Captive (Demonic Games Book 3)

by Sara Clancy

  “He comes here.”

  Mihail eyed him out of the corner of his eyes, “Right.”

  “Ya have no idea how hard it is to find a good sparring partner,” Abe retorted, meeting Mihail’s look with a narrowed glare. “Everyone else around here is barely bigger than you. It’s like boxing with a china doll. Damn easy, but not exactly what I’m there for.”

  Before Mihail could decide if he should be offended or not, the door shook upon its hinges. Mihail threw himself back, scrambling away with wide eyes. Abe stood his ground. Crouched in place, he began to idly adjust the bandages that were looped around his knuckles and wrist. It was a boxer’s wrap, one that he had perfected to keep his hands from taking too much damage in a fight.

  These ones, however, were covered with Hebrew prayers. On his own, Abe was able to do a considerable amount of damage to any attacking entity. With those wraps, he was a force to be reckoned with. And that was before accounting for the prayers he had scrawled across his shirt and pants before agreeing to cross the threshold. He had been the most particular about that safety measure.

  “So, I’m guessing this means that we’re not walking away?” Mihail said once the door had settled.

  A scream cut off Abe’s response. It was the same hopeless, terrorized cry that had made Mihail’s blood run cold more times than he could count. It was the one that kept him up at night and running in his head throughout the day. Telling Abe this was a mistake. It seemed to confirm with Abe that they needed to get in there.

  He tapped against the door again and shoved the items back into his pocket. The answering knock was swift and loud. Mihail longed to run, but that would entail making his way back through the corridors by himself. So, he stayed. Abe stepped back, lifted one hand to make sure Mihail was far enough back, and started in on the remaining hinge.

  “Wait. What if Frank is back there?” Mihail answered instead. “We still haven’t been able to find him. If he’s settled back there, breaking in would only make him mad.”

  Abe smirked as he scanned his flashlight around the edges of the door. “He’s a demon. ‘Mad’ is their natural state.”

  “That doesn’t mean that we should antagonize him,” Mihail said.

  Abe looked at him over his shoulder, his expression one of both humor and conviction. It made Mihail shrink back. Nothing good ever happened when Abe Claymont had that look. Before he had a chance to try and talk his friend out of it, Abe hurled himself towards the door. His impossible bulk slammed against the wood, the blow creating a thousand spider-web like cracks within its surface; but it held strong enough to make him stumble back. He seemed to take it as a personal affront as he tried to regain his footing. Stalking back past Mihail, he lifted one hand, as if to cut off any comments that he might make. Lifting his hands, Mihail sunk back against the wall. He still couldn’t keep the amusement from playing across his face.

  Abe noticed it and his scowl deepened. This time, the assault managed to crack a gaping wound into the center of the door. The damage released a feral shriek and a blasting breath of foul air. Thrown off his feet, Mihail’s back smacked against the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs. His vision reduced into broken patches of light as he struggled to choke down a breath. Even as a high-pitched whine filled his ears, Mihail could still hear Abe’s bitter and continued string of profanity.

  Without pausing in his tirade, the massive man smacked his fists against the ground, lurched to his feet, and charged at the door with a vengeance. The scream came once more. It was forceful enough to push Mihail further down the hallway but wasn’t enough to stop Abe. He crashed into the wood, this time successful enough to crash through it. Only the metal bars remained in place.

  Chapter 2

  Silence engulfed them. It was crushing. Rolling onto his stomach, Mihail pulled in a deep breath, his fingers clawing at the stones until he was able to choke out a few words.

  “Abe?”

  “I’m good.” The normally light twang of his Scottish accent thickened as he groaned.

  Mihail pushed his unruly curls off his forehead and forced himself up onto his knees. At some point he had lost his grip on his flashlight and was searching for it now. The sharp swing of the beam made his head spin anew, and he had to brace one hand on the wall to keep himself upright. The door had been reduced to an open pit, with only the minimal glow of Abe’s flashlight to battle it back. Waiting for some sign that Abe was actually okay was excruciating. He had personally seen Abe claim he was fine even while losing a great deal of blood.

  The flashlight finally shifted and Mihail released a long, relieved sigh. Awkwardly shuffling to his feet, he staggered over to the door, keeping himself braced upon the wall as he swayed.

  “Abe, what’s happening in there? Can you see what’s making the noise?”

  “I can’t really decide if you want to see this or not.”

  The response brought his anxiety back with a vengeance. Cautiously, he braced his hand against the remaining shreds of the door and tipped his head inside. Abe stood before it, his back to him as he slowly scanned the room with a flashlight. Dust particles danced across the beams. The air was stale and tainted with the scents of damp wood and rust.

  Nothing stirred. Gathering his conviction, he slipped through the gap and came to his friend’s side. By their combined light, he tried to spot what had caused Abe’s caution. The room itself was far deeper than Mihail had anticipated. Their beams couldn’t make it all the way to the other side. As his eyes adjusted, he was able to make out a few things amongst the layers of gloom.

  They stood on what seemed like a precipice or a balcony. Just like all the other places that made up the castle, there was no protective measures in place to keep anyone for plummeting off the edge. To their left, a stone staircase curled around the circular wall. Unable to force the light all the way down to the deeper recesses of the pit-like room, the items at the bottom were barely more than overlapping shadows. He could make out the shapes but couldn’t quite understand them. Or why they would cause Abe’s hesitation.

  “What do you think made the clanking noise?” Mihail asked in a whisper. It didn’t seem right to speak any louder.

  “That one,” Abe said, as he swept the beam out.

  It was a strange looking slate of wood with the pinwheels at either end. Staring at the contraption for a little longer, he tried to combine the objects into something that made a little more sense. There was something oddly familiar about it that he couldn’t place. Then it hit him, like an icy breeze slicing up along his spine. A rack. One used to sever people apart. A torture device.

  “This place is a dungeon,” Mihail whispered. He whipped around to face Abe, his wet clothes clinging to his legs and deepening the chill. “Maybe it was never used. All for show.”

  “Show rooms don’t tend to get haunted,” Abe replied.

  The taller man stalked across the small landing, heading for the top of the staircase. Propelled by habit alone, Mihail followed. The sounds that had lured them here had died the moment they had entered. Mihail hoped that it meant the ghosts had gone into hiding, not that they were still there, lurking in the musky shadows, waiting for them to venture closer. The walls seemed perfect to capture noise. In the stillness, the squish of Mihail's wet socks rolled endlessly around them. They had wanted to hear the screams. The thought came unbidden, offering more questions than answers. Shuddering, he pushed it aside and quickened his pace to keep close to Abe.

  The sensation of being watched thickened as they followed the curving wall. While it made Mihail's skin crawl, it wasn’t enough to force him to lift his flashlight beam from the stairs. There was nothing in this room that he wanted to see. Once more, Abe proved to be of an entirely different mind. Without hesitation, he swept his flashlight around, exploring the vast cylinder room as they descended.

  After every few dozen stairs, the stones flattened to form a short landing. It took three of them to reach a point opposite of where
they had entered. They still hadn't reached the bottom. The further they went, the greater the sensation of being watched became. It now carried with it a malicious edge that dug into his bones. Unable to stand it a moment longer, Mihail flicked his gaze across the room, trying to catch sight of who was glaring at him.

  Slips of metal and iron flashed in the light of Abe's beam. The place was too spaced out to get a view of everything at once. There was the rack, situated in the middle of the room; its shackles curled upon the raw wood slats like slumbering pythons. Further back, he caught a glimpse of a chair covered with spikes, each one forged into a point so sharp that time hadn't been able to dull them. Chains dangled from the wall, suspended between clusters of hanging tools. While Mihail couldn't name any of them, there was no way to deny what they were for.

  “Watch ya step,” Abe muttered as he came to the last stair.

  Mihail had been so distracted that he hadn't noticed the increasing deterioration of the stones until they began to crumble under his feet. It hit him that this was the only place he had come across in the catacombs that was bone dry. The walls were flat and dull when the light touched them. Even so, the stench of mold persisted. It took a few more scans to see the pit of water tucked away in the shadows. The pool looked dark and rancid. There was a chair suspended above it, held aloft by a series of beams and cranks. He looked away as quickly as he had seen it.

  “Stay here a second,” Abe said.

  Mihail glared at him. “You are not leaving me here alone. I swear to God–”

  His words cut off into a pained hiss as Abe twisted around and pointed his flashlight into Mihail's face. Squinting against the glare made the edge of his rage dissolve.

  “I ain’t going nowhere. But I'm pretty sure there's a power box over there and I wanna see if we can get some decent light in here.”

  Mihail shuffled on his feet. The squelch of his socks didn't help to ease the churning of his stomach.

  “Is that something we really want?”

  “I'm a big fan of seeing my attackers. And given the number of sharp things they have around here to toss at us,” he clicked his tongue with teasing thoughtfulness. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s something we want.”

  Mihail hadn’t known he was going to laugh until the sound was tumbling out of his throat. He resented himself a little for the slip-up. It seemed disrespectful to chuckle in a place like this. But Abe seemed to approve. The smile he offered Mihail would have been more reassuring if it wasn't for the tricks of light. Between the shadows cast by the coarse, short-cropped hairs of Abe’s beard, and the glow of the flashlight, it looked more like a feral flash of fangs. Faced with it, Mihail couldn’t keep his thoughts from spiraling. If the ghosts here are violent, if they get inside Abe, I'm never leaving this room alive.

  “Light. We need light,” Mihail fumbled.

  Abe’s smile grew as he dumped one wide palm on Mihail’s shoulder. It was the only grip he needed to manhandle the smaller man back against the wall.

  “I’m only gonna be a few feet away. Ya won’t lose sight of me,” Abe assured.

  Mihail nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. A part of his mind was still with the memories of the first time Abe had come here. Of the living mountain of muscle chasing him through the hallways, knife flashing in the minimal light, eyes burning with murderous rage. Sarina’s rage, Mihail corrected. It wasn’t his fault.

  Still, the memories haunted him. Twisting him up until he wasn't sure if it was a relief or terrifying to see Abe prowling away from him.

  Locking his legs, Mihail pushed himself against the cold stone wall until his back ached, and trailed his flashlight onto Abe's back. Attempting to keep the beam steady proved to him just how badly he was shaking. Abe was cautious, his stride slow and precise. Beyond that, there was no sign of strain, and Mihail couldn't help but envy him.

  Admitting to himself that he wasn’t a brave man had hurt a lot more than Mihail had expected. That didn’t change the truth of it. He would never have the backbone everyone around him seemed to effortlessly possess. Sometimes, he wondered if his now limited social circle was skewing his perception. How would the kids at my old boarding school react if they were here? Would they be cowards, too? No matter how many times he contemplated it, though, he couldn't ever imagine any of them within the walls of Castle Vaduva. One place was real, the other a dream, and he could never decide which was which.

  Biting his lips until he felt a spike of pain, Mihail tried to keep Abe within his beam of light and look around at the same time. It seemed like they were alone. Nothing stirred, and the only sounds of movement were the ones that either he or Abe emitted.

  Mihail jumped at the sudden, sharp squeal of rusted metal. In the few seconds when he hadn’t been looking, Abe had reached the power box and wrenched the lid open. For all the horrors it held, his family castle was gloriously extravagant. Every piece of furniture was an antique, expensive artwork hung with care on the gilded walls, and rare tomes filled the library. There wasn’t anything that was chipped or worn or made from cheap plastic. Despite all this, there was never any lack of technology. Plumbing, electricity, Wi-Fi, appliances; all of it was top of the line. So, he wasn’t exactly surprised when Abe cranked a massive switch, and a brilliant sterile glow, akin to an operating room, flooded the area.

  The mercy of the shadows was stripped away, taking with them the surreal mask and leaving only the harshest truths. This was a torture chamber. People died here. Your family did that. A broken whimper worked his way up his throat as he tried to push the thoughts aside.

  “Ya need a moment?”

  Abe’s sudden question made him flinch. He snapped his head up, jaw clenched until his teeth ached, and shook his head.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Ya sure? There’s no shame in it.”

  No matter how many times Abe assured him of that, Mihail still felt appalled with himself for his knee-jerk reactions. He knew what his friend would say. The words had been repeated so many times that they coasted through his mind even now. Fight, flight, freeze, or friend. People don’t like to talk 'bout the last two, but that doesn’t make them any less real. Mihail was a freezer. A fainting goat, a bitter voice whispered in the back of his mind.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Mihail puffed out his chest and fumbled to turn off his flashlight. “What do you see?”

  His voice carried more strength than he thought it would. It was a small victory. Still pressed against the wall, he forced his eyes up to watch Abe slowly ambling around the room. His thick hands hovered mindlessly over a few items but he didn't pick anything up. Deep lines dug into his weathered brow, deepening as he scowled in frustration.

  At times like these, no one would ever guess that Abe had barely entered his twenties. His youth was something he took great care to hide. His reddish beard masked his baby face, his hard-earned muscle left him imposing instead of lanky, and he never wore anything other than jeans and flannel shirts. The intricate Celtic knot tattoo that covered the vast majority of his body concealed his scars and paleness in turn. None of this mattered when he worked, though. The moment he concentrated on the spirits, he became something ethereal. A force of nature that made the first strings of panic spark in Mihail's chest.

  Mihail jerked when Abe suddenly doubled over, braced his hands on his knees, and wrenched violently. Somehow, he managed to keep from throwing up. Growling with both anger and revulsion, he forced himself to straighten up.

  “That’s a lot of blood.” One sniff and he took to breathing through his mouth instead. “Whole place reeks of it. And rotten meat. Do ya smell that?”

  Mihail tipped his head up slightly and drew in a deep breath, trying to catch a trace of what Abe was talking about.

  “Just dust, rust, and whatever’s growing in that water.”

  “Consider yourself lucky,” Abe grumbled.

  His tried to smooth out his features, but he still looked sick and irate about being so.

  �
��Why didn't you smell that coming in?” Mihail asked.

  Abe turned to him; arms flung wide. “Because it’s not physical blood. It’s a sensation they're pushing out. And if they don’t tone it down, I’m gonna get mad.”

  He bellowed the last part as he glared around the room. Mihail had no idea how his friend would follow through on his threat, but it worked somewhat. Abe was able to choke down a few breaths without turning green. Resuming his walk, Abe trailed his eyes over the items that shone in the garish light with renewed interest. Mihail still couldn't stand the sight of them and took to searching for the light sources instead.

  Just like the upper hallways, a series of silver gargoyles were mounted on the walls, their polished surface catching the light until they seemed to glow under their own power. Each one stood as silent witnesses, their grotesque features twisted in frozen, mocking laughter. It was impossible to shake the feeling that they were watching him. Taunting him. Eagerly waiting to be entertained again. He rolled his shoulders against the sensation and turned back to Abe. The towering man’s attention had fixed onto the point under the stairs that Mihail couldn't see from where he stood. Hesitantly, taking a few steps from the wall, he craned his neck to catch a sight of a life-sized brass bull statue. Confused by the beautifully polished mass, he moved closer to Abe’s side, eyeing the pile of ash and soot that sat under its belly.

  Mihail frowned. “Why would that be here?”

  “It’s a Brazen Bull,” Abe said, his voice carefully devoid of emotion.

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “Basically, ya put someone inside and light a few fires to broil ‘em alive. Their struggling makes the bull move about almost like it’s alive. Some of ‘em are also made with pipes in the throat that turns all screaming into music. You’ll be surprised how nice it sounds. Not the masterpieces ya tend to like, but not as bad as ya think.”

  Abe swallowed thickly and rolled his shoulders. The slight motion was all Mihail needed to know that some lost soul had shown Abe exactly what the Brazen Bull could do.