Terrence had thought about his future a lot. It wasn’t something he’d even considered before he’d joined the Chancers, but he found he liked the idea of having one. The thought of a good job with a steady pay check was appealing, maybe a little flat all to himself… or he could share it with his brother. It was all good, and he could get away from that white gob-shite, Paul. He might even leave Edinburgh, go back to London… or move somewhere else altogether. He liked having possibilities.
He looked at the house. It was big like Mason had said, and it was beautiful. Terrence imagined what it would be like living in a place like that, and he pictured himself in a swanky suit with an FHM girl on each arm. The closer they got to the house, however, the images of busty females faded and he began to feel uncomfortable. Something was off about the mansion. Sure, it was all yellow stones and sunshine on the outside, but somehow it didn’t feel very welcoming, as if the building itself were judging him. The window of the bus felt cold against his skin, and Terrence wrapped his arms around himself, his eyes never leaving Angel Manor.
***
“I think I saw a van pull up on the driveway.” Bam peered around the door into the kitchen, her hair falling over her face. “We should go greet them.”
Freya nodded and got to her feet. “Have you called Oliver?”
“He’s seen them. Told me to come and get you.”
“Okay.” Freya put her cup in the sink and rinsed it so the tea wouldn’t stain.
“Frey?” Bam looked at her with big eyes and a guilty expression.
“What?” Freya raised her eyebrows and put the cup upside down on the counter to dry. “What’s bugging you?”
“Remember when I went out yesterday?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I did a bit of research… on… on psychics.” Bam’s voice was barely above a whisper and Freya opened her mouth to object, but her friend held up her hands in defence. “Hear me out. This woman and her team are very respectable, and they could just check out the house to find out if there is anything here. I called her and she said she was interested in this house.”
“No, Bam… just no.” Freya shook her head. “Psychics are charlatans. We’re not going to be paying con-men.”
“She doesn’t want money.”
“I don’t care what she wants. For fuck’s sake, you’re taking this ghost thing too far. Oliver is right…” She stopped her words when she saw the hurt expression on Bam’s face.
“Just think about it, okay?” Bam handed her a piece of paper with scribbles on it in blue ink. “This is her number, in case you change your mind.”
Freya took the paper and considered throwing it away, but instead she put it in the top drawer, closing it with a firm movement. “Okay.”
Bam nodded and left the room with Freya following her, feeling a little anxious about meeting the work crew.
They don’t look so bad. Freya eyed the six young men who stood shoulder to shoulder in the entrance hall. They’re just kids. Some of them looked close to being her own twenty-five years of age, but a few of the boys hardly looked old enough to shave. Their clothes were old and a little dirty. The way they stood, eyes wide and mouths a little slack, staring at the grandeur of Angel Manor, she could almost relate to them. When she was younger she had known those feelings well.
She’d hoped she would be a little more resistant to their mentor’s good looks, but when Logan Masters shook her hand, her knees turned to jelly again. The thought of having him around was both exciting and terrifying, and Freya fought hard to hide the blush she felt creeping into her cheeks whenever he looked her way.
Don’t be such a silly little girl. It’s not like you’ve never seen handsome men before, she chided herself. But this guy was different in some way, and butterflies swarmed in her stomach like locusts.
Freya stepped forward and offered each of them her hand. Two of them, a pale kid with reddish hair and a guy with dark skin, shot her leery, appreciative looks that made her skin crawl.
One of the mentors, a stout Scot with muscular shoulders and a big red beard, cleared his throat. “We’ll set up camp outside the house.”
“Camp?” Freya looked at him with surprise. “This is a big house. We can make space for nine people…”
“Thank you, Miss. When we finish some of the rooms in the other wings, we’ll gladly make use of them, but for now we’ll stay outside. We don’t want to get in your way.”
“You won’t be in our way. The West Wing is large enough to share. It’s not in the same state as the rest of the house, and there are rooms upstairs.”
“With all due respect, I don’t think it would be a good idea to have boys in the same wing as you, Miss.”
Freya’s eyes flicked to the red-haired guy who’d leered at her, and she saw a look in his pale blue eyes that she didn’t like.
“Oh.” Her skin ran cold and she hugged herself, pulling her gaze away from him. This was such a bad idea.
The big man obviously saw something in her face, and he waved his hands in an apologetic gesture. “No need to worry, Miss. Honest, these are good boys. But they might be rowdy, especially at night. We like to have them where we can keep an eye on them. That’s all. They won’t harm you in any way. They wouldn’t dare.”
“I understand,” she responded. A sense of relief washed over her when she saw the shadows of Oliver and Bam stand in the doorway. “Here are my partners in crime now.” She winced at the word crime; it had slipped from her mouth before she’d realised it. She laughed sheepishly to cover up for her mistake, but nobody seemed to have noticed.
“This is Oliver Jardin, and this is Bambi Green.” One of the boys, Freya couldn’t see which, whistled through his teeth. There were more leery looks, and Freya felt her stomach drop. Bam just giggled and shook their hands. She wore a tight, white Breeders T-shirt that stretched across her silicone breasts and a pair of cut-off jean-shorts that revealed just a hint of the rounded cheeks of her buttocks. Her hair was done up in a playful ponytail, and Freya saw the appreciation in the young men’s eyes. It took all of Freya’s self-restraint not to slap her hand over her eyes and sigh.
“So many boys to keep us company,” Bam crooned, and Freya saw from the way she wiggled her hips when she walked that she was savouring the attention.
“Down, girl.” Oliver grabbed Bam by the wrist and pulled her away. “Let’s give our crew time to settle in. We can make them some tea or something.”
“Is there anything we can do for you?” Freya tried to ignore the stares that followed Bam’s gyrating backside.
“I’d bam that,” the red-headed one said under his breath, and the black guy laughed with appreciation.
“Naw, we’re good, Miss. Logan and John are finding somewhere to set up the tents, so we’ll go help them. Tea would be nice though.”
“Then tea it is.” She turned and left, grateful that she could stalk towards the kitchen while self-consciously wondering if the guys were staring at her backside too.
This is going to be a long year, she sighed.
Chapter 7
Freya and Bam’s slender fingers intertwined as they watched the young crew and their sledgehammers from the doorway of the West Wing.
An unexpected silence had settled over the main hall. The boys, who had been wild and giddy only moments ago at breakfast, stood around with serious faces as they listened to John Philips’ speech about site safety. Freya glanced at Bam, who looked as nervous as she felt. Her heart drummed slowly and heavily against her chest, and her palms were moist with sweat.
What are you afraid of, Bam? Ghosts? she thought, but didn’t dare to say the words out loud. What am I afraid of? Am I afraid that the monsters my mother feared lie waiting behind that wall?
The silence was broken when the first hammer hit the brickwork, the blow ringing through the rooms with such clarity and intensity that Freya felt Bam’s body shake. For a moment, she thought that the house had shuddered, and a sickly feeling crept
up her throat. She bent forward to look at Oliver, who stood leaning against the wall. One of the corners of his mouth was curled into a slight smile and his eyes blazed as he watched the hammer strike the bricks. It was no surprise he was pleased the wall was coming down. Freya knew that he’d been waiting for this moment. Oliver had talked about how this was the symbol of a new beginning, the first step to creating his future. His excitement was almost palpable. Oliver hadn’t been himself the past few days. He’d been distant and less jovial. She thought that the pressure of the project might have got to him. Last night, she’d heard him talking to himself, and that could never be a good sign. She hoped she was wrong, because the work had only just started and she needed Oliver to keep a clear head, especially now that Bam seemed so twitchy. If he was having some sort of a nervous breakdown, it would be extremely bad timing.
Once again, she wondered if she’d made the right choice by keeping the house. Perhaps its curse wasn’t ghosts after all, but stress. The house was large and hard to maintain. Maybe that’s what drove people over the edge. She slid her arm around Bam’s shoulders and rubbed her friend’s skin with her thumb. Her mind wandered to her aunt, a thin woman with wild red hair and bulging eyes that always had an expression of accusation in them. A thought occurred to her that they’d found no pictures during the clean-up. Not of her aunt, nor of her children. Freya could hardly remember her cousins at all. She remembered playing with them, but the memory didn’t go much further than the fact that they were ginger and a bit odd.
The hammer struck again, and the wall spewed pieces of brick and crushed mortar like a boxer spitting out broken teeth. The dust particles in the room danced in the languid sunlight filtering in through windows in golden streams. The young men cheered as the hole in the wall became bigger. Freya felt a change. She couldn’t say what it was, but it tingled down her spine. She told herself it was just cold feet over starting a hotel so far away from home.
***
Ethereal eyes fluttered open from a deep sleep. Equinox? the tormented mind of Sister Agatha thought. The idea came with difficulty, slow and distorted. She had fought hard to keep her mind intact after her death. Without a body and a brain to make connections, the spirit was no more than a shadow of its former self. And the house… this house, it wanted to taint her as it had the others. It was alive. She could feel its essence in the bricks and mortar, tempting her over to darkness.
Why am I awake? she mused, as instinct kicked in and she materialised from her resting place.
The spells… something is breaking the spells. Panic surged through Agatha and she forced herself to concentrate on the house. Strangers, there are strangers in Angel Manor. They’re destroying the spells. She could feel the heat of their bodies, even at this distance, and Agatha fought her longing to be near them. Life was so painful to the dead, and the warmth of the pulsing blood stirred a hunger, even in the docile nun.
Where are the living Guardians? Where are those who are supposed to protect the house? Agatha reached out with her essence and touched upon the descendant of the bloodline. The heir was here. And she had brought others. And the house had bonded with them. Two so far, but there would be a third. She focused on the heir again, a pang of worry shooting through her soul. There is something different about this heir… something bad.
For several decades, Sister Agatha’s soul had known peace. The spells had protected her resting place, had kept her away from the living, letting her sleep in blissful ignorance through the year except on the equinoxes and the solstices. However, this was neither the equinox nor the solstice, and if the barriers to her domain were broken, the other boundaries would soon follow. Their absence would awaken the lost souls trapped inside Angel Manor.
But there were worse things…
The living might release the Angels themselves.
***
The last of the bricks fell with a crack, and the crew stood back, coughing as the lime dust tickled their throats. Mutters of appreciation hummed across the lips of the builders as they craned their necks to peer inside the East Wing. The darkness stretched away into unseen depths, and Freya’s heart pounded against her ribcage.
“What happened to the windows? Where’s the light?” Terrence pulled the dust mask from his powder-covered face and wiped the residue from his hair with a gloved hand. He dropped the sledgehammer, and the loud thud made Freya cringe.
“We’re wearing PPE in there. The structure looks good, but we don’t know how long this place has been boarded up or what we might find.” John Norris handed out hardhats.
Freya gazed into the darkness beyond the rubble. She waited for everyone to make their way through, then watched Oliver step into the void.
“Don’t forget your hardhat.” Logan handed her a yellow monstrosity. Freya ran her hands over the deep black scratches and scuffmarks, hesitating to put it on for a moment.
“I wouldn’t go in there without one.” He winked at her and she responded with a watery smile.
“I think I’m a little intimidated by the thought of what’s in there. The two rooms we cleared out were pretty bad. I can only imagine what this place is going to look like.”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. You’ve got us to help you now.” He touched her arm, and she felt a little jolt as he did so.
“You know what’s weird?” She looked into his deep green eyes. “I’ve only just realised something.”
“What?”
“There were so many cobwebs… but I haven’t seen a single spider yet…”
“I’m sure we’ll come across a few. And other creatures I expect. They tend to nest in old houses like these.”
“I’ve not seen a living creature anywhere near here. Not even a fly.”
“Well, I would say that we’re pretty alive.” Logan pointed at himself and made a gesture towards the guys. Freya’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, and she put her hat on to mask the embarrassment she felt.
“Of course… I meant… no animals.”
Logan pushed the hardhat further onto her head, the plastic pinching her temples. “I know.” Another wink accompanied by a smile. He held his hand up towards her, and she placed her palm in his. Logan led her through the door and into the East Wing.
There was a smell, sickly sweet with a hint of rotting meat underneath, so overpowering and sense-dulling that Freya was forced to take a step back. She lingered in the doorway, her face set in a grimace.
“What’s that smell?” Her voice was muffled by the cupped hand around her mouth and nose.
“What smell?” Logan looked at her with sincere confusion. “I don’t smell anything. Well… maybe it’s a bit stale, but not nearly as bad as I thought it would be.”
Freya looked at the others, who were investigating the dark wing. The only light came from the portable builder’s lamps that they carried. No one else seemed to have noticed the stench, so she carefully inhaled again. It was still there, but not as strong this time, only a vague scent. A nervous laugh bubbled in the back of her throat and she bit her lip to keep it from escaping.
“Are you okay?” Logan adjusted his hardhat and cocked his head at her.
“I’m fine. It’s just… darker than I would have liked. I don’t do so well in the dark.”
“Ah. Don’t worry. We’re here with you.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it, and Freya felt a hot tingle throughout her body.
She turned her eyes to the long corridor of the East Wing and gave a soft sigh. Yellowish-green wallpaper hung in tattered curls; it looked as if someone had deliberately shredded it in the centre. A residue of lime crunched under the soles of her shoes, giving the illusion the floor was made of gravel rather than marble.
“It’s like another world in here. I feel like I’ve just landed on the moon or something.” Freya’s voice was no more than a whisper, and Logan nodded.
“It does a bit, doesn’t it? This is one of the oldest buildings that we’ve had the privilege to work on. It’s
fascinating what kind of state these places can be in.” He smiled at her, and her legs went weak again.
If only I could just lean forward and kiss him, she thought. If only he could be mine. The words echoed through her mind, and she felt a familiar tremble in her body. Logan was still talking about the house, his eyes sparkling as he spoke.
“Though I have to admit, so far I’ve been pleasantly surprised. This house looks like a sturdy old girl.” He tapped the side of a wall with his free hand, the other still wrapped around hers. A sudden jolt of static electricity ran from Logan straight into Freya as his palm connected to the plaster, and Freya pulled her hand back in reflex. The house shuddered on its foundations, a tremor that Freya had felt before.
“Holy shit!” Logan cupped his nose. “Terrence, shine a light here. I don’t know what the fuck that was, but I think it gave me a bloody nose.” A light beam illuminated his face, and Logan looked at his hand. A generous splash of blood covered his fingers, and Freya’s hand automatically went to her own nose. Her hand came back red. She looked around to see if anyone else was bleeding and, to her horror, saw both Oliver and Bam dab blood from their nostrils. Not again. Her blood ran cold, but Freya didn’t want to come across as hysterical, so she fought to keep her face even.
“You’re bleeding too.” Logan stepped closer, grabbed her chin and pushed it up to inspect her face. “Did you feel that?”
“Yes.”
“Mental.”
“It’s happened to us before.” Bam’s voice was high with panic. “When we first arrived, we touched the building outside, and we all got simultaneous nose bleeds. It’s happening again.” She held her hand up into the light, streaks of blood still visible on her upper lip, and there were tears in her eyes.
Her words seemed to freeze time for a second; no one moved or spoke, and all eyes were on Bam. It was Lyndon Farrow who spoke first.
“That’s just fucking spooky. Like the kind of shit you see in horror movies.” Some of the guys exchanged glances.
Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1) Page 8
