Heritage
The Slendervale Series
Sean Mannette
Three Roads Press
Contents
Mailing List
Also by Sean Mannette
WARNING
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
34. Mailing List
About the Author
Copyright © 2019 Sean Mannette
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Christian Bentulan
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Also by Sean Mannette
The Slendervale Series
The Tower
WARNING
The following work contains certain examples of various forms of magick. Those which are included in this book were written according to various ‘Western’ historical authorities on the subject, the results of my own conclusions, and a flair for the dramatic. As such they were crafted based on significant and viable formulae. These endeavors and rituals should not be undertaken by any amateur no matter how benign some—certainly not all—might appear.
Chapter One
ALERT. THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER FILE. IF YOU ARE READING THIS, YOU DO NOT HAVE THE UP TO DATE FILE FOR THIS BOOK AND NEED TO CONTACT AMAZON TO RECEIVE THE NEW ONE. WHAT FOLLOWS IS THE PREVIOUS BOOK, THE TOWER. PLEASE EMAIL AMAZON, THEY WILL SEND YOU THE NEW BOOK.
Chapter Two
Red paint was slapped haphazardly across a white canvas in a thick red line, growing larger as it streaked across and down. Amidst the crimson splatters along the edge, faint pinks and heavy purples mingled. There was no foreground or background; no characters or nature in this painting.
“Captivating, isn’t it?” remarked the bellhop. Adam didn’t think so. Art as a subject wasn’t something he knew anything about. Modern art seemed to be something you needed to be on mushrooms to understand, in his mind. Three lines on a canvas wasn’t artistic, and anyone who saw any depth was either faking or delusional.
“It’s certainly a bit garish,” he continued, oblivious to Adam’s lack of interest. “Maybe even macabre, you might say. It’s still one of my favorite pieces.”
Adam snorted quietly, despite himself.
“Not an art fan? No. You seem like a man of the world. Rules and logic have their place there, but art? Poetry? Beauty? It’s all feeling. They don’t follow the same rules.”
“Are you the artist then?” Adam hazarded a guess, as their footsteps echoed over the black marble floor of the lobby. He was tall and leanly muscular, borne of a daily ritual of swimming two miles at the local health club. The suit he was wearing, while off the rack, was fitted to him and would have served to make him a striking figure if it was worn with any real confidence.
“An artist? Oh no, I could hardly draw a straight line. I just like the painting is all. It’s got a good feeling in it.” The bellhop shrugged. The two continued to the front desk, the bellhop pushing his cart with elongated steps. His hair was brown, and greasy, hanging down over his gaunt face. The two approached the front desk at what seemed to Adam like a crawl.
The clerk sat behind the front desk, slumped over with his head in his hands. The bellhop gave a knowing smirk to Adam, by way of apology. Then, with alarming swiftness, he brought his hand down on the metal bell.
The ring caused both Adam and the front desk clerk to jump, the latter of which vanished behind the desk followed by a string of curses. He reemerged shortly, climbing up a stool precariously, before scrambling into a seated position. Adam could see now the man was a dwarf, and if the red lines across his face were any indication, he had been fast asleep.
“Bartholomew! What did you do that for!?” He snarled, adjusting his white button-down dress shirt. His eyes shifted warily between the two intruders, bloodshot and unfocused.
“A guest. He didn’t make a reservation.” The bellhop croaked.
Adam moved in front of the cart with his suitcases, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. He placed a blue plastic credit card on the counter.
“I understand you rent rooms?” Adam nodded to a sign on the desk posing different rates.
“Night, week, or month?” the desk clerk grunted.
“I’d like to see Susan Church’s room. I’m her husband.” Adam stated flatly, his mouth going dry as he said the words. Dimly, over the sound of his thrumming heart, he heard the bellhop start suddenly at his words. They hadn’t exchanged names, or much in the way of conversation.
The dwarf gazed up suspiciously. “‘Course,” he said, lightening his voice. “Her things are all there, as she left them.” His eyes flicked over the suitcases on the rack. “We could have just mailed them to you, Mr. Church. You didn’t have to come all the way to Slendervale.”
“I’ll be staying for a bit. In her room, if possible,” Adam began, expressionless as stone. “And I’d like to speak to you a bit about her stay, if you don’t mind.”
The two hotel employees glanced at each other before the dwarf swung himself off the stool, vanishing from view. Moments later his arm appeared with a key, pushing it across the desk, still mostly concealed from view.
It was a small metal key; faded brass, or brass colored steel. Attached to the key by a chain was a small metal profile of a tower, resembling the chess piece. Emblazoned on the front of it, in gold, was the number 607.
Adam snatched it up, slipping it into his jacket pocket, and turned toward the elevator at the end of the lobby.
Black marble stretched out under his feet, flecked with specs of red and white. Columns of the same stone stretched impossibly high above him, veined with what appeared to be painted gold. Spotless white couches and chairs were arranged in small groups to the sides of the rectangular lobby, with small tables standing between them, devoid of decoration. A large doorway opened on the eastern wall across from the front desk, revealing a hotel bar. There were a few folks there, even at this early hour, sitting isolated and alone at the bar, or in small groups at the tables.
“Of course, I don’t know what I could tell you that I haven’t already told the police,” the dwarf began, “but if you want, we can talk once you’re settled in.”
Adam stepped toward the elevator, the weight of the key feeling unusually heavy in his jacket. The cart squeaked against the marble as Bartholomew cajoled it for
ward.
Eyes forward, Adam didn’t see the scowl on the clerk’s face as he started away from the front desk. Nor did he see the dwarf pick up the hopelessly outdated phone off the desk and jab a number on the pad.
“Welcome to the Tower, Mr. Church.” The bellhop rasped as the elevator doors closed around them.
♖♖♖
Adam entered the room alone, fumbling in the darkness for a light switch. The stale fluorescent lights in the hall were far from bright enough to penetrate the gloom of his wife’s room.
“To the left a bit, sir,” the bellhop advised from the hallway. He had already finished unloading Adam’s bags in the seemingly endless expanse of time that Adam had spent groping in the darkness.
Adam began whipping his hand faster, frustrated at himself. He felt blood rising to his face as the sound of his groping grew sloppy and panicked. Finally his fingertips encountered smooth plastic, and he felt his way up to the switch.
A sole lamp on the desk to his right came to life with an aura of warm yellow. Heavy curtains, the kind found only in hotel rooms, blocked out the sunlight outside. Their pattern was exquisitely old fashioned, a strange paisley sewn in red and gold.
Adam turned to address the bellhop and flinched. Bartholomew had been waiting in the hallway, but now stood just behind him. The lanky man had moved in absolute stealth behind Adam, who now felt the hot breath from his lips on his face.
Bartholomew attempted to smile by way of apology, his teeth dimly reflecting back the yellow white of the lamplight amidst several spots of plaque. One arm was cradled against his chest as though maligned, with his hand half curled toward Adam expectantly.
“Thank you.” Adam gulped out, stepping further into the heart of the room and away from the bellhop.
Dropping the smile, and the arm, Bartholomew spun on one heel and strode toward the hallway.
“Bag’s in the hall.” He snarled, disappearing back down the hall with the sound of squeaking wheels. The heavy door swung shut behind him, guided smoothly by metal hinges. Its dull thud echoed around Susan’s room.
It felt dark and stifling, even with the desk lamp on. There was one other, a floor lamp on the far side. Adam switched it on, hoping to banish the remaining darkness in the room and in his mind– hardly successful in either case.
Adam strode over to the mini mar with shaking hands. He took out a airplane bottle of rum and a cola. Wincing upon thinking to himself of the outlandish prices this dusty hotel would charge for the drinks, he cracked the seals and dumped the contents into one of the bar glasses left on the fridge. A few sips in, he felt better than he had all day.
It had taken him almost a full week of three-figure tabs in sports bars before he had resolved to come out this way in the first place. Susan’s disappearance had shaken him utterly, and Adam was not a man who shook well. He knew it, with the wavering drink in his hands providing its silent testament to his lack of fortitude. One of his many flaws, he was well aware.
Adam, steeled by the liquor, took stock of the room. The dim artificial lights revealed no secrets. His missing wife’s things lay more or less neatly on the bed and desk. Her clothes, some spare notebooks and paper, and a photo of her family, his in-laws. Adam snorted and flipped the picture face-down. He despised the snobby couple. They thought their daughter was too good for him, and had said as much on certain occasions. His agreements didn’t seem to do anything to help matters, especially as they usually coincided with his wife asking for money.
Adam polished off his drink as he meandered around the room, glancing over the chair by the window and finally into the bathroom. This too had been tidied up in the last week. Fresh towels were stacked neatly on stainless steel shelves and two robes hung from the back of the door. The hotel toiletries were all untouched, although his wife’s various products were neatly organized in a semicircle around the sink. Adam shook his head. He couldn’t pronounce half of the chemicals, let alone explain what they were for. Her skincare routine probably cost as much to buy as his last business, and in his mind was about as valuable in the end. Hazily, he returned to the room proper. Something was wrong. Missing. She hadn’t packed much for the trip; they had both hoped it would be a brief one. Still, something wasn’t right.
Adam turned his back on the room to fix himself another drink, as the room watched him with hungry eyes.
Chapter Three
The bar sat quiet at this early hour, although not entirely empty. There were many residents of the tower who indulged their habits at all times of day, though they preferred to avoid the lunch crowds from the various office spaces upstairs. Those who did drink sought to comfort their own secret hurts, and sought solace in solitude as much as numbness. One small table near the rear bucked this trend; a tall, elegant woman politely inclined her head to the resident of the table as she approached.
The woman was molded like a statue ripped from an ancient world, and every bit as cold. Her hair rippled a rich, full red, and tumbled just past her shoulders in near perfect waves. Her eyes were a luminous green, taking more than they were giving, and steadfastly devouring the souls of those unfortunate enough to find themselves speaking to her. One finger sparkled with two rings, a slim band of platinum, and another bearing a small ruby. Her only other adornment was a small hoop wrapped around her right bicep. As she walked her dress sparkled all the more brightly for her lack of jewels, its emerald green fabric tossing in a sea of copper and bronze embroidery.
“Mrs. De La Poer,” She received by way of greeting from the woman seated at the table. As always, it was said without warmth or hope; and as always, respectfully.
“Madam Ubasa.” She called out with a flat enthusiasm, almost mockingly. The woman Esmeralda De La Poer was addressing was her opposite, in many respects. Ubasa had dark skin, a warm and inviting black to match her eyes. He figure was plump, and her clothing comfortable. In terms of jewelry however, she wore much. Gold or near-gold sparkled on the rings encircling the majority of her fingers, dangled from both ears, hung in several chains across her throat, each with various pendants and talismans. It sparkled in the bandana she wore to bind back her thick, voluminous hair.
Ubasa gestured at the seat across from her, at the same time drawing her mug of tea closer to her. She sat protectively over it, one arm shielding it as a starving woman might do with her last morsel of food.
“You are a guest in my husband’s tower, yet I see you more infrequently than some of the conventions held here. It is strange,” Esmeralda’s words sliced past her fixed scowl. “What could possibly summon you here, now?”
Ubasa relaxed noticeably, leaning back confidently in her booth.
“It seems change is coming to this Tower, Mrs. De La Poer. On its currents I am deposited in this bar. Wondering, after all these years, what on earth it could look like.” Esmeralda startled noticeably, though hardly any movement took place upon her features.
The shadows of the bar seemed to twist in response to Ubasa’s words, slithering out of their coils.
“I do not take your meaning.” She hissed coldly.
“A pawn, Mrs. De La Poer,” Ubasa smiled, “has entered this game, which is not yet white or black.”
The light from the small lamp in the table seemed to dim when she spoke, and the grain in the wood itself begged to break free of its bonds.
“Choice words,” Esmeralda smirked, shifting her gaze over Ubasa’s rich ebony skin.
Ubasa dropped her smile, and pushed her girth up from the table. As she strode past Esmeralda, she whispered, “You might be right; I’ve no real reason to linger in a bar that shows its age as clearly as its masters.” She continued out unmolested, as Esmeralda sat shocked at her table.
♖♖♖
“Adam!” A voice cut through the darkness. He was there, entranced by the way the flames from the brazier danced against the black stone floor. There were others around him, robed and hooded in black like he was. The robe felt uncomfortable around his neck, like th
e first time he wore a necktie.
The others took no notice of him, lost as they were in the trance. As he had been. “Help! Help, Adam!” His wife called, her voice distant and distorted. Adam gazed around sluggishly. No one else had moved or reacted at all.
“God! Adam! Help me!” Adam moved toward the voice, or at least the direction he’d heard it from. Something was wrong with his wife. She was in danger.
A blood-curdling scream echoed weirdly to him. Adam began to run, adrenaline cutting through his stupor. He found nothing in the darkness in front of him. No walls, columns, or doorways to break through the expanse. Wheezing hard with the exertion, he stumbled. The scream continued, impossibly long and unbroken. His wife’s scream.
Stumbling again, Adam tried to slow his gait to regain his balance. He fell, sliding against the smooth stone. It chaffed him painfully, rubbing against his face and hands. The floor was hard and unyielding and his impact drove all breath from him. After lying petrified for the space of a dozen heartbeats, Adam scrambled up.
Heritage (The Slendervale Series Book 2) Page 1