Page 92 of Dead Vengeance

That weird veil of darkness lies ahead. It’s almost like a web, stretching across the hallway at the top of the stairs. Translucent.

A whooshing sound next to me knocks me off balance through sheer fear, and I grab hold of the bannister to stop myself from falling. A second later, talons dig into my shoulder, and a gurgling sound races down my spine, throwing steadying calm into my frayed nerves.

“Hey, Edgar.”

He rubs his head against my cheek.

“You sure you want to come up here?” I’m only asking because the sound of my own voice is a comfort, given the appalling silence all through the rest of the building. But he coos in response, almost as if he understands. “Suit yourself.” I shrug, and he flaps his wings a little to keep his balance.

We summit the stairs together and step through that almost-physical barrier—the curtain between light and dark, real and whatever world this creature has created here in ours. Cool humidity slips over me, and I could swear Edgar ruffles his feathers against it.

I’m on high alert for the obvious reason, but also because I’m half expecting Helena to jump out at me, or Simon, or those weird kids, or honestly, who knows what? But so far it’s just silence and this thick atmosphere.

I wish Archer were here.

This isn’t how I imagined this going. Not any of it.

I imagined, in my wildest dreams, a nice kiss like the one we had when I arrived. Maybe the breakfast too. Then me charging up here, gun loaded and ready to blast that thing away. It might have jumped out at us from the end of the hall. One well-aimed shot and it would be gone. The darkness would lift. And Archer would be so thankful. So impressed. And I’d ask him out. And he’d say yes. And it would be so much better than how things have played out in the real world.

Though he did ask me out. Kind of. So I’d really better survive this.

Bolstered by the thought of the date waiting for me, aware that he’ll be upset at me if he finds me up here before I kill that thing, I hasten my steps. Along the hall, past the doorway that Archer said I should never, never go through. Past his bedroom and the spare room, and on and up the hall to another set of stairs. A terrifying and forbidding set of stairs, skinny and rickety in a way I wouldn’t have expected in this robust building.

I follow the line of them up and into complete darkness. Not even the strange mid-light of the hallway reaches there. The square entrance at the top is dead black.

I pull back to see Edgar’s head thrust forward, peeking up towards the attic too. His beak opens and a quiet gurgle comes out, so I give his feathers a stroke. “I’m not convinced it’s a good idea either.”

He dips his head a few times. I’m not sure what he means by it. I only know I’d be much happier here studying raven behaviour than going up there and doing what I have to do.

Then Edgar stills. He cocks his head as if he’s listening.

“What is it?” I whisper, assuming it’s some kind of horrible ghost noise only he can hear.

He listens a moment longer, blinks, then takes flight, soaring back along the hallway and away down the stairs.

“Thank you very much, Edgar,” I mumble.

It’s not that I expected much of him, but the company was nice.

It’s tempting, the idea of following him. Popping back out the front door and waiting there for Archer as if nothing happened.

But no. Imagine his face when I tell him all his troubles are over. And mine too, for now.

So I press a foot onto the bottom step, but the second I do, reality shifts. It’s the blink of an eye, and I’m back in that strange stone world, carvings on the walls, moss in the cracks, leaves on the floor, vines snaking in and out. When I look down, it’s a stone step beneath my foot, solid, followed by another, and another, leading to a platform of some sort, lit by bright sunshine streaming through a circular hole in the stone ceiling.

Some instinct tells me, this is it. This is where it has wanted me to go this whole time, where it’s been leading me. This is where, maybe, I fight it. Kill it.

A wave of adrenaline slams through me, my heart thundering, every sense alive. The scents of smoke and some kind of sweet and rich incense-like odour hit me, pungent beneath the damp, earthy smell of the decrepit leaves.

I click the chamber of the gun open. I know it’s loaded. I know it’s ready to kill. But it settles me the tiniest amount to double-check. I press my finger against the trigger, ready for whatever I’ll find at the top of these stairs, and I move forward. Faster now, driven by fear and the urgency to get this over and done with.

But just before my head breaches the base of the platform, a voice reaches me. I stop dead.

It’s not the monstrous clicking and rasping voice of the creature. It sounds perfectly normal. Perfectly human. A perfectly common and normal London accent.

I press myself against the stairs to listen as it drifts over me.

“Tell me how they fucking knew.”