“I can’t just leave this place, not until Marie-Claire is done.”
“Marie-Claire?” Logan turned to the blind medium.
“You best go now, boy.” The old woman sounded tired. “We have only won half the battle. It’s time to bring these spirits to the light. And some of them will refuse to go. There is nothing you can do to help here, and the spirits have proven that they can be dangerous.”
Logan looked at Freya again. She was struggling to sit up straight.
“Freya…”
“Just go. I’ll be fine, I promise. I’ve made it through this much; I can get through the rest. You go, and meet me outside. Get in the car or something. Stay there. If something happens, you can just drive away.”
“I won’t just drive away.”
“Go now. Take Mason.”
Logan got to his feet and grabbed the young man’s arm. Mason barely responded, his eyes were still wide and he seemed to have been pulled away into a little world in his mind. There was cement dust all over his hair and shoulders, and Logan patted at it with the palm of his hand. There was still no reaction, and he glanced at Freya one more time, but she didn’t look back. She was too busy talking to Florifera.
“Let’s go, Mason.” Logan squeezed his arm and pulled him along.
***
The house released her the moment Chuck opened the second door to the basement. Bam put one foot into the hole, finding a staircase leading downwards. There was something hidden down there. It had an even stronger impact on her than the house had, and she feared it. But, she decided, she feared Chuck more.
“Bambi… don’t go down there.” Chuck’s voice was commanding, and for a moment, Bam froze. Then she ran.
It pulled at her, whatever it was, drowning out her own thoughts with a million screams. Yet she kept running. Behind her, Chuck followed, but Bam knew she had to keep it together. She couldn’t concentrate on her fear of him. The latch fell shut, and Bam realised vaguely through the chaos in her mind that, instead of outrunning Chuck, she was now trapped in here… with him.
Chapter 34
No matter how hard he ran, they were always a few steps behind him. He could hear their footsteps, but worst of all was the smell. That ominous scent of death. It turned his stomach as much as the fear did, and Terrence understood that ghosts didn’t need to rest. He might be faster now, but his body would give out. His muscles ached, and his adrenaline was starting to wear thin. The house around him shook and trembled, and there were moments when Terrence thought the roof might cave in on him, but somehow everything still stood. He had hurt his ankle when the ground shifted under his feet, leaving him with a burning pain. But his physical pain was nothing compared to the mental anguish he was currently feeling; it even blocked out the fear in his heart.
Why Tyrell? I could deal with those crazy naked bitches, but not my brother. Tears stung his eyes, and his heart drummed like a bird fluttering against the bars of a cage. As he turned towards the south corridor, his ankle collapsed without warning, and Terrence connected brutally with the marble floor. His weight landed on his arm, and it exploded with a burning pain. Panic stricken, he tried to scramble to his feet, but his arm would not support his weight and the hurricane of emotions was clouding his senses.
He’s going to get me. The fucking zombie Tyrell is going to get me. He’s not just going to talk to me now, I know it. He’s different.
Terrence turned himself on his back and watched them approach. Tyrell walked in front with the other three close behind. They weren’t exactly running. The house gave another shudder, and the walls creaked. Terrence pushed himself away from the oncoming spirits.
I don’t want to die like this. Not like this. Tears ran freely now, mingling with the snot running from his nose. He knew he couldn’t get away; there would be no escape.
A strong hand grabbed him, and Terrence screamed with all his might. The hand jerked, pulling him along the floor, and Terrence struggled.
“Damn it, boy. Stop that. Come here.” A voice with a thick French accent barked at him. “If you don’t come with me, you will be dead. They’re after you.”
The man was pale, and his high forehead was covered with little drops of sweat. He crouched at the top of the basement steps. Terrence pushed himself towards the opening and threw himself down the stone stairs. Each step connected heavily with his skin, and he grabbed hold of Ruben for support, sending the both of them tumbling until they reached the bottom. They lay side by side in the dimly lit basement, trying to catch their breaths. The other guy was on his feet first. He ran to the bottom of the stairs and knelt on the ground, scraping at something.
“What are you doing, man?” Terrence’s voice was hoarse, and his back, arm and leg ached.
“The salt is part of the defence in this basement. I think the spells are meant to keep things in, but I’m pretty sure in this case it can keep them out as well.”
“The ghosts?” Terrence sat up wild-eyed.
“Yes.”
“You keep them out with salt?”
“Yes.”
“Is this like fucking magical salt or something?” He fought a wave of hysteria.
“No, just salt.” The man’s breath was ragged.
“So we could have stopped these fucking things with a bit of salt?” He couldn’t comprehend the idea.
“I don’t know. These spirits… they are unlike anything I’ve ever encountered. But sticking to tradition can help. Magic is strange that way. It likes ritual.”
“Dude, you are making so fucking little sense to me right now.” He rubbed his temples. “But if you think you can stop those things, then you are my fucking hero.”
“Let’s hope I get to be your hero, or we will both die quite horribly.” The man massaged his arm and looked as if he were about to pass out.
A scream, not exactly human, made their eardrums ache. Around them, the walls shifted out of place, creaking and groaning, cement dust cascading down on them. A burst of energy caused the hairs on the back of Terrence’s neck to stand up, all the warmth drained from the building, and the lights went out. The basement was pitch black and eerily silent.
“Mr?”
“I’m here, kid.” The French accent soothed Terrence’s frayed nerves.
“Do you know what just happened then?”
“Not sure, but I think it might have been the first step of the exorcism.”
“There’s an exorcism?”
“Yes, kid. That’s why we’re here, to cleanse this house.”
“Oh… good.”
The light flickered back on, and a mild sense of relief arose in Terrence’s chest.
“Is it over?”
“No, my boy.”
A loud cackling sounded above them, turning Terrence’s blood to ice.
“I’m afraid it’s only beginning.”
***
The house looked smaller somehow, though Freya couldn’t explain why. The wallpaper looked more faded, and everything appeared dusty and old. Even the brand new stairs looked forlorn in the shadowy main hall. The electric light did nothing to brighten the large room, and the marble floor reflected it dully.
The house looks dead.
She dug her fingers into the bag of salt and finished the large circle she was creating. The Angels screeched in the distance, and the sound of their voices was unsettling. They’d lost control of the house, but that didn’t make them any less dangerous, and now that they were no longer bound, they were capable of leaving Angel Manor. The exorcism had to work.
The sheer thought of those naked, bloodthirsty women out in the world made Freya cringe. Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned, her heart pounding, but it was only Marie-Claire and Julie. The younger women held Marie-Claire by the arm. Florifera looked as if she had aged ten years overnight.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Freya raised her eyebrows and bit her lip.
“Yes. Are you done with the circle?”
“Almost.”
/>
“Hurry then. This isn’t over yet, and I don’t know how much longer I can distract the spirits. Once the spell I cast earlier wears off, they will be coming straight for us. We living are like beacons to the dead. They are drawn to our life energy and our warmth, and we don’t know how these spirits will respond now that they are freed from the house.”
Freya focused on the salt again, making sure the circle was not broken anywhere.
“Done. How are you going to exorcise the house?”
“I’m going to use a little extra magic,” Marie-Claire answered with a hint of mystery in her voice.
“Extra magic?”
“I’m going to use Lucifer Falls. It’s the perfect place to draw lost spirits to and give them a place to rest. It’s a gate, if you will.”
“Like the pearly gates.”
Florifera laughed an unexpectedly young laugh. She shook her head, a strand of long, white hair loosening from the elastic band and falling across her cheek. “No child, the pearly gates are just a myth as far as I know. The gate to heaven is more abstract, I should think. Though perhaps you are not altogether wrong when you compare it to the concept of the pearly gates. Lucifer Falls will serve as a very strong light for spirits to be drawn to. I don’t believe these spirits will be too willing to go, so we need an extra incentive.”
“And you think Lucifer Falls will be it?”
“I do. I hope it will draw them like a moths to a flame. The problem is getting that light connected to our spirits.”
“Do we have to lure them towards it or something?”
“No, it’s more the other way around. We need to get the light to them.”
“And you know how to do that?”
A thought crossed the woman’s face, Freya could see it but couldn’t make out what it was. Hesitation?
“In theory, I have an idea how to. This magic is stronger than any I have ever used, so I can’t tell you for sure.”
“So this might not work then?” Freya’s voice was soft and filled with fear. Marie-Claire didn’t answer her but instead directed Pierre to get her bag. The young man ran eagerly, his eyes darting around. He obviously felt as paranoid as Freya was.
This has to work.
“I don’t know how many survivors are still in the house. I felt a few when we were unravelling the spells, but I didn’t have time to focus on them. I don’t know where they are.” Florifera sounded brittle, and she spoke an octave higher than normal. “We need to act fast if we want to save them.”
Pierre handed the woman a large carpet bag, and she placed it on one of the steps. With a click, she opened the top and pushed her arm inside, rummaging around the contents. Seconds later, she pulled out four herb bunches tied together with a purple ribbon, and she held her hand to Pierre for a lighter.
“I need you three to stand in the circle like the guardians of the east, west and south. I will represent the guardian of the north.” She clicked her fingers impatiently, her brow furrowed. “Please, take your places.”
Freya looked at the circle, not sure what to do next, and Julie pointed her to the space where she was supposed to stand. Marie-Claire lit one of the herb bunches and handed it to her. Then the old woman lit a second and handed it to Pierre, the third she gave to Julie, while she kept the fourth for herself.
“I call upon the guardians of the north watchtower. You are the powers of the earth both generous and divine. Please protect this north gate and guard all within this circle. Thank you. I welcome you.”
Marie-Claire waved her herb bundle in the air, creating fragrant smoke rings. Freya coughed slightly, the scent of the herbs making her mouth dry. When Marie-Claire was still, Julie moved her herb bundle and spoke in a loud clear voice.
“I call upon the guardians of the east watchtower. You are the powers of the air both generous and divine. Please protect this east gate and guard all within this circle. Thank you. I welcome you.”
Freya felt a hint of panic; she was the next in line, and she had no idea what to say for this spell. She knew nothing of magic.
“Say the words with me, Freya.” Marie-Claire spoke in soft, comforting tones, and her mind pressed against hers, causing Freya’s muscles to relax. She opened her mind as she had before, and felt the consciousness slip into her, but only on the surface.
“I call upon the guardians of the south watchtower. You are the powers of the fire both generous and divine. Please protect this south gate and guard all within this circle. Thank you. I welcome you.”
Her mind cleared, and Marie-Claire left her feeling empty as she retreated from her consciousness.
Pierre spoke last: “I call upon the guardians of the west watchtower. You are the powers of the water both generous and divine. Please protect this west gate and guard all within this circle. Thank you. I welcome you.”
Marie-Claire stepped into the middle of the circle and spread her arms wide.
“Guardians of the watchtowers of earth, air, fire, and water, allow me your power and protection tonight. Thank you. I welcome you.” The temperature changed, the air now feeling hot and dry. Some invisible force wrapped itself around her shoulders, and the blood rushed to her cheeks.
“We are now safe to cast our spell.” Marie-Claire gave a curt nod at no one in particular. They extinguished their herb bundles; Julie took Freya’s from her grip and placed the burned out remains beyond the circle of salt. Pierre moved near Freya, pulling her further into the middle, and he grabbed one of her hands while Julie took her other. Marie-Claire stood across from her, holding hands to close the circle.
“We summon the gates to the eternal hereafter. We call upon the light. We call upon the darkness. Reveal yourself to us, and to those who walk this plane past their welcome. We ask you to take these weary souls from this plane and let them follow the right path.”
Freya watched, a little uncomfortable and unsure of what to do, while all three people around her closed their eyes and threw back their heads. The three voices spoke out in unison.
“Regna terrae, cantata Deo, psallite Cernunnos,
Regna terrae, cantata Dea psallite Aradia.
caeli Deus, Deus terrae,
Humiliter majestati gloriae tuae supplicamus.”
The words meant nothing to Freya, she felt she should say something, join in, but she couldn’t. Nerves tickled her stomach, and she had to suppress an anxious laugh.
“Cernunnos ipse truderit virtutem plebi Suae,
Aradia ipse fortitudinem plebi Suae.
Benedictus Deus, Gloria Patri,
Benedictus Dea, Matri Gloria.”
The words rang with power, and though Freya wasn’t speaking them, she could feel every intonation vibrate through her bones. She would never have even dreamed that magic was real a few short months ago. It was as if someone had removed a veil from the world and revealed its hot energetic core. Her life would never be the same after what she had seen, and Freya wondered for the briefest of moments where she would go from here.
A rush of air filled the room, hot and dry, like a desert wind, and there was a magical pull. Freya opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder. The wall behind her looked almost translucent, and a very faint light emanated from it. It was nothing like she’d expected. Freya had envisioned an actual portal or a brightly lit hole in the centre of the room, like in horror movies. This was different. At the same time, she could feel the intense magical pull of the portal, and her soul longed to pass through to the other side.
“Now we must draw the souls here and guide them to the light.”
“How do we do that?”
Marie-Claire’s expression hardened, showing a hint of darkness that made Freya’s knees weak.
“That’s the tricky part, dear. We have to lure them here.”
“How?”
“Bait.” It was Pierre who answered the question, and he gave her a dark grimace.
“Well, that’s comforting.” Freya sat down and wrapped her arms around her head. The
thought of luring angry spirits made her want to give up on the whole endeavour, but then she thought of Logan and Oliver, and she knew she had no choice.
“I’ll serve as bait.”
“As will all of you, dear. I will be here to act as a guide.”
“Tell me what I have to do.”
***
He could hear them in there… chatting, chanting, whatever the fuck they were doing. He didn’t care. They’d killed the house – Oliver was sure of it. They had ripped out its beating magical heart, its beautiful soul and its actual being… and they had obliterated it. He couldn’t feel it anymore. The voices had stopped talking to him. A deep, unsettling emptiness had made itself master over his soul.
The house had spoken to him one last time, right before it had died. At that moment, the house had shown him everything it had ever done. Every drop of blood that had been spilled on the ground crossed Oliver’s mind’s eye, and he felt as if he had been there. Each murder, in a way, was committed by his hand. He had been in this house for many generations, from the very beginning, in fact. His body had been different, but his soul had been the same, he was convinced of that. The sacrifice he longed for had already been made, over and over again. He had been not only the living but the dead in the house, and everything had always come from him. He knew that now. The house and he had been merged throughout his many lives. Oliver never believed in reincarnation, but Angel Manor had given him proof.
And then it died. He had felt the house retreat from his soul, letting go of it and leaving it cold and empty. He had held Anne in his arms when her spirit was rudely torn from the magic of the house. He had seen the desolation in her eyes, and he had felt anger. She had left him then, pulling away from him as her body lost its solid form. He wanted to hold her close, to savour the metallic taste of her lips again, but he knew he couldn’t. Anne’s power had come from the house, and now her strength had weakened too much.
Someone would pay for this, for murdering Angel Manor, for taking Anne from him. He knew just who to get. Perhaps if he could stop them, he could restore the house once more and bring back his connection with Anne. After all, he had bonded with this house. It was his now, not Freya’s… His.
Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1) Page 31
