H. Mallory - Ghouls Rush In

Drake nodded as if he weren’t surprised, which worried me. Frowning, he settled his lifeless gaze on me. “I figured that part out too late, I’m afraid.” He shook his head and bit his lip. I could see his frustration and it was a difficult thing to watch. “I tried to protect you, ma minette, but I am afraid I’ve failed you.”

“You haven’t failed me,” I said with watery eyes as I remembered him battling the entity when it was choking the life out of me. “You’ve kept me safe this whole time. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even be here right now.”

He gripped my hand and stared at me, a sudden urgency in his expression. Maybe it was with the realization that he couldn’t keep me safe any longer, not when his vitality was fading so rapidly. “ Il faut que vous quittiez cette maison ! You need to leave this house,” he said, his eyes boring into mine. “Get as far away as you can.”

I shook my head, remembering how Christopher said that it wouldn’t do any good. For whatever reason, this entity had its sights on me and I doubted it would care what zip code I lived in. And seeing how quickly it had drained Drake’s power and vivacity convinced me it could locate me wherever I tried to hide. I had a feeling the fact that Sarah Laumann was my great-grandmother had something to do with it.

I smiled down at my friend and continued running my fingers through his hair, trying to console him. “I need you to hold on for me, Drake,” I said softly. Bringing my mouth to his forehead, I kissed him gently. I pulled away and saw his unbridled affection for me reflected in the chocolate of his irises. “I need you to resist it just for a little while longer,” I finished. But I already knew that waiting to see Christopher wasn’t an option. Drake was too far gone already. Time was of the essence and I had to act now.

He simply nodded and smiled up at me as I wondered how much longer he could hold this thing off. “Ma minette, ma belle, my beautiful,” he whispered.

But before I left Drake to visit Christopher, I needed some information. “I need to know if you were ever in contact with Sarah Laumann.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before nodding. “Oui. She was one of his victims,” he said in a far-off voice.

“Yes, how did you know her?”

“I was working on her case,” he answered immediately before taking another deep breath and finally opening his eyes. “She was so young. When I visited her at Charity Hospital to question her as to what had happened, she was so frightened she was barely able to speak. Her head was bandaged but the bandages did nothing to detract from the beauty of her face.”

I swallowed hard as I started to guess where this conversation was headed. “Were you and my great, er, Sarah, involved?”

He sighed and then nodded, glancing up at me briefly. “ Pour un temps . For a time.” He cleared his throat and I could see the exhaustion beginning to build in his eyes. It was time for me to go.

“I need you to wake me up now, Drake,” I said in a soft voice. “Wake me up.”

I came to almost immediately. Sitting up with a start, I glanced around and found I was back in my bed, in my guest bedroom, in my house. I wiped my eyes as I pushed the duvet off and immediately turned to the task of getting dressed. I was more than sure that Christopher wouldn’t appreciate a phone call at midnight, but this was an emergency. I’d never seen Drake so infirm, so vacant and sickly. It scared the hell out of me.

Pulling on my bra and panties, I slid the pair of jeans I’d worn earlier in the evening on and wiggled into a white sweatshirt. Then I fished out two balled-up socks that had never made it to the hamper and hoped they didn’t smell too bad. Throwing on my sneakers, I picked up Christopher’s business card from my side table and dialed his number.

“Warlock-for-hire, Christopher Raven Adams here,” he answered on the second ring in a blasé tone. He didn’t sound like he’d been sleeping.

“Hi Christopher, this is Peyton from Prytania Street.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Um, I’m sorry I’m calling you so late.”

“It’s okay. I don’t sleep. What do you need?”

I took a deep breath and heaved out a sigh. “I just made contact with Drake and, uh, he’s really not doing well. I don’t think he’ll last much longer.”

He grumbled something unintelligible and groaned before becoming quiet for another few seconds. “Very well, I shall arrive within the hour.”

He was off the phone before I could thank him. Hanging up my phone, my thoughts switched to Ryan. Yes, I did consider calling him to let him know what I was up to. Ultimately, however, I decided against it. First of all, I’d had a hell of a time convincing him to let me continue sleeping in my house, after everything that had gone down. But I was determined to make contact with Drake if only to check in on him. And my chances of reaching him were better when I was in our house.

Second, it wasn’t Ryan’s problem; it was mine. I didn’t want to ask for Ryan’s help again and possibly put him in any more danger. That was a thought I wanted nothing to do with.

I started to pace my room back and forth, thinking of Drake. I refused to sit still, not while I was worried to death that Drake might not last however long it took Christopher to arrive. Within the hour? An hour was a long time to wait! Could Drake last another hour?

I walked out of my room and started for the hallway. I intended to plug in all the overhead shop lights and brighten the place up. After completing that task, I kept busy by inspecting each of the downstairs rooms to see how much progress Ryan’s men had made. That took all of ten minutes and I was left twiddling my thumbs again. But I was spared from inventing another mindless task to keep my thoughts off the slow, molasses dripping of time when I heard a steady stream of water coming from the guest bathroom.

Narrowing my eyes, I tried to remember if I’d turned off the faucet and eerily recalled that I’d never even turned it on. Gulping down my surging fear, I prodded myself forward to investigate. I didn’t race to do it by any stretch of the imagination, but tiptoed toward the bedroom, where the sound of water became more audible. Now closer, it didn’t sound as though it was coming from the sink faucet, but more like someone had turned the bath on.

When I reached my bedroom, the bathroom door was shut, and I definitely remembered leaving it open. A steady flow of steam emerged from beneath the door, illuminated by the bathroom light.

My heart climbed into my throat as I approached the door. When I reached for the doorknob, I feared I might just seize up and suffer a stroke right there. But I didn’t. Grasping the knob in my palm, I turned it and felt like I was in slow motion. I pulled the door toward me and became momentarily blinded by the overhead light, which seemed much brighter when combined with the enormous amount of condensation in the room. The steam hit me full force in the face like a slap and I blinked against it. It was just like walking into a sauna.

Incredibly, the air was so thick, I couldn’t even see through it. Taking a few small steps forward, I shielded my face with my arm so the scalding mist wouldn’t scorch my eyes. They were already tearing up, and I had difficulty breathing the inexplicably searing air. I tried to fan the steam, but it was like dense, white smoke, and so cloudy and heavy, it was opaque.

Following the sound of rushing water, I stumbled through the haze until I inadvertently kicked the bathtub with my toes. I slid the glass door to one side and reached into the bathtub, gripping the hot water knob and turning it off. Standing up again, I turned back around and noticed the steam was dissipating so quickly, it was almost as if an invisible vacuum were sucking it up from the middle of the room.