might have got to him. Last night, she’d heard him talking to himself, and that could never be a good sign. She hoped she was wrong, because the work had only just started and she needed Oliver to keep a clear head, especially now that Bam seemed so twitchy. If he was having some sort of a nervous breakdown, it would be extremely bad timing.
Once again, she wondered if she’d made the right choice by keeping the house. Perhaps its curse wasn’t ghosts after all, but stress. The house was large and hard to maintain. Maybe that’s what drove people over the edge. She slid her arm around Bam’s shoulders and rubbed her friend’s skin with her thumb. Her mind wandered to her aunt, a thin woman with wild red hair and bulging eyes that always had an expression of accusation in them. A thought occurred to her that they’d found no pictures during the clean-up. Not of her aunt, nor of her children. Freya could hardly remember her cousins at all. She remembered playing with them, but the memory didn’t go much further than the fact that they were ginger and a bit odd.
The hammer struck again, and the wall spewed pieces of brick and crushed mortar like a boxer spitting out broken teeth. The dust particles in the room danced in the languid sunlight filtering in through windows in golden streams. The young men cheered as the hole in the wall became bigger. Freya felt a change. She couldn’t say what it was, but it tingled down her spine. She told herself it was just cold feet over starting a hotel so far away from home.
***
Ethereal eyes fluttered open from a deep sleep. Equinox? the tormented mind of Sister Agatha thought. The idea came with difficulty, slow and distorted. She had fought hard to keep her mind intact after her death. Without a body and a brain to make connections, the spirit was no more than a shadow of its former self. And the house… this house, it wanted to taint her as it had the others. It was alive. She could feel its essence in the bricks and mortar, tempting her over to darkness.
Why am I awake? she mused, as instinct kicked in and she materialised from her resting place.
The spells… something is breaking the spells. Panic surged through Agatha and she forced herself to concentrate on the house. Strangers, there are strangers in Angel Manor. They’re destroying the spells. She could feel the heat of their bodies, even at this distance, and Agatha fought her longing to be near them. Life was so painful to the dead, and the warmth of the pulsing blood stirred a hunger, even in the docile nun.
Where are the living Guardians? Where are those who are supposed to protect the house? Agatha reached out with her essence and touched upon the descendant of the bloodline. The heir was here. And she had brought others. And the house had bonded with them. Two so far, but there would be a third. She focused on the heir again, a pang of worry shooting through her soul. There is something different about this heir… something bad.
For several decades, Sister Agatha’s soul had known peace. The spells had protected her resting place, had kept her away from the living, letting her sleep in blissful ignorance through the year except on the equinoxes and the solstices. However, this was neither the equinox nor the solstice, and if the barriers to her domain were broken, the other boundaries would soon follow. Their absence would awaken the lost souls trapped inside Angel Manor.
But there were worse things…
The living might release the Angels themselves.
***
The last of the bricks fell with a crack, and the crew stood back, coughing as the lime dust tickled their throats. Mutters of appreciation hummed across the lips of the builders as they craned their necks to peer inside the East Wing. The darkness stretched away into unseen depths, and Freya’s heart pounded against her ribcage.
“What happened to the windows? Where’s the light?” Terrence pulled the dust mask from his powder-covered face and
Once again, she wondered if she’d made the right choice by keeping the house. Perhaps its curse wasn’t ghosts after all, but stress. The house was large and hard to maintain. Maybe that’s what drove people over the edge. She slid her arm around Bam’s shoulders and rubbed her friend’s skin with her thumb. Her mind wandered to her aunt, a thin woman with wild red hair and bulging eyes that always had an expression of accusation in them. A thought occurred to her that they’d found no pictures during the clean-up. Not of her aunt, nor of her children. Freya could hardly remember her cousins at all. She remembered playing with them, but the memory didn’t go much further than the fact that they were ginger and a bit odd.
The hammer struck again, and the wall spewed pieces of brick and crushed mortar like a boxer spitting out broken teeth. The dust particles in the room danced in the languid sunlight filtering in through windows in golden streams. The young men cheered as the hole in the wall became bigger. Freya felt a change. She couldn’t say what it was, but it tingled down her spine. She told herself it was just cold feet over starting a hotel so far away from home.
***
Ethereal eyes fluttered open from a deep sleep. Equinox? the tormented mind of Sister Agatha thought. The idea came with difficulty, slow and distorted. She had fought hard to keep her mind intact after her death. Without a body and a brain to make connections, the spirit was no more than a shadow of its former self. And the house… this house, it wanted to taint her as it had the others. It was alive. She could feel its essence in the bricks and mortar, tempting her over to darkness.
Why am I awake? she mused, as instinct kicked in and she materialised from her resting place.
The spells… something is breaking the spells. Panic surged through Agatha and she forced herself to concentrate on the house. Strangers, there are strangers in Angel Manor. They’re destroying the spells. She could feel the heat of their bodies, even at this distance, and Agatha fought her longing to be near them. Life was so painful to the dead, and the warmth of the pulsing blood stirred a hunger, even in the docile nun.
Where are the living Guardians? Where are those who are supposed to protect the house? Agatha reached out with her essence and touched upon the descendant of the bloodline. The heir was here. And she had brought others. And the house had bonded with them. Two so far, but there would be a third. She focused on the heir again, a pang of worry shooting through her soul. There is something different about this heir… something bad.
For several decades, Sister Agatha’s soul had known peace. The spells had protected her resting place, had kept her away from the living, letting her sleep in blissful ignorance through the year except on the equinoxes and the solstices. However, this was neither the equinox nor the solstice, and if the barriers to her domain were broken, the other boundaries would soon follow. Their absence would awaken the lost souls trapped inside Angel Manor.
But there were worse things…
The living might release the Angels themselves.
***
The last of the bricks fell with a crack, and the crew stood back, coughing as the lime dust tickled their throats. Mutters of appreciation hummed across the lips of the builders as they craned their necks to peer inside the East Wing. The darkness stretched away into unseen depths, and Freya’s heart pounded against her ribcage.
“What happened to the windows? Where’s the light?” Terrence pulled the dust mask from his powder-covered face and
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