by R. L. King
Panting, his whole body surging with adrenaline and terror, Ian dashed out of the room, slammed the door shut, and took off at a run toward the stairway leading to the ground floor.
The shrieks did not stop.
They didn’t even decrease in volume.
They came from all around him now—inside his head, echoing from the walls, swirling and racing around him.
Along the hall where he ran, doors opened and slammed shut repeatedly. As he ran by, he caught glimpses of unearthly glows from inside some of the rooms.
What the hell is going on?
He burst free of the east hallway into the great room and skidded to a stop, looking around wildly for some idea of what to do, but the shrieking in his head prevented coherent thought. He could make out some of the words now, the same ones that had appeared in blood on the walls of the downstairs passageway: “Get out!” and “Murderers!” and “Evil!” and “Die!” but the words were nearly lost amid the incoherent screaming. From somewhere far away, crazy, tuneless piano notes began to sound—did his father even own a piano? A freezing wind whipped from the hallway behind Ian, chilling the fear-sweat that bathed his body.
A loud pop sounded ahead as one of the chandeliers that lit the great room exploded, pattering shards of glass down on Ian like deadly rain. His shield blocked them, but he quickly leaped aside so he wasn’t standing beneath the others in case they did the same. A moment later both did, plunging the room into near-darkness. In Ian’s hand, his flashlight flickered as its batteries failed.
Still panting, he flung it aside and pulled the other one from his pocket. “Stop it!” he screamed, trying to get over the other shrieks, but they only grew louder to compensate. A series of books flew off the shelves and pelted him, their covers flapping like insane birds around his head. Ahead, a pair of crossed swords yanked free from a wall display and streaked toward him. He dived behind a heavy couch, not trusting his shield to fully stop them, and one of them embedded itself in the other side, its point poking through and missing Ian by scant inches.
Get out!
Go!
You don’t belong here!
Murderers!
Ian crouched there behind the sofa, his hands jammed to his ears. That’s it, he thought desperately. They want me out, I’m out. Dad can deal with this.
More books pelted him, followed by a series of logs from the cold fireplace, as he ran toward the front door. He was half afraid the shrieking horrors wouldn’t let him out as he scrabbled at the knob, but the door opened so readily that he nearly fell over backward when he encountered no resistance.
Half-crazed with fear and confusion as the voices still did not quiet, Ian did the first thing he thought of: he took off across the yard toward the cemetery, throwing desperate glances over his shoulder as if expecting a pack of fiends to be following him. All he saw was the hulking house, eerie lights flickering off and on from all the windows. He thought he caught a brief glimpse of more blood running down from the eaves, but he didn’t stop long enough to verify it.
Instead, he flung open the door to the mausoleum, pulled the cover off the center crypt, and threw himself down the stairs to the portal. To his relief it was there, beautiful as ever, its pastel colors shifting and dancing as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
For a moment his panic rose as the shrieking prevented him from visualizing the calibration, but then he remembered his father resetting it to the London house after they’d arrived earlier today. Hoping that was still true but certain he’d go crazy if he couldn’t get away from the hellish screams, he plunged into the portal.
Instantly, the shrieks stopped, replaced by the familiar foggy, silent tunnel. Still, he didn’t stop. He kept running until he reached the other end and popped free, staggering and dropping to his knees to the floor.
He fell forward to lean on his arms, his back heaving with his terrified breathing. He didn’t recognize the room, since he’d never been to Stone’s London house before, but he didn’t care where he was as long as the insanity back at the mansion had stopped. Wherever he was now it was quiet, so quiet after the previous noise that Ian’s head pounded with it.
He wasn’t sure how long he remained there on his hands and knees, panting, letting his heart rate return to something close to normal and his breathing calm. It was cold here; his sweating body shivered in it, but he didn’t care about that right now.
I’ve got to call Dad. That was the only thought that reliably poked through his jumble of confusion and terror. He’ll know what to do.
God, I hope he knows what to do.
6
“What do you mean, there’s something wrong at the house?”
Stone turned away from the wedding guests, hoping no one had noticed the sudden concern on his face. “Ian, calm down. What are you talking about? Why are you in London?”
“It’s…the house…” Ian still spoke between panting breaths. “Something’s wrong. In the basement.”
“The basement?” Stone clenched his hand around the phone and hardened his voice. “Ian. Calm down. Now. Tell me what’s going on.”
Silence crackled on the line for a few seconds, and Stone could almost picture his son pulling himself together.
“I heard something,” Ian said at last. “I got up to get something from the kitchen, and I heard a crash. Sounded like it came from the east wing. So I went to investigate.”
“What did you find?” Stone glanced around at the hall. So far, it didn’t seem that anyone had noticed him, but he hurried to calm his aura. Eddie and Ward would spot trouble immediately, and he didn’t want anything to distract him from Ian now. “Did someone try to break in?”
“No. Well—I don’t think so.” More puffing breaths. “It was in the basement, Dad. Down where we were today. Something broke that carved door. Broke it right in half.”
“Bloody hell.” Stone’s blood chilled. “You went down there? I thought you promised—“
“I did. I’m sorry—I just wanted to make sure nothing was wrong down there. But Dad—something is wrong. Very wrong. Screaming, illusions, spiders, blood—”
“Ian!” Once again Stone cut him off sharply, even though his own terror was growing. “Explain!”
“I can’t!” He sounded miserable now. “They were screaming in my head. Blood running down the walls, and they were throwing things at me—I got out of there. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t fight them with magic. I ran. Took the portal up here to your London place. That’s where I am now.”
“All right—all right. I’ll—” As Stone cast another glance around, looking for Imogen, another thought struck him, sending more terror slicing through his body. “Ian! Where’s Aubrey?”
“What?”
“Aubrey!” He was practically yelling now, his heart pounding. “Does he know about this? Did you leave him there?”
“Dad, I—”
“You left him behind?” Stone felt as if something was squeezing his head. “Something’s attacking the house and you didn’t think to warn him?” He knew he sounded harsh, but right now, the thought of the defenseless Aubrey being savaged by some kind of magical threat nearly paralyzed him with fear.
“Dad—”
“Stay there. Stay right there. Do not do anything else, and don’t leave the house. Do you understand?”
“Dad—”
“Do you understand, Ian?” His voice had pitched louder now, and nearby people were throwing odd, concerned looks his way.
“Yes. I understand.” Resignation and misery shot through his voice.
“All right. Good. I’ll call you in a few minutes. I’m leaving here now, but it will take me some time to get back.”
Without waiting for a reply, he hit the button to end the call, then immediately made another one. Heart thudding like a drum solo in his chest, he forced himself to drive down the horrific images that kept rising in his mind. He moved off down an unused hallway, hoping Imogen’s crowd would be too g
enteel and well-bred to follow him when he obviously wanted privacy.
The phone rang once, twice, three times, and in the few seconds’ space between each ring Stone’s terror grew with exponential intensity. “Come on…come on…” he muttered. “Answer…please answer…”
“Hello?” The voice on the other end sounded bleary and confused, as if its owner had just been awakened from sleep.
“Aubrey!” He was yelling now as relief overwhelmed him.
“Sir? Is that you?” The caretaker still sounded drowsy.
“Oh, dear gods, Aubrey, it’s good to hear your voice! Are you all right?”
“Sir? Er—of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” A pause. “Where are you? Are you still at Miss Desmond’s wedding? Is something wrong?”
Stone sagged against the wall. “You’re all right? Nothing’s going on?”
“Sir, please. I don’t understand. Of course I’m all right. I was doing some reading in my flat, and I must have dozed off. Please tell me what’s going on.”
“You didn’t hear anything? Screams? Breaking glass? Nothing?”
Silence hung in the air again. “Er—no. No, sir, nothing like that. Are you all right? What makes you think—”
“Ian rang me. He’s in London now. He said something went wrong in the cellar, and it drove him out of the house. He took the portal to London and contacted me from there.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. I’m bloody angry with him right now, to be honest—that he’d run off and leave you there if there was danger.”
“But sir—there isn’t any danger. At least not here. Do you want me to go to the house and—”
“No!” Stone was shouting again. “No,” he repeated, more quietly this time. “Don’t go anywhere near that house. Just—I’m leaving now.” He glanced at his watch: it was barely after ten-thirty. “I need to go to London to find Ian. Should take me an hour and a half or so. Traffic shouldn’t be bad this time of night. Listen, Aubrey: I want you to pack an overnight bag and go down to the village. Get yourself a room for the night, or call one of your mates. Have a drink, enjoy yourself, but stay away from the house. Will you do that for me? I’ll ring you again as soon as I can.”
“Sir—”
“No arguments. I mean it. I can’t get a clear story out of Ian, but he’s terrified. I don’t want you anywhere near whatever’s going on up there. Do it now. Can I count on you?”
“Of course, sir.” Aubrey sounded resigned, and not at all happy about it.
“Promise me you won’t pop over to the house for a look.”
“I—I promise. I’ll go now.”
“Good man. And take your mobile with you. Is it even charged?”
“Yes, sir, I just put it on before I settled in to read.”
“Good, good. I’ll see you soon.”
He jammed the phone in his pocket and hurried back out into the main hall. Everything looked so normal, with people dancing, standing around in little groups drinking champagne, or seated at the small, elegantly-decorated tables dotting the area to the side of the dance floor.
He quickly spotted Imogen on the other side of the room, near the head table. She stood next to Clifford, chatting with a small group of elderly guests. He hurried over to them, slowing as he approached, forcing himself to project calm. Whatever catastrophe was currently unfolding back home, he didn’t need to disturb Imogen’s evening with it.
She looked up as he approached, and despite his efforts, he could see from her expression she’d caught on that something was wrong. She said something to the group of guests, patted Clifford’s arm, and moved off toward the other end of the table to meet Stone.
“Alastair, are you all right?”
“I’m—fine. But I’m afraid something’s come up back at the house, and I need to see to it. I’m terribly sorry to dash out early, but—”
“Something’s come up?” Her eyes narrowed. “Is it serious? Is there anything I can—”
He forced a smile. “You’re a dear to offer, Moggy, but it’s nothing you can help with. I was just talking to Aubrey, and I’ve got to go.”
She didn’t look as if she entirely believed him, but she dropped her gaze. “I understand, of course. Thank you so much for coming. It meant so much to me, and to Clifford, to have you here.”
Stone doubted his presence had registered on Clifford Blakeley much at all, but he took her hand. “You two have a lovely honeymoon. We’ll talk again when you return. I’ve got some things I want to share with you, but they can wait.”
Imogen tilted her head. “I’m looking forward to hearing them.” She pulled him into a hug, her slim arms going around his waist and squeezing hard. “You take care of yourself, Alastair. Promise me. You haven’t had too much to drink, have you?”
He chuckled, returning the hug more gently. “No, I’ve been good tonight.” He bent to kiss the top of her head, the old, fond gesture that always used to amuse and exasperate her because it emphasized how much taller he was. “I’ll see you soon.”
Pulling back, he caught Clifford’s eye and nodded a farewell, then hurried off. With luck, he could get out before anyone else tried to stop him to chat again.
“Oi, Stone!”
Stone sighed, slowing again as Eddie Monkton came up next to him. He held a pint from the bar, and his tie was already beginning to wilt. Eddie was not the sort who coped well with formal wear. “Hello, Eddie. I was just leaving, I’m afraid. Something’s come up back home.”
“Oh?” He nodded toward Arthur Ward, who was watching them from nearby while chatting with a woman in a green cocktail dress. “You’re not foolin’ anybody, mate. Ward and I both saw your aura before you ’id it. This is more than ‘somethin’s come up,’ innit?”
Damn his perceptive friends, anyway. But there was no point in trying to lie about it. “Bit more, yes. I was actually planning to talk to you both about it tomorrow, but it seems it’s got other ideas.” He checked his watch, then threw another glance toward the door. “But I can’t do it now. No time. The short version is that we discovered a hidden area under the house. Sort of like catacombs. And now something’s apparently gone wrong in it.”
The way Eddie’s eyes lit up with curiosity, both professional and personal, was almost comical. “That right? Magic down there?”
“Quite probably. Eddie, I can’t stay. Something attacked Ian while I was out. He’s in London now, and I need to get to him while the story’s still fresh. I’ll ring you tomorrow. I could use some help when I go back there to have a look around.”
“Try to keep me away, mate.” Eddie clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll give Ward the details and we’ll be waiting to ’ear from you.”
Nobody else tried to intercept Stone as he departed the hall. He waited with growing impatience for the valet to bring his car around, then practically hustled the young man out of the driver’s seat, shoving a large tip into his hand before roaring off through the gate.
As soon as he got on the road, he called Ian back and put the phone on speaker as it rang.
The boy answered nearly instantly, as if he had been staring at his phone waiting for Stone’s call. “Dad? Is Aubrey all right?”
A little of Stone’s anger at Ian’s thoughtlessness abated at his words. “He’s fine. I told him to go into the village and get a room for the night. But he claims not to have seen or heard anything.”
“That’s—hard to believe. Whatever was down there was screaming so loud I couldn’t even block it out by covering my ears.” His voice still shook a little, but he sounded calmer than he had before.
“All right. Tell me what happened. Don’t leave anything out. I’m driving now—should be there in a couple of hours.” Not for the first time, Stone wished magical science provided the means to teleport from any location to any other. The portals were convenient if you were near them, but they did him no good when traveling from somewhere that didn’t have any.
“I told you, I went dow
nstairs to get something to eat, and I heard a crash. So I decided to—”
A loud crackle of static obscured his next words.
“—screaming.”
Damn. “Ian, I didn’t get that. Can you say again?”
“I said, I went down through the hole to take a quick look, and—”
More static.
Bugger it. Mobiles were useful things…until they weren’t. “Ian, listen—we’ve got a dodgy connection here. Just sit tight and wait for me, and you can tell me the whole story when I get there.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Disappointment and frustration laced his voice. “I—”
The line beeped as the connection broke.
Stone glared at the device on the passenger seat and goosed the accelerator, nudging the little convertible up to significantly above the speed limit. As he drove, he tried not to entertain the thought that something other than the usual patchy cellular coverage had caused the interference on the line.
7
It took Stone nearly two hours to get back to London, and by the time he pulled the convertible into the underground garage at the Kensington house, he was nearly seething with tension and impatience. He dashed up the stairs, already yelling, “Ian!”
Ian emerged into the hall from the main sitting room. Even after all this time he still looked disheveled and pale, but relief wreathed his features. “Dad. Damn, I’m glad to see you.”
“Are you all right?” Stone looked him over, using both mundane and magical sight. One of Ian’s strongest talents was aura manipulation, but right now he was making no effort to use it. His potent silver-and-purple aura roiled and sparked with red flashes of disturbance. Whatever he’d seen back at the house had spooked him hard.
“Yeah. Dad, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have left Aubrey there. But—”
“You’re right. You shouldn’t. But he’s fine, so no harm this time. Come on.” He stalked off down the hall.
“Come on—where?”
“Back to the Surrey house. I want to see what’s going on down there.”
