The stairs creaked as he walked down them. Foy had charged down and Braxton didn’t see him anywhere. Not that he could see much of anything. Where were they going? Another part of the cellar or some kind of bomb shelter?
“Foy,” he called, and didn’t get an answer. He clenched his jaw. “Damn it, Jack, you’d better be okay. You don’t die here today. I know for a fact that you live long enough to piss me off in the future. Hell, you ground me to my room when you catch me with pot. So answer me.”
“I’m down here, Braxton. But I don’t want to shout. You’re almost down.”
His mentor’s words proved true. Another few steps and he was down to the ground. “Where are you?”
“Turn left.”
Braxton did as he said and then stopped moving. “Where are you? I can’t see a thing.”
“You’re lucky. I can see it all perfectly.” Foy sighed.
“See what? You’re either going to have to light up this room or describe it to me.”
Braxton heard footsteps that he assumed had to be Foy walking to the right. “There’s a lamp over here.”
Jack flipped it on and Braxton winced at the sudden onslaught of light on his eyes. He squinted and tried to make sense of what he was viewing, his heart plummeting into his stomach. They wouldn’t be saving any of the ill people. They were all already dead.
“Slaughtered,” he whispered to the silent room.
“Yep.” Foy stood next to him. “Probably while we searched around upstairs. I can still smell the blood. They haven’t been dead long.”
Braxton nodded. The bodies hung from the ceiling, throats slit, dangling with their feet above the ground, suspended by ropes from the ceiling. “Why would he have kept them alive for so long only to kill them today?”
Braxton counted twelve bodies. Twelve souls he hadn’t saved that could go on the ever-expanding list of failures. He’d been upstairs and they had been down in the dark, dying.
“He didn’t just kill them, Braxton.” Jim walked forward and gently touched the leg of one of the older men who swung from the ceiling. “This is ritual. They all have their throats cut. They’re hanging in a circle.”
Braxton looked down at the floor. Sure enough, there was a chalk outline on the floor in the shape of a pentagram, matching the swinging people above who had been positioned in the same way.
“He’s planning on raising a demon. He sacrificed them to it.”
Foy nodded. “He had a demon and you got rid of it, which was the right thing to do—now he needs another one. That took blood. Same old shit. It never changes, never alters. Human beings are forever delving into the dark, into things they’d better be suited running for their lives from.”
“We’re dumb animals, we human beings. It’s easy for you to judge from whatever pedestal you’ve placed yourself on.”
Foy shook his head. “You’re not actually defending this, are you?”
“No.” He made himself count to ten. “This is horrible, disgusting. I want to kill Pendleton right now, even though I know he’s already dead in the year I actually live in. How do you suppose he’s planning on raising a demon? We could stop that.”
Foy walked toward the center of the room, looking up the whole time at the dead, who would never know how close they had been to rescue. Or maybe they would. Maybe they were floating around as ghosts, ready to complain to his girl about how he’d let them all die.
“He’s going to raise a demon because he believes he has a demon raiser—you. Somehow this situation you’re in, where you were dropped here by his ghost in the future, it’s made him think you can call up the demons.”
“He’s called me that several times. I haven’t wanted to tell him that I’m truly just a demon destroyer, not a raiser.”
“Jim.” Foy rubbed his forehead. “I can almost guarantee you’re a raiser. Almost every destroyer is also a raiser. You can bring on the demons if you want to.”
He tried to calm the racing of his mind and failed. In two seconds he was going to pound on his mentor. “I don’t suppose you can tell me why you wouldn’t have told me that before now?”
“Maybe you can’t do it, maybe you’re really just one-sided. Maybe I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
Braxton couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled back his fist and clobbered Foy straight in the nose. Screw him and his pompousness. He’d show him not talented. Bullshit.
Chapter Eleven
The woman slit the throat of her third victim, this time a young African-American woman who had been doing nothing more than sitting on a bench. A tear slipped from Heather’s eye. Her head throbbed and the gray-haired bitch of a ghost cackled at the memory.
Heather had seen enough. She wiped at her brow. After seeing death after death after death, she’d started to question whether or not she’d been mistaken in thinking Jim was going to come get her out of her hellish existence. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he was dead. Maybe…there were a thousand maybes.
The truth was that she had no idea how much time had passed. It could be that her body had died and she was now one of the ghosts she spoke to or, more frighteningly, perhaps only a few seconds had passed back where she sitting in the basement and it would feel like thousands of years before death ended her ghostly prison.
As another dead person approached her, Heather decided she’d had enough. She stood, and the ghost with the long, white hair—whose name was Lauren—approached her.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m leaving.” Heather walked forward into the center of the room.
“No you’re not. We have you now. That means you’re ours.”
Heather shook her head. “Somehow, I don’t think so.”
“What?” Had she imagined it, or had Lauren’s voice shaken ever so slightly when she answered?
“People keep referring to my abilities as a gift. I don’t think being trapped by a bunch of ghosts is exactly gift-worthy. Also, I can’t believe every ghost-talker in the world is trapped in a room somewhere. No other ghosts have ever tried to do this to me and I think that’s probably because it’s a very bad idea to trap someone like me this way.”
She realized she was grasping at straws, but as her hands clenched at her sides she realized what other would have discovered far sooner than she had. She. Was. Pissed. Years of suppressing her yearnings had taught her not to give in to as futile an emotion as anger. But some good old-fashioned mad seemed called for at that moment, and she would indulge in a fit, even if turned out not to help anything.
The other woman stared at her with wide eyes. “I don’t believe you know what you’re talking about. You’re bluffing.”
“Am I?” Her fingers tingled. “I think I get to control you. I’m a ghost-talker. I’m in charge.”
Her voice had lowered a notch when she spoke and she hadn’t done that on purpose. Maybe something really was happening—maybe she’d be able to do this, to take back control of this situation before it was too late.
The ghost in front of her shuddered. “This isn’t possible. You’re not trained. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
Heather put her hands on her hips. “I’m not trained, you’re right, but I’m talented.” Or at least she could pretend to be for the next few minutes. “Let’s give it a try. Sit down,” she ordered the ghost. It took a few seconds but the old woman turned red before floating to the floor and sitting at Heather’s feet. “Damn it.”
Heather grinned. Her hands tingled and energy surged through her body. It really was about intent. She wasn’t scared of this dead woman, had seen enough crap to last a lifetime, and since Pendleton had opened her up to better communication with the ghosts, she didn’t have to hold back. She could make them do what she wanted them to do because she held the power, she just hadn’t known it.
Maybe it had been the third throat-slashing she’d witnessed earlier, but whatever it was she felt powerful for the first time…well, ever.
But she didn’t want to push her luck. She needed to get out of there before her sudden surge of ability disappeared. Her history didn’t give her a great deal of faith that it was going to remain around long.
“Let me out of here—put me back in my body.”
The ghost groaned, grabbing her head. “You’re killing me.”
“That’s not possible. You’re already dead. Put me back, right now.”
The woman shrieked like a banshee but did as Heather ordered. With a whoosh, she found herself thrown back into her body. Her head throbbed, her eyes watered, and she felt as if she’d drunk too much wine, but that was okay. She’d made it out alive.
Her hand shook and sweat dripped from her brow. The ghost who had trapped her was nowhere to be seen and that was a small blessing. Heather stood up. She needed some sense of how much time had passed and the basement, always dark and creepy as far as she could tell, wasn’t real accommodating in giving her that knowledge.
The door swung open at the top of the stairs and her heartrate kicked up. Who was up there? Who was coming? Heather moved to the corner of the room and tried to make herself small.
She’d been completely vulnerable when the ghost had incapacitated her, and lucky no one had discovered her.
The stairs creaked and the pitch blackness did nothing to calm her nerves. Somebody was coming. Were they friend or foe?
“Heather?” Jim’s whisper resonated through the empty room as if he’d shouted.
She let out the breath she was holding. “Oh thank goodness.”
“You’re okay?” He crossed to her. She couldn’t see him well but she felt his presence like a warmth surrounding her in much-needed heat.
“I am now. How long was I out?”
“Out?” His voice rose at the end, indicating the question. He hadn’t known?
“I left you down here about twenty minutes ago.” He paused. “Something happened?”
“You could say that, but if it’s all the same I’d rather not discuss it down here.” She’d do anything not to have to be in the dark anymore. “The good news is I seem to have gotten hold of my powers. I might finally know what I’m doing.”
“That is fantastic news. Come on, Foy’s waiting upstairs.”
She took his hand and let him lead her upstairs toward what she hoped was a better-lit house. Sunlight would be ideal but she’d have to wait for a new day to see that.
If they all lived that long.
“I’m glad to see you and Foy are still speaking to each other.”
Braxton snorted. “We may have come to an understanding. Seeing evil firsthand can do that to a relationship.”
“What happened?”
“Like you, sweetheart, I’d rather talk about that somewhere other than this basement.”
She nodded and squeezed his hand. “Fair enough.”
The basement felt too oppressive to have any real conversations. Braxton opened the door and she caught sight of the lit hallway. What a relief to be out of that place. If she had her way she’d never go back down into the basement ever again. For her, it would forever be the demon basement, the place where she’d been held hostage by ghosts. All in all, a part of the house never to visit again.
Not that she’d be choosing to come back to this particular mansion ever again. For any reason. Ever.
Jim came to an abrupt stop and she nearly plowed into him but he steadied her before she fell over.
“Pendleton.” Jim spoke through clenched teeth. “It’s not time for the raising yet. What are you doing here?”
Heather shivered, a sensation of ants crawling up her back overtaking her body. Something was wrong.
“I know who you really are.” Pendleton’s eyes narrowed. “Both of you.”
Heather’s stomach lurched. She’d known this moment would come. They had been completely ill-prepared for any of this. Dropped into a house of horrors by a ghost to find his murderer, they’d been doomed to failure from moment one.
“Is that so?” Jim stayed a lot calmer than she felt. But then maybe he was used to working under a tremendous amount of pressure.
In any case, she was glad to have his hand to squeeze as she stared down one of the most hateful men she’d ever had the bad luck to encounter.
“That’s so. You’re all a bunch of liars. You’ve snuck into my house, sent away my demon and told the ghosts not to talk to me.”
“I take it, then, that one of them is?” She looked around for one of her captors and after a second the old woman with the long gray hair floated into view. Damn that bitch. Heather should have ordered her not to speak to Pendleton once she’d discovered her powers. That had been a big oversight and it was bound to cost them, maybe even their lives.
“You’re going to wish you hadn’t done that.” She shook her head, noting that her voice had lowered once again when she spoke to the woman. It really must be something that happened when she communicated with the dead now.
“You’re going to wish you hadn’t controlled me like that,” the woman hissed. “This man is going to destroy all of you. He is the most powerful human I’ve ever encountered.”
“Huh.” Heather looked at Jim. “There’s a ghost here and she’s really bothering me.”
Jim waved his arm in the air and the creature shrieked as she was sent off to who knew-where. Heather smiled. “Most powerful my ass.”
“So you’re not a demon raiser. You’re the one who has been sending away all my ghosts and my demons.” Pendleton sneered, his whole face contorting in the movement. For a second he looked like the rat she knew him to be.
“Actually, I am a demon raiser.” He shrugged as if he didn’t care but Heather knew it had to be a bigger revelation than that. When had he figured that out? “But I’m not going to be bringing any up for you. Want to know why?”
Pendleton raised his eyebrows. “You will if I want you to.”
“Well, no.” Jim smiled. “Because you’re dead. As of right this second. And how it happened is going to bug you for a very long time.”
Why was Jim telling him that? Wasn’t that the one thing they were absolutely never supposed to say?
“What?” Pendleton looked left and right. “You’re just trying to distract me.”
“No.” Jim shook his head. “This is me trying to distract you.”
Her lover rushed forward and shoved Pendleton, who stumbled back a few steps right into Foy, whom she hadn’t seen standing in the shadows. Jim must have known he was there. Sweat broke out on her forehead and she barely had time to gasp before Pendleton hit the ground. Stabbed in the back by Foy, whom he’d never seen coming.
“So that’s how he died.” Her throat clogged and the room swayed before it went black. She wasn’t even surprised.
* * * * *
Braxton struggled to his feet. His head swam and colors bled for a second before everything righted again. Next to him, Heather groaned. Pendleton floated above him, this time in his dead state.
They’d come to the end of this journey. Foy, who had killed Pendleton, was nowhere to be seen, but that didn’t surprise Braxton at all. His mentor, the lying angel, was not out of time as he and Heather were. Jim had started this with the ghost and this was how he would end it.
Pendleton wanted to know who’d killed him. Jim rubbed at his head. He couldn’t tell the ghost what he wanted to know. Not now, not ever. Foy might be a lying asshole but between the moments in the Pendleton mansion and the future when he would take a bunch of boys and make them Shadow Promised, Foy would do so much to save the world, he couldn’t be allowed to be sacrificed to the malicious spirit wanting revenge.
Even if it meant he was going to have to do something drastic.
“Heather.” Jim pulled her against him. “Don’t be scared, okay?”
She blinked, coming to consciousness. They hadn’t had enough time together for him to feel the way he did but that didn’t matter. What were hours in the life they lived? He raised and got rid of demons
, she could talk to ghosts. They’d traveled through time together in a haunted house.
“What?”
He smoothed her hair from her forehead. “You’re going to be fine. I don’t want you to worry.”
Heather looked between him and Pendleton. “What are you going to do?” Braxton stared at the ghost. “I’m going to tell him the absolute truth.” Lie.
He stood, taking her hand. Things had to go the way he dictated them. This time he could make everything right, even if the end result was bound to suck for him. Truth was he probably deserved whatever happened to him. The last days aside, he’d never been much of a hero.
It was past time to do something about it.
“I know it wasn’t you who killed me. I was looking at you when I died, which is how I knew I needed to bring you to the house. I couldn’t undo what happened but now I can make whoever did this pay.”
Braxton cleared his throat. Heather still looked pretty out of it, and if that meant she didn’t argue then that worked best.
“You have to send her back before I’ll tell you.” He stood, spreading his legs apart into an aggressive stance. He wasn’t going to negotiate on the point. If he’d learned anything from the living version of Pendleton, it was that the man loved to play games. Jim wasn’t going to play any with him.
“Braxton,” Heather started to argue, and he interrupted her.
“Do it now or you can go forever without knowing how you died.”
Heather gasped but disappeared in front of his eyes. One second she was there, moments later only a wave of air indicating she’d ever been there. His chest felt tight and he ignored the sensation. There hadn’t been time for goodbye, to tell her that their days together had been among the best of his entire life.
He’d always be grateful to Foy for shoving him on that plane, which now, of course, he knew had to be on purpose.
There hadn’t been time for goodbyes with him either.