dining in the main hall downstairs in a half hour."
"Dinner? We don't really… I mean we usually just find a restaurant somewhere."
"Well here at Highgate Manor we serve our guests fully." Her gaze slid past Rayna to the floor beside the bed where her discarded panties lay. She looked at them for a long moment and then back at Rayna, the disapproval in her expression unmasked. "We shall be dining in the main hall downstairs in half an hour," she repeated. "Promptly."
As she turned to leave the room, she gave Deacon, who was still standing by the open door, a slow, cold scan from head to toe. Despite himself, he ran a nervous hand through his hair.
"You left your luggage out here in the hallway, by the way, sir. In a hurry, were you?"
"We wanted to check out the room first," he said with a frown, his eyes falling on the clearly forgotten bags just outside the door. "Make sure we were happy with the place before we settled in."
Isabella nodded, unconvinced of course. "You might want to wash up before dinner, Miss Rayna," she said, looking straight at Deacon. "Get yourself clean."
And she was gone, the door creaking shut behind her.
#
Bucky was standing in the entrance hall looking out of a window into the gardens when Rayna and Deacon came down the stairs, his stance agitated for someone who was usually unflappable.
"You got the memo too then, dinner promptly?" Rayna asked as they approached, and he jumped.
"I did, yes," he said, recovering himself. "Must say I haven't stayed anywhere quite so… unique, before. The note was quite a touch."
"Note?"
Bucky nodded. "The one Isabella slid one under everyone's door to tell us about dinner. You didn't get a note?"
"Apparently we got special treatment. She came all the way up to our room to inform us, not so politely," Deacon said, still disgruntled - and still unsatisfied - about the fact.
Bucky raised his eyebrows, glancing a little nervously around. "They certainly do things their own way around here."
Rayna waved over Bucky's shoulder at a couple of their bandmates descending the stairs. "Dinner should be interesting."
She wasn't wrong. The dining room was to the right of the entrance hall, they discovered when they followed the shrill bell that sounded at 7.00pm, promptly as promised, and they filed in to find a long room filled almost entirely with a highly polished table set with crystal wine glasses and vintage silverware. Candelabras flickered along the centre of the table, and at the far corner, gleaming in the light cast by the flames, sat Isabella.
"Please, sit anywhere you like," she said, rising as they all entered, and Rayna was half tempted to suggest they sit on the bus, while it was driving them away as fast as Barb could go. Isabella had other ideas though, and caught Rayna's eye.
"Shit," Deacon whispered as she summoned them with a curled finger.
"Miss Rayna," she said, "you and your… companion. The master of the house would like you to sit up here."
"The master of the house?" Rayna repeated under her breath, smiling forced-politely as though there was nothing she would like more, and giving Deacon a discreet shove towards the end of the table to get him moving.
Isabella was wearing a floor length black dress, somewhat over the top for a Tuesday night dinner with a reluctant bunch of musicians. She'd paired it with silver bangles that stretched from her wrist to almost her elbow, and they jangled as she sat down opposite Rayna and Deacon and pulled in her chair.
"You're very beautiful," she told Rayna, who didn't quite know how to respond, uncomfortable under her unapologetic stare. "Your hair is like spun gold." She leaned closer, all dark eyes, too intense. "And your lips, so pink - you look of another world."
"Um… thank you?" Rayna replied, blushing a little, which seemed to please Isabella.
"You look like an innocent," she declared breathlessly, clapping her hands together as though it was a realisation she'd just had, and then her face changed as she turned her eyes to Deacon and narrowed them.
Barb had seated herself next to Isabella, and she watched the peculiar interaction, one bushy eyebrow arched. "Speaking of otherworldly," she piped up cheerily, "where are all the other staff in this place? We ain't seen another soul but you since we turned up. Don't tell me you're doin' the cookin' tonight too, huh Izzy? Can I call ya Izzy?"
"It's Ms Morton, and we are a fully stocked household, I can assure you."
Barb's smile faltered, and she turned to Bucky on her other side, giving him a look. He shrugged, not sure whether to be amused or alarmed, and took a sip of water from the glass laid out next to his silverware.
"Quite the pad you got here, Ms Morton," Jimmy tried. "You lived here long?"
"Since the master took my family and I in."
"Your family live here too? They gonna join us for some dinner?"
Isabella looked at Jimmy for a long time before she shook her head, just once, offering no further explanation. He cleared his throat, tapping his hands on the legs of his jeans awkwardly and reverting back to peering around the room at the heavily curtained windows and oil paintings of presumably long-dead ancestors.
"Let's hope this master guy's more of a talker," Deacon said in a low voice, and Jimmy cackled next to him.
"This chick makes even you look like a keen conversationalist, huh? Somethin' tells me her boss ain't gonna be any less weird, man."
"Probably not," Deacon said, watching Isabella as she continued to stare at Rayna.
"Better keep an eye on your girlfriend," Jimmy whispered, "I think she's got herself an admirer."
Rayna cleared her throat, looking anywhere but at Isabella, and lifted her water to her lips. It was ice cold, and her fingers left prints on the glass, smearing it with her unwelcome warmth.
A door opened behind the empty seat at the head of the table and she put it down quickly, turning to glance at Deacon. The man who emerged didn't utter a word, but the already hushed chatter among their group faltered, every head turning in his direction.
"Good evening," the man said after his dramatic pause, in a voice no louder than if he were speaking only to the person next to him.
The person next to him, by chance - perhaps - was Rayna, and she felt an urge to rise to her feet ceremoniously. He made no move to sit, choosing instead to look around at the occupants of his vast dining table one by one. When his eyes ended their sweep they rested on Rayna, lingering for too long, but rather than feel discomfort as she had when Isabella had done the same, she was mesmerised.
She took in his sallow, papery skin, vacant blue eyes, too round for his thin face, and his regal stance. He ran delicate fingers along the back of his chair, his shoulders back, tall frame graceful. A few of the group murmured unsure responses to his greeting, but Rayna said nothing, her mouth opening and closing to no avail.
"Baby," Deacon murmured, nudging her, "you okay?"
"Mmhmm," she replied without taking her eyes from the man.
"I am Master Henry Baxter," the man continued. "You may call me Henry. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance tonight - welcome to Highgate Manor."
He bowed his head as though he'd welcomed them to a revered abbey, and Rayna wondered why she felt quite so odd suddenly - seasick, or something like it. She tore her attention away and looked at Deacon, who was watching her carefully.
"We're stayin' in a damn motel next time the hotels are full," he breathed into her ear as Henry finally seated himself.
The door opened again and a trio of women in pristine white dresses, looking like wartime nurses in hair nets, walked through it in wordless step with each other, bearing silver trays and large serving dishes. They set them down in the centre of the table without acknowledging anyone and hurried away, repeating the process until the table was full of delicious-smelling food and everyone's glasses were filled with dark red wine.
"Please," Henry urged with a flourish of his hand over the table. "Begin."
Deacon spooned seasoned potatoes out of the nearest serving bowl onto Rayna's and then his own plate, and she could feel the tension rolling off him. Something wasn't right about the whole affair, there was no doubt about it, but she was curious. Curious about the velvet robe Henry was wearing, about the deep scar that ran from his right temple to his chin. He held his wine glass up to the light from the nearest candelabra to examine it, presumably for cleanliness, before he took a delicate sip, and Rayna picked up her fork and speared a potato without breaking her gaze. His lips were unnaturally pink, she noticed, fascinated by the way they puckered when he swallowed.
"Stew?" Deacon asked, startling her, and she looked at him blankly for a moment.
"Stew," she repeated, nodding at the outstretched ladle in his hand. He set two large scoops of rich, steaming beef on her plate, and she figured she should probably show an interest in the rest of the food. She scooped some vegetables from another bowl, some sliced roast chicken from the one next to it, and the tantalising smells floated up to her nose, making her mouth water.
"This is wonderful," she said after her first taste of stew, and Henry beamed at her.
"All of our food is cooked right here," he said as she lifted a piece of the chicken to her mouth. "In fact our staff raise those precious birds themselves - they perform every stage of the process." He licked his lips as he watched Rayna's throat move when she swallowed. "Right through to breaking their scrawny necks and gutting them to put on your plate."
"Jesus," Deacon muttered in repulsion as she choked on the rest of her mouthful, her eyes wide, but Henry speared a chunk of chicken from his own plate and took a long sniff with his eyes closed, before he slid it indulgently into his mouth.
"Good to know where your food comes from, I suppose," Barb said, eyeing her plate and reaching for her wine instead. Henry turned to her, saying nothing as he visibly sized her up. He must have decided she was a threat of some kind; his body language changed like a cat switching from a purr to a back-arched hiss, veiled with a measure of put-on civility, and Barb, who was rarely unnerved, squirmed in her seat.
"Ever seen that movie, Silence of the Lambs?" Jimmy mouthed to Deacon. "This is all a bit too familiar, if you ask me."
"I was thinkin' more Nosferatu," Deacon replied, prodding at a chunk of turnip.
"We're grateful you could make room for us all," Bucky offered, a little shakily. "We were pretty high and dry until we found you." He dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "Are the other guests… otherwise occupied with dinner plans this evening? I don't believe I've seen anyone else around, actually. There are other guests staying here, aren't there?"
"We don't believe in overbooking," Isabella said, exchanging a look with Henry. "We prefer the personal touch here at the manor."
"The personal touch," Bucky repeated, "right. I see."
Deacon, never one to mask his feelings, scoffed. "How personal, exactly?"
Most of their group had broken off into smaller, hushed conversations; there was no mistaking that every one of them wanted to eat as quickly as possible so they could excuse themselves and get the night over with. Henry had acknowledged them precisely once since he'd walked into the room, and as he turned his eyes on Deacon, it was apparent that such disregard was far preferable to his attention.
"There is always a reason our guests find their way to the manor, Mr Claybourne," he said, his eyes flickering to Rayna before they settled on him again. "Perhaps some come to us because they need to be saved from wrong choices. We determine a lot about people by sharing food with them."
Rayna hooked her foot around Deacon's ankle under the table, and moved forward in her seat just enough to subtly put her body between his furious glare and their host. She rubbed her toes against the denim covering his leg and felt the burgeoning spark of his temper retreat a little; she could almost always soothe him, however simple the gesture.
"Well," she said, trying to select her words carefully, "we appreciate you takin' the time to eat with us. I'm sure we'll all sleep well tonight with these full stomachs."
"I do hope so," Henry said. "Of course, we do have extra rooms if you would prefer your own."
"I'm sorry?"
"It would be far better for you. We don't encourage cohabitation here." When Rayna merely stared at him, he dipped his gaunt face closer to her, lowering his voice. "Of course, you won't be engaging in any illicit activities, I'm sure. That goes without my saying, forgive me."
"I'm not sure what you are saying," Rayna retorted, the fog that had seemed to settle over her when he'd walked into the room shifting enough for her to notice how hard and glassy his eyes were, like marbles.
Henry lifted his wine glass by the stem and sipped languidly. When he lowered it, a drop of the crimson liquid remained on his lower lip; he didn't break eye contact with Rayna as he reached up and dabbed it with a bony forefinger, and she was belatedly struck by how long and pointed his nail was - a talon, almost.
"It is All Hallow's Eve, as we know," he declared. "Terrible things can happen on All Hallow's Eve when a beautiful girl's virginity is compromised. Especially in such a storied establishment as this."
Rayna's mouth fell open right as Deacon spluttered his drink, and she vaguely heard Jimmy's hoot of laughter next to him.
"That ship sailed a long time ago," he said. "I been sleepin' on the same bus since it left the harbour."
"I… That really isn't dinner conversation," Rayna told Henry, incredulous, "or conversation at all, actually."
"But of course, I'm terribly sorry," Henry said, clearly anything but. "However, there are friends and foes, Miss Jaymes, and I am a friend, merely warning you of the latter."
"And who is the foe here?" Deacon asked with more than a hint of warning.
Henry looked towards Isabella, who sat silently and solemnly, her plate empty though they hadn't seen her eat a thing. "There are foes you may miss in the light of day, of that I can quite confidently assure you."
"Such as?" Deacon demanded. Rayna turned to him, uncharacteristically lost for words, and she felt his arm slide across the back of her chair protectively.
Henry pointed a too-steady finger at him, in accusation rather than answer to his question. "The protection of the virgin is broken if you spoil her," he hissed in a voice quite different to the measured, refined tone he'd been using. "She will be far safer away from the wandering hands of a charged man."
Deacon laughed harshly and tossed his napkin on the table. "Yeah, well, she's a hell of a lot safer with me, thanks all the same. If you're tryin' to spook us on account of it bein' Halloween - too far, buddy. Too damn far. The only dangers around here are you two lunatics, as far as I'm concerned." He stood and reached for Rayna's hand, and she rose with him without resistance. "Thanks for dinner. The chicken was great."
He didn't slow his furious strides until they'd reached their room and closed the door behind them, and even after locking it he slid a chair underneath the handle, testing it angrily.
"What the hell?" he said, spinning around. "What are these people on?"
"I don't know," Rayna replied faintly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Her arms and legs felt weak, and she shivered, pulling her knees up to her chest, but Deacon was too worked up to notice her skin draining of colour.
"I really fuckin' hope Bucky booked us into some novelty haunted house by mistake. If those whack jobs are real, I swear Ray, we're better off sleepin' on the damn bus." He paced up and down, running his fingers through his hair. "Maybe we should sleep on the bus, I don't feel comfortable stayin' in here, not with fuckin' Dracula havin' his eye on you. I ain't fallin' asleep in here while he could get anywhere near you."
"Deacon," Rayna said, and her mouth felt too thick to quite get words out, "I don't feel so good." The floor had started to spin and she gripped the edge of the mattress, squeezing her eyes closed.
"Rayna? Are you okay?" he asked, but his voice was getting further and further away. He strode quickly towards the bed and knelt down in front of her, and she felt his hands on her knees but nothing else made much sense.
#
When she came to she was underneath the bed covers, a heavy blanket over the top of them. She was confused about where she was and how she'd gotten into bed, but when she twisted onto her side she felt Deacon's weight next to her.
"Ray?" he murmured, reaching out to cup her face. His hands were cool against her too-hot cheeks, and she breathed in and out slowly. "How are you feelin', baby?"
"M'okay," she said, looking up at him. His face was creased with worry and he scrutinised her in the darkness, his fingers moving to her forehead to check the temperature of her skin. He was sat up against a couple of pillows on top of the covers, and he clearly hadn't slept a wink. "What time is it?" she asked. "Did I fall asleep?"
"It's 3am. You kind of passed out." He frowned, a line appearing between his eyebrows. "I think that bastard put somethin' in your drink."
"No," she said, trying to pull herself to a sitting position, but Deacon's strong, gentle hands guided her back down again.
"Stay in bed baby. I don't want to take any chances, you still look pale."
"I feel fine now, really - I don't know what that was. He didn't put anything in my drink, Deacon, he can't have done. I watched the girl pour it and he didn't touch it, it was right in front of me. It was from the same bottle yours was from, and you're okay, right?"
Deacon nodded, but he was sceptical and she saw the gleam of his eyes slide warily towards the door.
"I feel completely normal," she told him, "I really do. I think maybe we just got caught up in the Halloween spirit of it all - I'm sure Henry isn't as strange as he seemed. We'll laugh about it when we see him in the morning."
"If we see him in the mornin'. He probably stays in his coffin during daylight hours."
"Deacon," Rayna admonished, but she sniggered; it wasn't so far-fetched an image. He laughed too, and she was glad the mood had lightened.
"Still, though - what was that protection of the virgin crap? That was messed up, ain't no denyin' that."
"I was hopin' I'd dreamed that."
"I don't know if he was just playin' with us but the guy has a shitty sense of humour if that's what it was."
Rayna wiggled her toes under the blankets. She was still in the dress she'd worn for dinner, but he must have taken her shoes off. "Come under here, babe. It's cold out there."
Deacon shucked off his shirt and jeans and climbed under, slinging his arm around Rayna and holding her close. She breathed in deeply and he wound their legs together, their toes flirting.
"I'm sorry I worried you."
He kissed her temple, shaking his head. "It's been a long tour, you're exhausted. You really needed to get some sleep."
She hummed low in her throat and traced the muscles in his chest with an inquisitive finger. "I'm not tired now."
The look she gave him, her head tilted back, eyelashes fluttering, was all Deacon needed to switch from concerned to horny as hell, and he grinned as he kissed her lips; for them, it was as easy as that.
"Mmm," he mumbled, reaching for the hem of her dress, sure to let his fingers find her ass first and stray into her panties to cup it.
She shifted to help him peel the dress off her body, and he made fast work of her bra, something he never could help himself with - when Deacon needed Rayna's bra off, it came off, quickly. There was no force on earth that could keep him from her breasts, they were an addiction of the most potent kind. Her panties though, he liked to take his time with, when he could manage it. There were times she didn't even register him taking them off, he was so skillfully impatient, but others… Deacon was a master when it came to teasing her.
She gripped the nearest mahogany column, her arm stretched high over her head, the wood cool beneath her restless fingers as he worked two of his own fingers inside her, her panties still on. She found that hot in itself, glancing down and seeing his hand inside them, moving against the fabric; there was something almost naughty about it, like he could get caught making her come.
He sucked at her nipples, the tip of his middle finger in exactly the right place, and she closed her eyes, breathing furiously through parted lips. And then she couldn't take any more; she reached blindly for his boxers, tugging them over his firm ass cheeks with one hand, the second relinquishing its hold on the bed to help when she struggled. His penis sprung from the material and she reached for it immediately, feeling as though she'd been starving for it all day long.
"Inside me," she told him, and Deacon smirked.
He shifted himself above her and she parted her legs wider for him, guiding himself to her. He slid up and down, smiling at her efforts to lift her hips and help him in her impatience. When she grunted at him in a command he knew only too well, his smile turned to a grin and he locked eyes with her as he pushed inside her, inch by slow inch. Rayna's eyes rolled back in her head and she arched her back, her nipples pushing into his chest.
"Fuck," he whispered, the sensation one of absolute gratification. She was tight around him and he pulled out to his tip and thrust back in on a deep groan; she knew exactly what it did to him when he felt her take all of him before she'd quite adjusted, and her hands flew to his ass to push him in further. It was such a relief every time; each moment he wasn't inside her she was craving him, and it was the same for Deacon.
"That's it," she gasped, savouring the stretch she felt around him. He pumped into her, taking his time to enjoy her fully, his thumb rolling one of her nipples. He bit her neck, scraping his teeth across her flesh, and she hissed, a hand scrunching up his hair and holding him to her.
He pressed his hips into hers to tilt them back so he could hit the spot she loved best, and she whimpered as he bumped his tip against it over and over, pulling out of her before she could come sooner than he wanted her to. She throbbed as she watched him stroke himself a couple of times, and her fingers reached down to circle her clit. It was too much for Deacon to handle and he hissed as he pushed himself back into her, hard. He caught her fingers where they were and moved them over her clit a few more times, thrusting as he circled, and Rayna forgot how to breathe. He let go and held her hips as he moved in and out, slowly, quickly, back and forth between the two.
And then something changed. Rayna winced, clutching Deacon's back. He saw and stopped immediately, his eyes raking over her in concern.
"Baby? Are you okay?"
She nodded but her face was pained and he lifted his weight off her quickly, both of them breathing heavily. "Am I hurtin' you?"
"No, no, it's not you," she said in a rush. "Don't stop, please don't stop. I'm fine."
He studied her face for a few moments, not entirely convinced, and when she reached up and kissed him he relented and moved inside her gently, but she pulled back a second later, her eyes flying shut and her jaw clenching.
"You're not fine, Ray," he said, pulling out of her carefully and kneeling beside her, smoothing her hair out of her face, full of worry.
"I don't know what, it just… hurt, all of a sudden," she said, her head falling back onto the pillow in frustration. "It isn't you, Deacon, that's never happened before. I don't know what…"
"Just take it easy, Ray," he soothed, easing down beside her and taking her into his arms. "I don't think you're quite back to yourself, whatever that dinner did to you."
"What the hell is this place?"
He kissed her softly, and again. "Maybe it's the curse of the virgin," he said, and she hit his arm with the back of her hand.
"Henry has obviously never seen you naked, Deacon. To think I'd be able to resist all of this..."
"Oh I get it," he said, pulling a mock-hurt face, "you just want me for my body."
Rayna chuckled, resting her chin on his chest and looking up at him.
"Henry shoulda been warnin' me about my virtue." He looked up at the ceiling, trying to suppress a smile, and whispered, "I been compromised."
She dissolved into laughter, burying her face in his neck, and he laughed with her, kissing the top of her head.
#
There was a dull glow beyond the condensation-covered window panes when Deacon opened his eyes again. It was barely dawn, and he struggled to see through the density; he yawned, grateful to have a few more hours to burrow under the covers against the morning frost, wrapped around a sleeping Rayna.
He closed his eyes and tried to doze back off. Rayna was laid on her side, curled into him from behind, and he tucked his legs up under hers. One of his hands was splayed across her bare stomach, her skin soft and warm, and he rubbed his thumb over the curve of her hip. He felt a nagging sense that something wasn't right, jitters that he could perhaps put down to their current residence, but it didn't seem to explain why the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, or why the temperature in the already-cold room dropped further.
He opened his eyes again, blinking quickly to help himself focus, and even in the gloom he saw it. The figure, on Rayna's side of the bed, slim and tall, leaning over her in absolute silence.
Deacon shot upright, waking Rayna with the sudden movement; he pulled her protectively to his body, letting out an unintelligible yell.
"Deacon, what the-?" she rasped, twisting against his hold in confusion.
"Fuckin' Baxter!" he hollered, his breath coming in short bursts, heart hammering in his chest, but when he scanned the room there was no one to be seen, not so much as a shadow. "He was right there - leanin' over you! Henry fuckin' Baxter, Ray, I swear to God, he was right there."
Rayna stared at him in alarm and reached over to turn on the old brass lamp beside the bed. Dim light flooded the room, confirming its emptiness, and Deacon jumped out of bed, dropping to his knees to look under it. He strode to the closet and yanked open the door: no one there. No one behind the mirror, no one in the bathroom.
"He was here, Ray, I saw him."
Rayna slid out of bed, pulling a sheet around herself. She tiptoed across the cold floorboards to Deacon and lifted a hand to his chest. "No one's here, babe. You must have been havin' a nightmare, they feel so real sometimes. There's only you and me in this room." She motioned towards the chair, still in front of the door where he'd put it. "No one could get in here even if they wanted to - that door is the only way in or out. I mean unless Henry climbs in windows, in which case, good luck to him, 'cause we're three floors up."
Deacon huffed, still not assuaged. "I know what I saw, Ray. He was standin' over that bed lookin' at you. I was already awake, it wasn't no nightmare."
She kissed his cheek, looping her arms around his neck and letting the sheet fall to the floor. "Come back to bed. We'll be out of this place in a few hours."
He followed her reluctantly, but when she nestled into him and fell back asleep a few minutes later, he stayed wide awake, alert to every creak and rustle, waiting for the sun to rise.
#
Morning came without further incident, the note that appeared under the door to inform them that breakfast would be served at 9am a welcome alternative to another visit from Isabella, albeit still unsettling - they'd heard no one deliver it.
Deacon yawned his way into the dining room, and it was apparent when they sat down that he wasn't the only one to have had a less than peaceful night's sleep.
"Dreamed about bats flying into my face," their drummer Pete was telling Jimmy, who looked rough himself.
"I kept hearin' fuckin' knockin' at my door," Jimmy said. "Nobody there when I opened it." He popped an extra sugar lump from an ornate bowl into his coffee, Deacon eyeing it in envy. "Deac, man, you look like shit."
"These people are creeps. I can't wait to get the hell out of here."
Pete nodded in agreement, dragging the coffee pot from the middle of the table and sliding it down to Rayna and Deacon. "D'you have bad dreams too?"
"I wish. Woke up to that asshole Baxter in our room. Standin' right over Ray."
Rayna pulled a face at him, turning over both of their china cups. "It was just a shadow, babe, it was the middle of the night."
"Just a shadow my ass, Ray. I'm gonna be askin' the bastard what the hell he thought he was doin' when he puts an appearance in at this table."
"We're all just a little on edge," she said, but she'd spent the rest of the early hours having dreams of her own, Henry's spindly figure hovering over her in every one of them.
The door at the back opened and every head whipped to face it, but only the three kitchen staff from the night before appeared. They were dressed in their white outfits again, not so much as a speck on any of them, and they said nothing as they set dishes of bacon and scrambled eggs on the table. When they left no one moved for a few moments, eyes flickering to the heat rising from the plates of pastries and freshly-made pancakes.
"Guys," Bucky said eventually, "maybe they're not joining us today. We may as well make a start. We have to get going soon anyway - soundcheck, it's very...important." He tapped his watch for emphasis. Everyone was fully aware that soundcheck wasn't for another few hours, but not a single one of them was about to disagree, so they tucked in.
They polished off almost everything in record time, Rayna picking at a lukewarm apple pie as knives and forks clattered onto empty plates, having barely touched a thing. She hadn't been able to shake the story about the chickens from the night before, and as delicious as the impressive spread looked, she didn't trust the place. She looked over at Deacon; he was patting his full belly and waiting for the indigestion to set in, utterly unconcerned, about the food, at least.
"Give you a good breakfast and all's right with the world, huh?" she teased. He shrugged sheepishly and chugged the rest of his coffee.
"Might as well fuel up before we get out of here. You ready to go?"
"Yeah, almost. I just need to run back up to the room. I have a feeling I've forgotten something."
"Well we're sure as hell never comin' back, so let's go check." Deacon pushed his chair back, about to get up to go with her, but she put her hand on his arm.
"You stay there, babe. Let your food settle down. I'll only be a minute."
She headed out of the dining room before he could protest, not sure why she was suddenly so keen to go back up to the attic alone. She felt like something was pulling her as she climbed the stairs, calling her name, almost. When she reached the second staircase she stood for a moment peering up at them, the doors closing ominously behind her.
She took the key from her pocket and stepped lightly on the stairs, but they still creaked, the tap of her boots clear and loud. The door opened far more easily for her than it had for Deacon, and she told herself maybe it hadn't been used in a while - he must have loosened it. Still, she left it open when she walked in, and stood in the centre of the room, listening.
All was quiet, and after a moment she shook herself. Search the room, make sure you've got everything, get out, she thought, and went about checking each side of the bed and the bathroom. When she found nothing, she turned to leave, and walked straight into the little girl.
"Oh!" Rayna exclaimed, her heart jumping almost clean out of her chest. "I'm sorry sweetheart, you startled me."
The girl said nothing. She stared at Rayna with huge blue eyes, her hands by her sides, completely still. She was maybe seven or eight, blonde hair in a long braid, wearing a blue smock dress that looked a good century or so out of date, her shoes neat with a gold buckle. Rayna's stomach twisted uncomfortably.
"Are you okay?" she asked, but the girl didn't answer. "Are you lost?"
Still no reply, and Rayna frowned, looking out into the hallway over the top of her head, but there was no one there.
"Are you stayin' here? Is your momma downstairs?"
The little girl shook her head slowly. "I don't have one."
"Oh sweetie," Rayna said, "I'm sorry." She reached out her hand, wanting to take the girl back to whoever she'd wandered away from, but she didn't take it, and her expressionless face didn't change. Instead her eyes drifted somewhere behind Rayna and fixed there.
"What's your name?" Rayna asked, watching her as she tipped her head to one side.
"I want her to stay," she whispered. "Can we keep her?"
"What? Who are you talkin' to?" Rayna spun around, but saw only a bare wall.
When she turned back to the little girl, she was gone, vanished without so much as a whisper. She ran to the top of the staircase, holding onto the banister with white knuckles, but there was no one there either, no footsteps, no tap tap of buckled shoes on the floorboards.
"We need to leave," she told Deacon less than a minute later when she burst into the dining room. "We need to leave right now."
"Ray, what happened?"
"The little girl, there was a little girl, and then there wasn't." She laughed, high-pitched and hysterical.
"So there are other guests," Bucky said hopefully. "I wonder why they weren't they at breakfast."
"No," Rayna told him, "there aren't any other guests, Buck. Just get your stuff, we gotta get out of here."
"A little girl, like, a ghost little girl?" Jimmy asked, almost as high-pitched as Rayna.
She nodded, eyes wide, and Deacon jumped to his feet. Jimmy flung his chair back with an "Aw hell no, fuck that," and everyone else followed suit, coats and hats flying on, chair legs scraping on the polished floor.
They'd already piled their cases into the hallway, prepared to jump ship as soon as possible, and in wordless consensus no one rang the bell for Isabella to come and check them out. They tossed their keys in a pile on the front desk, hurried out of the front door, and Barb ushered them onto the bus like a school matron.
The girl, when Rayna turned to look back at the house as they hurtled down the driveway, was looking out of the attic window, her porcelain face illuminating the glass.
#
The city lights of Burlington were a welcome sight, though the more distance they put between themselves and the manor, the more they laughed at their fright. Soundcheck took longer than usual, acting as a release of the tension, and Rayna felt the unease in her stomach settle with each song they ran through. By the time she came off stage, the master and the ethereal girl felt like a trick of her imagination.
"Good job, guys, the show sounds great," the venue manager told them, clapping Deacon on the back and shaking Rayna's hand in greeting. "I'm Andy Fallows, happy to have you here."
Rayna smiled at him, motioning towards Bucky. "Thanks for havin' us, we're glad to be here. This is my manager, Bucky Dawes."
"Bucky, hey - we spoke on the phone. Did you get sorted with your accommodations okay? I know you were having trouble with the convention being this weekend and all - it gets pretty busy around here."
Bucky side-eyed Rayna and Deacon. "We found somewhere in the end. We stayed over at the Highgate Manor Inn, have you heard of it?"
Andy raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I've heard of it alright."
"Interesting place, to put it mildly."
"Certainly an interestin' owner," Deacon grumbled, exchanging a glance with Rayna.
"We've met some characters in these years on the road," she agreed, "but no one quite like Henry Baxter, that's for sure."
"Henry Baxter?" Andy repeated incredulously. "Well that can't be right."
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe you misheard his name."
"No," Rayna said, watching the twitch in his left eye that she was sure had just appeared. "That was definitely his name. Master Henry Baxter, actually."
"That's impossible."
"Why is that?" Deacon asked, but the shared dread of his answer was palpable.
Andy looked between all three of them, clearly wondering if they were pulling his leg or just a little deranged. "Because Henry Baxter's been dead for over a century," he said.