Blitz – Rites of Spring by J. V. Speyer
On September 11, 2019 by Jaye
Cameron has built a good life for himself despite his rough start. He can’t trust enough for romance, but he’s okay with that. He’s got good money coming in as a graphic designer and just inherited a duplex in Plymouth from his estranged grandfather, so he doesn’t have to worry about keeping a roof over his head. He likes his tenants, he has friends, and he’s content with that.
When two guys claiming to be paranormal investigators show up on his doorstep tell him the tenants contacted them about “phenomena” in the house, he knows they’re con men right away. For one thing, they claim he was the tenant. He sends them packing. It doesn’t matter that one of the con artists is the hottest guy Cameron has seen in years — if anything, that just makes Cameron more suspicious.
Then things go wrong in the house, things he can’t shrug off or ignore. The past Cameron has worked so hard to leave behind is coming for him, and it’s angry.
Links
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Excerpt (content warning)
Both Reid and Jason ordered beer, and they all ordered food. Before the food arrived, Cameron’s guests seemed to prefer to stick to more general topics, a kind of “getting-to-know-you” conversation. Cameron wasn’t thrilled about that; he didn’t like to waste his time, and he had no interest in knowing these men better. He didn’t care that Jason came from Idaho. He didn’t care that Reid came from Oregon, or that they’d met up in San Francisco. He didn’t see what relevance that had to his life.
Once their food was delivered, Cameron stopped being patient. “All right,” he said, over a dish of oysters. “Let’s cut the bullshit, can we? You’re not here for a meet and greet. You’re here because you want something.”
Jason picked up his burger and smirked. “Smartest thing you’ve said since we met.”
Cameron ignored him. “Whatever it is that you want has something to do with my house. What is it?”
Reid had been in the process of picking up his sandwich, but now he set it down with a sigh. “Cameron, does the name Catherine Teixeira mean anything to you?”
Cameron squeezed his fork so hard that it bent in half. “Is she the one who put you up to this? Because I’ve got to say, that’s not the right name to bring up if you’re trying to get on my good side.”
Jason’s eyes widened, and he lowered his burger in shock. “You have a good side?”
Reid glared. “Shut up, Jason. Why do you think that Catherine would have put us up to anything?”
Cameron huffed out a little laugh and bent his fork back into shape. “Oh, come on. She hated the idea that I was going to inherit that house. Whatever it is that you’re trying to do, run me out of it or whatever, it would have to come from her.”
Reid and Jason looked at one another. “You don’t know,” Jason said, tugging at his collar.
“Know what?” Cameron turned his head to look between Reid and Jason, trying to figure out what they were hiding.
Reid cleared his throat. “Catherine Teixeira is dead.” He toyed with the buttons on his shirt, avoiding Cameron’s eyes. “She was found in her cell. She’d hanged herself with her own sheet, but she’d cut her arms up – I’m sorry. You probably don’t want those details.”
Cameron frowned. Did he want those details? His hands felt numb, but he wasn’t sure how else he was supposed to feel. She’d been his mother – well, she’d given birth to him. She’d been violent. She’d been cruel. He hadn’t had the worst of it, out of the three of them, but he’d still carry the scars for life. “The details don’t matter to me,” he decided. “She was a biological donor, nothing more.” Whatever his feelings about Catherine and her death might be, he would deal with them in private.
Reid frowned. “She was your mother.”
“That’s a box on a form.” Cameron made a mental note to check with MCI-Framingham to make sure that these guys were telling the truth. Just because they told a good story didn’t mean that the woman was really gone. “What is it that you want?”
“Okay.” Jason shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. “You’re a cold son of a bitch, you know that?”
Jason wasn’t the first person to say that, and he probably wouldn’t be the last. He was probably the person with whom Cameron was the least intimately involved to say it, though. “That’s probably the single most accurate thing you’ve ever said,” he told Jason. “Can we cut the crap? I’m not feeling charitably inclined right now. Tell me what it is that you want. I’ll say no, and then we can all move on with our lives.”
Reid lifted his eyebrows and a smile ghosted across his lips. “At least there’s a plan. Look. I promised honesty, okay?”
“You did.” Cameron ate an oyster and fixed Reid with a stare.
“Okay. We have reason to believe you may be in danger.” Reid took a bite of his sandwich.
“I may be in danger. Well I’m sold now.” Cameron rolled his eyes.
Jason snorted and took a swig of his beer. “Told you we should’ve just broken in.”
“Not helping, Jason.” Reid swallowed his food. “Do you believe in the paranormal, Cameron?”
“No.” Cameron wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or to throw more punches. He attributed the urge toward violence to Jason, because he’d already established that Jason had that effect on him. “I believe that the only monsters in life are human. We invent things to explain the monstrous things that people do, but in the end it’s just people, being evil.” He shook his head.
“Well, that makes this whole discussion a lot harder.” Reid grinned. “We really are paranormal investigators. We really do travel the country helping people to solve issues that they wouldn’t be able to solve any other way.”
“What, haunted houses, vampires, ghouls, stuff like that?” Cameron kept a straight face only by remembering his anger.
“Among other things,” Jason said, leaning back in his chair.
“You guys watch too much late-night television.”
Reid shrugged. “Sometimes we find cases by reading the papers and drawing our own conclusions, or by examining local legends. But sometimes I’m drawn to a place through visions. I’m psychic.”
“You forgot a syllable.” Cameron turned back to his food.
Jason snickered. “I think I said the same thing when I met him. Although psychotic was about the nicest thing I had to say.”
Author Bio
J. V. Speyer has lived in upstate New York and rural Catalonia before settling in the greater Boston area. She has worked in archaeology, security, accountancy, finance, and non-profit management. She currently lives just south of Boston in a house old enough to remember when her town was a tavern community with a farming problem. (No, really. John Adams complained about it. A lot.)
When not writing, J. V. enjoys watching baseball and seeking out all of New England’s creepiest spots. Her Spawn has turned her into a hockey enthusiast. She can be bribed with gin, tequila, and cats.
Giveaway
Blitz-wide giveaway (INTL)
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