Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1) (43 page)

“Going to have to, little brother. You got no choice.” Tyrell looked over his shoulder as if someone was talking to him, and he nodded his head. “Not sure if it was such a good idea to let the spirits go, Terrence. I think your friends seriously fucked up on that one. But I’m grateful nonetheless. I’m happy that I didn’t have to kill you. Take care, little brother. Don’t take crap from no one.” Tyrell got to his feet and brushed off his jeans. “They’ll talk shit about me. Mostly about me being gay, so be prepared for that. But none of that matters. I don’t care, so neither should you. Don’t be a hothead about it, okay? Just know that I loved you.”

He turned and walked up the stone stairs, leaving Terrence entwined in his own thoughts and emotions. The pressure of the day, the fear of death, and the thought of never seeing Tyrell again finally exploded in a sea of tears, and Terrence sagged to his knees. The white guy still hadn’t moved, and when the majority of his tears had been spent, Terrence walked over to him.

“Mr?”

There was no response, and Terrence felt the familiar fear again. He knelt next to the man and pushed gently against his shoulder. He didn’t move. Terrence pushed harder this time, a little too hard, and the figure slid sideways, falling to the ground.

“Fuck, man. Don’t be dead. Please don’t be fucking dead.” He felt his skin. It was still lukewarm, but Terrence could find neither a pulse nor any evidence of breathing. “No, this isn’t fucking fair. You can’t just die on me, you white piece of shit.” Terrence jumped to his feet, afraid and vulnerable, and kicked the man, immediately regretting it the second after. “Shit, shit, shit.” The tears were flowing again and he had never felt so lost and alone before. He needed this stupid stranger; he was the one who was going to save him, and Terrence had never before in his life wanted anyone to save him. But now… he was so out of his depth. He didn’t want to stay down here anymore, not with that dead guy.

Terrence inhaled deeply and took the first three steps of the stairs. He wondered if the spirits were still up there, waiting for him, but he had to take the risk. He needed to find Logan, or anyone else, and he needed to get the fuck away from this house… and whatever was still lurking here.

Chapter 35

Before they had a chance to execute their plan to lure all the spirits to the main hall, a single spirit found them. Not one of the naked females, but a pretty woman dressed in a nun’s habit. Her eyes were large and dark, and they were filled with sadness.

“You mustn’t.” Her voice was ethereal and distant. “You must stop this.”

Freya felt for the woman, and she knew she had seen her before, but couldn’t remember where.

“You are putting everyone in danger.” The spirit sounded so lost. The woman kept looking longingly at the portal, as if her heart yearned for it.

“I understand you have been tied to this house for a long time.” Marie-Claire looked straight at the spirit, and Freya remembered how well the woman could see the supernatural through those blind eyes.

“I have to stop you. You’re making a mistake.”

“You need to step into the light. Feel its warmth and its welcome. You’ve been here on this plane too long. It is time for you to be where you belong. You can feel the call, can you not?” Marie-Claire’s voice was soothing, encouraging, and doubt played on the spirit’s face.

“The Angels… we kept them here for a purpose. They… they have to…”

“Was it you who cast the spell to keep everyone here?” Marie-Claire sounded surprised, her voice was a little more shrill than the soothing tones she’d used before.

“Yes, Anne… and I…” The spirit sounded confused. Her eyes kept wandering to the portal, and she took a few tentative steps in its direction. “We had to. Otherwise we would have had to spill so much blood. It was better this way… to keep the circle unending. Sacrifice…”

“Go to the light.”

“But if I do, if I leave… who will look after Angel Manor?”

“There is no need for that anymore now. The curse is broken. You can rest.”

The spirit took another step towards the dim light, her hand outstretched. Then she pulled her hand away and looked at Freya with pleading eyes.

“If you release the Angels, there is nothing more I can do.”

“There is nothing left for you to do here. You fulfilled your task. Now it’s time for you to rest.”

“I am so tired.”

“The light is calling. Can you hear it?”

“I can. It promises me peace.”

“Answer the call. Go to it.”

The spirit of the woman looked at Freya one last time.

“I’m sorry. I tried, but it’s your task now. Your responsibility.” The essence of the spirit unravelled into long ribbons of light, swirling in a macabre dance. They fluttered towards the portal and faded out of sight. Freya felt inexplicably empty, as if part of her had just disappeared with the woman.

It’s my responsibility now,
Freya thought,
if only I knew what she meant by that.

“We must find the other spirits.” Marie-Claire’s voice cut through the silence, and Freya thought she sounded a bit smug. “Bring them here. It’ll be dangerous, but it needs to be done. We can’t let these souls loose on the world.”

“What about what that spirit said just now?” Freya felt a hint of rebellion surface.

“Spirits get lost and confused as time goes by. Their identities change if they are bound to this earth too long. They start to adapt to a purpose; hers was to protect the house. But there is no need for that now. That’s why she could let go.”

“What if there really is more to the house, and to those Angels?”

“Spirits can be very tricky, dear. You shouldn’t take them too seriously. She’s at peace now, and the others will soon be too. I am sure more will use trickery to try and tug at your heartstrings. They can only influence you if you let them.”

Freya raised an eyebrow and thought of the severed corpse of John Philips.

“To be fair, these spirits can do a lot more than influence me.”

“If you think it’s too much for you…”

Freya shook her head, forgetting for a moment that Marie-Claire couldn’t see her. She corrected herself. “No. I can do this. I… I’m just not sure that we’re doing the right thing.”

“Would you rather leave these spirits here? Ready to kill again?”

“No.”

“Then you know what to do.”

***

Freya didn’t have to go far to find the Angels. A group of them were gathered in the East Wing. They looked a little lost, just standing together and staring around as if they couldn’t understand what had changed. In a way, they reminded Freya of a cluster of zombies from a horror movie, their naked bodies covered in remnants of blood. It was terrifying to see them like that. She swallowed and stepped out before them, trying to remember the sentence Marie-Claire had taught her.

“The guardians of the four watchtowers command you to find the light and take your rightful place in the afterlife.” Her voice cracked, and she held the sachet of herbs out in front of her as if it were a shield.

The Angels turned as one to face her, their cold, dead eyes boring into her soul. There was a moment where all they did was stare. It was brief, but felt like a lifetime. Then the front woman, whose flesh bulged out in layers, smiled. Dark mucus dribbled past the corner of her mouth and across her chin, where it fell down in a long strand like spider silk. There was a change in their body language. Where their movements had been deliberate before, they now appeared to be emptier, though not any less hungry for blood. The recognition she had encountered before, the acknowledgement that she was the blood tie to the house, was gone, and Freya knew that if the Angels caught her, she would die.

She ran.

***

Logan burst into the main hall, his head spinning with fear and adrenaline. He saw the old medium standing in the middle of a large, white circle.
Sand? No, maybe salt?

“Freya? Is she okay?” His eyes darted around the room, but he couldn’t see any other person.

“Do not disrupt our ritual. You have no place here. We sent you to safety.”

“No, I’m not leaving here without Freya, and I want to find the others.”

“There won’t be any survivors if we don’t get rid of these spirits.” The old woman pointed towards the door. “Go.” Her white eyes stared at him, but he folded his arms and stood his ground. “I’m not disrupting anything.”

At that moment, the door burst open and Freya ran through.

“They’re right behind me.” Freya panted.

“Quickly, get into the circle. You too, boy. It’s too late for you now so you’d better just go along with this.”

They ran into the circle, and the minute they stepped inside, the doors behind them opened again. Logan counted thirteen of the naked women. To his horror, he noticed that a short, skinny blonde carried the head of the boy they had talked to in the attic. His face was a mask of terror, and strands of tissue and muscle hung bloodily from his neck. It had not been severed by a clean cut, but instead looked like it had been ripped off with brutal force.

There was something bestial about the women, something primal. Though they were shaped like humans, they were more like animals. They didn’t speak; they just took slow steps in their direction. Logan felt his skin grow cold, and he hoped that something as common as salt, or sand, or whatever it was on the floor, would be enough to save their hides. Unless it was some kick-ass magic dust, but he doubted that somehow.

The old woman stepped towards the edge of the circle, her face stern and filled with determination.

“The guardians of the four watchtowers command you to find the light and take your rightful place in the afterlife.” Her voice was so strong that Logan felt a physical reaction to each syllable she uttered, and when Freya’s doubtful voice joined in, he felt strangely safe. He almost joined in repeating the words over and over, but he remembered the warning about not disrupting anything, so he just stood by and watched and listened.

The naked women didn’t seem to budge at first, but then they turned their heads to one of the walls. The brunette stepped closer to the circle, close enough to make the old medium shuffle backwards. She sniffed the air the way a bear would sniff for prey, her eyes settling on the blind woman.

“The guardians of the four watchtowers command you to find the light and take your rightful place in the afterlife.” Marie-Claire’s voice was less determined now, and Logan could hear a hint of panic. The naked woman reached forward, stretching out her hand slowly but without hesitation. Something stopped her just beyond the circle, and the spirit looked surprised. She tried again without success.

Marie-Claire found the confidence in her voice again and repeated the chant, though it didn’t seem to be having the effect she wanted.

“Look at the light.” The old woman sounded hoarse with desperation. “All of you, look at the light and pass through it. I command you!”

The spirits looked up in unison and, for an instant, Logan thought that they were going to storm the circle and tear them apart, but then their faces turned back to the spot on the wall. They cocked their heads as if they shared a hive mind. They seemed to be listening to something. Logan closed his eyes, and he could almost hear it, a disembodied voice that was so faint it could be nothing more than the rapid beating of his heart or the rushing of blood in his ears. Whatever it was, the hive was responding to it, and they moved towards the faint light.

“That’s it. Give in to the call. Be at peace.”

The women threw their heads back and screamed. Invisible claws tore at their skin, and deep gashes appeared in their naked flesh. Black blood oozed from the gaping wounds, but the claws continued, tearing the flesh until it stretched and shredded, hanging in ribbons from the dead bodies. Loose flaps of skin were pulled towards the portal. Logan watched with a mixture of satisfaction and horror as an arm was ripped from an elderly spirit and pulled into the beyond. Even the spilled blood was sucked up. There was no wind, no change of temperature, and yet Logan felt the force of the opening.

The whole spectacle must have taken no more than five minutes, but every last detail of every last second was etched into Logan’s brain, and he was exhausted.

No one spoke for quite a while.

“Is it over?” Logan was the first to talk, and as if on cue, the doors burst open with a loud bang. Seven more of the naked women stepped through, holding a fully dressed girl in their midst. Logan recognised Julie and gasped. The girl was not in good shape; she was conscious but barely. Her face was swollen and covered in blood, her clothing was torn, and her right leg dangled at a weird angle behind her as she was dragged. He readied himself to run to her aid, but Marie-Claire held up a hand.

“No heroics.”

Logan wondered if she could read his mind, but he stayed his ground.

“Release the girl.”

Two identical naked women, familiar to Logan, dragged Julie forward. Right in front of the circle.

These aren’t as bestial as the others. I wonder why? They seem more lucid somehow.