The House of Drennin wasn't a house; it was a hungry, crumbling leviathan. Perched high on a hill overlooking the city's neon pulse, it was a sprawling guest house where decay was just another amenity. It was too big, too dark, and whispered stories too old for the city to remember.
Nicole, sharp-edged and practical, squinted at the main building's faded Victorian gingerbread trim. "It looks less 'guest house' and more 'where people go to be murdered,' Rene."
Rene, all wide, dreaming eyes and sun-kissed hair, laughed, the sound too bright for the twilight-drenched property. "That's the charm, Nic! It's got character. Besides, the rent is criminal for this area. It's fate."
They were there for Apartment 3B, a cramped studio overlooking the untamed rose garden, but the property was a small community unto itself.
They walked toward the main house to sign their papers. As they stepped onto the veranda, a woman emerged from the gloom of the open doorway. This was Gigi. She was a magnetic center of gravity—dressed in comfortable, worn silk, permanently lounging in the house's main communal living area. It was her space, the unofficial throne of Drennin.
Gigi didn't smile, she simply appraised. "You must be the new girls. Nicole and Rene. Welcome to the asylum. The paperwork is with Sheree, inside."
Inside the house, the air was thick with the scent of old wood, stale coffee, and something metallic—like ozone or old blood.
In the cavernous, slightly neglected kitchen stood Sheree, a woman whose smile seemed permanently exhausted, and Rickus, her ex-partner. They were the main tenants and the reluctant managers. They held the lease to the mansion but seemed to merely endure it.
"Just initials here, ladies," Rickus instructed, his gaze distant, as if constantly listening for a sound no one else could hear. He didn't look like a man in love with his home; he looked like a man trapped in a lease he couldn't break.
Rene signed with a flourish. "So, what's the social scene like around here?"
Sheree winced almost imperceptibly. "Quiet. We keep to ourselves. Gigi's brother, Vin, is around sometimes. A couple of other apartments. Don't worry about them."
Just then, two figures glided past the doorway, too silent, too fluid. Shane and James. They were impeccably dressed, dark-haired, and moved with a synchronized stealth that was unnerving. They gave a curt, almost predatory nod and vanished toward the property's darker wings.
Rickus cleared his throat. "That's Shane and James. They... rent one of the back units. They keep to themselves. And they don't like noise."
"Or anything else," Gigi murmured from the doorway, leaning against the frame. "Especially when they're looking for things that don't belong to them."
Nicole felt a chill, but Rene, oblivious, was already unfolding a flyer taped haphazardly to a corkboard: The Penthouse: Full Moon Mixer. Tonight.
"Oh my god, Nic, a welcome party! It's fate!"
Nicole looked from the flyer to the strange, weary eyes of Sheree and Rickus, then back to the imposing, silent house. Something heavy and dark settled in her stomach, a premonition that their arrival here was less about fate and more about an open invitation to something terrifying.
"Rene," Nicole said, the first sliver of fear already gripping her. "Maybe we should unpack first."
Rene was already halfway out the door, her bright laugh echoing back down the hall, an irresistible lure into the deep, waiting night. "Unpacking can wait. This place has a party, and we're going!"