Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1) (39 page)

***

She wanted to follow Freya up to the attic, to convince her to come away from the house. It was strange speaking to her friend again, and Bam realised she had changed. Freya had seen the change too. It was in her eyes.
Can the living understand the dead? And likewise, can the dead understand the living?
Bam wondered.

The hunger for Freya’s warmth had been less than she’d felt before, and Bam had a faint hope that she could, indeed, break her bond with the manor.

If Freya needed to save the others, Bam would help her as much as she could. As long as Freya would then leave the house. She knew Bam was in here now, and the young American girl had no doubt she would do anything to help her. Determined to find her friend, Bam set foot on the stairs, but before she could take another step she felt a familiar presence.

“There you are, Bambi.” Chuck’s voice was sweet as poisoned honey. “I’ve been looking all over for you. How did you manage to hide from me?”

She turned slowly, her soul feeling like lead, and looked at him.

“Chuck…” The rest of the words died on her lips. Death hadn’t changed her fear of him. In fact, Bambi decided, she was more afraid of him now than she ever had been in life. He had been cruel then, but in death his dark side was truly unleashed.

“Come to me, Bambi. You’re mine now.” He held out his hand to her, his eyebrows raised and a predatory smile spread across his lips. “The house has given you to me.”

“I’m not yours, nor do I belong to the house.” She fought her fear with every inch of strength she had and bolted from the stairs as fast as she could. If Chuck caught up with her she would be lost; she could feel it. He still had power over her, and all she could think about was getting away.

Bam ran.

Chapter 32

Marie-Claire stood back and looked at the circle on the floor. The symbols stood out to her second-sight as bright purple marks, a sign of strong magic. She had given them her all, for she knew the house would fight her in every way, and the equinox seemed to negate the protective spells already woven about the house. Marie-Claire knew that if she cast them right, her spells could withstand the innate magic of the house. The circle would have to keep her and the others safe in the next phase, the moment she would battle the house itself. If only she’d had more time to investigate its past, to know why these spells had been cast. She sat in the circle, her dress billowing around her, legs crossed and her hands resting gently on her knees. Then Marie-Claire opened her mind.

The house’s energy hit her with the force of a bus, but the circle protected her from being overwhelmed. It couldn’t quite reach her, but the force was formidable and Marie-Claire felt a drop of urine blossom in her underpants as she fought to gain control. She ran her mind’s fingers across the spells woven in the house, disentangling them as she worked out their purpose. Most of them were protective spells, and to her surprise, she found they were made to keep spirits from crossing over to the light.

What monster would do this?

It took great difficulty to ignore the spirits in the house. Some of them had taken on

full physical shape, and she could almost feel their flesh in her mind.

Angels, they call themselves angels. But they are nothing of the sorts. They are made from malice.

Marie-Claire feared these creatures more than any of the spirits she had ever encountered, and she hoped they wouldn’t find her until it was too late for them to stop her tampering with the spells.

The spells in themselves were not too complicated, but the years had mutated the magic, as magic often did when it wasn’t maintained, and Marie-Claire wanted to be very careful with the unravelling process. She tugged gently at one of the strands, allowing her mind to wrap around it. The energy of the strand reacted immediately to her presence and coiled itself around her mind’s eye like a snake. Marie-Claire fought not to panic. She had never seen anything do this before, and she wondered what the magic was feeding on. She pulled at a different strand this time, but again the magic reacted aggressively, and she was afraid it would pull her in if she continued. Not even the spell she cast around her was resistant to this much force.

“Marie-Claire?” Julie sounded on the verge of panic. “There’s something outside the door.” The blind woman opened her eyes. Julie was just a shadow against the light of the house, so she couldn’t see the girl’s features or expression, only where she stood. Her blind eyes flitted towards the door, and she could sense the creatures that scratched at the wood.

Not the Angels… but something else. Strays, spirits claimed by the house. They must have sensed our warmth. They are dangerous too; the house feeds them.

“They can’t break the circle.” Marie-Claire didn’t want to tell the girl that she wasn’t so sure they couldn’t. The magic here was unlike any she had come across before, and the old woman was afraid. She needed the girl, the one whose blood was bonded to this house. Marie-Claire could only hope she could reach out to the young female; she would have the Achilles heel of Angel Manor with her. Besides the girl, she needed a considerable source of power to help her with her spell.

If only she had more time.

***

Jim saw the window first, slapping Gary against the arm and pointing. He nodded. They had been cowering beneath a large table, their eyes on the bloodbath unfolding before them. His heart went out to the little children who’d come out of nowhere and were being systematically butchered, but his main concern was to get himself and Gary to safety. The window seemed like a great option, and although he wasn’t a fan of heights, he would be more than willing to risk climbing from the window just to get away from this insane place.

They scrambled away from the table, Gary in front with Jim close behind him. He prayed that they wouldn’t be noticed by the thin woman with the scythe standing nearest to them, and he tried to run as quietly as he could. Gary was the first to reach the window, running his fingers across it, searching for an opening. Jim joined in to help. Somewhere behind him, he heard the swishing sound of the scythe, and panic struck his heart. They didn’t have time to fiddle with the latch. They needed to get out now. He didn’t dare to look back, so he pushed the young man aside and punched the glass. The pain was horrific, but he would not relent, and the window broke after the second blow, piercing his skin with glass shards. He didn’t care. Behind him, something moved closer. With the speed of a desperate man, he pulled the big shards loose, praying the opening would be big enough for them to get through.

“Please, God, if we make it through, I will go to church every Sunday.” He pushed himself up against the windowsill and used his jeans-covered knee to knock the last bits of glass out. The fresh air hit him, diluting the smell of rot hanging in the attic. A thin ledge ran under the window, and Jim was sure they could make it. His jeans ripped on the glass remnants, and he felt the hot sting of torn skin, but it didn’t matter. He could smell freedom, feel it in the cool air. The ledge was narrow, but Jim managed to find his footing. He leaned back inside and held his arm out.

“Come on, Gary. You’re next.”

Gary nodded and pushed himself up while Jim pulled at him, careful not to lose his balance. The young man couldn’t find his grip, and he slid back down, almost causing Jim to fall backwards.

“Come on, Gary,” he urged, and his gaze slid to the woman approaching behind the young man. Her head was tilted to one side, her dark eyes glinting in the bright light of the moon, and there was an expression of curiosity on her pale, gaunt features. “Jesus, Gary, hurry up.” Tears formed in Jim’s eyes as he tried to pull at the boy again. “Fuck, she’s right behind you… no… don’t look back, just climb, Goddamn it.”

Gary pushed himself off again, his eyes holding Jim’s, looking for strength in his counsellor. Jim saw a shadow of movement behind Gary, and then a loud swish cut through the air. Gary’s eyes widened as the tip of the scythe protruded from his mouth, thick red liquid dripping off it like syrup.

“Oh God,” Jim sobbed as Gary went limp in his arms. He let him go, but the young man stayed upright, his dead eyes still locked with Jim’s. Gary’s head twitched and pulled back as the scythe slid from his skull, then his body slumped to the ground and Jim was face to face with the wielder. He almost lost his balance again but grabbed the windowsill just in time. The woman pulled the scythe back and brought it down on Jim’s right hand, severing two of his fingers. Jim screamed and let go. Blood poured from the stumps. The woman brought the scythe down a second time, this time catching the counsellor between the eyes, and Jim felt a brief flash of pain as the sharp blade slid effortlessly through his skull and severed his brain. His world was sucked up by the darkness.

***

“Where are you, child?”

Freya looked around to see where the voice was coming from. She heard the French lilt in the tone and knew it was Florifera talking to her, but she couldn’t see the old woman.

“I’m here,” she called out in hopes that Marie-Claire could hear her.

“Open your mind to me, child, let me see through your eyes.”

“What?” Freya looked around again, alarmed. “What do you mean?” She stopped running.

“Fuck, what’s wrong with you, lady?” Terrence said as he ran into the back of her.

“Freya?” Logan stopped in his tracks and walked back to her, his body tense as he eyed their surroundings. “What’s going on? Why did you stop?”

“I heard Florifera. I just…” Her mind whirled, and she felt something press against her thoughts.

“Open your mind to me. Just let go.”

“I…”

She closed her eyes and let her mind relax as much as she could, and she felt the woman slip into her thoughts like a warm hand through cold water. Something in her mind woke up, and when she opened her eyes, her vision had changed. It was as if she were looking at the world through hologram eyes. There was the world the way she saw it normally, but there was an extra layer, one made of white and purple colours, and it was beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

“Holy shit, that bitch is bugging out.” Terrence’s voice sounded far away.

“Are you okay?” Logan touched her arms. “What’s going on with your eyes?”

She blinked and smiled at him, trying to ease the obvious worry on his face.

“It’s Florifera. She’s in my head somehow, seeing through my eyes. She’s going to guide us to where she is. Just follow me.”

***

Logan didn’t like the sight of Freya’s eyes. They’d turned white, like the blind woman’s, and it was unsettling to see the expression on her face as well. Yet he trusted her. Not that he had much choice, because he really didn’t fancy trying to navigate his way through this hell house. If there was any way he could get out, he would take it, though he felt upset that he couldn’t save everyone. On the way down, he had been confronted with the severed body of his long-time friend, and it had made a deep impact. Logan now functioned on pure survival instinct. He worried a little about Mason, whose eyes were too wide for comfort and who didn’t seem to blink anymore. The young man hadn’t said a word; he just hugged himself with his thin, gangly arms.
Shock perhaps, I can’t blame the kid.

Freya led them through the house, more of a maze now than anything else. Sometimes she would make choices that seemed odd to Logan, and from the cursing, he could tell Terrence wasn’t pleased with them either. Sometimes she would walk through a wall, or avoid places that looked like an exit, but strangely enough, she was always right. She would see changes to the house before they occurred. Freya danced through the darkness like a fairy, and Logan and the two boys followed.

The surroundings were getting more familiar as they walked on, and to his excitement, Logan noticed that they were on the bottom floor.

“This is the West Wing. I’m sure of it.” He didn’t say it to anyone in particular, but Terrence seemed to be the only one who responded to his voice.

“I just want to get out of here, Logan. Why isn’t she leading us to an exit?”

“I don’t know, Terrence, but I’ll get you out of here, I promise.”

The boy nodded, his face ash-grey.

“We are almost there.” There was a hint of a French accent to Freya’s voice. “There are problems. Spirits are in the corridor blocking our way to the kitchen. We’re lucky that they aren’t Angels.”

“Angels? What fucking angels?” Terrence swore under his breath and ran his fingers through his short cropped hair. Logan didn’t have to answer. He heard their laughter and screeching from a distance.

“Tell me those are not Angels?” Terrence shuddered and stared at Logan.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he answered. “Doubt there is anything angelic about them though.”

“This place is so fucked up.”

Logan felt a pang of guilt.
I should have listened to Freya and gotten the boys out of here when I still could. Now it’s too fucking late. I had no idea it would get this bad.