Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1)

by Noordeloos, Chantal

  “Are you headed into town?” Oliver didn’t even look up from his newspaper when he spoke.

  “Yeah, I’m going to call Bam at her parent’s house. She didn’t call me when she landed so I’m starting to get a bit worried. I hate that it’s so hard to reach anyone here. I’m going to call BT as well.”

  He took a sip from his coffee, still not making eye contact. “Don’t bother, I’ve already phoned them. They’re sending an engineer out on Monday.”

  “That’s a relief. It means I won’t have to drive into Portree every bloody time we need to make a phone call. I can live another two days without a phone.”

  “Oh, don’t go all the way to Portree. There’s a small town just south of Lucifer Falls. I think it’s called Aingeal or something. That place has a shop, a library and everything, even a phone booth if you can believe it, and it’s only half the drive.”

  “It’s just off Lucifer Falls?” Freya raised her eyebrows.

  Oliver nodded. “Yeah, instead of going right, go left at the junction down below.”

  “Thanks for the tip.” She raised her thumb, and quickly felt awkward, so she rubbed her hands across her stomach as if she were straightening the fabric of her shirt.

  “Bring me some aspirin okay? We’re out.”

  “Again? I bought a whole box a few days ago… what happened to them? Have you been pretending they’re Pez?”

  “No, I just get a lot of headaches. Must be the stress.” The paper rustled and Oliver’s brown eyes peered over the rim. “It’s not like I’m the only one who’s been taking them. Those damn guys keep asking me for aspirins too.”

  “Sheesh, no need to get so defensive, Oscar the Grouch.” Freya wrinkled her nose at him and tried to cheer him up with a funny face, but to her disappointment, she didn’t see a smile. “Why are you so grumpy?”

  “My nights have been a bit restless,” he admitted. He flicked the page of his paper with a noisy gesture and broke eye contact. “Lack of sleep makes me grumpy.”

  “Want to talk about it.”

  “No.”

  “Fair enough. I’m going to head out and get this over with.” Freya inhaled deeply, her whole body resisting the idea of having to leave the grounds. She knew that as soon as she stepped off the property, the headaches and nausea would start. The thought alone made her quicken her step, but as she strode through the entrance hall, a voice stopped her in her tracks.

  “Are you going out?”

  Logan was standing against the doorframe of the South Wing, dressed in a pair of dusty blue jeans and a white sleeveless t-shirt. The sight of him made her squirm.

  “Yes, just into town for an errand.”

  “Can I hitch a ride with you? I want to pick up a few things too.”

  “I can get them for you if you’d like. It’s no bother.”

  “No, I’d rather go with you. It gives me a moment to myself, and I like the company. Unless you mind, of course.” The corner of his mouth curled in a twisted smile, and she laughed.

  “Not at all, I’ll be glad of the company too.”

  He strode casually towards her, both hands in his pockets. “I enjoyed talking to you last night.” He winked and she fought the rush of hot blood to her cheeks, failing miserably in the attempt.

  “Me too.” She didn’t quite know how to act, so she picked up her pace again and opened the door. With a hop and a skip in her step, she darted down the stairs, Logan in tow.

  “Are we going to Portree?”

  “No, apparently there is a place that’s closer. Might give that a try. Portree is pretty far, and I don’t like staying away for too long.”

  They stepped into the car, and Freya mentally prepared for the journey. Then she pushed the key into the ignition, turned it, and the car hummed to life. Logan fixed his seatbelt, and they pulled away from the manor. As soon as they left the grounds, Freya felt the familiar headache resurface, and she was unconvinced this was a coincidence. From the corner of her eye, she saw Logan pinch the bridge of his nose.

  “Are you okay?” There was something hopeful in her voice. She wanted him to confirm how she felt, just so that she would feel less crazy.

  “I don’t know. The worst headache just hit me. I hope I’m not getting a migraine.”

  “I have that headache every time I leave the grounds. Then as soon as I get back, it disappears.”

  “You said something like that before.”

  Freya frowned and swallowed a lump in her throat.

  “I think Bam had it too. That’s why I’m so worried about her. I just hope that it goes away when we’ve been gone long enough from the house. I would hate to think that she’s in the US with a stinker of a headache for the next few months.” She imagined Bam walking around with an icepack on her head and snarling at her parents. Her friend was not the most gregarious of people when she was unwell. The thought almost made her laugh, and Freya chewed on her lips. She tried to focus on the road, the urge to return to Angel Manor already nagging at her subconscious.

  ***

  “Mrs Green?” Her hand clutched the black plastic handset of the old payphone. “This is Freya Formynder. I was wondering if Bambi had arrived home yet. I can’t seem to reach her on her cell phone. I dropped her off in Glasgow a few days ago and she said she was going to catch a flight to LA.”

  “Freya?” The voice sounded broken. “You… you haven’t heard?”

  “Heard what?” A cold fear clutched Freya’s throat.

  “Oh, my poor baby…” Heartfelt sobs came through the phone and Mrs Green wailed words that Freya couldn’t understand.

  “Mrs Green, what happened to Bam? … Mrs Green?” The woman wouldn’t respond, and Freya wanted to reach down the phone line and shake her. She pictured the overly-tanned woman, with her leathery skin and bleached blonde hair, screeching. A deeper voice sounded through the cries, and seconds later Mr Green’s baritone came through the phone.

  “Who is this?”

  “Freya Formynder, sir. I was calling to see if you’d heard anything from Bambi?”

  “You mean, you don’t know?”

  “Know what, sir?” Freya felt tears well up in her eyes and her throat was dry and raw. “Has something happened?”

  “Bambi is dead, Freya. She died in Glasgow.”

  “What… no…” Freya took an involuntary step back, her hand covering her mouth. “No… that can’t be. I only saw her a few days ago.”

  “She slipped and fell in the bathtub. Hit her head. Drowned.” The man struggled with his words.

  A high pitched wheeze escaped from her open mouth, but no other sound came. The grief was too deep, too painful to verbalise. Freya felt her knees buckle, and she sank to the floor of the phone booth, her forehead hitting the glass with a thud. The receiver didn’t reach that far down and it dangled near the top of her head. Freya was only dimly aware of the door opening, and Logan’s strong hands pulling her to her feet and out of the booth, where he allowed her to sit down again. She made herself small, sobbing, and he picked up the phone.

  “Hello?” He listened for a moment. “This is Logan Masters, who am I speaking to?” There was a pause, and Freya buried her head in her pulled up knees. “Mr Green, I’m a friend of Freya’s. I don’t know what you told her, but…”

  A voice crackled from the other side of the phone and Logan was silent again.

  “Oh God… I… I’m so sorry. We weren’t expecting that. I…”

  More crackling from the other side, Freya turned around and looked at him through her tears. He offered her a look of sympathy. “Mr Green…” The other man must have not let him speak because Logan was quiet again, and a hint of impatience flashed across his features. “I understand, sir. I’ll tell her…. yes… thank you. Goodbye.” He placed the receiver back on its cradle and stared at it for a moment, then he turned back to Freya.

  “I… I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s my fault.” The words burned at her throat as she spoke, but she nee
ded to let them out. “If I hadn’t left… If I hadn’t left her there all alone…” Her chest ached, every muscle in her body cramped and a foul taste coated her tongue. Logan knelt down beside her and gathered her in a tight hug. He hurt her a little, but Freya welcomed the pain, there was a certain reality to it in a world that suddenly felt unreal.

  “Shhh,” he soothed, rocking her back and forth. “This is not your fault. You aren’t to blame.”

  “She was sick, like me… and I left her. I left her, Logan. I left her.” Her tears bled into his shirt, and she balled her fist around some of the fabric. “Oh God… I left her there to die.”

  “Stop it, you did no such thing.”

  “I should have known… but all I could think of was getting back to Angel Manor, so that I would feel good again. I was so selfish.”

  “No, you weren’t. Don’t be crazy.”

  “I asked her to come, but she didn’t want to.” Her words were deep, sore hiccups. “I begged her to come back with me, but when she didn’t want to I gave up. I gave up on her. And now she’s dead, and I’ll never see her again. Ever… because she’s dead. Dead!” The word sounded alien to her ears, as if she had never heard it before.

  This can’t be happening, Freya thought. Not to Bam. Not to a girl who was so alive, who was so full of energy. She can’t be dead. The idea of Bam lying in some coffin somewhere, it was just too absurd for words. Her smiling face, the mischievous sparkle in her eye… Freya could think of nothing else. Snippets of memory that made up the puzzle of who Bam had been in life flooded her mind. The way she hiccupped when she laughed, or snorted drink through her nose when Freya made a face at her. The way she would crawl into Freya’s bed when she was scared, her body always the warmer of the two. The way she held Freya when she was sad, or stroked her hair with those brightly painted nails to ease a broken heart. All of that was gone. Bam would never be there for her again. Bam would never demand her attention again. All that was left was a void. For the last fourteen years, she had spent most of her days with Bam… that was more than half her life, and she would never see her again. Freya would have given anything to relive those last moments over again.

  The shopping lay forgotten, as did Logan’s errands. The tall man half-supported, half-carried the crying Freya to the car, where he put her into the passenger seat with as much care as he could. She pulled her legs up to her chest, not even bothering with the seatbelt.

  “Give me the keys, I’ll drive.”

  She pushed her hand in the pocket of her jeans. The rough denim pressed into her thigh and scraped at the tops of her fingers, but she found the sharp metal key and freed it from its fabric prison. The car roared to life and the wheels crunched over the dirt road.

  “The man on the phone… Mr Green?”

  Freya nodded in response, her head resting heavily on the back of the seat and her eyes fixed on the window. Outside, the green of the countryside rushed past, trees flickered like the slats of a picket fence, creating a stroboscopic effect.

  “He told me they had Bam’s body flown over to the US. The funeral will be held there. I think he told me what day… I… I can’t remember.”

  Freya closed her eyes to fight the strong wave of nausea.

  “Stop,” she moaned, and Logan brought the car to a halt. She opened the door and leant out. A spray of white foam gushed from her mouth, leaving a burning coat of acid on her tongue in its wake. A second wave followed, cramping her stomach with stabbing pains, and then a third and final flood of vomit landed in a loud splash on the ground. She hung out of the car for a moment longer, and finally, when she was confident she wouldn’t be sick a fourth time, Freya wiped her mouth and sat back down.

  “Got it out of your system?” Logan handed her a crumpled tissue, and she took it gratefully.

  “Let’s hope so. Don’t want to gross you out with puking in here.”

  “Hey, it’s your car. I deal with kids who have to overcome drug problems. If you think a little vomit is going to scare me…”

  “Thanks.” She scrunched the tissue in her hand and stuffed it in her jeans pocket. Her eyes refused to meet his; she just couldn’t look at him.

  “Do you want to go home, or do you need a little longer?”

  “I feel an urge to go back to the house.” She glanced over to him this time, and noticed his knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel. Her eyes went up to his face, which was pale and drawn, and to his tousled hair.

  “I feel the same urge.” His voice was low, and he gave her a solemn nod. Seconds later, they were driving back up to Angel Manor.

  ***

  Bam watched the car approach the manor. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, something she used to do as a child. The house was whispering incoherent sentences at her, tugging at her, demanding her servitude. Most of her soul wanted to comply, but there was a stubborn little part of her which rebelled. She wasn’t like the others, and though she couldn’t completely ignore the demands of the house, she could move more freely than the other spirits. This gave her the opportunity to stay away from her brother’s clutches. She could feel his presence, his desire for her. The house wanted him to get her – the house demanded her pain – but Bam wasn’t willing to give in just yet.

  Outside, she saw her friend get out of the car. Her heart sang out to Freya, and she hoped that her best friend could mean the end of her damnation. She knew the house wanted to protect the bonded humans, and Bam hoped that she could use that knowledge to her own advantage. It was too late for Oliver. Bam felt how deeply his soul had embedded itself into the house, even more so than her own. Freya was a different story. She was tied to the house, but the house didn’t own her. Her friend still made her own decisions, and she was Bam’s only hope. She wanted nothing more than to be free from Chuck.

  Chapter 18

  “What’s the matter with you, Terrence?” John Norris sat next to him on the stairs they were repairing in the entrance hall. “You look like shit.”

  “I’ve been having these nightmares.” Terrence rubbed the dust from his eyes and rested his elbows on his knees. The hammering of the tools thumped through his skull and his lungs burned with exertion.

  “Nightmares?”

  “About my brother. I keep dreaming he’s dead.”

  “Jesus.” John’s meaty hand slapped on his shoulder, and his elbow slipped from the impact, causing him to almost tip over.

  “The scary thing is that the dreams are so realistic, I almost believe that it’s really happening to me.”

  “I had a dream like that once. I dreamt I was going to die. It was the scariest thing ever because I was just waiting for it, you know.” John rubbed his temples, his eyes far away with the memory. Terrence just nodded; the coach’s words did nothing to ease his mind.

  “Yeah, it’s just a dream, right?” Long legs clad in dirty overalls stepped around him, pushing him aside to get up the stairs.

  “Maybe the dream is trying to tell you something? Maybe you need to go spend some time with your brother? You could go and see him this weekend.”

  “Yeah… maybe.” Terrence stared at his hands, but he knew that if he went back to Edinburgh for the weekend, he might never return. “Could be that these dreams are just me trying to sabotage myself again.”

  “How do you mean, son?” John squeezed his shoulder, and Terrence felt a weight lift from his stomach.

  “I don’t finish shit, that’s my problem. I find all these fucking excuses to leave before I can get the job done. Now there’s this, dreaming about fucking ghosts. And all I want to do is get out of here, but I wonder… is it because of the dreams, or am I just looking for another excuse?”

  “Those are some wise words. You are a smart lad. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. The dream I had last night, it was just so fucking real. I was actually in this house speaking to my brother’s ghost. Then he disappeared and I went for a walk. I even remember crawling back in bed and everythin
g.”

  “Do you think you saw a real ghost?” The hand squeezed again.

  “Nah, man. I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “And even if you did, why would your brother be all the way out here if he’d died in Edinburgh?”

  “He said something about me calling him here.”

  “Did you?”

  “Hell, no. Why the fuck would I do that?”

  “Because you miss him? Because you love him?”

  “Truth is, Mr Philips, I think it might be a blessing for me to be away from Tyrell for a bit. It lessens the drama, if you know what I mean? Just… Tyrell is home for me, you know? He brings the troubles that come from home. I’m glad to be away from that.”

  The coach rubbed his hand over Terrence’s short hair, and he smiled. “Good lad. I think you’ll be all right. We’ve all seen a change in you on this project. You seem serious now.”

  “I am, Mr Philips, I really am.”

  John got to his feet and wiped the dust from his overalls. “Logan is going to Edinburgh this weekend to get some more recruits and see if he can find out what happened to Mace and Farrow. If you change your mind about going to see your brother, let me know, okay?”

  “Will do, sir… will do.” He scratched an itch behind his ear and smiled. Somewhere in the depths of his mind he heard his brother’s voice again. “Leave.” Terrence was determined not to let his fear get the better of him. Not this time.

  ***

  “You are so beautiful.” Oliver ran his fingertips over the icy skin, pale and blue veined like marble. Black eyes looked at him with longing, their hunger almost palpable. She smelled of poppies and the faintest hint of decay. “You become more alive every day. I can feel your skin.” He lowered his head and kissed her stomach. The past few days, she had cast off the diaphanous night gown and appeared to him with the promise of more than just a glimpse. All he had to do in return was bring more life to the house. She fed off their energy, and that made her more complete. Oliver could touch her now, and soon he would do more than touch. Soon she would be his. He had dreamt of her since the first day he’d arrived in Angel Manor, but the dreams had gradually become more of a reality. Oliver knew he was obsessed with this creature and he didn’t care.