Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1) (25 page)

She gasped and laughed at the same time, and punched him in the arm. Suddenly the attic didn’t seem so frightening, not with him here.
He’s flirting with me,
she thought,
or, at least I think he is.
Doubt whispered in her ear.

“You, sir, are no gentleman.” She winked at him, secretly afraid he would back off.

“Well, you’re making it difficult to be a gentleman if you’re talking about running around in your delicates.”

She giggled. She hated herself for it, but she giggled. Her legs felt lighter, as did her heart, as she walked further into the attic.

“I wonder what’s stored up here.” She pulled one of the sheets off the furniture with a loud swishing noise. A snowfall of dust whirled down on her, tickling her nostrils and filling her mouth with the taste of old cotton. A cherry-wood secretary desk gleamed darkly in the sickly yellow light, the wood smooth and polished. Logan grabbed another sheet and pulled.

“Okay, that’s more than a little sinister.” His voice was quiet, and her skin broke out in goose bumps.

“Sinister?” The lump in her throat made her voice sound high, and she took a few steps in Logan’s direction. Her gaze fell onto a faded white lace bassinet, decorated with a large, faded pink bow.

“What’s creepy about it? It’s just an old cradle.”

The corners of Logan’s mouth turned down, creating thick creases in his skin, and his eyebrows knotted above his nose. He took a step back from the bassinet and pointed a finger at something inside. Her heart pounded as she stepped closer. In the shadow of the brittle lace curtains, withered with age, lay a porcelain doll. One of the eyes was missing, leaving a dark hole. The remaining eye lay deep within the socket, its pale blue iris and pinprick pupil staring back at Freya. A cobweb of tiny cracks ruined any sweetness on the childlike face, and the side of its mouth was completely blackened. The doll had black hair, perhaps once dressed in curls or another pretty coiffure, but now the hair was thin and stringy, like that of an old woman, and it started too high on the forehead. It was dressed in a white high-collared dress, which was in remarkably good shape compared to the rest of the doll.

“That’s the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.” Freya was about to say more when she saw the doll move. Two large, black, hairy legs poked out from the eye socket, and Freya fell backwards against Logan. More legs followed as a fat spider crawled out from the doll’s empty eye.

“Nope, I was wrong…
that
was the scariest thing I have ever seen.”

“Not a fan.” Logan grabbed the white sheet from the floor and chucked it over the bassinet. “Let’s never look at that again.”

“First spider though.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“First spider I’ve actually seen in the house, which is strange, because when we first came here the whole entrance hall was covered in cobwebs.”

“Now that you mention it, I’ve not seen anything either. No spiders… no rats, or anything else. That is a little odd.” He plucked at the sheet, making sure it covered the whole crib. “Let’s see what’s under the rest of them.”

“Hopefully, no more spiders.”

***

A soft summer breeze played with the curtains of his bedroom. Oliver sat on the large four-poster bed, eyes fixed on the world outside his window. The temperature in the room lowered and the lucidity of his thoughts became muddled, like ink droplets in a glass of clear water. A smile spread on his lips, his eyes dreamy and distant. Cold fingers ran across his trousers, fingertips tracing his swelling penis.

“Freya wants to send the boys home. To protect them.”

“We can’t let her do that. We need those young men. We’re hungry for company.” Her face was close to his, and though he felt a tickle of cold air, he knew it wasn’t her breath… not exactly. She was dead, after all, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Oliver was surprised that this didn’t bother him. He wasn’t afraid of death anymore, not since he met Anne. He believed that death in this house was not that different from life. Angel Manor filled a hole in his soul that he could never define. Oliver, a child of boarding schools and neglect, felt a part of something for the first time in his life. The house wanted him, thought he was special, and he had fallen in love with it. Part of him was jealous of Freya. He knew she was something even more special to the house. She was one of the bloodline. What that meant he wasn’t sure, but he felt it. He also knew that when she died she wouldn’t live in the house, and he was glad of that. Because when he died, he would stay here, and he would be with Anne.

“You need to give us more living creatures to feast on. We’re getting stronger with the equinox approaching.”

“The equinox will be this Wednesday. I convinced Freya to get a group of psychics to come and check out the house. That will be more people for you.”

“Good.”

“It’s not easy to invite people here. I can’t do too much, or Freya will get suspicious. She has the power to kick me out. It’s her house.”

“You can’t leave here, Oliver. You’re mine now.” The entity moved closer to him, her face different from before. Less a shadow, more physical. Her pale skin was lined with black veins, and her eyes were set in dark circles, the irises white, with deep, dark pupils that stared into the world the way only the dead could. “You’re so warm.” The woman’s mouth leaked black fluid that dripped in languid trails down her greyish skin. “I crave your warmth.” She crawled on top of Oliver, straddling him. He could feel her through his clothing; she had the temperature of meat fresh out of the fridge. There was weight to her shape now, delicious weight that pushed against his pelvis. She moved slowly back and forth, pressing the fabric of his underwear tightly against him. “I was a virgin in life. You will be the first to enter me. Would you like that?”

Oliver nodded, lust exploding like fireworks in his mind and his loins. He didn’t see the lecherous corpse that crawled on top of him; instead, he saw something that he desired more than anything else. In the dead white eyes, he saw the power of Angel Manor.

Greyish fingers, topped by broken black nails, peeled away at the fly of his trousers and pushed away the fabric of his boxer shorts. His erection burst forth, and Oliver shuddered when the cold hand wrapped around his warm flesh. She smiled at him, the black liquid dripping further, running over her exposed breasts. Long, glistening trails ran past her dark blue nipples, where they fell like inky raindrops. She lowered her head and pressed her mouth against the tip of his manhood. Oliver closed his eyes and his body shuddered with pleasure.

“I will give you anything you want.”

***

To Freya’s relief, the rest of the furniture was not nearly as macabre as the bassinet: just an old single bed, a wardrobe, and a table with three chairs. The wardrobe held a plethora of old dresses which looked to be at least a hundred years old. Freya pulled out a green dress and held it in front of her body.

“I think this might fit me.”

“Would look nice on you.”

“I’d have to wash it first, though, maybe even perform an exorcism before I put it on.” She ran a hand over the stiff taffeta. Logan responded with a loud snort.

“Well we could always opt for the bra and knickers thing. I’m still a fan of that idea.”

“You’re not letting that go, are you?”

“Not anytime soon, no.”

Her hand hid her smile as she put the dress back in the wardrobe.

“I think that writer’s desk will be our best bet, if we can get it open.” She stepped closer to the cherry-wood piece and inspected the brass lock holding the rolling shutter closed. Underneath there were four drawers, each with their own identical lock. “We didn’t happen to come across a key anywhere, right?”

“Let me give it a go.” Logan fished a Swiss army knife from his pocket and pulled a thin blade out. “How attached are you to the desk? I can’t guarantee that I won’t scratch it.”

“Hack away. I have no need for it.”

Logan placed the tip of the knife in a small crevice at the bottom of the rolling shutter. He pried at the metal, and seconds later, a small click signalled his success. With nimble fingers, he pulled the rolling shutter up, revealing a solid desktop underneath. There were a few writing utensils, placed in such an orderly way that it took Freya by surprise. A dark blue leather-bound notebook, the cover cracked with age, sat in the middle of the desktop. Around it lay three old-looking fountain pens and a dried up inkwell.

“Could this be the journal?”

Freya shrugged and carefully picked up the leather bound volume. The leather crackled under her fingers as she opened the cover. The pages were yellowed and brittle under her touch. The words were written in a cursive handwriting, impossible to read in the dim attic light.

“I don’t think this is it. Too old. My aunt said she wrote me instructions, but this looks like something before her time. I’m curious to read what it says, though.”

Logan looked over her shoulder, his chest pressed against her back and his cheek against her ear. “That’s interesting handwriting. Very legible.”

“Might have to go over that tomorrow.” She closed the book. “Maybe there’s something in the drawers. Do you think you can get them open too?”

“Shouldn’t be too much of a problem.” Logan leaned over and took something from the desk. With a bright smile, he held up a brass key, the same colour as the locks. “This might just make it a lot easier.”

Freya made a huffing sound and snatched the keys from his fingers. She squatted in front of the dresser and opened the locks to all the drawers one by one. Carefully, she pulled the bottom drawer open, but found nothing but tiny scraps of dried-out paper and a thick layer of dust. The second drawer was equally empty, and with a surge of impatience, she skipped the third drawer and went straight for the top one. A large scrapbook filled the space, and Freya wrapped her fingers around it and lifted it from the drawer. Its pages were fragile, though not as brittle as the notebook’s had been, and from the cover, she guessed it wasn’t as old. A plethora of cut-out newspaper articles filled the pages, as well as black and white photographs which had turned a beige colour over the decades. All the articles had something in common: Angel Manor.

“There has to be answers in here. We should take it downstairs and read it in better light.”

“Sure.” Logan touched the lower part of her back again, his fingers running teasingly along the rim of her jeans.

“Stop that,” she gasped.

“I’m sorry.” He smiled and didn’t look sorry at all. “I forgot you were… ticklish.” Then his arm reached out again and she felt his fingers press against her lower back once more. Another surge of energy tingled through her body, more intense than she’d ever felt before.

“Stop it.” She panted the words, taking another step back.

“Say Uncle.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him.

“Uncle, Uncle!” she yelped, “Please, don’t tickle me there. I’m serious… it’s not just ticklish… I…” She looked up at him and the smile melted off his face, replaced by a look of incomprehension.

“Oh, sorry… uh…” Realisation dawned on him and his eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Do you mean…”

“This is so embarrassing.” She hid her face in her sleeve. Logan removed her arm and tugged her towards him. Then he placed his hand on her lower back and stroked it gently. She looked into his eyes, and he held her gaze with an intense stare. Her whole body responded to his touch, and when he lowered his mouth onto hers, she eagerly accepted his kiss. Their mouths worked together in a harmonious rhythm, and Freya’s knees weakened.

The floor shuddered under their feet, and the temperature around them became a few degrees warmer.

“Did you feel that?” Freya broke away from the kiss. “I think the earth just moved.”

Logan didn’t answer her; his eyes were glazed over with hunger. His lips met hers again with even more passion, and his fingers pulled at the buttons of her white cotton shirt, exploring the naked skin underneath. She answered his kisses, but more tentative this time. She felt uneasy… watched. Logan pushed her towards the single bed and she resisted a little, putting her weight against him, but he was too strong. He laid her down on the mattress, which smelled stale, like unwashed laundry.

“Not here,” she muttered through his kisses. “Let’s go downstairs.” But if he heard her, he didn’t respond, his hands pulling her blouse away from her breasts. Freya tried to fight the lust she felt, but it was too overwhelming, and she couldn’t pull away from his touch. His lips pressed to hers, his fingers slid underneath the white lace of her bra, and the tips of his first two fingers clenched her nipple, creating a burst of pleasurable pain. She pushed her body against his, a haze settling over her thoughts, her hands pulling at the zipper of his jeans. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard the buzz of voices, too far away to make out, yet she knew what they were saying. They talked of life and love and sex, of guilty pleasures and of hedonism. Something was controlling her actions and she couldn’t resist it, so instead, she gave in to the delicious feeling.

In the wrestle of passion, clothes were discarded, naked bodies entwined. Freya spread her legs and welcomed Logan inside her.

***

The house shuddered as it felt the energy flow from the living souls in the attic. The heir of the bloodline connected to the essence of the house in an unconscious way, her lust merging with its hunger. Never were humans as alive as they were during copulation, and the house trembled with ecstasy. This new heir was everything it had been promised, and it had waited for her for more than a century. Change was palatable. Even the spirits felt it, and they roamed restlessly around their enclosed spaces.

Angel Manor had been fed only a few scraps over the years, keeping the souls from previous deaths in its walls but rarely finding the opportunity to pick fresh meat from living bones. The Guardians had seen to that. As soon as a soul was bound to the building by the heir, they were protected from the house’s ravenous appetite. However, the spirits could be creative, and fear, lust and anger still filled its needs.