Ravenous tdf-1

by Sharon Ashwood

  Holly felt the presence of the house ahead, curled like an animal waiting to pounce—not exactly patient, but willing to let them make the approach. "This house isn't almost sentient," she said in a low voice. "It's fully aware."

  Alessandro didn't look back. "I suppose that makes this a fair fight."

  "Good to stay positive," Holly replied dryly. "Me, I like my evil entities stupid."

  Half-buried paving stones zigzagged to the porch. Fronds of grass brushed her ankles, grit and moss making her soles slide with a wet, crunching noise that did nothing for her nerves. She could smell rotted fruit from beneath the apple and pear trees that filled the corners of the lot. No one had picked up the windfalls.

  They were nearly to the porch before the house stirred, a whisper that sounded through the grass and leaves. Why are you bringing the dead to my doorway? Send the vampire away. I cannot use him.

  "Precisely," Holly replied under her breath. Vampires were the perfect backup. Nothing ever wanted to eat them.

  The ground rumbled, a quick, irritated shake.

  Alessandro was instantly at her side. "What was that?"

  "It knows we're coming." Holly craned her neck, studying the scrollwork framing the porch. There were protective sigils carved into the crumbling wood, but the magic had long since faded away.

  Alessandro looked at her expectantly.

  "It's safe," she said. "Safe-ish, anyway."

  With a rustle of leather, Alessandro mounted the porch, a tall, broad shadow in the darkness. He pulled a slender black flashlight out of his pocket. He didn't really require it, but the extra light helped Holly. "Do you have the key?" he asked.

  "We won't need it. It wants me to come in." She joined him on the porch, her footfalls human-loud.

  Yes, come in, come in. She felt an impatient tugging, as if someone had her by the front of her jacket. Holly braced against it, but a sudden jerk made her stumble forward.

  Alessandro caught her, strong hands pulling her against his side. Her shoulder collided with hard muscle, the cold metal of his coat buttons scraping against her cheek. He held her still for a moment, giving her time to find her feet.

  "It thinks I'm literally a pushover." A hot thread of anger wound through her gut.

  "It hasn't seen you push back."

  Come in, come in, come in. The words came from all sides, from inside her head and out. The voice split into a thousand different pairs of lips, a whispered chaos sipping at Holly's strength of mind. Meaning splintered, all logic crumbling apart.

  Holly gripped Alessandro's arm, using the solid feel of him as a focus. Taking a long breath, she clenched her jaw, summoning the anger simmering just below her thoughts. The shards of her will drew together, pushing the invading, sibilant chorus away.

  Back off. I have six people to find. Six souls. Six lost ones.

  No. They're mine.

  Think again, Demolition Sale. You don't get to chow down on your playdates.

  Then come in, little one, and stop me. I invite you. I dare you.

  The door rattled, the sudden loud sound making Holly's skin crawl. Reluctantly she pulled away from Alessandro as he flicked on his flashlight, shining it on the lock. As she watched, the ornate handle turned, the paneled door sailing open and releasing a stale gust of wood rot and paint thinner. The entryway gaped, empty and dark.

  Whispers swirled in the darkness, imitating the motes of dust dancing in the beam of the flashlight. Her stomach cold, Holly stepped over the threshold. The house's energy pressed in on her, a sinister brush of wings over her face and hands.

  She thumbed on her own flashlight. The beam caught Alessandro's eyes, and they flared the radiant yellow of a cat's. Predator.

  At the sight of those eyes, Holly jumped. She couldn't help herself. Instinct made her heart speed. He lifted his chin, nostrils flaring. Could he smell the quickening of her pulse? The sour tang of nerves?

  Always interesting when your coworker counts you as a food group, Holly thought to herself. In the time they'd worked together he'd never given her cause to worry, but that faint whiff of doubt never went away, either.

  "Where do you want to start?" he asked, the question reassuringly mundane. He flipped a light switch on and off, confirming that the power was out. The house was oddly quiet. Whatever magic had cut the electricity also muffled any outside noise.

  Holly shone her light to the left. The beam showed a room that would probably have been the parlor. Holly walked forward, playing the light from side to side. The ceiling was high, a threadwork of cracks showing in the vaulted plaster. It was the kind of space that could have comfortably held plush, overstuffed Victorian furniture. Now the room was empty except for a cluster of paint cans and dirty rags, the source of the pervasive chemical smell.

  Holly slowed her steps, slotting pieces of her plan together. "By the feel of this place, it's not going down without a fight. Once we find the six victims and get them out of here, I'll try to neutralize the house by breaking the original sentience spells. If that doesn't work, I may be calling the fire department for a more dramatic solution."

  Something moved in the consciousness of the house, almost as though it flinched.

  Alessandro nodded. "Start with a room-by-room for the missing students?"

  "Yeah, visual sweep first." She glanced around, reminding herself to watch for floating or falling objects. The house could fight with anything, and probably would before the night was over. With the beam of her flashlight arcing from side to side, Holly moved through the parlor, Alessandro at her elbow.

  Someone had left a bagel wrapped in a Campus Joe's napkin and a newspaper. Alessandro picked up the top section of the paper. "It's today's."

  "Must have belonged to one of the profs who came in this morning." Holly skimmed the headlines, irresistibly drawn by the heavy black type.

  Pit Bull Eats Zombie: Murderer or Scavenger?

  Can the Canucks Get Back-to-back Wins with the Oilers on the Road?

  New Rooftop Vagrancy Law Makes Gargoyles Homeless in Richmond.

  She remembered her boyfriend, Ben, going on and on about the vagrancy law and rent controls over breakfast. He was sadly both a morning person and a news junkie. He was already flying on back-to-school excitement, ready to resume teaching his economics students. By the first day of classes he'd be bouncing off the walls.

  Alessandro tilted the paper toward his flashlight, centering the yellow beam on the hockey article before he dropped the paper back to the floor. "What's in the next room?"

  Ahead stood a wide opening that might once have held pocket doors. Beyond was a long dining room, empty but for rotting drapes dangling from a thick oak rod. Alessandro took a step forward, but Holly caught his arm. "Wait. There's something here."

  He set his booted foot down with the care of one crossing a minefield.

  She glimpsed it from the corner of her eye, a glittering black flow in the darkness. "This is new." If she turned to look straight on, it disappeared. "It's right in front of us."

  "What?" He was looking from side to side, his acute night vision still missing what her witch's eyes could see.

  "I've never seen anything like this. It looks like someone's pouring down the night sky."

  "Pardon?"

  The flow broke through the ceiling, coursing down the wall to Holly's left like glittering black syrup. Points of light fell—or perhaps they rose—speeding and slowing, spiraling as the slow drape of thick liquid folded and pooled at the baseboard. From there the ooze snaked across the room inches from their feet, finally running between the cracks by the baseboard. It was impossible to tell which way the river of black progressed—from the basement to the ceiling or vice versa. It somehow looked like it did both at once.

  What Holly could tell was that the sparkling blackness radiated a feeling of threat. A prickling sensation ran up her shins, as if an electrical charge surrounded the river, but that was only part of its disturbing presence. It was faintly warm, still fres
h from whatever source disgorged it. She didn't know what would happen if they stepped in it, but one way or another, it wouldn't be good.

  "Blood. Or something almost like it," said Alessandro, his voice hollow. "I can smell it."

  Holly's stomach rolled over, his tone as disturbing as her thoughts. "It's not blood."

  "Then what is it?"

  "I've heard of this happening in rogue houses, but I've never seen it before. A really bad house doesn't just absorb ambient energy, it goes on the attack. The black ooze is its… I dunno… its digestive system, I guess. It's hunting. It's draining the six people here. What you smell is… um… it's their lives." Her voice trailed off to a whisper.

  "Where's it coming from?"

  "Up there." Holly pointed. "Or beneath us. I can't tell which way it's going. Wherever it begins, that's where we'll find our victims."

  At her words, the river of darkness faded from sight. She had seen what the house wanted her to see. It was squeezing its victims dry.

  If it was doing that to ordinary humans, what did it mean to do to a witch like her?

  The energy level in the air dropped, dragging the temperature down to near freezing. The whispering voices in her head grew fainter, as if the house were drawing away to plan its next move.

  This wasn't like any other house-gone-bad she had encountered. Usually they were evil but predictable. Hungry and dumb. This place, on the other hand, had done postgrad work in homicidal malevolence with a minor in seriously creepy, and she sensed it was just warming up.

  Things were going to get interesting when it hit full stride.

  Chapter 3

  The broad oak steps to the upper floor were still covered by a runner tacked down with tiny brass rails, a touch of elegance left over from better times. Holly shone her flashlight up the stairway. There were some boxes and painting equipment left on the steps, but otherwise the coast looked clear.

  The voices were all but silent, whispering among themselves. Holly ignored them, concentrating on stepping over a roll of builder's plastic. The beam of her flashlight caught something. A loaded backpack was lying on the small landing where the stairs turned at a right angle. Odd that the police hadn't taken it. Had they been so rattled by the house that they'd missed it?

  "At least one of the students came this way," she said, mounting the stairs and kneeling to have a better look. The pack was a common enough style, navy with the Fairview U crest on the pocket. A stainless steel coffee mug was clipped to the strap. She had a similar pack herself, and so did Ben. He had bought them for the first day of classes, one of his sweet gestures. He was so proud of Holly for going back to school. The fact that she had been accepted to the School of Business, his own department, was the cherry on top.

  "The pack looks like it was dropped in a hurry," Alessandro observed, scooping something off the landing. "Look. A cell phone fell out."

  He flipped it open, but there was no signal. Not unusual in haunted houses. Something in the spooky vibes interfered with reception.

  The top of the backpack was unzipped. Holly lifted the flap for a cursory glance. She didn't mean to spend time on a thorough examination. Who the owner was didn't matter, just the fact that they were lost in the terrible, whispering house. Then she saw what was inside, and recognized the sticker on the laptop: Economists supply it on demand.

  Holly bowed her head, devastation sapping her strength. "Omigod, this is Ben's."

  "Merda." Alessandro knelt beside her. "He must have been one of the professors Raglan said came looking for the students."

  "He never said anything about sponsoring a frat. Damn it, where is he?" Holly rose and ran up the rest of the stairs. Had Ben said something about coming here this morning, and she'd just tuned out his breakfast monologue? Fear and guilt drove her heart, slamming it against her ribs.

  "Holly!" Alessandro surged after, taking the steps two at a time.

  The upstairs landing opened onto a large area flanked by two more hallways. A large drop cloth made a ghostly heap beside the banister. Holly looked from one side to the other, searching for some sign of the dark river she had seen in the dining room. Her mind felt suddenly sharp and clear, her thoughts ticking over with digital precision.

  Alessandro stopped, lifting his head. He took a short, sharp breath and made a face. "There is death here."

  "Where?" Holly said, her voice flat and cold. Oh, Ben!

  Alessandro pointed straight ahead.

  The house's rustling deepened into a throaty female laugh, fading away into a soft chuckle. The house is a woman. The fact that it had a gender made things worse. It was more personal. Specific. And the house had Ben, who brought Holly coffee and bagels. Ben, who liked Thai food and classic cartoons and gave great foot massages. Holly's stomach curdled.

  Give him back, house. She stalked down the hall, clutching the flashlight like a truncheon. Ten seconds, or you're plaster dust and kindling.

  The last of the chuckle slipped away, leaving behind empty silence. Holly strode along, her heels loud on the hardwood. She flung open one door, then the next, pausing only long enough to sweep the empty spaces with her flashlight. All she saw were small, plain rooms with slanted ceilings in the far corners. Bedrooms, perhaps.

  She thumped the wall in frustration. The center of the house's consciousness was nearby—she could feel it, but the exact location eluded her. "Give it up, Scrap Heap," Holly called out. "Where'd you put your playmates?"

  Alessandro glided past her. He opened the last door in the hallway, pushing it open and then recoiling, poised and ready to fight. Holly marched toward him, barely slowing until he raised one hand, palm out. "Wait. This is the source of the black river," he said. "I can see it now, too. There was a look-away spell. That explains why the police didn't see any of this."

  Holly stopped next to him in the doorway. He was right. It was there in plain, horrific view, none of the corner-of-the-eye stuff anymore. She swallowed hard, doing her best not to gag. There was the faint trace of heat she had felt before, now joined by a pungent smell, like hamburger left too long out of the fridge.

  The blackness flowed along the slope of the old oak floor toward the outer wall, where it ran down into the dining room below. Six bodies lay covered in the sparkling ooze. One victim had tried to make it out the window on the far wall, but now lay slumped beneath it. Holly looked frantically from one to the next, trying to figure out which one was Ben.

  He has to be all right. I can't be too late.

  The house sighed, low and intimate, as a tingling sensation swarmed up Holly's neck.

  "I can't tell if they're alive," Alessandro said softly. "It all smells putrid. What were they doing up here?"

  "They probably tried to save one another and got caught like flies in flypaper." Holly's voice was high and choked. She stepped forward carefully, making sure the toes of her shoes did not touch the black ooze. It would have worked, except the ooze edged toward her with a wet, sticky slurp.

  "Can you use your power on it?" asked Alessandro.

  Holly extended her fingers, giving off a blast of energy. She was gratified to see the blackness retreat from the thin stream of sparks. With hot, tingling bursts of power she chased it back a few feet, approaching the body closest to the door. She flicked off her flashlight, sparing the batteries, and worked by the faint light of her own power.

  With a rustle of wind and fabric, Alessandro levitated to the other side of the room, his coat flaring around him. Holly ducked, startled, but was relieved to hear his boots hit dry floor. The ooze hadn't reached the far wall.

  She felt the attention of the dark liquid shift to where Alessandro now stood. Black and slick as a seal's head, a pseudopod rose out of the muck, probing the air in the vampire's direction. Alessandro poked it with the end of his flashlight. The slime head lashed out, and Alessandro dodged with the air of a matador.

  "Watch out!" Holly exclaimed. "What do you think you're doing?"

  Alessandro danced away fr
om the thing, his eyes flaring yellow. "It wants to fight. I'll keep it busy. You look for survivors."

  He crouched, his smile giving a flash of fang. Normally that look made her shudder, but Holly was fresh out of fear. Let the vampire play with the slime monster. She had civilians to save.

  The dead-meat smell clotted in Holly's throat, as choking as the worry that her strength would fizzle and leave her stranded in the sea of black. Worry became panic when she chased the ooze from the first body and saw what it had left behind.

  The figure wore a team jacket, so she knew it wasn't Ben.

  The man had been big-boned and dark-haired, but now those bones held up a drapery of flesh sucked dry of life and substance. The face had collapsed like melted wax, flowing and pooling against the oak floor.

  Holly made a noise in a voice she didn't recognize as her own and backed away. She stood a moment, panting, trying to pull herself together before she began working toward a second collapsed form that sprawled a few yards away. Was that one Ben? Fear made her thoughts scatter. What if he wasn't here? What then?

  A wrench sailed through the air, smacking her on the shoulder. Her arm went numb, the stream of power flowing out her fingers sputtering like water from a pinched hose.

  "Ow!" Holly looked around.

  "Over there," Alessandro said, pointing.

  There was a toolbox in the corner, and now the contents were floating above it, missiles in the house's arsenal. She had seen this before—tawdry poltergeist nonsense, but it could hurt.

  A hammer sailed through the air at Alessandro. In a blur of motion he snatched it mid-flight and used it to smack one of the pseudopods wriggling toward him. He was clearly enjoying himself in a Conan the Barbarian sort of way.

  Holly batted an airborne caulking gun with the side of her flashlight and shuffled as fast as she could toward the next body, staying low to avoid the rain of tools. The second body wasn't Ben either. The young man looked pale and blue-lipped, the skin shriveled as if he had been in the bath too long, but he was alive. Holly felt a surge of joy.