Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1) (38 page)

“No, son. Come on, there’s still time.” The crackling intensified, and splinters of wood pushed against John’s clothes.

I need to let go. If I don’t…

He never got to finish his thought. The floor closed with unexpected speed, trapping John the way a predator snaps its sharp jaws around its prey. His skin tore, and hot blood soaked his shirt. The wood merged with his organs, tearing through his stomach, liver and bowels. John still held on to Mason, his blood showering the young man’s face and glasses. He could hear him cry, but the sound was so far away. He was alive when his torso disconnected from his midriff and fell down to the floor below, his hand still wrapped around the boy’s. He died before they hit the ground. His soul was welcomed into the depths of Angel Manor.

Chapter 31

“What’s happening?”

Marie-Claire heard the fear in Julie’s voice, but she herself felt oddly calm. She knew the house had some power, and she had suspected the equinox would feed it, but the magic she felt was so strong that she could see as if she had first sight. Everything in the house was clear to her third eye, and she could even see the shadows of the living as contrast against the background of the house. A darkness, not black but more purple, lined with thin veins of light, spread out before her. It was in the walls, in the floor, and all around her, spreading like cancer.
The essence of the house,
Marie-Claire thought, and she felt it tug at her consciousness. It called to her, promised her a glorious death if only she would give in to it. It asked her for a sacrifice, and it wanted those around her as well. The voice, made of wordless promises, whispered to her soul, and Marie-Claire struggled to keep her mind clear.

“The house is alive. And we must find a way to release the spirits within, or the consequences will be dire.” Marie-Claire stood and faced her two remaining companions. “Whatever we do, we must stick together. I feel that the house wants to divide us. I sense its hunger and I do believe it wants us all dead.”

“That’s comforting.” Pierre’s voice was dull.

“Can we get out?” Julie’s voice trembled, but Marie-Claire hardened herself to the woman’s fear and banished the feelings of guilt from her mind.

“I think offence is the best defence, as the sports fanatics might say.” The words came out of her mouth, but her mind remained focused on the growing purple cloud around her. It was strong, but she knew that she could be stronger. She wished Ruben would return with her supplies, but she was prepared for him not to make it back in time. She had underestimated the house, and she wasn’t planning on doing it again.

“I need you to go through the kitchen cupboards. Find me as much salt as you can, and we need something to write on the floors with. We’re going to fight back.”

***

Freya screamed, the sound coming from the depths of her being, and she jerked her leg away from the hand.

“Freya.” The familiar voice cut through her screeching, and Freya fell quiet instantly. She didn’t dare to turn around. It wasn’t the old woman behind her, it was something far worse, and at the same time, more comforting. Tears fell from her eyes. For a moment, she wanted to drop to the ground and lie there, holding her knees.

“I… I can’t do this. Not now.” She hung her head.

“Freya…” The voice was soft and pleading.

“Please, Bam. I’m so scared. I can’t face you right now.”

“I’m trying to help you. You need to get to safety. You need to live, Freya. Don’t you understand? I… I need you to.” The voice sounded so much like it had when Bam had been alive, and yet there was something hollow about it, something different. An echo of death. “The house is allowing me to save you.”

“And Oliver?”

There was silence, and for the first time, Freya found the courage to turn around. She saw her friend looking so much like she had in life. Bam was even wearing the same clothes as the last time she’d seen her. But her hair looked different somehow, her eyes were darker and deeper set, and her skin looked like it had been made from a hundred molten candles.

“Oliver is with the house. He belongs to it.” Bam shook her head slowly.

Freya bit her lip. “So do I.”

“No… not in the same way. You… you haven’t given yourself to it. You’re fighting it. But you’re blood. The house can’t exist without you. You are an essential part of the magic.”

“Is there a difference?” She furrowed her eyebrows.

Bam nodded, and Freya noticed how small and childlike her friend looked. There was a strange smell too, one she had smelled before.
Bitter almonds
.

“You need to follow me, Freya.” Bam half turned, motioning with her hand.

“Will you lead me to the others?”

“No. The others will die. The house needs more souls. It hungers.”

Freya took a step back, her body tense. “I need to find Logan and Marie-Claire.”

“No, it’s too late for them. You need to come with me. I will show you the way out.” Bam reached out her hand.

Every fibre in her body wanted to give in, to follow her best friend to the exit, to get away from the house and its darkness, but the thought of leaving everyone else behind sounded like a heavy price to pay. Could she live with herself? Freya had no answer to that.

“Bam…” Her voice wavered, and she felt as if she had swallowed a golf ball. “I don’t know…”

The sound of wood ripping drowned out her voice, and Freya looked up to see a large hole opening up in the ceiling. Seconds later, a young man fell through, and before she could scream, a second one followed. Someone grabbed him, and Freya stood frozen as John Norris struggled to keep the boy, Mason, from falling. For what seemed like forever, she watched them fight as the hole began to close. Then, with a snap, the floor became one again, tearing the gentle, quiet man in half. Mason fell, still holding onto John, and her hand went up to her lips to stifle a moan.

Mason landed on top of Angus, who lay so still that Freya feared the worst. A pool of blood had formed underneath his hair, and it dawned on her that she could see everything clearly. The corridor seemed to be lit with a diffuse white light, too bright for moonlight.

It wants you to see. Like a cat bringing you a dead mouse.

The spell broke, and she rushed towards the young men. Mason was curled up in a little ball on the floor. Something crunched under her foot, and when she lifted it, she saw Mason’s shattered glasses. She avoided John’s dismembered torso, though to her dismay, she saw that Mason’s fingers were still entangled with the dead man’s. They lay across Angus’ chest like a macabre version of Michelangelo’s
The Creation of Adam
. Only this wasn’t the Sistine Chapel.

“Mason, honey?” Freya turned her head away from John as she pried Mason’s hand loose from the corpse’s fingers.

“Mason, are you okay?” It was a stupid thing to say, but Freya was very much at a loss for anything logical.

He groaned and started to sit up. Freya tried to detect a pulse in Angus’ neck, but the back of his skull had cracked open and a gelatinous bloody mass had spilled out on the floor. She withdrew her hand and moved back a few feet.

“Come on, Mason.” She didn’t recognise her own voice anymore. “We should go. Where are the others?”

He didn’t respond at first, then he got to his feet and stared at the body of John Philips. Freya made the mistake of following his gaze, and she couldn’t pull her eyes away from the blood-soaked part where his body abruptly ended or from the torn skin just visible under the fabric. A wave of nausea hit her again, and Freya turned away to expel a wave of greenish bile. When she had nothing more to give, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

“Mason, we have to go.”

He nodded with a lost expression on his face.

“Let me show you the way out, Freya.”

She had almost forgotten about Bam, the sight of the recently dead having blocked her friend from her mind. The temptation was still there to just run, but if she did, she would feel the same guilt she’d had after leaving Bam behind. She would do her best to save as many people as she could, and if she couldn’t save them all, she knew she would have to save Logan. Freya wanted him more than anything in this world, and if he died here, she would never forgive herself.

“No.” Her voice sounded more resolute than she felt. “Not without Logan. And I should find Marie-Claire as well. It needs to stop.”

“You don’t understand The house needs to be what it is. You can’t stop it. All you need to do is survive the equinox.”

“Fuck that.” Freya took a few steps towards the stairs. “Is Logan upstairs?” Her words were directed at Mason, and the boy seemed to snap out of his stare.

“I can’t go back up there!” Tears poured down his pale cheeks, and his bottom lip trembled.

“Then wait at the top of the stairs.”

“No, please… you don’t know what’s up there. There are these… women. They are horrible. I think they may be dead.”

“I saw one of them down here too. The dead are everywhere.” She pointed at Bam, but the young man just followed her finger with a blank stare. “You don’t see her?”

“Who?”

She turned to Bam.

“He doesn’t see you?”

“Not unless the house wants him to. My only task is to bring you to safety. I am not part of the equinox.”

Freya rolled her eyes. The image of Bam didn’t frighten her anymore, not after she’d seen the dead bodies. To her, this was just something that looked like Bam, not actually her friend. She was too different; everything in life that had made Bam who she was had died. The humour, the energy, the spark that she’d had, it was all gone now.

“Freya…” The hollow voice of the dead girl pleaded with her, but it lacked the emotion it needed, and Freya stubbornly made her way up the stairs. She heard Mason sob, and though she didn’t want to frighten the young man, she didn’t want to stand around and discuss things with him either.

What on earth do I think I can do if I find Logan? Do I think I can save him? Am I that arrogant that I think I can somehow fix this?
The sound of her feet hitting the wooden steps beat in synchrony with her heart, loud and intense. At the top, she stopped, then reached out a trembling hand. She opened the door to visions of chaos. It was hard to focus on anything inside because the attic kept changing form and shape, moulding and morphing as if it were some sort of living creature. There were figures inside. Freya saw several pale women carrying horrific metal instruments of torture. She saw the children, who looked more human now, running around screaming and trying to hide. One of the women dragged a little boy away from the wardrobe he had been hiding in. In her chubby hand, she held a pair of ancient clippers, and she brought the edge of them to the child’s ear and applied pressure. The child let out a high-pitched scream that cut through the sounds of terror. Freya tore her eyes away from the child and his blood-covered face, her eyes scanning the room.

Please, God… give me the strength to stop this madness.
Then she spotted him, Logan, near the south part of the attic.

“Logan.” The sound called attention to her, but she didn’t care. Instead, she stepped forward. “Logan.”

Logan saw her, and his tense face showed relief. He pulled Terrence forward, herding the boy in front of him while they made their way quickly towards her. The floor shook, and one of the walls moved with a slow but frightening motion to block off the area where Logan and Terrence were. She screamed a warning but Logan had spotted it and reacted quickly enough to manoeuvre around it, dragging the poor guy with him. The south part of the attic was closed off, and it looked like the room wasn’t done changing. Logan and Terrence scrambled to keep their balance as they ran in her direction.

“Have you found an exit?” Logan was out of breath, his eyes wide and his chest moving up and down with rapid breaths. “We need to get out of here.”

Freya nodded and pointed at the door.

“Where?” Logan looked where she pointed, his face filled with confusion and disappointment.

“You can’t see it?” Freya flung herself at the door and yanked it open. “It’s right here.” She took a step through the door. “See?”

Logan’s expression cleared, and without a word, he grabbed Terrence and shoved him after Freya.

“I can’t find the others,” Logan said as he followed them. “I lost John and Jim.” He looked over his shoulder, but Freya grabbed his arm.

“John’s dead. We need to go.”

The look of devastation and incomprehension on his face broke her heart, but Freya knew she had to be firm if she wanted to save him.

“And Jim?”

“I don’t know, but I think if we don’t find that Florifera woman, we’re all going to be in a lot of trouble. So let’s just go, okay?”

Logan’s mouth was a narrow line of determination. “Jim might need me.”

“I need you.”

Her words seemed to do the trick, and he nodded before following her to the stairs. Freya looked for Bam, but she’d disappeared.

Shit, I guess we’re on our own.

Freya knew she had to be their guide. Logan hadn’t seen the door, so perhaps there were other things that she could see but he couldn’t. She took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on finding the way down. Hopefully Marie-Claire Florifera would still be in the kitchen, and Freya prayed that the old woman would know what to do.