Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1)

by Noordeloos, Chantal

  Freya led them through the house, more of a maze now than anything else. Sometimes she would make choices that seemed odd to Logan, and from the cursing, he could tell Terrence wasn’t pleased with them either. Sometimes she would walk through a wall, or avoid places that looked like an exit, but strangely enough, she was always right. She would see changes to the house before they occurred. Freya danced through the darkness like a fairy, and Logan and the two boys followed.

  The surroundings were getting more familiar as they walked on, and to his excitement, Logan noticed that they were on the bottom floor.

  “This is the West Wing. I’m sure of it.” He didn’t say it to anyone in particular, but Terrence seemed to be the only one who responded to his voice.

  “I just want to get out of here, Logan. Why isn’t she leading us to an exit?”

  “I don’t know, Terrence, but I’ll get you out of here, I promise.”

  The boy nodded, his face ash-grey.

  “We are almost there.” There was a hint of a French accent to Freya’s voice. “There are problems. Spirits are in the corridor blocking our way to the kitchen. We’re lucky that they aren’t Angels.”

  “Angels? What fucking angels?” Terrence swore under his breath and ran his fingers through his short cropped hair. Logan didn’t have to answer. He heard their laughter and screeching from a distance.

  “Tell me those are not Angels?” Terrence shuddered and stared at Logan.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” he answered. “Doubt there is anything angelic about them though.”

  “This place is so fucked up.”

  Logan felt a pang of guilt. I should have listened to Freya and gotten the boys out of here when I still could. Now it’s too fucking late. I had no idea it would get this bad.

  “The Angels are upstairs.” Freya still spoke with the French lilt. “They are not down here… not yet.”

  The last words brought a chill to Logan’s spine, and he shuddered. “And those things? Are they dangerous?” He knew he wasn’t really speaking to Freya.

  “Yes, they are very dangerous, but not as aggressive or clever as the Angels. There should be a way around them. Someone will need to create a distraction.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Logan turned to Terrence and shook his head. “No. I’m not going to put you at risk.”

  Terrence narrowed his eyes, his arms hung by his side, his fists clenching and unclenching. “I’m fast. Faster than any of you. If anyone can make a run for it, it’s me. I outran so many psychos in my neighbourhood, I don’t see how this would be any different.”

  “Well, they’re not ordinary guys, for one. We don’t know what we’re dealing with. They could trap you. This house is constantly changing.”

  “And they can’t get to me when you’re near?” The look Terrence gave him felt like a physical blow to his stomach. “I’ve seen how well that worked. Mr Norris was cut in half, man. There is no way you can keep me safe.”

  “Terrence… I can’t let you do this.”

  “Well, I ain’t asking your permission now, am I?” He stared at Logan, holding his eyes for a few seconds. “Get them to safety and get those fuckers before they get me, okay?” Then he sprinted off in the direction of the spirits before Logan could do anything to stop him.

  ***

  Oliver wiped the sweat off his brow and tried to collect his thoughts. Somewhere in the depth of his mind, there was still a little part left of the person he’d been before the house had claimed him, and that part was very much afraid. More afraid of what he’d become than anything else. Angel Manor had tainted him the same way it had tainted all the other spirits. Oliver had wanted the house so badly, he had given into it, and he’d felt the hunger of the house, which in turn had brought out his own bloodlust.

  His fingers ran across the walls, and he was connected with it all, a multitude of voices whispering at him. He rested his head against the wall and pictured hot blood running through his fingers. Oliver knew that his turn for sacrifice would come very soon. He would experience the sweet pain the house craved for. There were some perfect victims in the house for his plan, but he knew he had to be cautious around the roaming spirits. If they got their hands on him, his safety would not be guaranteed, Anne had told him as much.

  “I will need a weapon. Something to carve the succulent flesh.” He smiled wickedly, while deep inside his mind the old Oliver moaned. The house pulsated with the power of the equinox, and it throbbed through him like a second heartbeat. He weaved his way through the corridors, making his way towards the kitchen to find the weapon he sought.

  “This way, my love.” Anne appeared several feet ahead of him, her fingers beckoning him to come hither. “I shall guide you through the house… keep you safe.”

  “Yes… the house, it wants to consume me.” Oliver’s eyes rolled in his sockets, and he could barely focus his vision. “It’s so strong, my love. It’s pulling at me.”

  “You are so important to Angel Manor. You are the first who is not of the bloodline who has loved the house like you do.”

  “The house is a part of me now. All that it does… that’s part of me, too. I have accepted it fully into my soul.” A stream of saliva ran from the corner of his mouth as he spoke, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, smearing it across his cheek. His eyes rolled back into his head again, his muscles no longer under his control.

  “We must sacrifice for the Master who sleeps. We must keep the world in balance… it is what is wanted of us.” He stepped forward, following the ethereal creature.

  “Yes… and we must keep the Manor pleased. We must still its hunger, and our legions must grow.”

  “I will make a sacrifice this very night.”

  Chapter 33

  They almost had him. The sight of his brother standing there with some fat dead guy had nearly slipped him up. He’d skidded to a halt, and they’d turned to him in unison, like in one of those horror movies Terrence liked to watch. It was surreal to be in this situation, the idea of facing off against a bunch of undead fuckers…

  The sight of Tyrell was off-putting, but Terrence told himself that this dark figure was not his brother, so he tore his eyes away before he turned around and ran… straight into Roger Mace.

  “Roger?” Terrence froze to the spot. For a moment, he thought Roger had come back, that he was alive and trapped just like he was, but then he noticed the pale skin and the deep-set eyes. Roger looked the way he had in life, only different. Dead. “Shit man, what happened to you?” He glanced to the figure at his side, and he recognised Lyndon Farrow.

  “It’s beautiful here, Terrence. We would like you to join us.”

  Something snapped in Terrence, and he found his senses. He slipped between Roger and Lyndon, low and fast, feeling the air on his skin as their hands tried to grab at him. His heart pounded with adrenaline, but his mind was calm. He had been here before. True it was different, but he wasn’t going to focus on who or what he was facing, just on getting away. He ducked and ran, his feet hitting the marble floor with a light tread, his hands pumping by his sides. For the briefest second, he looked back and saw the four figures behind him. They were fast, but not exceptionally so. No faster than the guys he’d run from before, and he knew that his brother couldn’t outrun him for sure.

  You’d better fix this Logan, he thought while he ran. I plan on getting out of here alive.

  ***

  Where am I running to? Bam wondered. She had been running for what seemed like hours, and still Chuck found her. Twice, she had lost him, but her brother seemed more determined now to catch her. Bam considered going outside. She was limited to the grounds, but she might find a better hiding place out there. For a moment, it seemed like her best option, until she passed the basement door. She knew where to go. She had to go deeper down. It was a forbidden place for the spirits, and it would be the only place where the house couldn’t reach her. She hesitated for a moment, but Chuck’s presenc
e forced her hand and she flung open the basement door.

  In life, Bam had been afraid of the dark, but death embodied darkness, and she ran down without any fear. She felt the many deaths that had occurred in this place, the house had sucked up every last one of them. There was no evidence of their demise, and yet Bam could see them clearly. She didn’t mourn their deaths, but she mourned their imprisonment.

  The presence of the other place was almost stifling. She opened the second door in the basement and made her way to a dark hatch in the floor. Her whole spirit trembled as she opened it. Below her was a darkness that was both inviting and appalling. A distant noise startled Bam, and she wondered if Chuck had found her. She desperately wanted to go through the hole in the floor, but something wasn’t letting her. It’s the house… it won’t let me go.

  Bam felt Chuck’s presence coming closer and started to cry.

  ***

  When Florifera left her mind, Freya felt as if she had exhaled through her eyes rather than her mouth. Her brain was cold and empty all of a sudden, as if a part of it was missing, and yet at the same time, it was a great relief to not have a second mind present. It took a minute for her vision to clear, and Logan roughly shoved her into the kitchen where Florifera and her two remaining team members sat in a circle on the ground. The circle was glowing with a purplish luminescence, and the sight of it surprised Freya.

  “Come to me, child. I need you here right away.” The blind woman signalled impatiently for her to come close, and Freya obeyed. The presence of Florifera within her mind had changed Freya’s perspective of the woman a little; she didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. It wasn’t exactly that she and Marie-Claire had bonded over thoughts, but her consciousness had merged with the old woman somehow, creating a link between them.

  “What do you want me to do?” She was careful where she put her feet, afraid to step directly on the illuminated symbols in fear of disrupting their magic.

  “You know what we did before? How I looked through your eyes?”

  “Yes?”

  “That was me flowing through you. For this spell I need to do the opposite.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I need you to flow through me.”

  “I don’t know how to do that.”

  Florifera took her hands and squeezed so hard her bones rubbed together. She pulled Freya down in front of her, the white eyes holding hers.

  “You can do this. I will talk you through it and help you.”

  She nodded in response, but her whole body was tense.

  “All of you, get into the circle. It holds a little protection against our foes in this house, but I can’t know for certain how long it will last. I need everyone to be as quiet as they can. We shall need utmost concentration.”

  Freya looked around at the four people behind her, all standing close together, their expressions ranging from frightened to determined to utterly shocked. Whatever we’re going to do, please let this work. Please let all of us get out of here.

  “Are you ready, dear?”

  “Yes,” she lied. She wasn’t ready at all, but she didn’t want to wait; she just wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

  “Now, look into my eyes and open up your mind. Can you do that, dear?”

  Freya looked into the white eyes. They weren’t as white as she thought they were. Underneath the blank eyeball she saw a hint of a circle, a faint light purple colour, and in it an even darker circle. Her mind relaxed as Marie-Claire’s consciousness reached out to her like invisible hand. The warmth of the other mind engulfed hers, her vision changed again, and this time it was she who could see through Marie-Claire’s strange blind eyes. A new world opened up. A world of magic, portrayed in shades of darkness and light.

  Every muscle in her body relaxed, and Freya fell back to the floor, her eyes still open but unable to see the world around her. Her mind roamed through the house, together with Marie-Claire’s, and she saw it all: the dead, the spells, every brick and every stone. Her mind touched them as if she were running her fingertips across them. She could feel its essence, and she knew that she was connected to it, more so than anyone else. “Do you see the threads of the spells?” The disembodied voice of Marie-Claire ran through her mind. Freya looked at the long strands of energy that were shaped almost like words and symbols, woven through reality itself. She saw their ends sticking out.

  “I see them. I feel I can just pull at them.”

  “You can. Touch the magic. I will aid you.”

  She reached out a hand, not a physical one but one made of ideas, memories and identity, and touched the magic. The strands curled around it, recognising her the way a dog recognises its master. The sensation tingled, almost painfully, and Freya pulled the strands apart. The house trembled, resisted, but she grabbed the next part and pulled. This time, it didn’t come apart so easily, but she didn’t give up, the strength of Marie-Claire backing her up.

  The spells started to crack and the house moaned. It pushed at her mind, cruel and painful, taunting her with her own feelings. Freya saw the tormented face of Bam, and for a moment, she stopped what she was doing, but then she pushed on, ripping away at the spells with more determination than before.

  A high-pitched, guttural scream bellowed through Angel Manor. The walls creaked and moved a few inches inwards. Cracks formed in the brickwork, deep and black, running down like snakes across the stone. A black liquid with the consistency of jelly poured forth from the cracks and drizzled down with languid speed. She felt its pain. The house cried out in betrayal – she was taking its soul, destroying its mind. Something begged her not to do this, a female voice, but it was faint and Freya ignored it. Of course the house would protest.

  ***

  Sister Agatha felt the spells unravel before Angel Manor did. She had helped create them, and though they had changed over the years, she still felt every thread as part of her being. The equinox had left her weak, but now the house was being ripped apart. The tethers she and the other spirits had to the house were loosening, and she realised that soon they would all be free. A part of her felt an incredible sense of relief. She would be freed from this house, from this place that she had dedicated her life to, had sacrificed herself to. She would be duty bound no longer, and there would be rest for her, eternal rest.

  But her sense of duty, which had become ingrained into her restless soul, screamed out. If the spells were broken, the defences for Angel Manor would be disabled. Her freedom could cost so many lives, and Sister Agatha needed to stop what was happening.

  She found the girl, the one of the bloodline, but she was too weak to stop her. She shouted, but her voice was too soft. The house around her was breaking down, and there was nothing Agatha could do to stop it. Soon they would all be free.

  ***

  Logan wanted to rush to Freya’s aid. Her whole body rocked back and forth with spasms. A foamy, white liquid spilled from her lips, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

  “Don’t.” Julie held his arm and looked at him with pleading eyes. “She’s fine. Florifera has her.”

  “She looks like she’s having a fit.”

  “I know.”

  A loud crash sounded in the distance, and the house groaned again. Cracks appeared in the walls, sending a light rain of dust and cement down on them, and Logan was worried that the building might collapse. He didn’t know where Terrence was, or Jim or Gary, and as much as he wanted to find them, he knew it wouldn’t do any good.

  He decided to stay where he was for now, but if he saw any further sign of danger, he would grab Freya and Mason and run from this house – fuck the rest of them.

  A smell hit him, a combination of burned rubber and ammonia, strong enough to make him gag. The house trembled with the ferocity of an earthquake, moving to the same rhythm as Freya’s shaking body.

  Without warning, Freya’s shaking stopped, and she became as stiff as a board. Her eyes were wide open, as was her mouth, an
d for a moment, Logan feared she was dead. Then Freya bolted up to her feet, her body movements physically impossible. A loud scream escaped her rigid mouth, and a cloud of black smoke exploded from her pale lips and evaporated into the air. The house went dark, all the lights went out, and even the light of the moon, which had seemed so bright before, had dimmed. A hushed silence settled over Angel Manor, and Logan could hear the beating of his own heart. Freya’s body relaxed and she slumped to the ground, hitting the tiles of the kitchen floor with a sickening thud. This time, Logan rushed to her side.

  He picked her up in his arms, resting her back against his knees. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave him a weak smile. The lights went on again.

  “Is it over?” Her voice was hoarse, and her lips were pale and cracked.

  “I… I don’t know?”

  “Not yet. We’ve only released the spirits from the house. Now we need to exorcize them.” Florifera crawled to her feet and shook the dust from her shoulders and skirt. “You broke the spells though, dear. The rest is my department.”

  “Can we leave the house?”

  “Yes, but the spirits are still dangerous. Though, admittedly, they’ve lost the magic of the house, which means they can’t manipulate it anymore.”

  Freya’s eyes met Logan’s. “Get the kids out of here. I’ll stay with Marie-Claire and her team. Get Mason to safety, and maybe you can find Terrence?”

  “I can’t leave you here.”

  “You’re not leaving me; you are getting the kids out. I will join you as soon as I can.”

  “You took a bad fall, Freya. I should get you out. Get you to a hospital. Your head is bleeding.” He looked at the nasty gash on the side of her head and the long line of red liquid running from it. Logan held the sleeve of his shirt against it until the bleeding slowed.