Quinsey Wolfe's Glass Vault

Candace Robinson

Description

Some see it... Some don't...



People in the town of Deer Park, Texas are vanishing. There is a strange museum, known as Quinsey Wolfe's Glass Vault, that appears overnight. Perrie Madeline's best friend and ex-boyfriend are among the missing. Perrie and her friend August go on a pursuit for them in the mysterious museum. Could the elusive Quinsey Wolfe's Glass Vault have anything to do with the disappearances?



A book that intertwines horror elements and retellings, with humor, romance and darkness. 

Sujets

• Romance
• Frankenstein
• Hurlements 2
• Horror
• Black comedy

Informations

• Publié par: The Parliament House
• Date de parution: 26 juin 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9788826002521
• Langue: English

Extrait

Quinsey Wolfe’s Glass Vault


Candace Robinson
Copyright © 2018 by The Parliament House
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by Amanda Wright and David Rochelero
ISBN: 9788826002521
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Contents



Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Epilogue


About the Author

Help Perrie

The Parliament House

Acknowledgments
For Nate and Arwen
We make up the ultimate Three Musketeers
Prologue

O verwhelmed with boredom, Vale stared down at his fingernails. He could only spend so much time tormenting those he encountered in the afterlife. After making them as miserable as possible, he found himself needing to search for new prey.
The fire beside him flickered and gave off a comforting heat. To Vale it felt like a warm blanket against his cool skin. He hummed a melody to himself as the fire crackled, accompanied by a chorus of screams that continued to grow more intensely.
Vale should have felt something, yet he was incapable of compassion. It made his torture of others necessary, and with no complete spectrum of true emotion, their agony provided him with a sick sort of pleasure. It was the only real feeling he had ever truly known.
He picked at his nails a little longer with a sharp instrument until they were back to their pristine condition. The one thing he couldn’t tolerate was the filth and grime that built up under his fingernails. One might consider this an oddity. After all, his experiments usually ended up being the cause of his distress.
Studying his fingernails one more time, Vale set the tool down next to a row full of other torturous devices—giving him another thrill. When so many of his experiments resulted in such beautiful messes, he could forgive himself the lapse in hygiene.
Rows of cages filled with useless souls lined the walls of his domain. They would help him to crush the mortal lives he needed to flood the earth. After the time he had spent in his dark place, he grew tired of tormenting the ones who “deserved” it—he wanted them all.
The time had finally come to bring down humanity—he wished it could be as simple as a snap of his fingers. Vale didn’t like to do things the easy way, though. No, he liked to do things the way that brought him the most pleasure. This time he was going to be known as Quinsey Wolfe. This time he would make sure the world ended in flames while orchestrating its demise and rebirth. There must be a space between his underworld and the human world, where the new souls could become immortal with true power. It would take time, but he would build this place. Then, he could discover the ones he truly wanted. Hearts would surrender, souls would suffer, and at the end of it all—he would watch it burn. From the ashes of its undoing, Vale would recreate it all in his image.
Chapter One

T he mirror is a foggy mess when I step out of my literally five-minute shower. I let my stupid alarm continue to go off when I should have woken up right away, so that meant less shower time. Quickly, I draw a flower—a weepy-looking daisy to be exact—on the glass before rushing to my bedroom to get dressed.
My mother and I used to do this together when I was younger. It was before she ran off to another state with another man and never spoke to my dad or me again. For some weird reason I uphold this so-called mirror-drawing tradition of ours—possibly to remember something that used to be different.
“Dad,” I yell. After throwing on a pair of jeans and an old Bon Jovi band tee, I hurry down the hallway. Sometimes I can catch him before he leaves, but today he has already left for work.
I find a note on the kitchen table that reads: Have a good day at school! Happy Birthday! Beside the note sits a little, red velvet cupcake—my dad rocks!
Since my mom left—it’s been years now—I don’t feel anything for her. I simply don’t care, but I know my dad still does. There’s a picture of them together on his bedside table from when they were maybe sixteen—they were high school sweethearts. My mother is looking off to the side laughing, genuinely amused, while my dad’s staring at her with such an expression of love and admiration. It used to make my heart skip, but not anymore.
I know what that kind of love feels like, and I have missed it every single day for the past seven months. I toss those feelings of that particular boy in my personal, little trashcan inside my brain—almost completely hidden away.
Distracting myself, I turn my thoughts back to my mom. It isn’t much better, but those thoughts don’t bother me anymore. The one thing my mom left me was her maiden name as my first name, yet it defeats the whole purpose since she spelled Perrie with an “ie” instead of a “y.” I prefer the spelling the way it is, that way I’m connected to her as little as possible.
Grabbing a small bowl for my breakfast from the cabinet, I pad over to the pantry where there are at least ten varieties of cereal to choose from. Dad can’t get over my cereal-stocking obsession. The different sugary shapes on the covers usually call to me. What else can I say? This morning, I go for the bag that only contains colorful marshmallows—no healthiness included.
As I reach for the bag, feeling like Willy Wonka, there’s a sudden poke on my shoulder that causes me to jump. I squeak and flail in my panic, effectively sweeping my bowl off the countertop. Then I thank all the fish in the sea that it’s plastic, because it makes a “thump-thump” sound as it hits the ceramic tile.
My back smacks hard against the granite countertop as I flip around to face the intruder. Maisie, my best friend and cousin, stands a few feet away smiling and I feel the anger pulsing through my veins. She just loves to scare the living daylights out of me when I least expect it. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before. Odds are, I should have expected this. Maisie lives next door and we’ve been playing at carpool for as long as I can remember.
She’s grinning from ear to ear while I rub my stinging arm. Her one, bright-blue eye is twinkling with mischievous intent. The other eye, which I’m sure has a twin expression, is safely hidden behind an eye patch. She usually pulls her long black hair away from her face to highlight that one accessory but has decided to let it relax around her warm brown skin this morning. I envy her Turkish complexion. Instead, I’m chalky to the core.
When my mom left, Dad’s sister offered up the house next door, which she and my uncle own. The tenants had recently moved out, so they asked Dad if he wanted to rent the place. Ever since then, Aunt Krista has been more of a mom to me than my birth mother ever was, and I adore her to pieces.
“I’ll get you back one of these days, Maisie Jaser!” Squinting hard at Maisie, I try to look mad and hide my smile. My surprise has washed away, but I’m determined to best her at least once in my life. “I also have a key to your house, you know.”
“You’ve been saying this pretty much forever, and I’m still waiting,” Maisie says laughing. Bringing a hand up, she brushes it against her latest eye patch. Today it’s hot pink and shaped like a diamond with yellow stars and the moon on it.
I point a finger at the newest addition to her two-year-long parade of endless eye patches. “What’s going on today with this one?”
Maisie scrunches up her nose as if she’s thinking incredibly hard about this. “Well, I was in the mood for a night sky, but I wanted the sky to be pink because black is, well, you know?”
Shaking my head, I let out a laugh. “Well, no, I don’t know.”
She tilts her head back and forth while I wait for her to spit out the answer. “Oh, you know. It’s just such a dark color sometimes.”
“You also realize you’re still not blind, right?”
Her smile grows even wider. “I know, but I have to show support to those who only have the one eye.” She points her index finger at the eye patch like she’s missing the eye.
Maisie has been on a kick ever since she started reading books, watching movies and TV shows where characters wear eye patches. She even started an online store where she has sold quite a few. I’m not sure if these people legitimately need an eye patch, or if they’re using them for costumes, but either way, they can make any outfit rock.
I know there are other people out there who make eye patches, but I have to admit, hers are quite amazing. If I needed a patch, I would wear one Maisie created. Now, I still don’t get why she wears an eye patch all the time, but Maisie has a personality all her own.
“You keep showing that support.” Picking up the blue bowl that fell on the floor earlier, I toss it in the sink. There isn’t time left to eat my cereal, so I grab two granola bars out of the pantry instead an