Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1) (46 page)

They walked through the main hall to the West Wing, and Freya opened the door to the kitchen. Tables and chairs were overturned, and the coffee pot lay broken on the ground, surrounded by a dried up coffee stain. Freya grabbed a knife from the counter and held it to her side.

“What is that for?” Logan arched his eyebrows and gave her a crooked smile.

“I don’t know, it just makes me feel safer. Who knows what’s in this house now? Could be squatters or something.” She shrugged, and he chuckled in response before grabbing another one of the knives.

“Better safe than sorry, right?” He winked at her, and she pushed her body against his with a smile on her face. They wandered through the West Wing, looking in all the rooms.

“We left most of our stuff behind. I guess I should really pick up Bam’s and Oliver’s things one day.”

Logan nodded. “Let’s not worry about that right now though. Let’s just set your mind at ease first.”

“Yeah. I guess we should head to the South Wing then. I’m pretty sure the entrance to the basement is there.”

Logan nodded again, and from the expression on his face, Freya guessed he was as nervous as she was. They walked side by side, slow and careful as if they were trespassers.

Not all the lights worked, and they had to walk through the dark corridor of the South Wing carrying the torches they brought. Freya almost expected one of the Angels to come running at them, ready to tear at their flesh, but nothing came and the corridor remained deadly silent.

She needed some help with the large metal door to the basement; it was very heavy. Logan yanked it open and allowed her to pass through first. The light at the bottom of the stairs was already on, and Freya saw symbols painted on the wall as she made her way down the steps. The single light bulb didn’t illuminate enough of the basement for Freya’s liking, and the whole area was cast in deep shadows.

“There’s a door there.” She pointed at the far end. “We should try that.” Then she added as an afterthought: “If I don’t chicken out.”

“I’m here. You’ll be fine.”

They made their way to the door and found a smaller room. It had another light bulb that dangled from a long black wire, and it cast a sickly yellow light in the otherwise empty room. The walls were decorated with painted symbols, similar to the ones they saw on the way down the stairs.

Spells… or at least they were.
“There’s a hatch. I think this might be what we’re looking for.”

Logan shone his torch on a wooden square in the centre of the room and Freya walked up to inspect it. “Shine your torch on it and I’ll pull it open.”

She nodded and took a step back. An ominous creek rang through the small room as he pushed the wood back, revealing a dark hole underneath. Freya shone her light down and saw a narrow staircase carved into the rough stone wall. The steps looked barely big enough to put her feet on.

“I’ll go first.” Logan took her gently by the shoulders and moved her to one side.

Freya nodded gratefully and watched Logan descend through the hole, and seconds later she followed him. There was an old smell in the air, of limestone and something rotting; Freya was sure she smelled it before in the house, only it was stronger here.

The stairs wound down into the earth, and the atmosphere below was cold and moist. Somewhere off in the distance, water dripped down in a thunderous rhythm that echoed throughout the underground cavern.

“This place is amazing,” Logan whispered. “I had no idea this was down here.”

“Aunt Miriam’s story is starting to sound a little more credible.” Her muscles tensed. “That worries me.” There was a slight echo when she spoke, and their steps sounded hollow as they walked further down.

At the bottom of the stairs, her feet touched stone, and Logan held out his hand to her. She grabbed it and took comfort in its warmth. The floor angled down, making it difficult to balance, but at least there were no more stairs. A narrow stone corridor led them to a cavernous area with a large marble slab set into the centre of the floor. It reminded her of ancient churches and the resting places of saints.

“Is this it?” She shone her torch on the slab, highlighting the strange markings on it. If they were words, they were written in letters she had never seen before, though Freya was sure they weren’t pictures.

“I think so. Your aunt was definitely right. There is something buried here.”

“Do you think it’s one of the four Horsemen?” Her voice broke as she spoke.

“I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t know what to think. What time is it, anyway?”

She shone the light on her watch.

“Almost twelve thirty.”

“We’ve been here longer than I thought.”

“Yeah. Funny, but somehow I half expected something horrible to happen at precisely midnight.” She giggled a little, her cheeks flushed.

“You know what? Me too.” He laughed.

The cavern rumbled and shook with a familiar tremor, and Freya almost dropped her torch.

Deep cracks appeared in the marble slab, and an unnatural cold spread through the whole area. Black smoke rose through the cracks, and Freya felt a fear like she had never experienced before. Not even the sight of the Angels had made her feel the way she did now. The marble exploded outward, raining tiny, sharp pebbles down on Freya and Logan, and they held each other as tightly as they could. The stone around them groaned and rumbled, and above them the cavern split. Earth and dust fell from above, though not nearly enough to justify the opening that was appearing.

Oh fuck, why did I come here? Why did I take this risk?
Freya shivered.

The front legs of a horse, as pale as the moon itself and as large as an elephant, scraped across the edges of the tomb. The sound of neighing tore through her soul and hot urine trickled down her trouser leg. For a moment, fear took hold of her heart, strangling it, and part of her welcomed death.

The head of the horse slowly emerged, its thin white skin pulled tight against muscle and bone, its red eyes glaring from fiery sockets. The horse pushed itself up against the stone, and for the first time, Freya saw the rider. He was tall, at least nine feet, and he wore a long robe the colour of midnight. Under the cowl, she saw his skeletal face, eye sockets blazing with the same flames as the horse. He looked like a figure straight out of Dante’s
Inferno
, only he was real. She saw the details on his bony hands, the scratches in his skull face, and she knew what true fear was. There was nothing she could do to stop this, and she felt utterly powerless.

Long lines with hooks appeared out of nowhere, attaching themselves to the rider and his horse. The horse’s pale skin ripped, and black blood flowed freely. Freya looked up, and there, at the edge of the hole in the ceiling, she saw the twelve angels that stood guard outside the house.

They made their way down to the Horseman, their marble wings beating with a thunderous sound as they lowered themselves. More ropes were cast, like the web of a spider, covering the Horseman and his horse, but to no avail.

“They need a sacrifice.” She wasn’t sure who said it, or if it was just a thought that came to her, but she knew it was true. In order to keep the Horseman sleeping, she needed to give a sacrifice. And it would have to be a great one.

She looked at the hole in the slab; she could throw herself down there and not survive. It would be a sacrifice…
but would it be enough?
She wanted to die. More than anything at that moment, she wanted to die.
It won’t be enough to sacrifice myself.

Her heart fragmented into a thousand pieces as she turned to Logan. He looked at her, and she thought she saw something in his eyes.
Acceptance?
She didn’t know, but all she could do was grip the kitchen knife tight and bring it down at him with force. His eyes widened as the blade hit his chest, and his eyes filled with betrayal. Freya knew she would never be able to rid herself of that image. She would carry it with her throughout eternity, but she pulled the knife back and stabbed again. Through tear-stained eyes, she watched him fall to his knees, and she pushed the blade into his neck this time. His flesh gripped the point of the knife, sucking it into his body. She stabbed him twelve more times. The hot spray of his blood covered her face, arms, neck and torso, but it didn’t stop her. The pain she felt escaped her body through a gut wrenching cry, directed at the Horseman as he slowly sank back into his tomb. The marble realigned itself and the angels moved away with jagged motions, positioning themselves on each side of the large slab… frozen in time once more.

Freya stood and stared at the tomb. She couldn’t bear to look at Logan’s still body. All her love, all her safety, any chance of happiness lay dead at her feet. She wished she could have died herself, she wished she could gather Logan into her arms and kiss him, she wished… but she knew there was no more wishing. She knew that she had a task to fulfil.

She was the bloodline of the guardians.

Epilogue

Angel Hotel looked just the way she had hoped it would. It had taken some time and a lot of money, but the hotel was beautiful and inviting. Freya knew she would have to find a better way to make the sacrifices, to keep it inconspicuous, because the last thing she needed was the police on her back. She leaned against the entrance and sighed, rubbing her large belly. The baby had been quiet the past few days, which hopefully meant it was time. She’d passed her due date several days ago. If only Logan could have seen his baby girl. But life was cruel, and she had a duty.

A translucent hand rested on her shoulder. Freya could barely feel it, but she knew who was there.

“Our dream is almost built.” Bam’s voice was soft.

“Yes.” Freya rubbed her belly. “I am glad you decided to stay here and help me, Bam.”

Bam smiled. “I don’t think you can do this without me. The living are filled with sentiment; you need me to help you keep what lies below dormant.”

“I thought you’d gone, you know.” Freya turned to her friend. “With the rest of them.”

“If I hadn’t been stuck down there, I would have. You know that.” Bam looked downcast.

“I didn’t know you were down there. All we did was leave the latch open… you got out by yourself.”

“As did Chuck.” There was a bitterness in her voice, and her eyes stared into the distance.

“But we sorted that. Chuck is trapped in the basement. It’s a good thing we got our hands on the journal… eventually. He won’t get out, don’t worry. You’re safe.”

“For now…”

“I’ll keep you safe,” Freya promised, and she looked down at her stomach. “I will keep both you and this little one safe.” She had never been more determined in her life. Freya would train her daughter with the knowledge of the Master who Sleeps, and her bloodline would continue to keep the world safe. It wasn’t an easy life but, she decided, it was a noble one.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Chantal Noordeloos lives in the Netherlands, where she spends her time with her wacky, supportive husband, and outrageously cunning daughter, who is growing up to be a supervillain. When she is not busy exploring interesting new realities, or arguing with characters (aka writing), she likes to dabble in drawing.

In 1999 she graduated from the Norwich School of Art and Design, where she focused mostly on creative writing.

There are many genres that Chantal likes to explore in her writing, but her 'go to' genre will always be horror. "It helps being scared of everything; that gives me plenty of inspiration," she says. Angel Manor is her first published full length novel, and she had to reach into the darkest parts of her mind to write it.

Chantal likes to write for all ages, and storytelling is the element of writing that she enjoys most. "Writing should be an escape from everyday life, and I like to provide people with new places to escape to, and new people to meet."

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