Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1) (44 page)

They held Julie’s semi-conscious face up to look at Marie-Claire. Julie seemed to come around a bit, and her eyes opened wide. Tears streamed across her chubby, freckled cheeks. The women brought their pale faces to hers, and with the tips of their black tongues, they licked the salt water from her skin. Their eyes turned towards the people in the circle.

“We have to do something,” Logan said.

“If you step out of this circle, we all die.”

A sense of helplessness washed over him, and Logan stood frozen to the spot as the women continued to lick the girl’s face. Then they drew their heads back, their faces contorted into wicked sneers, their black teeth exposed, and they lunged simultaneously at the girl. Red blood poured from the wounds. Julie whimpered more than screamed, and her eyes rolled back into her head. Freya cried out, but like Logan, she was helpless to do anything.

“The guardians of the four watchtowers command you to find the light and take your rightful place in the afterlife.” Marie-Claire screamed the words as the two women went in for another bite out of the young woman, this time from her neck, and Julie twitched, screaming louder.

“I command you!” Tears ran from the older woman’s face, and she repeated the chant over and over until the two women dropped Julie. The girl wasn’t quite dead yet. Logan could see her chest move, but she’d lost a lot of blood.

Like the women had done before them, the naked spirits moved to the portal, and again the invisible claws tore them apart. This time, Logan found it less difficult to watch; at least the bleeding girl on the floor had been avenged.

“How many more are there?” Logan moved towards the edge of the circle. If he could take two steps out, he could pick up Julie’s fallen form and bring her to safety.

“I don’t know. I sense there are more spirits, but I think we forced most of the angels to go to the other side. It’s hard to see them now. The gate is obscuring my vision.”

“Can I pick the girl up?” He pointed at Julie. “There is no one else here now.”

“Yes. You may try.”

Logan stepped from the circle. The air was much colder beyond the safety of Marie-Claire’s barrier. His heart drummed in his throat as he lifted the wounded girl, the sight of her torn flesh making him gag. She was hot under his touch. Relief settled over him as he stepped back into the circle, and he placed her down on the ground before taking off his t-shirt and holding it against her wounds.

“What do we do now?” Fatigue made master of him all of a sudden, and he realised he had been running for his life the whole night. Every muscle in his body protested at once now that the adrenaline had gone, and all he wanted to do was to curl up in a ball and fall asleep. But it wasn’t over yet, and he knew it.

“Now we wait for Pierre.” Marie-Claire sounded as weary as he felt, and he could see that Freya too was starting to show signs of fatigue by the way she stood.

After a few minutes of watching the door, they all sat down, leaning against each other. Julie seemed to be sleeping, and other than keeping his blood-soaked t-shirt pressed against the wounds in her neck, Logan didn’t know what else to do. John would have been in a better position to help the girl, but John was dead. He wondered who else had died, but he was so tired he didn’t even feel the emotions anymore.

***

Terrence walked with slow, deliberate, sideways steps, keeping his back to the wall as much as he could, though chances were the spirits could walk through brickwork. He had no idea how this shit worked, and he wished the French guy was still with him. That dude seemed to know what was going on, whereas he had no fucking clue. He had made it through the whole of the South Wing, and to his relief, he saw the entrance to the main hall. He was about to step out from his hiding place in the doorway when a shadowy figure walked out of one of the doors. Terrence froze, his heart pounding in his throat. He pressed himself against the doorframe as the figure slinked around the corridor and disappeared through another door. The figure glanced over his shoulder, and Terrence could see his face in the light of early dawn.

It was Oliver Jardin, and he was holding one of the large knives from the kitchen.

***

They sat and dozed, waiting for Pierre to make his way back from the kitchen, but losing hope he would. Once in a while, a lost spirit came in, drawn to the light of the portal. Marie-Claire guided them into the light without much trouble. Only the Angels were difficult to convince. They rarely came in alone too, and after a couple of hours, Logan was convinced that Pierre had probably met his fate with them.

Then the doors to the West Wing opened and Pierre staggered towards the circle, panting and wide eyed, his clothes covered in dust and cobwebs.

“I didn’t run into any Angels in the West Wing. In fact… I didn’t see a single spirit. I did find something else though. There is something underneath…” His words failed as a knife plunged into the flesh of his neck, cutting through the collar of his shirt.

A thick wave of blood spilled from Pierre’s lips, pouring down his chin like a macabre waterfall, and he slumped to the ground in slow motion. Crimson spread around the collar of his striped shirt as Oliver pulled the knife free from his neck and looked at Logan, his lips tightened into a sneer.

“You took it from me, all of you. Don’t you understand? It was all I had… this house… it was all I was, all I have ever been. You didn’t just rid the house of its soul. You stole mine in the process. Everything here… everything it was, that was me. These were sacrifices I made, and you took them from me.” Tears poured down his cheeks, and he moaned with grief. His hate-filled eyes met Logan’s.

Oliver raised the knife and rushed at Logan. His shoes made a horrible sucking sound as they ran across the marble, and one of his feet slipped through the white grains on the floor, breaking the circle. Logan froze as the temperature dropped around him. He saw Oliver come at him as if all the man’s movements were in slow motion, and although his mind told him he was in trouble, his body was unresponsive.

A shadow crossed the room. Oliver stopped, his mouth opened in an ugly grimace, his tongue lolled out, and a few drops of blood sprayed against his cheek. Then he fell down. Terrence stood behind him, a heavy piece of wood clutched in his hands and his brow furrowed in determination.

“I saw him come in here. He had a knife… I… I hid.”

“It’s okay.” The sight of Terrence broke Logan from his spell. “You did good.”

“You think I killed him?”

“Nah, I think he’ll be all right.”

“Logan?” Freya’s voice sounded shaky. “Get him in the circle… something is going on with that portal thing.”

Logan looked over his shoulder. The portal was growing, and the light that shone from it was getting brighter. Strands shaped like lightning bolts were spreading far and wide over the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. Despite his dislike for the unconscious man, he picked him up and carried him inside the circle, laying him next to Julie. Her face was an open-eyed death mask, her mouth a grimace of pain. Logan reached over and felt for a pulse; there was none. He suddenly remembered something.

“The circle is broken. Will it protect us?” Logan pointed at the gap that Oliver had left.

“Mend the circle!” Marie-Claire’s voice was high and filled with panic.

“What’s going on?” Freya yelled at the old woman. “What’s the portal doing?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Logan sank to his knees and scraped the white grains together.
Oh God, please work.

The building around them groaned as the hole grew bigger, engulfing everything around them. Logan pulled back from the rim of the circle as light flooded over the marble ground, and he caught a glimpse of the world beyond. He saw the end of life inside it, the light speaking to him of redemption, of eternal peace, and of letting go. Part of him yearned to step out of the safety of the circle and join the soft voices promising him bliss.

The inside of the salt circle didn’t light up like the rest of the room. Instead, it stayed grounded in reality, and only when Logan felt Freya’s arms around his waist, pulling him away from the rim, did he stop staring into the light. He turned to her and buried his face in her hair, knowing at that moment that he loved her more than anything, even more than death.

“Do you hear the singing?” Freya looked at him with her large, grey eyes, forcing him to see her. There were tears on her cheeks, and he suddenly felt the tickle of tears on his own. Two wet drops hung at the same level as his mouth, like pressure points, cooling quickly. He listened and realised that the voices he heard could very well be singing. It was hard to tell; he couldn’t make out their words, yet he understood them as if they were talking just to him.

“I hear them.” His voice was hoarse.

Freya’s voice trembled. “I don’t want to die yet… but at the same time I want to give in.”

“Not today. We’re not dying today.” He wrapped his arms around her. Behind him, Terrence sobbed, and he reached out a hand to the young man, but Terrence was staring at the open doors and wouldn’t budge. All four were open now and spirits poured through one by one. One of the spirits was Tyrell, and Logan was a little surprised and saddened to see the boy here. He saw Jim and John herd the guys inside, guiding them to the brightest part of the light. His heart broke when he realised they were all dead, and his stomach sank when he saw the figures of Lyndon and Roger amongst them.
This fucking house claimed so many lives.

“I can’t see Bam,” Freya whispered. “There’s too many of them, and I can’t see her.”

Logan looked around the dead, and he couldn’t spot the girl either. His attention was drawn away to those he could see. He wanted to look at them one last time because he would never see them again.

The whole room was a beacon of light, drawing the spirits to it, each stepping inside and falling apart. Some would dissipate in beautiful colourful ribbons, while others were ripped apart. The voices became loud and more intense, and Logan wondered if he could ever have sane thoughts again after what he’d seen. How could he go back to his existence when he’d looked into the afterlife?

Marie-Claire swayed on her feet, commanding the spirits to embrace the light, but Logan had a suspicion the dead no longer needed the old woman’s help and were finding the light just fine.

The last spirit was a red headed woman, her long hair falling past her shoulders and onto her back like liquid flames, and she wore a diaphanous nightgown. She would have been beautiful – could have been beautiful – if her face wasn’t so filled with hate and her eyes weren’t so harsh.

“What you have done… there is no redemption.” Her milky white eyes looked straight at Freya, and her black mouth was a thin hard line. “I am the last of the legacy. It’s your responsibility now.” With those words, her body began to rip itself apart. Limbs tore from their sockets as she screamed for mercy, but the gate had none.

Then the light faded and the gate shrunk with alarming speed until it had folded into itself. The house died a second time, but this time if felt final. The voices were silenced. The singing stopped. Logan felt empty to the depths of his very soul.

“Is it over?”

“There are no spirits left in this house.” Marie-Claire had tears in her white eyes too. “This house is a dead cell.”

“What do we do now?” The words came shakily from Freya’s throat. “I mean… where do we go from here? There are so many dead. How do we explain that? We’re going to get arrested or something.”

“No.” Logan’s mouth turned into a thin line. “Just him.” He pointed at Oliver’s unconscious form. Freya stared at her friend’s body, shock rendering her speechless. If it hadn’t been for Logan, Oliver would have been swallowed by the light.

“I can’t…”

Logan gathered her in his arms. “Let’s not do this now. Let’s just enjoy that we’re alive.”

“Oh, God… Logan.” Freya’s tears were flowing again. “I can’t believe we survived this.”

Chapter 36

3 months later

“Yes mom, I got your parcel. Thank you. Yes, just in time for Christmas too.” Freya rolled her eyes at Logan, who was holding the cardboard parcel. “No, haven’t opened it yet, but did you get the biscuits I like? Thanks.” She nodded at the phone. “Yes, we’re fine.”

Her face pulled into a frown, and she went quiet as she listened to her mother over the phone.

“Oliver? They say his court date won’t be for at least another year.” She nodded at the voice on the other line again. “Yes, I have to testify against him. I know… yes. You did warn me about the house. Yes, you were right, it drives people crazy. Yes, Aunt Miriam was a nut too.” She rolled her eyes again and made a duck bill with her hand, moving it to mimic her mother’s words. Logan laughed softly as he used a knife to cut open the duct tape binding the cardboard box together.

“No mom, we’re fine.”

They were fine, Logan agreed wordlessly. Surprisingly so. It had been almost three months since they’d left Angel Manor in the bright light of the equinox day. Logan had been sure he would never be the same again, and yet he’d proved surprisingly resilient, as had Freya. They kept each other going, he had to admit. She suffered more from nightmares than he did, and they found it difficult to be away from each other. He had never been more obsessed with a girl. She was his only tether to sanity, he often thought.