Sierra grunted and pulled herself up—and promptly launched out of the hole like a human cannonball. She flew, arms flailing, in an arc across the room before plunging into the destroyed bed—setting off an explosion of dust and rotten feathers. The old four-poster bed collapsed. Legs broke, the one remaining post fell inward, and the footboard tilted over to land flat, shaking the entire house.
“Oops,” muttered Sophia. Might have panicked. “Sorry.”
A faint whispery chuckle came from the direction of a tall wardrobe cabinet. Sophia whirled. Nothing there.
The bed frame wobbled. Boards clattered. As if she’d vanished into a pile of raked leaves, Sierra’s head rose out from a lump of rotten bedding. The mattress had evidently once been genuine goose feather. Sophia winced at her sister’s ‘you will pay’ narrowed eyes. However, Sierra only sorta-glared at her for a second or two.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” Sierra pulled herself out of the mess, crawling onto the floor. “I’m mad at the house, not you. I don’t think it likes me.”
Sophia looked around. “Anywhere else, I’d say houses can’t dislike someone. But… not so sure here.”
“Yeah.” Sierra stood, dusting herself off. “Careful. The floor isn’t safe.”
“Right.”
Sierra spat out a feather, picked her sword back up, and crept to the door, following the outside edge of the room so she could keep a hand on furniture. Sophia followed, torn between wanting to go slow and cautious or run like hell to get away from the scary stuff. She pictured her bed back home, a mountain of stuffed animals she could crawl into for protection. Well, they couldn’t really protect her from anything, but they’d make her feel better. Bringing them to life probably wouldn’t have the effect she hoped for. Besides, Mom would freak if she saw a stuffed animal running around on its own.
They made their way down the hall, pausing at every loud creak or apparent shift in the floor. The old wood squished down in places, like walking on sponge. It took them almost five minutes to go from the bedroom to the top of the stairs. When they came within a few feet of the top step, a huge oil painting leapt off the wall and slammed flat to the floor, missing them by inches.
Sophia and Sierra grabbed each other and screamed. After their lungs emptied out, they kept clinging while staring at the cloud of dust settling over the giant frame.
“I screamed because it startled me,” whispered Sierra.
“Pure terror.”
“Was not,” muttered Sierra.
“No, I meant me.” Sophia exhaled hard.
“Oh. Heh. Okay, maybe a little terror for me, too. But mostly a jump scare.”
Sophia couldn’t help but notice her sister hadn’t let go of her yet, but didn’t mind.
A minute or so later, the shock wore off. Sierra poked her sword at the frame, tapping the sheath into the wood as if prodding a dead animal with a stick.
“I don’t think it’s gonna move.” Sophia crouched, grasped the frame, and lifted it.
The five-by-three-foot painting depicted a portrait of a woman around Mom’s age, perhaps a little older. Her high-necked black dress with puffy shoulders and dour expression made her quite intimidating.
“She looks angry,” whispered Sierra.
“Probably because she fell.” Sophia pushed the painting upright and leaned it against the wall.
Sierra squatted, tracing her finger across a brass plaque at the bottom. “Belinda Crawford – 1813.”
“Ooh, I bet she’s the one haunting this place.” Sophia looked at the painting taller than her, at the fixture it fell from, then back at the painting. Not happening. This thing is too big and heavy for me. If she had tripped and broke it, she might’ve risked attempting to use magic to fix it, even if she didn’t trust how this house would react. But something threw it at them, so she preferred to ignore it and leave as fast as possible. “Sorry. We’ll go away in a few minutes. Almost done.”
“Let’s get out of here.” Sierra started down the stairs.
Sophia stepped across the rectangle of dust the fallen painting stamped into the carpet. She didn’t trust the banister—or what remained of it—so she hugged the wall on the way down. All manner of strange sounds followed them across the ground floor: furniture bumps, chairs sliding, doors creaking, a noise like fingernails scratching at the walls, a lifeless chime from the grandfather clock, and footsteps upstairs.
She clutched Sierra’s hand, unable to stop herself from jumping at each phantom sound. If her sister hadn’t agreed to come with her, she’d be lost in the woods by now, having run in a panic from the house. She still wanted to run. It annoyed her being able to see ghosts but still finding them scary. How could they be scarier when they stayed out of sight? In an attempt to steel herself, she thought about them like annoying living people hiding and making noises to play mean games on her.
The elemental magic she’d worked on with Darren hadn’t made it to the level she could throw fire at bad vampires, but she could light the heck out of a candle. Alas, using fire of any kind in this place would be bad. A good portion of the house smelled damp and moldy, but most of it remained extremely dry and dusty. One little spark and the whole place would erupt into an inferno.
They eventually located the way to the basement at the end of a narrow corridor between the kitchen and what had likely been servant’s quarters. The black door had a weird ‘lifting bar’ type latch instead of a knob. Sierra grasped a pencil-sized rod sticking out of the door, raising it to disengage a metal slat from a catch mounted on the wall.
“This house is older than doorknobs,” whispered Sierra. “And… why is the door metal?”
“I dunno.”
Cobwebs pulled away from the wall as she dragged the slab of iron open in a series of jerky tugs. Sophia got scared, wondering if it had been used to keep people locked up—but relaxed when she noticed the latch rod sticking out the inside face. Someone could open the door from either side. The light from her floating ball illuminated a narrow, treacherous wooden stairway beneath a ceiling alive with spiders and other critters, all scurrying around the old wood in a frantic attempt to escape the glow.
“Wow, it’s the tunnel to Nopeville.” Sierra whistled. “I’m impressed.”
Sophia looked at her.
“You okay? You aren’t screaming.”
“I scream at one spider. A hundred is so scary I can’t make a sound.” Sophia managed a weak smile. “Besides. Coralie didn’t say we’re gonna die, so…”
Sierra exhaled, shaking her head.
Trying not to think about bugs, Sophia started down the stairs. Never in her life before had she loved her sneakers so much. She preferred flip-flops, ballet flats, or going barefoot… but sneakers became armor when walking on the carcasses of 200 years’ worth of dead insects. They crunched down the stairs into a vast cellar. Stacked-brick columns spanned from the floor to fancy brick archways, all mottled in dull reds, white plaster, and dark spots. A strange, unpleasant odor lurked in the dark, somewhere between rotting meat and wet, moldy wood. No doubt some unfortunate wildlife had found its way down here and died.
“Sure smells like mushrooms can grow down here.” Sierra walked ahead. “I still don’t think mushrooms have thorns.”
“It did in the drawing.”
Sierra shied away from a cobweb-covered brick column, gazing up at the arch. “This place looks like a bunker. In social studies, we watched a movie about World War II. And—eep!”
“What?” Sophia gasped and rushed to catch up.
Sierra pointed. “What the hell?”
Sophia skidded to a stop next to her, gawking at a section of the basement containing two rows of old kennel cages, five of which held the decomposed remains of large dogs. They’d definitely been here for a long time, not bought from any modern pet store. They had thick, square bars like the tines of a wrought-iron fence. The heads of several deer hung on the wall above the cages along with multiple fully taxidermized
smaller animals: rabbits, two foxes, and three birds she didn’t recognize.
“Eww,” whispered Sophia. “I already don’t like this place. People who kill animals are buttheads.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean… people who kill animals for fun.” Sophia crept forward, shying away from the cages of remains. “If people hunt because they need to eat, that’s different. I’d still rather eat vegetables but I can understand.”
“Yeah. I know.” Sierra chuckled. “Believe me, I know. You’re turning into the vegan joke.”
“Just talking to keep my mind off being in a terrifying nightmare.” Sophia laughed nervously. “And I’m not vegan. Just vegetarian.” She took two steps. “What vegan joke?”
“If you walk into a room with five people, how can you figure out who the vegan is?”
“I dunno.”
Sierra wagged her eyebrows. “Don’t worry. They’ll tell you. They’ll definitely tell you.”
“How’s it confusing if they’ll just tell you?” Sophia nudged an open kennel door out of her way. An unexpectedly loud creak from the hinge made her jump.
“That’s the joke. It’s making fun of vegans for being so obnoxious. Like they never shut up about being vegan.”
“Oh.”
A patch of light brown at the back end of the alcove crept into range of her floating light spell. In the corner past the dog cages, a cluster of spiny mushrooms grew on a pile of earth where the brick wall had collapsed inward. They reminded her of meringue in terms of color, white in the middle, brown at the tips of the thorns. Sure enough, thistle-like spikes covered every inch of the mushrooms. They appeared sharp and painful, but for all she knew, might be soft and harmless.
“There they are!” Sophia darted forward.
A chain whipped out and wrapped around her left ankle, yanking her off her feet. Sophia flopped flat on her chest, screaming as the tether dragged her backward into a kennel—which promptly slammed closed in her face. The deafening crash of metal on metal echoed over the basement, knocking a rainstorm of dust off the ceiling.
Sierra ducked, shielding her face from the grey cloud.
Still screaming, Sierra flipped over to sit and grabbed the rusty leash coiled around her leg, struggling to unwrap it. The chain moved like a living snake, writhing in her grasp. Strong, but not so much she couldn’t budge it. Rust smudges marked her skin where it grabbed. Fortunately, it hadn’t cut her. She clutched the writhing leash in both hands, holding it away as the lower part thrashed side to side. If she let go, it would certainly grab her again.
“Stop!” Sophia cast a spell to cancel magic—the first thing the mystics taught her.
The leash went limp.
“Whew.” She exhaled in relief—then noticed all the dog bones between her sneakers as well as the matted carpet of skin and fur she sat on.
Her brain got stuck between screaming or throwing up; she ended up doing neither, merely staring in horror.
“Soph!” Sierra grabbed the cage door, grunting.
Whispering gathered in the darkness at the edges of where her magic lantern reached. It sounded as though thirty or more spirits came to get them, held back only by some inexplicable fear of entering the light. Sophia scrambled around to stop touching dead dog. She squatted in the cage, holding the side bars for balance. Only her sneakers made contact with death.
Sierra braced a foot on the cage, pulling at the door using both hands. She’d gone red-faced already. The cage didn’t have a lock or latch, merely two metal plates with aligned holes for a padlock or something. Some manner of invisible force kept the door shut. Sierra kept straining until the entire kennel slid toward her.
“Whoa…” Sierra stopped pulling, cringed, and wiped her hands on her shorts. “Ouch. That thing’s seriously stuck.”
Whispering in the shadows grew louder.
“Get me outta here!” yelled Sophia, at the verge of panic.
“I can’t.”
Whimpering, Sophia looked out at the voices. Here and there, the darkness appeared thicker, taking on almost human shapes. Shadow figures surrounded them. Watching, refusing to move into the light.
Tears rolled down Sophia’s cheeks. “Sarah… help!”
“Hey,” said Sierra in a soothing tone. She reached through the bars and grasped her sister’s shoulders. “Relax. Remember, Coralie said we’ll be fine. Or… didn’t say we’d get in trouble. Same thing.”
Sophia sniffled, shifting her gaze up to make eye contact. “I’m scared. They’re watching us.”
“Don’t say creepy shit when you’re trying not to be scared.”
“But they are watching us. I can see them.”
Sierra’s face paled. “Try to ignore them. Look, this door is stuck. It’s not locked. The hole’s empty. There’s no reason it shouldn’t open. Be right back. Gonna go find something to pry it.”
The shadow figures crept closer, testing the edge of the light. Vaporous arms stretched into view and recoiled.
“Don’t leave me alone. Please.” Sophia grabbed her sister’s arm.
Sierra exhaled out her nose. “If you can’t magic it open, you’re gonna have to deal. I’m not strong enough to break whatever is holding it shut, but it feels like I’m close. If I can find something to wedge in there, I should be able to break it.”
“Umm.” Sophia wiped her tears on the back of her arm.
If not for being stuck in a kennel, she’d be sprinting into the forest already. Being trapped and unable to run away made the basement ten times more terrifying, but had the bizarre effect of stopping her from flying into a total screaming meltdown. She’d cried over movies not even half as scary as this basement. But, they’d also been movies. Nothing bad would happen if she refused to keep watching. Chickening out here could lead to Sierra’s death.
She tried again to attack the forces holding the door closed. The shadow forms proved too distracting for her magic to work.
“Screw it,” whispered Sierra, who appeared oblivious to the crowd of spirits. “Hang on, Soph. I’ll be right back.”
Before Sophia could even squeak, Sierra ran off into the dark. Two elongated shadow figures slipped sideways to let her pass, filling in to form a black curtain once she vanished. Light from her levitating orb shrank, compressed by the overwhelming presence of the spirits. Soon, it only illuminated an area a foot or two around the cage.
Specks of silver, eyes in the darkness, surrounded her, leaning close for a better look.
Sophia screamed.
18
A More than Occasional Advantage
I guess there comes a time in everyone’s life where they find themselves in a situation they never imagined possible.
My life in particular has given me a whole bunch of those moments. A year ago, if anyone told me I’d need to figure out how best to kidnap a police officer, I’d have told them to stop smoking weed. Here I am standing over the body of Officer John Trujillo as he struggles to break the handcuffs chaining him to a generator.
The situation is somewhat more complex than merely kidnapping a law officer. For one, he tried to kill me. He’s also a thrall in service of Arthur Wolent. Not sure if he’s literally Wolent’s thrall, but he’s part of the organization. Bigger problem: he’s presently been kicked out of his body by an Oblivare soul. The reliquary in the trunk of his police car objected to me taking it.
Some vampires luck into the powers of undeath. The Oblivare have to urn it.
Gah. Dad. I blame you for making me think these things.
Back to the problem at hand. As long as I stay underground in this parking garage, I’m online. Consequently, the possessed cop isn’t a problem. It’s still daylight out, so taking this guy out of here is impossible. Even if I handcuffed him into a human pretzel knot, the instant the sun’s on me, I wouldn’t be strong enough to carry a man this size. Perhaps with great effort—and assuming he did nothing to resist—I could drag him across the floor, but no way are we going up the sta
irs. And someone would definitely spot us. It’s not unreasonable to expect the sight of someone attempting to kidnap a tied-up cop would result in badness. Best case scenario, someone calls the police. Worst, I get a Rambo wannabe jumping on me—then the possessed cop tears us both apart.
Can’t take him out of here and I don’t want to leave him.
He’s also going to hurt himself if he keeps fighting the cuffs. Hmm. He’s still alive, right?
I grab a fistful of hair and pull his head back to stare into his eyes. The purple light shining out of his irises intensifies in rage. So creepy. Peering into his head is like I’ve opened a door into Hell and a dozen demons stop in mid-orgy to stare at me making ‘do you mind?’ faces. It’s a chaotic mess of random freaky images. In much the same way the average person’s reaction to seeing a giant bug crawl out onto the desk in front of them is immediate smash without thinking, I hammer his brain with a compulsion to sleep.
Officer Trujillo passes out. Or at least, his body does. The actual Officer Trujillo is standing next to me as a ghost.
“What happened?” he whispers.
“Sleep. He’s going to keep fighting until he tears your hands off. And someone’s probably going to hear him growling and come down here to investigate who’s doing what to a Norwegian heavy metal singer.”
He blinks.
I back out of the generator room and shut the door.
“Why are you putting me in there?”
“Because I’d get in a ton of trouble with my parents for kidnapping a cop and bringing him home. My mom’s pretty lenient, but abducting police officers is more than she’s willing to tolerate. Even if you are possessed at the moment, she’s a lawyer. She’d totally have a cow. Can’t be near anything even remotely close to unethical or illegal.”
He cackles. “You don’t know many lawyers, do you?”
I smirk. “Hey, that’s my mom you’re talking about. And besides, it’s daytime. I can’t take your body anywhere. As soon as we go upstairs, he’d kick my ass.”
Vampire Innocent | Book 12 | Ancient Vampire Death Cults & Other Annoyances Page 17
