Behind the Veil

by E. J. Dawson

  “This way,” Alasdair called as he headed for the rear of the house, but as he ran Letitia did the unthinkable—she stopped running.

  Within her, the white light that had been so useless before rose once again, and she imagined it filling her and exploding outward, stopping the creature from reaching through the hotel to where Alasdair escaped with Finola in his arms.

  It was only a second, a few at most, but enough that a scream on the wind rose, wrath pouring from the void in front of her as she fought to exhaust the spirit once more.

  “Is that all you have, monster?” she yelled, panting in exertion, adrenaline filling her with false confidence as she backed into the foyer. “I defied you, like none of those girls could.”

  Letitia shouted to the empty corridors and rooms, putting as much power into her voice as she could, filling her chest until she could no longer contain the sound.

  “You are powerless!”

  The darkness vanished into the true night once more, the scream dying with it.

  The absence of so much noise brought a clanging to her ears. There was no rain, no wind, no thunder or lighting. Letitia stared around warily, watching each of the shadows and wondering from where he would strike next.

  The longer the silence drew on the more she wondered if he hadn’t lost his power and dissipated. Letitia wasn’t sure how much strength he had or how long he could keep attacking her. But as the silence continued, she became concerned. Nothing moved.

  She had one last task to do before she could be sure Finola would be safe, and she had to do it while Alasdair was outside the confines of the hotel.

  Returning to the foyer, she walked around, looking up the stairs and watching every piece of furniture, her mind guarded but ready. Letitia had to drop her shields to be sure the spirit wasn’t present.

  Every nuance of its personality was gone. She sought it out and found nothing.

  Thinking it exhausted once more, Letitia took up her lantern from the reception desk and readied herself for what she should have done without hesitation down in the lair. There was no time to regret that she hadn’t acted sooner, but now she knew what to do, despite any fears.

  She hurried to the top of the cave’s stairs.

  The figure waited for her.

  It lunged out of the darkness for her face.

  She dropped the lantern, and the wick sniffed out.

  Letitia couldn’t see.

  She stared as hard as she could, focusing on vague shapes in an effort to recall where things had been, wondering what shadow settled about her sight. Nothing touched her face or eyes but a blackness far more infinite than night covered her vision. In her blindness she felt a prickle on her skin, the horror tingling the hair up all over her body until it itched.

  It was trying to possess her.

  It hadn’t moved. It watched her—it was right in front of her and Letitia was too terrified to move, too frightened to breathe, too scared to blink.

  It sought a way inside her and Letitia could only push her thoughts outward and not dwell or think on what lay within her or what would happen if it were to take her.

  Tears gathered in her eyes and filled them with pressure, forcing drops to leak down her cheeks as she refused to blink.

  Her thoughts drew unbidden to that painful night, the closest to death she’d ever come.

  Whatever this spirit had been, it was no longer a man, and she had forced it into revealing its true nature, its indomitable will, and it was going to tear her apart from the inside.

  It had found a way in.

  It was going to take her.

  “You hold no dominion over me,” she whispered to it, her voice trembling as she heard the lie.

  Because it did. It had found the dark stain of her soul, and it was coming to possess her.

  In the dark of the veil she couldn’t pierce, it struck her.

  Chapter 23

  Letitia was falling.

  Down she went until she landed on her hands and knees. She ached so much, the kind of pain that starts with the smallest of twitches and grows into a wave that washes into unconsciousness. Her abdomen pulsed, echoing her heart, but with every thud it faded, growing softer. Her hands were covered in blood, mixing with the tears that fell as she stared at herself in horror. It was nothing compared to the blood spilling into her drawers, sliding down her thighs, thick with mucus.

  She could see it now, see the soul inside her, watching, unable to move, as the little life slipped away. It was all she had left of Daniel, the spirit who had lingered over her, caressed her skin when she hadn’t been looking, wanting to hold her and their newborn.

  Anything was better than the desperate agony of being burned alive on a sinking ship. His pain and regret brought him to Letitia, who’d sought his spirit in her grief and created a bridge she couldn’t control. Instead of Daniel, a creature that had never been human came through, drawn by her power as she’d parted the veil between life and death.

  Letitia tried to stop it, but she’d only banished it to a weaker mind.

  It had taken the witch instead.

  The creature struck out, using the witch’s body, scaring the other women into fleeing as it spat out its vileness at Letitia’s prone form. Letitia’s body broke under the witch’s attack. The little child within her gave a sharp twist of pain, and Letitia couldn’t do anything to stop it. It was too late.

  Letitia threw back her head and screamed.

  For all the world it sounded in her ears like the desperate cry of a dying animal. There was nothing human in the sound and it wasn’t enough.

  She roared her pain.

  Howled until her throat bled and she could not draw breath.

  Blood pounded in her head, leaked out her body, rocking with agonizing misery.

  The creature used the witch’s voice.

  “You’ll be mine,” it taunted. “You haven’t escaped yet. I can still take you.”

  A fury spurred her into lashing out at the older woman’s body. Letitia raked it with clawed hands, tore clothes and hair, brought her hands to fists, and hit again and again until she could no longer hold up her arms, striking until her knuckles were bloody, one hand spasming with tight, painful pinches. And yet the body still moved, still watched, still laughed.

  Letitia didn’t even recognize what was left of the witch’s body by the time she ceased.

  She fell back, leaving it in the corner, watching it twitch as the final breath left the body.

  And then it giggled.

  Soft at first, then it grew, mocking Letitia as it sat against the wall laughing.

  “You’re dead!” Letitia screamed at it.

  The body jumped to its feet and danced about the room before it fell to its knees in front of Letitia and she gazed into its eyes.

  Black, completely dark, blood oozing into its eyeballs and it didn’t even blink, didn’t push away the scalp of hair dangling over its face, didn’t care about the broken jaw as it spoke.

  “You’ll give in to me in the end,” it whispered. The grin was stretched wide over its gaping teeth, lips cracking and drooling blood.

  It was savoring her growing fear, feeding itself on her horror as the darkness left the corpse and hovered over Letitia.

  She wanted to look away, to run, but her legs would not move. Everything hurt, and the thread that had been holding her to life was starting to stretch. What did she have left to defeat something she couldn’t kill?

  “You’ll survive,” it promised, “and you’ll help me into the world.”

  “I won’t let you,” Letitia gasped, unable to move.

  “But you will. I can exist in you,” it said. “I can exist…in here.” Its hand drifted to Letitia’s belly.

  Bile climbed up Letitia’s throat, but she couldn’t move away for her tired body wouldn’t
obey her commands. Tears beyond grief poured down her face as silent as the grave as she stared in wide-eyed revulsion at the monstrosity before her.

  The body slumped to the side, strings cut, maniacal grin still in place as behind it a shadow rose.

  Shapeless as smoke, darker than night.

  It wafted above the witch, rising higher to loom over Letitia. She couldn’t stop herself staring into the eyeless face of the creature as she was washed in its true malevolence.

  A shadowy hand reached down to cup her cheek and stroke away her chestnut hair, the other hand coming up to hold her face into position, almost sweetly, before burying its thumbs in her eyes. Letitia felt a stabbing pain so cold it burned, slicing down into her mind, cutting through to her soul. Real and not real, her eyes were there but a part of her was being ripped to shreds, every nerve ending struck as though the thing had truly plucked out her eyes.

  It danced along her nerves, agony following in its wake, and the thing was inside her, in her veins, the pumping blood of her heart, and it buried itself in her before extending outward. Seeping through her body, a drop at a time, it coursed through her, flexing the fingers that were Letitia’s. She trembled as she fought for control. She was jerked to her feet, limbs moving as though pulled by a puppeteer. She danced around the room as the witch had been made to do, spinning about until it brought her to a halt in front of a mirror.

  The thing clumsily used her hands to pull the ringlets back into place, streaking blood over her pale cheeks, forcing the same macabre grin on her lips. Her mouth hurt it made her grin so much, and she tried to lick her lips before her teeth clacked down over her tongue, biting hard. Stinging pain spread through her mouth, and she cried out against the feral smile still in the mirror as blood spilled down her chin.

  “Yes,” it said, but this time it was through her mouth, patting her distended stomach. “You’re pretty, and when this heals, we will fill it up again!”

  Watching herself speak, seeing the mad smirk and black eyes, a part of Letitia wanted to scream but could not utter a sound.

  No…Letitia had no voice to speak with, no tongue to say the words, no eyes to cry her pain.

  “Yes, we will,” it laughed. “We’ll fill you up with the spawn of a demon’s get. The right man will be enticed to lie between your thighs and rut upon you until he dies! Does that frighten you? Tell me it frightens you!” It cackled madly through her own mouth, and Letitia faded away, unable to face herself in the mirror.

  Don’t…Letitia couldn’t imagine it, her child gone. The growing emptiness of her womb was replaced with the wriggling sensation of the spawn’s life. It was building her back up from the inside, readying her again to bear its evil unto the world.

  “No!” She screamed it, forcing the words through the thing’s control. “You can’t have me!”

  It jerked her about, slapped her face with her own hand, but in the mirror, her eyes were brown once more, if only for a second.

  “Foolish girl!” it snapped, but Letitia wrested control from it, her rage pouring into her body like liquid that burned, hotter than the sun, warmer than a desert wind. It scorched away the presence, turning it into ash, and as it went Letitia was filled with a kind of fiery power that would turn her soul to ash.

  Wracked with pain, she fell back to the table, doubling over as the creature tried to force her to stand, but in the struggle, it didn’t feel the blade the witch had used to cut herself in her macabre ritual.

  Clutching it in her damaged hand, Letitia brought the blade down.

  It sliced through her forearm.

  Transferring the knife to her other hand, Letitia spread the last vestige of her power into slashing her other arm. The creature squealed as Letitia met its gaze in the mirror, still within her eyes.

  “What is left of me for you to claim?” she whispered, watching the blood that fell from the cuts on her wrist to turn to liquid silver, her essence falling away like water from the wounds. The creature railed inside her, searing her with its writhing hatred, but it was too much.

  She had lost too much blood.

  Letitia laughed at the creature before she fell to the floor. The room spun, her eyelids fluttered—this would be her final moment.

  Yet somehow, she was still there.

  And so was the creature.

  It came back, knitting the cuts to her arms, fixed her perfectly, hummed as it went.

  It was going to make Letitia its own…

  

  Letitia wretched bile onto the floor, spilling from her lips where she lay prone, body wracked with ghostly pain.

  “No,” she whispered, spitting out the taste of vomit. “You gave yourself away, Lynwood.”

  It was a dream, just as she’d done to him. He had tricked her and she’d fallen into the trap of her past, almost dying as she had done before. He’d used a memory she had not let herself dwell upon, and he forced her to relieve it, but she had taken herself out the other side through her own pain.

  Letitia was calm. She was unafraid.

  She could hear the rain, even see a little, enough to know she was back in the foyer.

  Every breath was a blessing, every thud of her pulse in her ears was a perfect noise.

  There was only Letitia and the specter.

  He was simply the remains of a man, not a greater evil with prophetic intent and not a terrible darkness that would swallow the world. Merely the pathetic excuse of a depraved individual whose disgusting and abhorrent nature hadn’t allowed him to pass the veil.

  There was a flurry in the air above her, but it was growing weaker.

  “You do like to hum, don’t you?” She stared up at the swirling dark above her where she lay prone on the floor. “And you aren’t nearly as powerful as the demon was—I am still here.”

  She could see the confusion as it darted above her, seeking any means to hurt her. She experienced a far darker pain than he had ever known. He’d only ever felt different, had enjoyed his indulgence, and the one time he’d been remotely afraid was when he’d pulled the trigger.

  He’d feared the beyond.

  Lynwood couldn’t hold a candle to Letitia’s fortitude.

  “You never had a chance against me,” she whispered to it, all the while a gloating smile stretched her cheeks, a dim echo of her past.

  The shadow blurred in its frustration and ineptitude and she laughed at it. Her stomach ached and she couldn’t stop the burble as she stared up at it, giving it a chance in her inattention.

  The spirit reached a clawed hand above her and holding the letter opener that had been on the desk brought it rushing down to her abdomen. There was no time or room to move.

  The blow fell to the side, and the creature screamed a high whistling noise of defiance.

  She felt it gather and saw it move, but it was no longer focused on her but behind her.

  Alasdair stood in the doorway to the kitchen, lantern in hand.

  He’d come back for her.

  “Letitia!” he cried, staring at her on the floor, the knife wedged in the floor beside her.

  “Give me the lantern!” she cried, rolling onto her stomach as she flung away the knife. He rushed toward her but she held out her hand, snatching the light from him and shoving him away. “You have to leave now before he takes you like he did Calbright. You have to run!”

  Not waiting for an answer, she fled down the stairs of the cave, skirt held aloft so she didn’t trip. She knew the phantom would follow her. If her taunts had enraged him before, it did not compare to the tornado of darkness coming down the stairs. He didn’t want the woman he couldn’t overcome in his private sanctuary.

  Step after hurried step had her crashing against walls, and she nearly tumbled down the stairs, knocking her knee so badly it locked. For a moment she slid down several stairs before momentum allowed her to find her fe
et again.

  She sensed it behind her, the swirling storm just out of sight, and through the crackling air was his hum, the incessant sound that gave him comfort and drove her ever downward.

  Careening to the bottom, Letitia tripped, nearly bringing the lantern smashing down onto the ground.

  Wrenching her arm away, she brought the glass to within inches of the floor before she managed to stop it crashing. Ignoring the bruises and aches assaulting her body, Letitia drew her knees up underneath her and struggled to stand. She wasn’t alone.

  She attempted to turn, fearing it was Lynwood’s spirit again, but the touch was different. It caressed her hair and patted her bleeding wounds with a soothing coolness. So many touches, tentatively helping her stand to face the final darkness.

  Letitia scanned over her shoulder, wondering where the phantom was when the spirits of the girls blocked the bottom of the stairs. Like the spirit of Lynwood, the swirling figures had haunted her visions, ever seeking her attention but without malice. They were here now, for this had become their hell. Their domain as much as Lynwood’s, they barred him entry now. The whirling cloud of wrath couldn’t enter the cave. As quickly as the specter worked at fighting and shredding the other shadows, another was there to replace it, and it could not reach Letitia to stop her.

  Letitia turned back to the wall of gruesome trophies, sickened as the hair glimmered in the light.

  She knew what she needed to do.

  Letitia held up the lantern, arm aching, and it suddenly slipped from her fingers. Only the crook of a finger held it in her hand. She couldn’t fumble or the spirit would attack her again, and she wasn’t sure how long the other spirits would last. Fatigue was crumbling her walls, but the fervent desperation of the girls’ spirits pressed upon her, asking for freedom. Tears burned in her eyes as she gritted her teeth against the biting pain in her arm, but she brought it back in an arc and flung the lantern across the prized collection of body parts.

  Screams reverberated from the walls of the cave.

  So many voices, screeching, rose up around her, forcing her to slap her hands over her ears as they cried. The flames flickered, consuming the hair and leathery skin and filling the cave with choking smoke.