Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1)

by Noordeloos, Chantal

  It was rare for spirits to be corporeal enough to do actual physical damage to the living, though Marie-Claire had encountered a few places in the world where this was the case. Usually there was an outside factor involved, such as magic or even an artefact. Land could be magical too, and it would draw spirits towards it seeking strength and power. Often those were exactly the kind of spirits that shouldn’t have either, and that’s what made them dangerous. Marie-Claire suspected that Angel Manor might be the kind of place filled with such magic.

  Angel Manor had been on the top of her list for many decades. She had heard stories about the house, but the previous owners had been more than reluctant to even let her near it. When the girl, Bambi, contacted her, Marie-Claire had been over the moon, but now that the day had finally come for her to inspect the building, she didn’t feel so confident anymore.

  “I’m curious to see what this house has to offer.” Pierre, the newest member of her team, spoke to her from the front seat. Marie-Claire moved her head in the direction of the words.

  “Yes, Angel Manor is rather infamous. As is the place where it’s situated.”

  “Lucifer Falls?”

  “That’s the place.” She folded her hands together on her lap, the smooth, silk gloves brushing against her fingers.

  “Is it true that Lucifer landed there when he fell?”

  “I doubt it, but I’m sure there is something about that place. The living, even those who do not possess the second-sight, tend to be very sensitive to paranormal activities. They don’t see spirits like I do, but they feel that something is out of the ordinary. Often they make up stories about highly spiritual places, and they get a reputation even though no one has actually seen anything. I must admit I’m picking up some vibrations from the area, so I would like to inspect the actual place at a later date… see what I’m sensing from here.”

  “It will be interesting to get some interviews done with the locals.” It was Julie who spoke. Marie-Claire could hear the thick Australian lilt in the voice.

  “Indeed, I feel that there will be a lot to write about this particular project.”

  Some people thought Marie-Claire was psychic, but other than her astounding second sight, she had no powers of prediction, only a strong understanding of logic and deduction. She had never contradicted those who called her psychic, they obviously needed to give her a label they felt more comfortable with, and she had been called worse by those who feared her gift. Witch was just one of the many names Marie-Claire had to suffer in her long life; devil worshipper was another common one. She didn’t care about any of them. Her life was her own, and the judgements of others meant nothing to her.

  “It’s up there. We can see the house, Marie-Claire,” Ruben, one of her oldest companions, reported as his hot, sweaty hand found hers. He was as eager about this house as she was.

  “What does it look like? Describe it to me.” Ruben was used to being her eyes, and he knew exactly which details she wanted to hear.

  “It’s different than the pictures, more alluring somehow. The bricks are yellow, and the windows are large. You can’t really make out the cross shape from this angle, it looks more like one of those Victorian mansions. The gardens are a little wild, and I can see the angel statues from here.”

  The car pulled onto the long driveway to the house and Marie-Claire’s blood ran cold. Her eyes suddenly picked up dark clouds, and a heavy pressure settled in her stomach. Her old heart pounded, loud and slow. Marie-Claire slumped in her seat, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the paranormal activity around her, and she fought to stay conscious.

  Around her, voices tittered, calling her name and touching her arm. It took her several minutes to fight against the feeling enough to sit up and acknowledge what was going on in the mortal realm.

  “She’s coming round.”

  “Marie-Claire… talk to me.”

  “I’m quite all right. Please stop fondling me.” She waved at the hands that touched her, her voice conveying the irritability she felt.

  “What happened?” It was Julie who spoke. “You looked as if you were having a stroke.”

  “I’m fine… I think. Though I must admit, of all the places I’ve ever been… I’ve never felt anything like this. This is truly incredible. We must tread with caution, my friends. This house has a lot of spirit.” Marie-Claire’s arthritic fingers touched the wrinkled skin of her face. Her lips felt rough, and she found a little bit of spittle in the corner of her mouth, which she wiped away hastily.

  “Spirits?”

  “Well, that too, I suspect. But it’s more than that. I… I… feel something else, a deeper darkness, but I can’t quite see what it is. There is magic here, not just spiritual magic. I have encountered similar locations before, but never this strong. I assume the spirits here can be dangerous, so we need to be on our guard.”

  “This should prove interesting.” She heard the excitement in Ruben’s voice, and she would have shared it had the oppressive feeling not scared her more than anything else had in her life.

  ***

  Nerves raged through Freya’s body. She had been jittery from the moment she’d got up. To her relief, she saw the installation guy’s van was no longer parked outside, and though she couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation why it had gone that morning after it had been parked outside all last night, she decided it was one less worry for now. The psychics were her main concern.

  She talked to Logan about giving the guys the day off, and Logan convinced Jim and John to take them on a day trip through Skye. He argued that there was enough for them to see, and because they had behaved so well up until now, they deserved a little treat. The two counsellors had not been pleased, and both had argued that planning would be required, but she had pleaded with them, and they gave in. She wondered if they felt something was off about the house too, or if they attributed her somewhat irrational decision-making to the recent loss of her friend. Either way, she would rather meet Florifera and her crew away from any prying eyes.

  Logan and Freya watched the van pull away from the house, and he wrapped his arm around her as soon as it was out of sight. The warmth of his body felt reassuring, and her skin still tingled at his touch. With all that was occupying her mind, Freya was amazed she could have romantic feelings about anyone, but there they were… the feelings, and they were so strong they overcame all the stress. Being near Logan made everything more bearable, his presence casting a thin emotional quilt over her anxieties.

  “I haven’t seen Oliver yet. Is he still in bed?” She half turned to Logan, lifting her face up to him. He looked down at her, his nose close to hers, and for a moment she thought, she hoped, he would kiss her again, but he didn’t.

  “Is he still ill?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been so busy, I haven’t really checked up on him. I won’t be winning any ‘friend of the year awards’ this year, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s not that bad.” He tightened his arm around her and laughed softly. “Most sick people want to be left alone.”

  “Well, I’d better go bring him some coffee and tell him that those people are coming.”

  “You do that. I’m going to pop into the shower quickly before they arrive.”

  She pictured the hot water of the shower running down his naked body, and bit back the lewd remark resting on the tip of her tongue. She didn’t want to scare him off. If I get this wrong, he might never touch me again, she thought, and she wanted Logan to do that above all else, so she merely nodded and trotted off to the kitchen.

  Her hand trembled as she poured the coffee, spilling hot drips onto the countertop. She wiped the side of the mug, picked it up, and made her way to Oliver’s bedroom. Her knuckles rapped on the wooden door three times, and when she heard no response, she pushed down on the brass handle. The room was dark, the heavy curtains still closed, and Freya put the cup on Oliver’s nightstand. With a hint of cruelty in her heart, she walked over to the window and pulled
open the heavy curtains. Sunlight exploded into the room in fierce, yellow beams, bright enough for Freya to avert her eyes. The words ‘rise and shine’ died on her lips as she turned to wake Oliver. His bed was empty.

  “Ollie?” She said. There was no response. His en-suite bathroom was empty also.

  “Ollie?” Her voice filled the room. “Goddamnit.” She bolted for the door, a sense of irritation mixed with dread clutching at her.

  “Oliver? Ollie?” She spent several minutes wandering through the West Wing, opening doors and peering inside. Maybe he went out and I didn’t see him? Maybe he’s just doing some shopping? She stomped towards the entrance hall and looked out the window, but Bam’s car was still there, as was her own. Freya swore again and punched the wood of the windowsill. “I don’t need this shit, Oliver. Not today.” She turned on her heel and headed for the new staircase. Now that it was finished, it looked even more impressive. Freya admired the beauty of it for a brief second, then she ran up, taking two steps at a time.

  “Oliver?” She pushed open a few of the doors on the second floor, carefully avoiding the boys’ sleeping quarters in fear of invading some sort of privacy. “Ollie?”

  The door to the bathroom opened and Logan’s head peered around the corner. His wet hair hung across his forehead, dripping water across his face. He blinked at her.

  “What’s up?”

  “I can’t find Oliver anywhere.” Her voice cracked, and she fought back the tears. “I wish everyone would just stop disappearing in this fucking house. It’s not funny anymore, and I’m starting to get seriously worried. How many disappearances can we discount as ‘coincidences’, and when do we start to blame the house for this?”

  “Calm down. You’re panicking.” He stepped out of the bathroom, a green towel wrapped across his hips, drops of water clinging to his shapely figure. “Let me get dressed, I’ll help you look.”

  “That’s all we seem to do here lately, play fucking hide and seek with everyone.”

  “Give me a moment to get dressed,” he repeated, but his words lost their effect when the doorbell echoed through the house. It was a low and ominous sound that reminded Freya of the bells of Notre Dame.

  “Oh perfect.” She rolled her eyes and made a dismissive gesture with her hands at Logan. “We’ll deal with Oliver later. I need to get through this meeting first.” She turned and ran towards the door.

  Chapter 26

  Marie-Claire Florifera looked like she’d just wandered out of a Hammer Horror film, Freya thought. The psychic was an elderly woman, her long, white hair a stark contrast to her coffee-coloured skin, but what stood out to Freya most were the white eyes. They had neither irises nor pupils, and their sightless stare frightened her more than the ghosts in the attic had. The woman wore a white dress which flowed to her bony ankles, topped by a long, light blue vest, making her look like an ethereal nymph from a fairy tale more than a human woman. Freya needed a moment to compose herself, and only when her eyes fell on the man who was holding the old woman’s arm, did she regain her voice.

  “Please… come… come in.” Her voice sounded high and cracked to her own ears. The man, who was only an inch or so taller than the blind lady, nodded. He had light auburn hair that receded into a sharp crow’s peak, and tanned, freckled skin lined with age, much like old leather. He wore light grey pantaloons that reached up to his waist, a white shirt with blue checks and an off-white coat. It seemed that time had stopped moving for him around the 1980’s.

  “Are you Miss Formynder?” The old woman’s voice was clear, sounding more like a young girl’s.

  “Yes. Please, call me Freya.” She held out her hand and then felt silly, but the man tapped the woman’s right arm and she stretched her hand out to meet it.

  “This is quite a house you have here.” The woman gripped onto Freya’s hand, her bones protesting under the pressure. “I have no doubt Angel Manor is haunted. There is a lot of paranormal activity here. It’s up to us to determine what exactly seems to be going on.”

  “Of… of course.” Freya navigated the woman past the doorframe and into the entrance hall. “I have some tea on.”

  “Please, child, do me a favour. Give my team a spot of tea, let them settle in, but I want you to take me on a tour of the house. Just the two of us. I want to get acquainted with it first, and I can sense you have a strong bond with this place, so I insist that you are my guide.”

  “If that’s what you wish.” Freya turned to Logan, who nodded his head in acknowledgement.

  “You can go now,” he said. “I can take the others to the kitchen.”

  “Would you? Thank you.” Freya stalled for a moment, wondering if she needed to introduce herself to the rest of Florifera’s team first, or if she should just get on with the tour.

  “This is Ruben, and I will introduce you to the rest of my colleagues after our tour, dear.” The old woman smiled as if she had read her mind, and Freya felt her skin break out in goose bumps. Ruben gave her a curt nod, then turned his back on her and walked back to the vehicles standing in the driveway.

  “Come now, dear. Show me this extraordinary house.”

  ***

  “Be careful with that FLIR camera. It’s fragile, you clumsy oaf!” Ruben sneered at Pierre who had just piled the large laptop case on top of the camera bag without much delicacy. “Imbécile stupide, don’t you know this stuff is delicate?” He swore under his breath in French. The young man got on his nerves, and he had from the moment he’d joined Florifera’s crew. In the years that he’d worked with Marie-Claire, Ruben had seen many people come and go, and he knew the type Pierre was. A thrill seeker. Guys like him never stuck around for too long, not when they realized that ninety-percent of the work was dull, and that most of the haunted spots they would visit were just made up by those looking for attention. He had to admit, though, things were less crazy since they’d moved to the UK. They’d still met some annoying, attention-craving homeowners, but they also had the luxury of seeking out their own locations, which tended to weed out a lot of the fakes.

  There was a time when their crew had been bigger, but now they numbered just five. It would be enough for Angel Manor, Ruben knew, though he had to admit Marie-Claire’s reaction on entering the grounds of the manor had worried him. He had never seen her so overwhelmed before. This would be one of those experiences they wouldn’t soon forget, Ruben felt sure of it. He didn’t have any paranormal abilities, but even he’d felt the oppressive atmosphere on entering the surprisingly friendly-looking edifice. His stomach had become heavy with a foreboding feeling, and his frustration focussed itself on his clumsy new companion.

  “That’s a lot of equipment.” A tall man, who Ruben instantly dubbed ‘Lover Boy’ in his head, said, while he helped Julie with one of the tripods.

  “Yes, we need all of it. Do you have a place where we can set up? We need somewhere to hook up the laptops.”

  “Maybe you can show us the places where you’ve experienced the most activity?” Julie said. She was looking at Lover Boy as if she wanted to lie down and spread her legs right then and there. Ruben thought she was a bit of a silly girl, but he preferred her to Pierre.

  “No.” Ruben shook his head, still irritable. “We wait till Marie-Claire comes back. She will have a much better sense of where the hotspots are.”

  Both Lover Boy and Julie gawked at him, and he realized his tone had been a little harsh. Something about this house was making him grumpier than usual, and Ruben wasn’t the most gregarious person to begin with. He hated to admit it, but this house had him spooked.

  “Of course. How about I show you the kitchen? I have some tea ready. After that, we can find a good spot for you to set up.”

  “That would be fine. Let’s get the rest of the stuff out of the car first. Can we leave it here?” He pointed at the space at the foot of the large staircase where the equipment was stacked in neat piles.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Tea might be a g
ood idea after our long drive.” Ruben put his arm around Julie’s shoulder, his mute way of apologizing for his crass behaviour. They walked together towards Pierre and Darren, who were getting the last pieces out of the van. Ruben’s eyes fell on the row of Angels in front of the house, and his stomach flipped.

  There is something wrong with this place, something very wrong.

  ***

  Rather than giving Marie-Claire Florifera a tour, Freya felt as if she were the one being guided around the house. The medium walked a few steps ahead of her, waving a pendulum made from a milky-blue stone on a silver chain, and the way she manoeuvred around certain areas, Freya would have never guessed that the psychic was blind.

  “You are the one who is bonded with this house by blood, are you not?” The woman’s soft, musical voice pierced her cloud of thoughts.

  “Yes. Angel Manor belonged to my aunt, and my grandparents before her.” Freya cleared her throat, her voice sounding a little strangled.

  “It was built by an ancestor, was it not?”

  “I… I think so. To be honest, I don’t know that much about it. What I do know is that the house has always been given to the next generation. My mother left home when she was fifteen. She rarely speaks of it anymore, or of her life with her family. And when she does say anything, it’s seldom good. She used to mention it when I was little, but my dad would try and change the subject.”

  “Yes. I can see that.” The woman’s French accent was very slight, but it gave her voice a sing-song quality. “I feel a lot of grief in this house, both from the dead and the living.”