Weird. A burglary maybe? Surely she would have called the police, but there was no one here. I paused. No, that couldn’t be it. All the broken glass was outside of the house, meaning the windows must have been broken from inside. The door opened with a catch, and a key wasn’t required within the house, so they wouldn’t need to break windows to get out. Plus, the breaks were so clean, there was hardly any glass left in the frames at all. Surely if they had smashed a window with a crowbar or something, at last some glass would have fallen inside...
Then a thought suddenly hit me—what if there was a gas explosion? What if she was hurt? But an explosion would have damaged the house, and it seemed fine. I opened the door slowly and sniffed the air. No gas smell. I stepped into the hallway and looked around, taking in the vast entrance hall and the mahogany stairs that rose up before me then split to curve around to each wing of the house. The huge, panelled oak doors leading off from the hall were all closed. I glanced at the windows. I’d been right. There wasn’t a shard of glass inside the house. They had all been blown out by something from the inside. I walked to the bottom of the stairs.
“Rose? Rose? Rose!” My voice seemed jarringly loud in the silent structure. I swallowed down the sick feeling in my stomach. Ignoring the downstairs rooms for now, I headed up the stairs towards the west wing. The first room on the right was Rose’s. To a casual observer, it might have appeared like the room had been ransacked, but I recognised the normal chaos of packing for digs and conferences. Suitcases and holdalls were all over the floor, and clothes and papers were scattered across the bed. The only thing missing was my mother’s handbag. She obviously hadn’t left early for the conference, but she still might have gone somewhere else.
I quickly checked the rest of the bedrooms and bathrooms, leaving my own last. Every now and again, I shouted her name, but the house still remained eerily silent. The fourth door on the left was mine. Well, it had been mine before she’d decided she’d had enough of my issues and packed me off to the loony bin. There had been many fights and horrible things said, on my part mostly, and even though I had softened towards her in the last year or so, my stupid pride had prevented me from picking up the phone. Things were nowhere near being resolved with my mother, but the idea of someone hurting her filled me with fear and a growing rage. As I pushed my bedroom door, it swung open violently and slammed into the wall behind it. I smiled sadly to myself. Ironic. I used to get yelled at for slamming my door shut.
Nothing had changed in here since I’d left. Seeing the gorgeous four-poster bed with its snowy white sheets and velvet navy quilt gave me a slight pang when I thought of the lumpy, second-hand mattress I was currently sleeping on. Not what you’d call luxurious by a long stretch. Avoiding the childish urge to throw myself down on it and cry, I wandered slowly around the room. Rose really hadn’t changed anything since I’d left, even the stuff she’d hated. Band and motorbike posters were still tacked up on expensive damask wallpaper. A bookcase holding school books, crumbling volumes of ancient myths, arcane practices, and theoretical Bible studies remained, including tomes such as De Arte Magica and Confessions of Aleister Crowley: the Most Evil Man in the World. Two crossed swords were mounted above the fireplace, and on the wall next to the window hung a throwing axe and a morning star.
The weapons brought back memories of my lessons. Hours of combat skills, fitness, and strength training. Home schooling in various ancient languages, myths, and legends. I’d enjoyed the teachings when I was young, sitting around the kitchen table at dinnertime and arguing about translations of old books and the techniques of sword play. But that was before my dad had died. I didn’t remember anything about that night, or several weeks surrounding it either, but things were never the same. I’d never felt safe, like there was something or someone watching me. I’d been terrified people could still break into the house. I’d refused additional lessons as my relationship with Rose broke down, but the training had continued. It had been the only thing keeping me going, something to throw my fear and rage into. When I’d been kicked out of school for fighting, Rose had cancelled my trainers and taken away my weapons, convinced the constant physical exertion was making me more angry and violent. Things had just got worse from there. Now, six years later, the details were fuzzy. I couldn’t recall exactly what we fought about, only that we had constantly, relentlessly.
Moving over to the chest of drawers, I rooted around in the bottom drawer until I pulled out a small black box. Inside was a golden chain and a disc with the words “Beloved Daughter” engraved on it in Sumerian. On the other side was a strange symbol I’d never been able to find recorded anywhere—a circle with a half circle above and below it, and a straight line running up the middle. A gift from my mother. Not Rose, my real mother. Rose and David, my adoptive parents, had told me how I’d been handed in by someone at the hospital in Newcastle who’d found me in a cardboard box on the doorstep of the nearby church. A brief note had been tucked into my blanket, explaining that my name was Faith and that my mother loved me but couldn’t take care of me. The necklace had been with it. It hadn’t ever bothered me that much, since I’d grown up with it, but it had bothered Rose when I’d thrown it in her face the night I was committed. I snapped the box closed and slipped it into the pocket of my leather jacket. With one last glance around the bedroom, I closed the door softly and headed back downstairs.
The rest of the rooms were empty, though I was no longer hoping to find her in any of them. There was no sign of anything unusual except for the broken windows. Deciding there was nothing for it but a reluctant call to the police to report her missing, I walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. The windows in here were broken too, but that wasn’t what caught my attention. On one side of the kitchen, a large wooden dresser had been pulled away from the wall, and the battered door it had concealed stood ajar. I’d always known the door was there, so that wasn’t a surprise. It led down to the old cellar. I’d never been allowed down there as it was unsafe—problems with mould and asbestos—hence why the dresser stood there. The door had never stood open though. Why would Rose have gone down into the cellar?
My curiosity piqued, I pushed the door open wider, and noticing an electric light switch, I flicked it upwards. The lights came on with a slight buzz, flooding the stone steps in front of me with a pale glow. They led down to a concrete floor of a tight passageway. Taking a breath, I moved cautiously down the steps. The corridor beyond wasn’t long, maybe eight feet, and ended at another old wooden door like the one at the top of the steps.
A stone lintel above the door bore the crudely scratched words, “Hasad eli summsu mimma amelnakru.” I frowned. My Sumerian was somewhat rusty. Something revealing something... against... enemy attack. Okay then. Maybe it was some kind of bunker from World War II or something...
I put my hand on the iron handle and felt a shiver run through me, almost like static electricity. The lock clicked, and the door swung open, revealing only darkness beyond. I hesitated then stepped through the doorway, feeling for a light switch. A wave of sensation surged through me, almost like an adrenaline rush or a fantastic climax, but this left me shaking. I dropped to my knees on the stone floor, my head throbbing with pain. The agony overwhelmed me, spreading throughout every fibre of my body, like every cell was exploding. I opened my mouth to scream but heard nothing as a colossal roar filled my head and darkness engulfed me.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was that the light had changed. The ceiling flickered with a soft warm glow. That led me to realise I was flat on the floor. I took a breath, anticipating more pain, but I felt nothing. The pain was gone, and all I could feel was a low buzz over my skin. I wondered if I’d tripped something and been electrocuted. Maybe I’d touched a loose wire or something when I was feeling for the lights. I scrambled to my feet and looked around, my mouth falling open in surprise.
The flickering light was coming from candles. Bookshelves and sideboards lined the fairly siza
ble room, and cream pillar candles covered a lot of the surfaces. The bookcases held a mixture of things—ancient leatherbound books, modern day textbooks, scrolls, and a myriad of glass jars filled with different substances. As I drew nearer to some, I saw they were mainly herbs and spices, which was odd, because Rose hated cooking with a passion. The centre of the room was empty, though I could see some kind of design etched into the wooden floor. It had obviously been there a while and was nearly worn away, but it was circular and intricate. At the far end of the space stood a high table draped with a black cloth. Two tall solid silver candlesticks bearing white candles were perched on either side of the table, and a low, wide-brimmed bowl was placed between them. The candles on the tabletop were the only ones not lit.
Glancing back at the door, I looked for a light switch, but there wasn’t one. No wires either. Nothing to explain why fifty odd candles had suddenly lit by themselves. It must have been some kind of trick, like a pressure plate that was triggered when I stepped on it or a mechanism that was activated when I opened the door. Pretty cool, but creepy as fuck. I wondered if Rose even knew this was here. Drawing closer to the nearest bookshelf, I decided she definitely had. Half the textbooks were from the ancient Middle East, her speciality. A few had even been written by her.
I moved towards the table, looking down at the bowl. It was full of water. Well, I assumed it was water. I wasn’t planning on touching it to find out. A memory of a passage in a book flared in my mind of a wide shallow bowl, painted black, that was filled with water—a scrying bowl for divining the future, although some said they could be used for communicating between the worlds as well. As I looked at the golden liquid reflecting the candlelight, the colour receded, and the water’s surface seemed to disappear. I frowned and leaned over as I saw movement in the background. Dark shapes stirred, focusing into vague human figures. One seemed to move towards me, his features, though still shadowed, becoming clearer. The black smudges of his eye sockets softened, and then I gasped as they opened and glowing red irises gazed back at me, locking me in place and holding me transfixed as the figures grew clearer. One began to stretch his hand out towards me. I stepped back and blinked, breaking eye contact with the water. I looked again. The water was still and glowing with candlelight, reflecting my own green eyes back at me. My hands were shaking, so I slipped them into my jacket pockets. It was chilly down here. I doubt it was heated.
I turned and headed back to the door. This place was fucking creepy, and I wasn’t spending any more time down here. I should probably blow out the candles to be safe, but there was no fucking way I was leaving myself down here in the dark in a confined space. It already felt like the ceiling was pressing down on me. I walked up the stairs as fast as I could without actually running, my mind focused on getting back to where there was a mobile signal and calling the police.
I pushed open the door into the kitchen and practically ran through, colliding almost immediately with a solid wall of muscle. Thick arms came around me, and I reacted instantly. My hands grabbed onto his hips and shoved them away as I pushed myself back into a stronger position. I slipped one hand up through the space between us and struck, smashing it into my assailant’s face. I felt a crack as it connected with cartilage, and he released me, staggering back with a yell, his hand to his face. I took another swing at him, but it only took him a second to regain his composure. He dropped to a crouch, swinging his leg around and sweeping my legs out from under me. I flung my arm out and wrapped it around his neck, bringing us both crashing to the ground, but he managed to dislodge it, and before I knew it, he was straddling me and had my hands pinned to the floor. I looked up into dark eyes and groaned.
“Seriously, Cas? What the fuck are you doing here?”
Chapter Four
FAITH
He stared at me as I lay pinned beneath him, and my memory flashed back to a time where we’d been in a similar position. He’d been between my legs, rather than astride them, and I’d wrapped them around him, pulling him closer. His eyes had been full of lust rather than anger though. I watched his face start to soften slightly, and his gaze dropped to my mouth. Heat flashed through me and started to pool in my lower belly. He began to lean closer, and I felt my breathing quicken. I saw the tip of his tongue dart out and run across his lips. My underwear dampened as his breath tickled my neck. I was clearly having the same effect on him. A hardness pressed into my belly, sending a lightning bolt of desire to my pussy, but then another memory flashed through my mind and I froze. My hands were pinned behind my back as I was pressed down onto the floor, and the hardness of another man pressed against my ass as another forced my mouth open...
I braced my heels against the floor and slammed my pelvis up against Cas, the heavy metal belt buckle I wore hitting him square between his legs.
“Fuck...” He released my wrists and rolled onto the floor. I quickly got to my feet, righting my clothing. I turned, quite inclined to kick him wherever I could reach, but he was already struggling to his knees. “Fucking bitch.”
“You deserve worse. Now what the fuck are you doing in my house?” He narrowed his eyes and backed away, using the heavy wooden kitchen table to pull himself to his feet. I noticed with grim satisfaction that he kept his distance. “Cas? I’m waiting for an explanation.”
“I don’t owe you a fucking thing, you crazy hell fiend.”
I crossed my arms and glared at him. “You’re in my house, and you attacked me hours after we ran into each other at the club.”
“Your house? That’s a joke, you haven’t lived here in years,” he retorted.
I took a breath, seriously considering pulling my knife out of my pocket and stabbing him. “Fine. My mother’s house. Are you following me?”
He released a sharp laugh. “And why would I want to follow you?”
“Maybe you’ve had a personality transplant and decided to apologise?”
His eyes sparked with anger. “Faith, I swear to Satan, if you don’t shut the hell up right now—”
“Cas! We need to... Err... Hey, Faith! Fancy seeing you... Cas? You okay, mate?” Sam leaned against the doorframe, looking amused.
Cas turned around. “Fine,” he answered through gritted teeth as he readjusted his leathers. “Your girlfriend thought I was attacking her.”
“And she took you out?” Sam burst out laughing, and I saw Cas send him a death glare.
“You’re here too? What the fuck is going on?” Well, this was getting better and better.
“We’re just... checking...” Sam hedged.
I raised my eyebrows. I was surprised that someone this friendly with Cas couldn’t lie better than that. “Really, Sam? Just checking? Lame. Very lame.” His gaze dropped as a guilty expression spread across his gorgeous face. I blinked. “Why the hell are you only wearing your underwear? You two aren’t... together?” Jeez, I would never have pegged Cas for swinging both ways. Shame, Sam seemed like a half decent guy... and hot. My eyes travelled over the lean, sculpted muscles of his bare chest.
Cas’s sarcastic timbre interrupted what were becoming quite interesting thoughts. “Together? Oh, you mean like... no, we most definitely aren’t. Why, were you hoping for both of us? My goodness, you’re a hungry girl. Is my poor Sam not enough for you?” I fought off the urge to throw a chair at him and settled for plastering a fake smile on my face.
“I’ve never been with a man who could fully satisfy me, Cas.” This hit right where it was supposed to, and he stood there for a moment looking dumbfounded as Sam chuckled behind him. Enough with the banter, Faith. “Did you have anything to do with this?”
Cas stares at me blankly. “With what?”
“Don’t act dumb,” I snapped. “My mother is missing, there is broken glass everywhere, and she left a phone message that really worried me. Do you have anything to do with this? Cause if you do, Cas, I swear to God I’ll—”
Cas rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t bother. You’ll just embarrass yourself.”
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I stepped forward to hit him, but Sam caught my elbow, stopping me. I shook him off angrily, and he moved to my side.
“Faith, listen. We had nothing to do with this. We came to see if your mother was alright. We work at the same organisation, and when she couldn’t be contacted, we were sent to check things out.”
I frowned at him, confused. “You work at the university?”
He glanced at Cas, then back at me and nodded. “Um, yes. I mean, not... closely. We’re in different departments.”
I stared at him. “So you guys are like campus police or something?”
Sam nodded. He opened his mouth to say something else, then stopped.
“What?” I prompted.
He turned his head towards the door, staring straight out of the window as though he was trying to see something. I had no idea what, all I could see was darkness. “Cas? We need to leave. Now.” Cas’s head snapped up, and he stared hard out of the window before swinging around to face me.
I held my hands up. “Hey, don’t let me stop you. What—” Sam darted past me and hit the light switching, plunging the kitchen back into darkness. “What the—”
Nephilim the Awakening (Wrath of the Fallen Book 1) Page 4