by Beverley Lee
The lights flickered twice and a noise like the skittering of a thousand tiny feet whispered up from between the floorboards.
Teal ran to his side, his eyes wide and fearful.
‘Where’s Gabe?’ said Carver as the noise grew. His arm was around Noah’s shoulders. Noah’s hands were clasped to his ears.
The French doors rattled in a sudden blast of wind, the catch giving as they flew open, the fine linen curtains billowing out into the room like spectral fingers.
Every sense in Clove’s body shifted into overdrive. The presence settled over the room. It permeated the air they were breathing, filling their lungs with its toxicity. But it had no form, no centre, and there was nothing to fight. The noise grew to a crescendo, so loud that it drowned out all reason and thinking. Clove slammed his mental shields down fully, but not before a worm of hate slithered inside. Walk away, vampire. This is not your fight. Take your children and run. I am Death. Even for your kind.
‘Gabriel. Come here, now.’ Clove rarely raised his voice, but there was no mistaking the urgency in his tone.
Above the terrible sound, something laughed.
He strode to the kitchen, still wrestling with the voice in his head. The fridge door stood open, light pooling out onto the floor.
But Ollie and Gabriel were gone.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Olivia’s feet sank into the slope as her hands clawed for grip. The hill wasn’t steep, but the rain had turned the hillside into an angled ice rink of mud. She yelped as her damaged fingernail hit a stone. Inside her zipped-up jacket, the palm crosses itched against her skin. They were homemade, with frayed edges. She still didn’t know how they could help.
Tom hadn’t wanted to let her go off alone, but there was no way she was going to ask him to try and make it across the fields. The ground was like quicksand.
‘Look, if you injure yourself I don’t want to have to choose between helping you and getting to The Manor.’ It was the only way she could think of to get him to stay put.
His arguments dried up, but he hugged her so hard when she left that her bruised body could almost still feel it now. It gave her a small shred of comfort.
Now she was truly alone, as the rain battered down on an already sodden landscape. In the distance, a few pinpricks of light beckoned her home. A cold wind cut down from the silver birch wood. Autumn flew on its back. Maybe it only seemed that way because she was soaked through again, and exhausted. Back in the 4x4, she’d had to blink rapidly a few times to stop double vision.
A numbness that had nothing to do with the weather seeped into her bones. She knew instinctively that her brother was in as much trouble as Gabe.
‘Please God, make them be okay. Please.’ She whispered it over and over, only stopping to catch her breath as she made her way on all fours to the top of the slope. Olivia wasn’t religious, but she would gladly subscribe to any religion or god that would listen right now.
Finally the field levelled out and, mercifully, sloped slightly downhill to the boundary fence. Her legs turned to jelly as she tried to run and she fell awkwardly, winding herself. She stared up at the night sky. A single, cold-white star broke through the dense cloud. She shivered and dragged herself onto her feet. Her vision, now adjusted to the dark, could make out shadows of trees and the undulating field. The Manor brooded up in the distance like a nocturnal mirage. Dragging herself across the remainder of the field seemed to take hours.
Something pale caught her eye on a fence post. It fluttered in the tunnel of wind, snaking and dancing as though it was a living thing. She slid down the final few feet and caught it in her hand. It was soaked through but she recognised it—it was part of Beth’s shawl. Olivia chewed her bottom lip. This didn’t feel right either. Nothing felt right. But, held tight against her chest, the palm crosses reminded her that she was here for a reason.
An owl hooted in the distance, its voice haunting in the bleak dark. She craned her head towards the sound, towards the trail of silver birch stems. A flicker of movement behind one—a paleness that, when she blinked, became one with the tree. She rubbed her eyes with her sleeve. Get a grip, Olivia. Don’t start imagining things. She tried to make her inner voice stern, but it came out sounding more like Ella. A sob rose in her throat.
Everything hurt as she clambered over the fence and up the few worn steps to the fountain. She stumbled on the solid stones, half expecting her feet to sink right through them. She rested her weight against the edge of the fountain for a minute. Now that she was here, doubt flared up in her mind. What if Carver didn’t want to see her anymore? Olivia pictured herself suddenly appearing, covered in mud and producing the contents of her jacket. Surprise! A dead man told me to bring these...
The lawn yawned out in front of her, a perfect, dark oblong surrounded by a gravel pathway and bordered by trees. She knew it well in the friendly glow of daylight but now it seemed sinister and full of shadows. The nymph in the middle of the fountain regarded her with dead eyes.
A sudden crash from the direction of the house pulled her from her musings. The French doors lay open and a yellow light streamed onto the patio. Despite being at the end of the garden, she could see movement in that stream of light.
It turned her blood to ice.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Gabe followed Ollie down the pitch-black hallway.
How could Ollie even see where he was going? The familiar layout was swallowed by the darkness as the lights cut out. Ollie had wasted no time in pulling him out of the kitchen.
‘Quick, come on. Remember I told you I knew a secret? Don’t let them hear.’
Gabe was all out of people keeping secrets—no good ever came from it. His life was a prime example. He was still smarting about Carver and Noah not telling him about the box. And then there was Moth, behaving as though he was the problem. Not to mention the elephant in the room that was Beth.
That last one he pushed behind the door in his mind marked ‘Mother-Son Relationship’. He learned long ago that allowing himself to think of her as a mother figure would only increase his guilt over the fact that she was protecting him all of those years ago. Her normal life brushed away as though she was a mark in the sand of time swept clean by the sea.
Gabe struggled with the knowledge that he ought to be feeling more, when in truth there was only a numbness he couldn’t explain.
A hand grabbed his arm as he tripped on the bottom stair and virtually hauled him upstairs. Ollie must really have something important to say. He wasn’t the kind of person to make a huge fuss over nothing and this change of heart was odd. But fuck it, everything was odd. Gabe decided to roll with whatever Ollie was going to tell him. At least he would have an ally.
He counted the steps as he went up, so he didn’t make a fool of himself again by second-guessing where the upper hallway was and falling flat on his face.
‘Shush.’ Ollie’s urgent whisper came out of the darkness.
Gabe stopped, his fingers resting on the handrail. He curled them around the wood. Ollie’s back was to him. Gabe listened, but all he could hear was the hammering of his own heartbeat in his ears. Gooseflesh crawled along his arms as his eyes finally became accustomed to the dark. Ollie was swaying from side to side, slowly. Gabe shrank back, his hip knocking the newel post. A spark of fear surged through his limbs, exploding out of his fingertips so hard that they tingled.
Ollie spun round and his arm snaked out, catching Gabe by the throat. His fingers were ice cold.
Gabe gasped, a strangulated sound that began and ended in his throat. He yanked at the vice-like grip, but it was like pulling against stone. Ollie raised his head. The opaque eyes looking right through him were the eyes of a dead man. A thin trickle of blood ran from one corner.
Gabe’s feet scrabbled for grip as he was hoisted from the ground. Ollie’s hold tightened. A low buzzing droned in Gabe’s ears and his vision hazed over. His legs kicked uselessly against empty space. Was this how it was going t
o end? Murdered by a man he thought of as a brother, and who had never hurt a fly in his life?
Gabe called for Clove in his head, screaming his name silently—his last hope.
There was the click of a door opening and Gabe’s world turned black. He spun like a top down into darkness.
Suddenly the grip around his throat slackened. He fell hard against the handrail, his spine taking the full impact of his body weight. Every nerve ending fired, sending distress signals to his brain as he crumpled into a coughing heap on the floor. Tears streamed down his face but all he could do was gulp down mouthfuls of air.
The sound of feet running echoed in the hallway below, but it seemed very far off, as though he was in a vast underground cave. His chest was on fire. Every intake of breath was painful, but he’d endure any pain—he was alive. Slowly, his vision cleared and he hauled himself up onto his knees.
The lights flickered rapidly, then stayed on.
Right outside his bedroom door, Ollie laid still, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. Astride him was Moth, his eyes burning with an intensity that made Gabe shrink back. Moth’s face was smeared in blood, his worn shirt saturated with it. A slow smile spread across his face as he saw Gabe, a half grin, which showed two small, razor-sharp fangs.
Ollie’s throat was gnawed open.
Everything became a blur of raised voices, accusations. Gabe closed his eyes. If he couldn’t see, he didn’t have to accept what his brain was processing.
Muted colours flared behind his eyelids as he was carried downstairs. His face pressed tight against a hard chest and the smell of earth prickling his nostrils. Clove. He relaxed against him, too exhausted to fight with anything anymore. Where was Ollie? But he knew the answer to that. Guilt welled up in his mouth and the cry that came out was the anguished sound of human loss. It burned in his throat. Clove held him tight and whispered words Gabe didn’t understand against his hair.
Carver’s voice was near, his familiar hand on Gabe’s shoulder. Angry words spun past his ears and he tried to block them out. So much emotional pain today. He was wracked with it, beaten down to a few thin fibres of himself.
‘You can’t take him. I won’t let you.’
‘And how do you propose to stop me?’
‘Your so-called protection hasn’t faired well, so far.’
And then Moth’s voice, drifting in from the periphery as Clove’s arms lowered him onto the couch. ‘I saved his fucking miserable life. Don’t go blaming me for doing what I had to.’
‘Stop it. Please.’ There was no authority in his voice, but everyone stopped dead in their tracks, even Clove who stood over Gabe like the darkest of guardian angels. Teal timidly appeared from the shadow of the doorway and stopped by Moth’s side. ‘You’re playing right into its hands again. Your unity is the one thing it fears the most.’
Gabe watched through half-focused eyes as Moth regarded Teal as though he was seeing him for the first time.
Carver thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. He was dwarfed not only by Clove’s height and presence, but by a grief not yet let out of its cage. It hung over him, stooping his shoulders and twisting itself into the lines of his face.
If he cries, we will all fall apart, Gabe thought. Suddenly he was cold and trembling. ‘Where’s Noah?’ He couldn’t see him and the lead weight of dread dropped in his stomach.
‘I’m here, don’t worry.’ Noah came from the kitchen drying his hands on a towel. His face was pinched and drawn and there was blood on his sleeves and down the front of his jeans.
Ollie’s blood.
Gabe stuffed his fist into his mouth and bit down onto his finger.
‘What the hell happened up there, Gabe?’ Carver’s voice, laced with sorrow.
Gabe wanted nothing more than to forget the last half an hour, but that wasn’t an option. Not now. Not ever.
Moth’s eyes drilled into his skull from behind.
‘It wasn’t Ollie. Something...something was inside him.’ Gabe faltered. Ollie was carrying a secret. He didn’t want to mention that.
‘It’s okay, Gabe. Take your time.’ Noah sat by his side.
‘He was acting weird but I didn’t notice until we were upstairs. Then he attacked me...but it wasn’t him. There was nothing of Ollie left’
The skittering started again—a nerve-shredding, rapid scratching, like a knife scraping against a bottle. But this time, it was coming from inside the walls.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Olivia rested her forehead against the cold, damp stone of the fountain. Her chest hurt. Fuck it. Everything hurt. But now that she was here, with only a manicured oblong of lawn to cross over, she was scared. She clasped her hand over her jacket. The palm crosses lay right over her heart.
That movement she noticed on the patio? Insects. Hundreds of them. She tried to be the old Olivia, the one who would pick up a spider and toss it out of the door nonchalantly as Ollie freaked out. A little bit of logic waved its hand. Maybe the storm had unearthed a huge nest of them underground, washed them out, and they were valiantly trying to get home. Just like her. She took a deep breath and headed off towards the house.
She walked with her head down until she reached the first stones, with the hopeful assumption that if she didn’t see them, she couldn’t be scared—but they were gone, as if they never existed. She blinked hard, and then a surge of relief crash-landed into her shoes and made her legs feel boneless. The golden light of The White Room welcomed her home.
She stopped dead. The room stood empty, but signs of life dotted its surface—a squashed cushion, a book laying open on the chair by the hearth, a half-drunk cup of coffee on the low table.
‘Hello?’ It sounded so stupid to be saying that simple word when she was entering her own home. And this place was home. If she ever doubted it, the events of the day had beaten it into her stubborn mind.
The house shimmered with something undefinable. It hung in the air, like walking through an ancient building where shadows of the people who lived and died there still dwelt in the surviving stones. The Manor was old, but it had never felt old. She turned slowly and gazed out into the darkness.
Something swirled against the low brick wall that formed the start of the rose border. It moved slowly, fluidly. She sniffed the air. Smoke. But surely it was too wet for any kind of fire? There was that logic again, but today had shown her that logic was screwed.
The pull of it drew her away from the lit threshold. The smoke seemed to be curling up over the wall, meandering its way towards the overhang where the old outhouses stood. She winced as her feet crunched on the gravel.
Her eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light again as she tried to follow the trail on its journey. She thought Ollie’s voice whispered to her from its depths, but that was impossible. It suddenly turned and dropped onto the pathway, before disappearing under the door of the nearest outhouse. It was the old coal house, the one that led to the chute into the cellar, now used for storing the gardener’s tools.
Olivia reached the door and stretched out her hand. It would be locked. The gardener always kept it locked. He was the epitome of careful. She depressed the latch and it opened with a soft click.
It was hard to keep her thoughts in gear. She was so tired and part of her brain struggled with something that seemed to be important, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. The interior of the coal house smelled dank and dusty. She couldn’t remember where the light switch was. And that thought kept battling against the fog in her head. The dark unfurled out in front of her, deeper than the night.
A sound echoed up from the depths of the chute—a half laugh that held no humour, only a crazy kind of madness.
Adrenaline coursed through her veins and she scrambled backwards, but the door that had opened so easily was now solid against her back. The smoke filled her nostrils and she spluttered, her hand instinctively flying to her mouth.
The thought that had been battling against her conscience like a moth agains
t light screamed through her brain.
Smoke could never lead you.
Pressure began behind her shoulders, as though the door was pushing her forward. She dug in her heels and grabbed for anything in the pitch black. Her hand hit a shelf and she grabbed for it, but missed. The pressure moved her physically. Something was behind her, but there was nothing to see. A startled sob rose in her throat and her heart rate spiked.
The manic laugh cackled again and this time, she thought there was the slow grinding of teeth.
Her feet caught on the ledge of the coal chute and her arms flailed into nothingness. Then, the pressure hit her right between the shoulder blades and she fell into the jaws of what waited below.
***
Clove knew something the others didn’t.
Olivia’s struggle with the demon played along the wires of his instincts, twinging the fragile threads, making them sing. But she was of no interest. A small part of his mind appreciated its persistence, but if the other humans died, it was hardly a setback. Clove’s only interest lay in Gabriel. And the demon would not win that battle.
He watched the occupants of the room using every one of his keen senses. It might look as if he was in conversation or thought, but that was merely a front.
The skittering noise was not constant. It vanished for a few minutes at a time then reappeared in only one wall or under the floor, mangling the already-shredded nerves of the humans. The demon toyed with them as a cat with a bird, with cruelty, with no compassion. Even Teal looked unsure and had glued himself to Moth’s side. When they were alone, he would get the full story of what happened upstairs, but he was sure Gabriel had spoken the truth. Clove reprimanded himself for not being there. Assuming that Ollie wasn’t a threat was unforgivable. The incident happened quickly, and he had been too busy mentally wrangling the demon when the lights went out. Underestimating his opponent could prove fatal. He wasn’t about to make any more mistakes.