I almost left Tamara behind, too.
Do you feel anything? She mouthed the words at me, hesitating just inside the door.
I shook my head, then frowned. I didn’t feel anything…but I could hear the heartbeat above us: slow, steady, and strong. And certainly not human.
It sounded like this visit was going to turn up something after all.
I pointed upstairs and watched as Tamara shivered again, then nodded. She stuck close to me as we made our way through the house, this time not at a breakneck pace. Instead we took our time, staying quiet, and I examined the house as we went. The first floor was relatively normal if a little dusty and showing its age. But as we located the stairs and made it to the first landing, it slowly transformed into a mini-museum. Busts of people I didn’t recognize rubbed not-shoulders with civil war paintings, and a working replica of a musket hung, pristine and secure, in a glass case above the stairs, complete with a pouch full of authentic iron shot.
It only grew more crowded with memorabilia as we moved further through the house; I passed closely between long display cases full of stone arrowheads and outdated coinage, as well as a few nerve-wrackingly fragile pottery displays that really should have been put somewhere safer, some place nowhere near me. I startled as I turned a corner, abruptly coming face-to-face with a me-high replica of the city’s famous Vulcan statue, nearly kicking it between the legs from sheer reflex. I shook my head as I glanced down, noting that even the rugs here were antiques.
Our progress slowed further as we reached the second set of stairs; only belatedly did I realize Tamara was literally dragging her feet. I turned toward her, concerned—
—to see her outright shaking.
Are you okay? I mouthed at her, only to realize I was still wearing a mask. I lowered it and tried again.
She made a face, caught halfway between nodding and shaking her head, obviously conflicted. Her sapphire eyes flickered in the dark, sparking with emotion, and it took me a moment to puzzle out what was going on.
She wasn’t cold, she was afraid.
I hesitated, unsure of what to do, and she finally nodded for me to continue upwards. But still I waited; I’d never seen Tamara like this. Even if her powers were ebbing…the Moroi was still typically a master of her emotions, a trait hard-won, forged in a lifetime of fire and family.
What did she know, or feel, that I didn’t?
I turned to take a step up and onto the landing, and she tugged at my arm, pale red lips catching my eyes. Do you hear that? She mouthed the words with a whisper of breath.
As soon as she mentioned it, I did. A soft scritch-scritch to accompany the potent, clockwork heartbeats that trickled down through the stairwell and penetrated the wooden ceiling overhead. The sounds of motion as well, something overhead shifting and moving, maybe…dragging something? I couldn’t quite make any of it out, and my imagination instantly went into overdrive, envisioning what horrors might await just overhead.
But the whispers were the most disturbing of all.
They scratched at my ears, indecipherable, coming from every direction, assaulting my senses—all of them—and working their way under my skin. The sound seemed to seep from the shadows, like an oil spill, like audible claws. A sliver of cold fear raked down my spine like an icepick, and I shuddered—
—suddenly angry.
I’d had more than enough of shit forcing its way into my mind, goddamnit.
Teeth gritted, I shook my head, and it was all gone.
All except the heartbeat, and the slight sounds of quiet motion.
I didn’t know what was going on, but I didn’t like it. I looked back up at Tamara, at the worry and fear mixed in her dimly lambent eyes.
Somewhere deep in my gut, a colder, harsher anger stirred at the sight of Tamara terrified.
I put a boot on the next stair and started up. Behind me, Tamara followed, seeming careful not to fall more than a step or two behind.
The top of the stairs came quickly enough; I’d shattered the wooden doorway to the third floor my last time here, and no barrier to entry remained. I made a quick concession to caution and stopped with my hand on the doorframe, peering down the hallway before committing myself.
The first thing I noticed was how my tussle with the werewolf pack had leveled the private exhibit, but the traces of Strigoi rage stirring in my core left little room for regret. The second thing I noticed was the clot of shadows clustered at the end of the hall, moving of their own accord.
But, unlike the last time, I stared them down until they yielded, revealing the creature crouched within.
Fingers dragged at my cardigan from behind: Tamara’s. A plume of her smoky breath clouded the edge of my vision as she pulled me close, putting her lips to my ear, the Moroi’s warm whisper sending slight tingles of a different sort down my spine.
“It’s him.” Her voice shook. Confused, I tried to turn and look again, but she clutched at me as she continued, the words falling all over themselves. “Holy shit. The boys…the railyard monster…I didn’t think it was real…” Tamara’s words cut off, choked, as her breath caught in her throat.
Down the hall, the creature stirred. Slowly, it twisted its head, looking back over its shoulder, corpse-lantern eyes gleaming from ghastly, pallid skin and casting faint luminescence down the shadowed hallway.
“Oh, goddess—” Tamara’s breath was a knife-sharp intake of air, of terror. “He sees us…Ash, c’mon, we have to go now, we have to get out of here—”
I glanced from her to the creature, casually resisting her attempt to pull me headlong down the stairs. In the fractured pool of moonlight streaming through the shattered window, it tilted its head in an alien, predatory, almost raptor-like fashion, studying us. Thick strands of matte-black hair shrouded its face, almost trapping the light like the heavy, vaguely Victorian-style garb it wore. With premeditated, unnerving slowness, it turned fully from a pile of curios and historical trinkets and rose to its full height.
It was shorter than I was.
This was no hulking monstrosity with claws the size of a bus, like Rain and Jason had suggested. Instead, it was compact and sturdy, but a little smaller than me. Its mouth was wide and its features uncanny and alien, with large, pallid lanterns for eyes—but it was hardly terrifying.
In fact, it was kinda creepy-cute, in an almost Tim Burton kind of way.
“Ashes…” Tamara’s voice pulled at my stunted emotions, pleading. Desperate.
“Stay here.” The words came out as a cold, harsh rasp, and I pushed forward, leaving her shivering and alone at the top of the stairs.
A hiss of warning, and I stopped in the middle of the hallway, studying the creature as it studied me. We stayed like that for a long moment until it—he—finally spoke.
“Why aren’t you scared?” His voice was a low, cold rasp like steel on skin, though far more melodic than mine.
I felt the whispers and ethereal sounds scrape at my senses again—and squashed them. I realized now that they came from Next Door, not anywhere physically close by. And that, I could deal with.
I’d dealt with worse.
“Why aren’t you?” I retorted, my voice icy and serious like crumbling stone.
The creature stared as if taken aback. He opened his too-wide mouth once, almost breaking the illusion of “cute” by revealing an inhuman row of sharpened teeth, then closed it again, seeming confused.
“I know you…” He finally responded, those lantern eyes searching my face and finding recognition. He raised one hand to point at me accusingly; I noticed his “nails” were actually talon-like claws, sharp and dark as onyx teardrops.
Behind me, Tamara gasped in fear.
I wondered what she saw—or thought she saw.
“I see my reputation precedes me.” I caught his eyes and held them; feeling the Moroi’s fright on the air pushed my anger one notch closer to exploding, but I held back. “What…exactly is it again?”
The creature di
dn’t seem to know what to make of me, but that didn’t stop it from wrinkling its alien face in disgust. Figures. “He warned me. He said you would likely interfere.”
I frowned. “Who is he? Hell, who are you?”
“Fright.” He said the word simply, immediately, like it should have been obvious. “I…am Fright.”
Well, that didn’t help much. I tried a different question. “Interfere? With what?”
“With his plans,” the strange creature responded, raking its claws across each other, a grating sound that echoed from shadow to shadow. “That you would stand in the way of revolution, of revelation.” He shifted, fidgeting, almost seeming uneasy. “He said you’d kill us if you could, like you had slain those that came before us.” Now I was the confused one. I furrowed my brow as the creature’s body language took on a more aggressive tone.
“I don’t think I like you very much,” he growled, the words hissing sharply through shark-like teeth.
I felt the air shift as something drew power from Next Door.
Behind me, Tamara screamed, the supernatural sound piercing my skull and cutting into my nerves like the edge of a blade, catching me off guard.
As I staggered, Fright struck, flashing through the shadows like pallid lightning. Glittering onyx talons cut through the thin fabric of my coat, digging at my chest, piercing the metal plating underneath and scraping across undead skin.
“Enough!” My rage ripped free of any remaining restraint, and I backhanded Fright into the wall. A slim stone pedestal, one of the few survivors from my previous fight here, shattered on impact as he slammed through it headfirst, his skull cracking the rustic wood paneling and the aged support strut underneath.
I was far from done. I grabbed the other intact pedestal and broke it across his face, sending him flying. He bounced once, smashed the pile of curios and artifacts he’d been pawing through when we arrived and hit the hallway’s back wall, stopping right beneath the busted window with a solid, meaty thud and crack of splintering wood.
The creature staggered, dazed, and pulled himself upright, strange, pale blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Then I was on him again, darting forward with cold rage burning at my insides. I set my feet and threw a powerful, straightforward punch—
—that passed completely through his chest, his image disappearing as if nothing was there.
With no resistance to stop my strike, I overbalanced, my fist plowing through the wall instead, burying my arm to the elbow in timber and splinters. Before I could tug it free, a weight fell on me from behind, dual fists slamming down on my back.
Tough, dead bones creaked in protest as Fright’s surprising strength flattened me to the floor, helpfully tearing my arm free of the wall as my shredded, injured knee completely gave way. I tried to force the torn tendons in my leg to respond anyway, but there was no time. A knee rammed hard into my back as talons closed around my face like a cage, Fright's hand indenting my face into the bloodstained hardwood floor. I didn’t have to wonder for long where his other set of savage claws were; I felt the dark razor tips stab into my back, digging through my cardigan’s failing enchantments and trying to penetrate my skin, as if the small creature on my back were trying to pry out my spine.
Somewhere down the hall, Tamara screamed my name.
Fright’s strength spiked suddenly, the floor fracturing under me as he bore down, my iron-hard Strigoi skin threatening to give way at any moment. Pale blood dribbled onto my face from where he hissed viciously, victoriously, at me from above. His hand slipped in the slick, icy cold ichor, and talons raked across my face, trying to find purchase, one claw accidentally finding the hole in my battered cheek and stabbing down into my mouth.
I immediately bit down as hard as I possibly could.
Fright leapt away in an instant, filling my ears with a shocked yeeep! of pain as he vacated my personal space, not a moment too soon.
I tossed myself back to my feet with a forceful push-up, to find Fright cradling his injured hand, globs of thick, pale liquid spatting rapidly to the floor, his face twisted in an alien version of astonishment.
I stared him down, yanking my mask all the way down and working my jaw back into place—then spat the rest of his still-twitching finger onto the floor, sharp ebony claw and all.
“You taste like shit,” I rasped, my voice harsh and grating. “Just so you know.”
With a feral cry, he launched himself at me, and I gladly met his rage with my own. My first strike went right through his vanishing image, but I was already catching on to the little monster’s tricks. I spun, keeping my center of gravity low like Tamara had shown me, and elbowed him in the ribs as he tried to latch onto my back.
Fright bounced off the wall and came right back at me; I drove my forehead down into the top of his skull as he went low, the impact of unyielding Strigoi bone staggering him like a hammer blow. He glanced up, ghostly lantern eyes dazed, as I smashed the bottoms of my fists down onto both sides of his collarbone, causing him to hiss sharply in pain. Then I grabbed the front of his antique Victorian coat and used the grip to pin him to the wall.
His bright eyes wide with almost as much alarm as anger, Fright resisted, locking arms with me—
—and to my astonishment, slowly began to push me back.
That wouldn’t do at all.
I headbutted him again, causing him to cough icy blood into my face, temporarily blinding me. I held my losing clench with him while I blinked my way back to blurred vision…only to see that he wasn’t even looking at me anymore.
Eyes locked with Tamara, Fright screeched, an ear-splitting, chill sound of pure horror that clawed at my guts, like a steel saw splitting living bone. Tamara screamed in response, her voice going ragged as she pushed herself into the corner of the hallway, curling into a terrified ball, the sparkling light in her eyes dimming. Her terror drenched the air, thick and cold, almost palpable.
I couldn’t spare the time to worry about my friend as Fright’s strength suddenly redoubled, pressing me back on my heels. I braced myself anyway, feeling the floorboards creak beneath us as we strained and struggled.
Eyes bright, Fright snarled and shifted his weight, snapping off a simple, powerful kick into my damaged knee. Even my dead stomach churned a little at the sound of my own tearing meat as it tried to go sideways, but this time I held myself upright with sheer will.
Fright’s surge of might began to wane, and he shrieked again, drawing a whimper from Tamara, though the sharp edge of fear found no way into me past my rage.
But, I realized suddenly, it didn't need to. Fright wasn’t trying to affect me.
“Tamara!” I roared her name at the top of my lungs, even though the fearful volume caused her to shy away even more. “He’s feeding off of you!”
I didn’t know if it was feeding, exactly. But I realized Fright was drawing off of her even if he was only using her to fill the house with the sympathetic Next Door energy that empowered him.
I knew that, just like I knew I was losing this fight.
“Tam! I need you!” I poured my heart into the call.
I braced myself as Fright bent me backward, my spine starting to creak ominously. Barely audible beneath Fright’s growls, my knee continued to emit disturbing, meaty sounds, and I had to divert a chunk of concentration to keeping it intact. While I was distracted, he somehow managed to slip my grip, grinning as his fists closed around my wrists and gradually forced my arms wide.
In the corner, the whimpers cut off.
Fright twisted, slipping in a slick puddle of his own weird blood as the edge of his overwhelming strength abruptly blunted.
“You can…hurt me, terrify me…”
I risked a sidelong glance at the end of the hall.
“But…”
In time to see Tamara stand straight and tall, her eyes chasing away the nearby shadows like a sapphire flash storm.
“…I won’t let you hurt HER.”
Fright staggered, hi
s strength dwindling to normal levels in an instant.
Before he could recover, I grabbed his arm and slung him headlong into the wall, roaring in rage.
His skull cracked the wall and rebounded, the little supernatural proving tougher than the architecture. He spun, dazed—
—ducking to the side just in time to keep my claws from tearing their bloody way through his head.
Instead, they barely grazed the side of his face as they buried themselves a foot deep in the wood, searing his pale skin at the scant brush of contact.
Eyes huge and gleaming, Fright screeched in alarm and scrambled away, the scratches trailing smoke, barely keeping away as my muscles flexed and the blood-rusted iron chased him, shredding the wooden wall in pursuit.
Iron. It clicked into place. Fright was Fae.
I surged forward viciously; two hands’ worth of deadly iron ripped through the air, shredding Fright’s hasty illusions, repeatedly mere inches from the Fae’s vulnerable flesh. As he ducked and dodged desperately, I lashed out with a kick instead, nailing the scrambling terror squarely in the face and sending him stumbling.
And when I planted my feet again, my knee finally gave way once more.
I fell forward, stabbing my claws deep into the floorboards to steady myself, and looked up just in time to see Fright’s lantern-eyes glowing at me from the shattered windowsill.
He hesitated for an instant, then threw himself out into the night as Tamara’s iron-threaded whip cut the air where he’d been, ripping fresh splinters of wood and glass from the frame, a single instant too late.
“Dammit…” Tamara panted from behind me. With the battle over, and the echoes of Fright’s shrieks finally dying away, I could hear the Moroi breathing heavily as I tried to pry myself free of the abused floor, until I realized I could simply let my claws dissipate into the already-electric night air. “Almost…nailed ‘im.”
Dreadful Ashes Page 5