Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1)

by Noordeloos, Chantal

  Something grabbed Freya’s ankle and she screamed. When she looked down, she saw that part of a broken lamp had caught her leg, and she laughed in relief.

  “Jesus, woman, you scared the shit out of me.” Bam clutched her heart. “This place is creepy enough without you adding to it.”

  A deep red flush settled over Freya’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little on edge. This house…” Her voice faded away, but Oliver offered her a sympathetic look. Freya shook her head and pulled her leg free from the lamp.

  The wing that Bam found was untouched, and though every room was filled with big clunky furniture, the place looked relatively clean. There was some dust, but nothing a quick wipe wouldn’t fix. And the smell was a lot better here too. There was a lingering odour of old people, but not of rot. The wallpaper was a soft yellow colour, spattered with a dainty white fleur-de-lis pattern, and the floor was polished cherry parquet.

  “This is how I remember my aunt. A lot of… stuff… but clean and tidy. Terrible taste in decor, though.” Freya picked up a porcelain figure of a little Dutch girl from a display cabinet.

  “Well, at least we can work with this part. I think we could turn this floor into our own living accommodation. Then we work from there to turn the East and South Wings into hotel rooms. They’re bigger, right?”

  “I think so. You have the floor plans.” Freya glared at Oliver. “I just have vague memories from fifteen years ago.” She rolled her eyes, but Oliver wasn’t watching. He wandered around the living room, opening drawers to cabinets and dressers while his fingers lightly caressed the furniture.

  “There’s a lot of stuff here. We need to figure out what we want to keep.” Oliver held a crystal figurine of a dolphin between his fingers. “Maybe we can even sell some of this stuff online, or to an antique shop or something, to help finance the remodelling. The house is in a worse state than we could have imagined, so we’ll need every pound we can get our grubby little fingers on.”

  “I’d like to keep this though.” Freya pointed at a tall grandfather clock. It was a handsome antique, and instead of numbers, the clock had angels carved in the brass dial. The figures were rendered with incredible detail, and on the top of the wood stood a last angel holding a tiny trumpet.

  “I remember it from when I was little, and I’ve always liked it. You should hear it chime on the quarter hour. It’s very pretty.”

  “These decorative plates look pretty old.” Bam stood on her tippy-toes and pointed at one of the round metal plates that lined the wall. “They look like they’re made of gold, but it’s probably something fake. I mean… if they were real gold, or even just gold plated, it would mean there was a fortune here, right?” There was a soft hesitation in the short girl’s laugh, a tuft of pink-tipped blonde hair escaping the bun at the back of her neck as she bobbed up and down. All three looked up at the wall. There were seven plates in total, hanging at regular intervals, and each of them gold. Oliver and Freya exchanged an excited glance.

  “I remember these,” Freya said, while Oliver climbed up onto a cherry-wood dresser. “My aunt was very proud of them. There was something about them, but I can’t remember what.”

  The dresser groaned under Oliver’s weight, and for a moment, he froze. Then he shifted slowly, and the dresser showed no further signs of protest. He lifted one of the plates from the wall. It was about the size of a serving tray, but much thicker. Seven symbols were carved around the rim with an angel moulded in the centre. He climbed down and flipped the plate over, his brow furrowed with concentration.

  “This thing is heavy.” He inspected the back, his fingers gliding over the surface. “I wish I had a magnifying glass.”

  “As if you know anything about carat marks.” Bam snorted and leaned over the plate, her fingers sliding over the gold in search of a mark. “This could be something.” The tip of her finger pointed at four little symbols incised into the metal. “Lemme see.” Oliver held the plate out for her inspection, and Bam manoeuvred both him and the plate towards the light from the large Victorian windows.

  “Yup, these are definitely gold markings.” She squinted, bringing her face closer to the object. “It’s not solid gold, because I see an H.G.E. mark, but the plating is 18-carat, which is pretty good.” She looked from Oliver to Freya, shock and excitement mingling in her face.

  “What would that mean? How much would they be worth?”

  “I don’t know, but each should be at least a grand judging by the size of them, depending on how much gold is on the plating. I’m thinking probably more.”

  “A thousand pounds? That’s amazing.” Freya felt her heart flutter, and she blessed her strange old aunt for her expensive taste.

  “So, are we doing this?” Oliver turned to Freya as he held up the gold plate. “Are we selling these and getting our hotel?”

  “I thought that was the plan?” Freya looked from Oliver to Bam, and she saw a look of worry in their eyes.

  “We weren’t sure if you still wanted to.” Bam bit her lip and looked at Freya. “You’ve been a bit weird ever since you set foot on the island. We thought you might be chickening out.”

  “I do feel a bit weird. And to be honest, it doesn’t help that half of what we’ve seen of the house looks like it’s come straight from the abyss. But we said we would do this, and if we can find an affordable builder who can work wonders with houses that leak brown gloop, then I’m in.”

  Oliver laughed, and he carefully set the plate down so that he could hug Freya. “I say we go find the nearest pub and celebrate. Maybe find a bed and breakfast too, because I don’t know if I’m so keen on sleeping here tonight. At least not until we’ve had that strange stuff investigated.”

  Chapter 2

  Bam woke at five AM after a short, uncomfortable sleep. Her night shirt was drenched in sweat, and her head throbbed with a dull but incessant ache while her stomach churned with stinging acid. She couldn’t remember her dreams, but she knew that they must have been disturbing. The small bedroom in the Redwood House B&B was still cast in darkness, and next to her in the bed, Freya groaned a little.

  “Stop thrashing around.”

  Bam felt a hint of irritation. “I’m not thrashing, I just can’t get comfortable. This bed is too damn small for the two of us.”

  “Well, get used to it. We’ll be spending more time together until we find out if the hotel is safe to live in. We can’t afford three separate rooms.”

  “I don’t see why Oliver gets his own room and we have to share.”

  “Because he’s the guy.” Freya’s voice sounded muffled through the soft, white pillow.

  “As if we haven’t slept in the same bed as him before. It shouldn’t make a difference.”

  “Fine, we’ll rotate. Whatever. Just please stop moving around. I feel sick enough as it is. I think I had too much cider. It went straight to a hangover. Didn’t even get a nice buzz.”

  “I feel sick too.”

  “Well then, maybe you had too much cider as well.”

  “I drank diet Coke.”

  “Then you had too much diet Coke. I don’t know. Just stop fucking moving and we can still be friends.” Freya turned around and pulled one of the extra pillows over her head.

  “Maybe it was something we ate.” Bam bit her lip and tried to remember if there was something they’d had in common from the menu, but she couldn’t think what it might have been. Oliver had ordered a burger, Freya’s was fish, and she’d had a vegetarian dinner of stuffed peppers and goat’s cheese. There was no link between their meals.

  “Or we inhaled something nasty in that house.” Her voice was a whisper now, and the thought sent tiny sparks of fear flashing through her brain. She sat up straight in the bed, a soft snore escaping from the pillow next to her.

  “Freya.” She pushed her friend’s shoulder.

  “What?” The voice sounded angry.

  “What if the house poisoned us?”

  “If it did, let me die in pe
ace.” Freya turned around and pulled the covers over her shoulder.

  “I’m serious.”

  “The house didn’t poison us.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do.”

  “I’ve heard stories of people dying because they visited a tomb. Something about deadly spores or something.”

  Freya sat up, her face looking tired and pale under the long strands of black hair.

  “When my aunt died, they did an autopsy.”

  “So, there was nothing suspicious about her death. What’s your point?”

  “I’m sure when they found her body a lot of people entered the house. Doctors, probably police officers. That brown stuff can’t have just grown overnight, so they probably saw it too. Don’t you think they would have investigated it to rule it out as a source of her death?”

  “Maybe.” Bam shrugged, unconvinced.

  “We’ll make some calls tomorrow okay? If we’re not dead by then.” Freya rubbed the top of her nose. “Though Lord knows, death sounds like a pretty sweet option right now. Just go to sleep.”

  “Yeah.” Bam felt silly, so she slid back under the covers. Freya glanced at her, expecting her to say something else, but then she followed Bam’s lead.

  “Don’t worry. Let’s just try and get a few more hours of sleep. You picked a fine fucking time to freak out about the house, that’s for sure. Just leave the stressing to me, and you go to sleep, okay?”

  Bam closed her eyes and tried to relax her breathing. Something felt wrong, and she wondered if Freya was just being laconic or if she herself was overreacting.

  ***

  Oliver woke from a dream. Sweat dripped from his forehead and his stomach tightened with cramps as if he’d swallowed glass. With shaking fingers, he peeled off his t-shirt and lay back down on the cold, moist sheets. A deep breath escaped from his lungs. He felt sick, and when he closed his eyes, he could smell the stale odour of Angel Manor. His mind reeled as he thought back to the nightmare which had plagued his sleep.

  Angel Manor had been restored to its former glory. In his dream, he had walked through the rows of angels in the middle of the night towards a red-haired woman standing in the open front doors, a diaphanous nightgown revealing all her curves in the light of the moon. Her breasts pressed against the fine material, and he’d felt something stir in his loins.

  “I’m yours now.” The woman’s voice was a low whisper, and for a moment, Oliver wondered if the words had come from her lips or if the house itself had spoken. “Come and claim me.” She turned and ran into the house. Despite his misgivings, Oliver had run after her.

  The hotel looked different in his dreams, not broken and old, but beautiful and whole. The floor shone under his feet, and the furniture looked in mint condition. A crystal chandelier sparkled with bright luminescence, casting thousands of stars around the entrance hall. The main hall was now a reception area, just as Oliver had envisioned it, and a fresh-faced receptionist in a Victorian black dress with a high collar and a blonde bun on the top of her head nodded at him as he walked by. There were people milling around, each regarding him with a reverence that made him feel like a king.

  The woman in the nightgown beckoned him to walk further, and she led him to a large over-lit dining area, where hundreds of guests, dressed in beautiful gowns and three-piece suits, dined on delicacies served by at least a dozen waiters.

  I want this, Oliver thought, I have dreamt of this for so long, and seeing it makes me long for it even more.

  “This can all be yours. And there is so little you need to do in return, Oliver.” The woman played with the strings of her nightgown. “I can be everything you want me to be… everything. I ask so little from you. But you can’t leave me again, you bad boy. I miss you when you’re gone.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to make me beautiful again. Can you do that?”

  “Are you… are you the house?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked at her through squinting eyes. Her face was so delicate, her symmetrical features making her look like a porcelain doll.

  “I gave my essence to this house a long time ago. I bonded with it, as you have.”

  “What is it that you want from me?”

  “Fill the house with life. That’s what I want. That’s what we all want. A house needs the living. And this house is special, Oliver. This house guards secrets.”

  “What kind of secrets?”

  She just smiled at him again and licked her lips.

  “Bring us people. Let them walk on our floors and under our roof. That is all we want from you, and then you can have this…” she spread out her arms, showing him the people who sat eating and laughing in the dining room – eating his food, “…all for yourself.”

  “I want that.”

  “I know you do…” The pale hand pulled at another string of her nightgown, and milk-white breasts spilled from the fabric. They were modest, but enough for Oliver to feel his masculinity stir against his black cotton boxer shorts.

  He couldn’t quite recall what happened after that. All he remembered was the woman wrapping naked legs around him, the cold of her pelvis against his, and the welcoming wetness of what lay beyond her thighs. And how at some point she whispered in his ear: “Stay inside me.”

  As he lay on his side, eyes wide open, his thoughts wild, he realised that the house needed him. Being in this hotel felt like cheating, and Oliver was sure this was why he felt so sick. He wasn’t meant to be here, and would have to return as quickly as possible. If he was going to turn the manor into the hotel of his dreams, he needed to be committed. The dream woman was right. A house, or in this case a hotel, needed life, and the only thing that could bring life to a building was people. He needed to get the hotel up and running as quickly as possible. Nothing would stand in his way. Not Bam with her bullshit and not even Freya. His thoughts were barely lucid, his eyes glazed over, and he turned to his other side as fitful sleep overtook him once again.

  ***

  It had been Oliver’s idea to return to Angel Manor the next day. Freya and Bam had struggled to get out of bed, and Freya had pleaded with him to let them sleep until they felt better. He admitted that he felt as sick as the girls, but he was eager to get started and somehow convinced Freya that the fresh air would do them good. Freya thought that he was probably right, because as soon as she stepped out of the car and onto the courtyard she felt the nausea retreat, and both Oliver and Bam looked decidedly less peaky.

  The house looked different. She wasn’t sure how, but for some reason the building looked more… awake. Her limbs felt heavy as she slid the old key in the lock. Sunlight streamed into the entrance hall, and to Freya’s surprise, the place smelled different… fresher, as if someone had cleaned overnight, though there was still a hint of decay hanging around.

  Freya pushed past Oliver and inspected the nearest wall. It was clean, and although the wallpaper was still torn and faded, the crack underneath it appeared as nothing more than a scratch. “I must be losing my mind.”

  “This was a huge crack yesterday, bleeding brown snot, right?” Bam said, her eyes wide as she looked from Freya to Oliver.

  “Perhaps it wasn’t that bad.” Oliver made his way towards the wall and let his fingers glide over the crack. “I mean, it was pretty dark in here yesterday. The light must have been different or something. I think we saw it wrong.”

  Bam hugged her own arms “We saw it wrong? All three of us?”

  “It was pretty dark in here.” Freya shrugged. She wasn’t even sure if she had seen the brown substance or if it had just been an optical illusion. “The light must have played a trick on our eyes.”

  Bam shook her head and took a step back. Freya moved towards her and wrapped her arms around the smaller girl.

  “Come on, Bam. We were all pretty shocked by the state of this place yesterday. Can you honestly say you remember seeing anything clearly?”

  Pink hair ti
ckled Freya’s nose as Bam shook her head. Freya exhaled with some relief, knowing full well that they had just avoided a healthy dose of drama with their friend. Bam was easily rattled.

  “I’m rather glad that our assessment of the place yesterday seemed a bit over-exaggerated. I think the appearance of the house just took us by surprise and we made it worse than it really was in our heads. It’s still a mess, but it’s not as bad as we thought.”

  Oliver cheered up, and put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest. “True, we can clean most of this up, but I will still want my contractor to look at it.”

  “When’s he coming?”

  “Next Monday. He’s Rudy’s cousin, and he’ll give us a good deal.” Oliver pouted and placed his finger on his chin just below his bottom lip. “According to Rudy, the guy will do anything for him, and apparently Rudy will do anything for me, so yay us.”

  “Oh yeah?” Bam bumped her hip into Oliver’s, and to Freya’s relief she saw that the tension had been broken. “I remember Rudy. He was a hottie.” Bam licked her finger and touched her bottom, making a sizzling sound between her teeth.

  “Yes, thank you. Swell.” Oliver ran his hand across the back of his neck and smiled shyly. “Laugh at me all you like, but I think it works to our advantage that this guy has the hots for me, and I don’t mind using my good looks to further our goal.”

  The girls laughed and hugged Oliver from either side.

  “How refreshingly open-minded of you, Oliver. I took you for more of a lad than that.”

  His hands brushed his sleeves with demonstrative strokes. “I’m confident about my sexuality and therefore not threatened by gay men.”

  The girls laughed again and shook their heads. Then they looked at the debris scattered over the entrance hall, and the laughter died on their lips.

  Freya eyed the broken furniture. “We should try to get as much stuff cleared out of here as we can before he comes.”

  Oliver nodded. “I’ll order a skip this afternoon. I think we need to try and save up our money and make a space to live in the house. Hotel costs will eat at our budget.” He looked at her, an anxious expression on his face. “Is that okay with you guys? Otherwise, I’ll just stay here on my own for now and you can share a room.” His eyes pleaded with them, and Freya felt a small pang of concern. There was something in Oliver’s brown eyes that unnerved her.