Radley's Home for Horny Monsters by Annabelle Hawthorne (chromebook ebook reader TXT) 📕

collected monsters.” Mike sat on the edge of the tub, Naia wrapping bandages around the deeper cuts on his body. He wore only his boxers, having stripped away his clothing. He was grateful that the bushes had caught him, but a bit miffed that they had taken their price in flesh.

“Yep. It started as an academic thing, but he had a really big heart. The world was changing too quick for us monsters to adapt, so he rescued as many of us as he could.” Naia rubbed some Neosporin into a cut on his leg. Nymphs could do a lot of things, but healing magic was not one of them. “While there are people out there who would kill for the magic hidden in this house, the monsters here are a magical goldmine.”

“How so?”

“Hard to answer. For instance, it wouldn’t be difficult to hold a nymph hostage and demand that she share her gifts. Cecilia’s gifts wouldn’t be worth much, because banshees only appear before someone dies, generally.”

“Wait.” Mike grabbed Naia’s hand. “What do you mean banshees only appear before someone dies?”

“Cecilia is different. She’ll appear to the owner of the house-it doesn’t mean anything. She and Emily used to sit out there and watch the sunset a lot of evenings. Nobody needed to die, so don’t worry about it.” Naia dabbed some more Neosporin on his leg before wrapping it.

“Who built this place?” Mike asked.

Naia froze, mid-wrap. “I wish I could say.” A tiny tear formed in the corner of her eye. “All I know is that I was extremely happy while he was here. Emily was nice and all, but I had a special bond with the man who built this place. It kills me that I can’t remember him.”

“But you remember Emily?” That was a mystery he was going to have to think on. Why would the former owner need his identity kept a secret? How does one get into collecting monsters in the first place?

“Yeah, I do. And Natalie. She was our Caretaker before Emily. I can remember all of the Caretakers, but I can’t even picture the Architect, the man who built this place and saved my fountain.” Naia sniffed, finishing the wrap on Mike’s leg. “I wish I could remember.”

“I hope you remember.” Mike meant it. Anything she could remember was something he could use. The sooner the better. Seeing a banshee on the porch had spooked him, and bad. What other surprises did the house have for him? Naia made him feel good in so many ways, but was the trouble worth it?

“There. All better.” Naia kissed him on the neck, sending chills down his spine. “Now go unclog my fountain. Once you do that, I can see the stars at night again.”

“Fair enough. Thank you, Naia.” Mike stood, tossing his bloodied clothes in a hamper by the bed when he walked past. Peeling open his bags, he found a pair of athletic shorts and a clean shirt to wear inside. Walking down the stairs, he pondered the situation that had developed. Cecilia, the crazy bitch on his front porch, had nearly killed him for touching her swing. How many others like her were there? Was he going to get killed by something that was using a room as its lair?

He stared at the furniture, covered in white sheets. The house had been cleaned numerous times, and as far as he knew, no problems had ever been reported. Something to ask Beth. He found himself looking at the fireplace in the sitting room, some stray thought crossing his mind. Before he could focus on it, he heard the creak of the swing out front, the immediate memory of an angry banshee sending chills down his spine.

Rubbing his face, he moved toward the back of the house, away from the sound of the swing. He walked to the kitchen table and grabbed the bucket, eager to go out back and deal with a problem he could handle. Lifting the bucket, he realized that it didn’t feel quite right. Looking inside, he saw that it was empty.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he shouted, throwing the bucket angrily. He sat down, putting his face in his hands. Should he go back to the store? It meant walking past the Swing of the Damned, and he wasn’t ready to deal with that. With a resigned sigh, Mike walked outside to the garden, hanging a left at the fountain. Key in hand, he unlocked the door to the garage and pushed it in.

Beth had warned him about the garage. Apparently his great aunt had been using it primarily for storage, and he immediately saw that the boxes had been piled high. He flicked on the light switch, which didn’t actually help that much. The garage itself felt cavernous, somehow bigger than its two-car capacity. The maze of boxes had him twisting to maneuver through them, hoping to make it to the other side. He expected to discover a tool bench on the opposite wall, and he was not disappointed. The bench was burdened with several boxes, so he lowered them to the ground.

“Fuck, these are heavy.” He cracked open a couple boxes to reveal several paperback novels. The box he was looking in contained old sci-fi novels. He searched through the box, pulling out a couple of classics that he intended to read for himself. He opened the next box, revealing a pile of romance novels.

“Bleh. Never mind.” He closed the flap. Why were there so many books here? Pushing the thought from his mind, he got a good look at the tool bench. It had several drawers, all of which were empty. On his knees, he opened the cabinet doors to reveal that they were also completely empty.

Who had a tool bench with no tools? Mike scratched his chin, double checking the drawers to make sure he saw right. He wondered if somebody had stolen them, but then thought of the girl on the front porch. If