by R. L. King
“—Skeletons?” Verity finished, gripping Stone’s arm.
Stone didn’t have too many other guesses. As soon as he identified the strange, shuffling human-like forms, the answer locked into place: they were exactly that.
Human skeletons.
And suddenly, they weren’t shuffling anymore.
23
With the burning green lights in their yawning eye sockets flashing hatred, the skeletons all began to ascend the stairs. Their bony feet scraped against the floor, their shambling forms moving faster than it seemed possible. Aside from that, the only sound they made came from the clanking of the rusting manacles still wrapped around their wrists. They raised their arms, their long, spindly fingers reaching toward the group at the top of the stairs.
Stone was the first to shake free of the horror gripping him. “Stand back,” he ordered, gathering magic.
As soon as the others were clear, he pointed his hands down the stairs and let loose with a wide blast of pure arcane energy. He’d worry about what these things were and where they’d come from later. Right now, all he wanted was to see them in pieces on the floor.
The magical blast hit the leading edge of the fast-moving skeletons, lighting them up. Stone hadn’t held back: it should have driven them all backward at minimum, tumbling them down the stairs and halfway across the great hall, if not blown them into bits.
It did neither. The skeletons braced themselves as the magic washed over them, looking like sailors on a ship’s deck in a storm. They jerked and shuddered until it passed, then resumed their upward climb, eyes burning with even more malevolent light than before.
And now they were all fixed on Stone.
“What happened?” Verity yelled. “Why didn’t—”
“They’re resistant to magic!” Stone snapped. “Back up.”
He looked around, trying to find some kind of weapon, but up here at the top of the stairway weapons were in short supply. What the hell were these things? Were they really skeletons? Were they illusions? Where had they come from? Had the echoes sent them?
Whatever they were, they were almost at the top of the stairs now. Two of them had taken the lead, moving faster than the others. They wore the tattered remains of rotting clothes along with their manacles; their bones weren’t the bleached white of horror-movie skeletons, but rather brown and discolored, as if they had recently emerged from the grave. As if—
Oh, bloody hell.
A quick vision rose in Stone’s mind: a series of bricked-in alcoves, their bricks crumbling as something ripped itself free from the wall and emerged from each of them to begin their slow climb upstairs.
But that was absurd! Scattered skeletons didn’t simply rise from their piles and go gallivanting about. That didn’t happen!
But it was happening—either that or someone was casting a hell of an illusion.
“I got this!” came a booming voice from behind him. “Get back, all of you!”
Before Stone could stop him, Jason surged forward, both hands knotted around the handle of the baseball bat he’d bought in London today. “Jason! No!”
But Jason didn’t even seem to hear him. He stood, legs apart, and dropped into a classic batting stance. When the first skeleton reached him, its blazing gaze still fixed on Stone, he drew back and swung for the fences.
The bat connected with the skeleton’s head with a crack, knocking it free of the creature’s body. It sailed down the stairs and landed somewhere in the great room, rolling away. The headless bones collapsed in a heap.
“You guys want some more of that?” Jason yelled, raising the bat again. “Come on! Try me! Bring it on!”
Several more skeletons had almost reached the top of the stairs now. Surprisingly, they hesitated, slowing as they approached. Below, Stone’s magical sight spotted more joining them, pouring out from the direction of the east wing.
He grabbed Jason’s arm. “Jason, we’ve got to get away from there. There are too many of them.”
Next to him, both Ian and Verity threw spells at the skeletons, but they seemed even less affected than they had been by Stone’s blast.
“You’re right—magic’s not hitting them!” Verity cried.
The skeletons were gathering courage again. They separated, spreading out and moving wide of Jason’s bat, and resumed their steady climb toward the top.
Stone thought fast. He’d fought magic-resistant enemies before—but nothing was truly resistant to all of magic’s effects. It just meant he couldn’t hit them directly.
Stepping back, he reached out with his power and grabbed hold of the rug on the stairs. I needed to renovate this place anyway, he thought as he wrenched it upward, ripping it free and flinging it backward.
The rug rippled like a storm-tossed sea, lifting the skeletons with it and sending them flying back down toward the floor. “Yes!” he yelled, settling the end of the ripped rug around them.
If he’d entertained any hope of smashing them to pieces as Jason had with his home-run shot, though, their next action dashed it. They struggled beneath the old rug, throwing it free and erupting back to their feet with surprising speed. Still more new ones crowded in behind them, and still all of them fixed their green-flamed, hate-filled gazes up toward Stone and the others.
“What do we do?” Ian demanded. Already, the things were starting back up the stairs.
“We can’t hit them all with baseball bats,” Verity added. She looked pale, but her eyes were steady. “And if we can’t hit them with magic—”
“How many of those things are there?” Jason was at a clear disadvantage without magical sight.
“My guess is forty-one.”
His friend looked at him in shock, obviously not expecting an answer. “That’s an oddly specific number, Al. What—” And then he got it. “Wait—those are from—”
“I think they might be. Come on—back up. We need to make a plan.”
From down below came the sound of more crashing, breaking glass, and shuffling, skeletal feet.
“Where?” Ian asked.
“My suite. Come on. I’ve got an idea.”
They hurried down the hall to Stone’s suite, where the door still stood open. “Inside,” Stone urged, waving them all ahead of him while keeping watch toward the stairs. Several of the skeletons had already reached the top, and when they spotted the open door they picked up speed.
As soon as everyone had slipped through, Stone followed them, slammed the door shut, and engaged the lock, then looked around the room.
“Will that hold them?” Verity asked. She was still watching the door. Only seconds later, the knob began to rattle, and bony fists began pounding on the heavy wood.
Stone wasn’t sure it would. The pounding was a lot more forceful than he would have expected from relatively fragile human bones, rattling the door in its frame as the uneven, drumlike pattern of thuds echoed around the room. “Something’s augmenting them,” he muttered. He spun and waved his hand, levitating the substantial wooden armoire over and settling it in front of the door.
“There,” he said. “That might not hold them long, but it doesn’t need to.”
“Holy shit, Al,” Jason said. “That thing must weigh a couple hundred pounds at least.”
“So what now?” Ian asked. “Do you have any weapons in here?”
Stone gave him a look, amused in spite of himself. “I’m a mage, Ian. I hardly need to keep baseball bats in my room for home defense.”
“Well, I sure as hell don’t see any. Are you planning to throw the armoire at them?”
“No. I’m planning for us to get the hell out of here.”
“How?” Verity asked.
Stone pointed at the high, drape-covered window on the other side of the room. “There. We’ll go out onto the roof, float down, and come at them from the back.”
“Why not just get away?” Ian didn’t look frightened, but he did look determined. “You want to fight a bunch of magic-resistant skeletons? Will they follow u
s if we leave the house?”
“Who knows?” The pounding on the door intensified, and Stone thought he saw it move above the top of the armoire. “But I’ll be damned if I let them take over my house. And we’ve got to check on Aubrey anyway. If any of them went after him—” The sudden thought chilled him.
“Why don’t you call him and ask?” Jason asked.
“Bloody hell, I’m an idiot.” He dashed across the room to his nightstand and snatched up his phone. “Jason, keep an eye on that door. Ian, you help. If they come through—er—throw the armoire at them. Verity, get the window open.”
“On it.”
Stone punched Aubrey’s number and listened with growing impatience as it rang once, twice, three times before the old man answered. “Yes, sir?” He sounded as if he’d just woken up.
At least one of us is getting some sleep. “Aubrey! Are you all right?”
“Er…is there some reason I wouldn’t be, sir?”
“Nothing’s trying to get in over there?”
“I…don’t believe so. Sir—are you all right?”
“Been better. Listen—Aubrey—I want you to stay right where you are. Lock your doors, load up your shotgun, and wait. We’ll be over there shortly.”
“Sir?” Now Aubrey’s voice was louder, clearer, and more full of concern. “What’s going on over there? Are the…spirits back?”
“Not…exactly. Just do what I told you. Please. And stay indoors.” He shot a glance back over his shoulder when he felt a blast of air, and was pleased to see Verity had gotten the window open. “We’ll be there soon.”
Without waiting for Aubrey to reply, he shoved the phone in his pocket. An instant later, the door broke with a shattering crack and something began beating against the heavy armoire.
“Go!” Stone shouted, waving the others toward the window. “Out! Verity, levitate Jason down. We’ll head for Aubrey’s place.”
If anyone other than the skeletons had been watching from outside, Stone’s group must have looked like quite a ragged assemblage as they scrambled out through the window onto the slate roof: all of them barefoot, two clad only in jeans and one in his underwear. Only Verity, in her jeans and T-shirt, looked even moderately prepared for this kind of adventure.
“Careful,” Jason called as his feet slipped on the damp roof. “It’s a long drop.” Like Stone, he kept switching his gaze back and forth between the edge of the roof and the open window.
Behind them, a loud crash split the air. “That’ll be the armoire,” Stone shouted. “Go! Go!” He barely noticed the early-morning chill now as his heart pounded. How the hell were they going to get rid of forty-one magic-resistant, preternaturally tough animated skeletons? With all his experience with the magical arts, this was a new one on him. There wasn’t supposed to be any magic that could raise the dead. He’d heard rumors of necromancy in his early days of study—it was a favorite sensationalistic topic of discussion among young mages—but those rumors had all come with the certainty that if necromantic practices had ever even existed, the techniques had died out hundreds of years ago.
So did whatever was in that chamber under the house, his little interior voice reminded him helpfully. If it ever even died at all…
They touched down on the ground together, and Stone spun to see if the skeletons were following. Up on the second floor, two of them poked their heads out the window of his suite, their hateful gazes fixed downward. A second later, they began clambering out onto the roof, and others appeared in their place.
“Go!” Stone urged. He wondered if, like the echoes, the skeletons would remain within the confines of the house, but didn’t plan to take chances. In case the things weren’t bound by the same strictures, his group needed a defensible area. It would be too easy for the skeletons to surround them out here on the grounds.
The others followed him without question, heading toward the garage and Aubrey’s apartment. He barely felt the cold, dew-covered ground or the driveway’s gravel beneath his bare feet, the adrenaline surging through him submerging any potential pain.
Up ahead, a square of light appeared at the top of the garage stairs, and a moment later Aubrey’s stout figure came into view. He looked like he’d dressed hastily, wearing his trousers along with a striped pajama top, a robe, and leather slippers. He held something in his hands, and as they drew closer Stone realized it was his hunting rifle. “Hurry,” he called, snatching a glance back over his shoulder.
To his horror, several of the skeletons were on the ground now, and they didn’t seem at all deterred by the fact that they weren’t inside the house anymore. Several more of the monsters scrambled across the roof, and as Stone looked again, three more dropped over the edge and landed without damage on the grass below.
“Those things are bloody tough!” he panted.
“Doc, we can’t lead them up into Aubrey’s place!” Verity caught up with him, grabbing his arm.
With a chill, Stone realized she was right. The skeletons would overrun the old man’s apartment, and there wouldn’t be enough space to fight effectively. “Aubrey!” he yelled. “Come down here. To the garage.”
Aubrey didn’t move.
“Aubrey!” In the glow of the light above the door, Stone caught sight of Aubrey’s face. The old man wasn’t looking at Stone and his friends; instead, his gaze was directed past them. His eyes had gone wide with terror.
He’s spotted them. Damn.
“Aubrey!” he yelled again, louder. “Come down here! We’re going to the garage!” Had he made a mistake, bringing them all out here? Would the skeletons have concentrated on them if they’d remained inside the house, and ignored Aubrey? But they couldn’t stay up there too much longer—sunrise wasn’t far off, and with it the return of the echoes. That assumed, of course, that the echoes weren’t the forces driving these skeletons in the first place.
“We should just go!” Jason said. “Get the hell out of here. Take the portal.”
“And do what?” Stone dashed up the stairs and gripped Aubrey’s arm, trying to lead him down the stairs. “Leave these things to overrun the place? What will they do if we’re gone? They could leave here and go after the village.” That wasn’t an option. These things were his problem, and somehow they’d have to figure out a way to deal with them while they were still on his property.
But first he had to get Aubrey moving. The old man still ignored him, his terrified gaze still fixed on the horde of skeletons shambling across the gravel driveway. “Aubrey!” he yelled a third time. “Damn you, man, snap out of it!”
When Aubrey still didn’t acknowledge him, he sighed. “I’m sorry for this, Aubrey, I truly am.” And then he slapped the caretaker’s face.
Aubrey jerked, throwing a quick glare at Stone and bringing his rifle around, but as Stone had hoped, the slap broke his paralysis. “Sir,” he breathed, pointing toward the crowd of skeletons with his rifle barrel. “Are those—are—those—”
“Come on!” Stone grabbed his arm and pulled harder. “Before they get any closer. We’re going to the garage.”
Aubrey’s face was pale and his hands shook so hard he nearly dropped the rifle, but he allowed Stone to lead him down the stairs. By the time they reached the bottom and the others crowded around them, the leading edge of the skeleton mob was only a couple dozen yards away.
Jason had already gotten one of the garage’s three doors open. “Come on!” he urged. “Go! Go!”
With Stone on one side and Ian on the other, they dragged Aubrey inside. Jason slammed the door down behind them and engaged the lock.
Verity, already inside, flipped a switch and a pair of harsh overhead lights threw sharp illumination over the space. “What are we gonna do in here?” she demanded.
Stone looked quickly around. He didn’t enter the garage often, and when he did, it was usually only for long enough to retrieve his little black MG convertible. The car was there now, shrouded under its usual gray cover. In the next bay over was Aubre
y’s old, battered pickup truck, and beyond that was the space the old man had converted into a combination workshop and tool shed. The whole thing smelled pleasantly of oil, wood shavings, and old tires.
“Sir,” Aubrey breathed, still clutching his rifle and obviously trying to get himself under control. “Dear God, sir, what’s happening? Are those—”
“Animated skeletons, yes.” Stone regretted that he didn’t have more time to be gentle with his old friend, but already some of the creatures were pounding on the door. “They’re highly resistant to magic, and they’re bloody strong and hard to hurt. So in short, we’ve got a problem.”
“We need weapons,” Jason said. He held up his baseball bat. “Physical things. Everybody look around.” He ducked around the back of the truck and headed for the workshop.
Aubrey clearly had questions, but he didn’t ask them. Instead, he hurried after Jason. “They’re resistant to magic, you said, sir?”
“Direct magic, yes.” Stone, Verity, and Ian followed them. “Physical damage affects them, but we need a lot of it. Jason took one out by braining it with his baseball bat, but knocking them down a flight of stairs barely fazed them.” Stone looked around, glad the garage had no windows the skeletons could break.
Fortunately for them, Aubrey kept his workshop neat and organized. “There’s a lot of good stuff here,” Jason said, scanning the row of saws and other tools hung on pegs on one wall. He snatched up a chainsaw. “This should do some damage.”
Outside, the pounding grew louder. A loud crack sounded and a stained skeletal hand punched through the wooden garage door.
With the truck between himself and the threat, Aubrey seemed to be recovering at least some of his courage. He pointed to the far side of the workshop. “There’s a can of petrol for the chainsaw over there, sir.”
Another hand burst through the garage door in a different spot. “Right, then,” Stone said grimly. “We can’t stay in here. These things might be strong, but they can’t fly. If we can get to the roof with some weapons, we might be able to pick them off. Aubrey, have you got more ammunition for that rifle?”
