Sharon Ashwood - Ravenous

She remembered her boyfriend, Ben, going on and on about the vagrancy law and rent controls over breakfast. He was sadly both a morning person and a news junkie. He was already flying on back-to-school excitement, ready to resume teaching his economics students. By the first day of classes he'd be bouncing off the walls.

Alessandro tilted the paper toward his flashlight, centering the yellow beam on the hockey article before he dropped the paper back to the floor. "What's in the next room?"

Ahead stood a wide opening that might once have held pocket doors. Beyond was a long dining room, empty but for rotting drapes dangling from a thick oak rod. Alessandro took a step forward, but Holly caught his arm. "Wait. There's something here."

He set his booted foot down with the care of one crossing a minefield.

She glimpsed it from the corner of her eye, a glittering black flow in the darkness. "This is new." If she turned to look straight on, it disappeared. "It's right in front of us."

"What?" He was looking from side to side, his acute night vision still missing what her witch's eyes could see.

"I've never seen anything like this. It looks like someone's pouring down the night sky."

"Pardon?"

The flow broke through the ceiling, coursing down the wall to Holly's left like glittering black syrup. Points of light fell—or perhaps they rose—speeding and slowing, spiraling as the slow drape of thick liquid folded and pooled at the baseboard. From there the ooze snaked across the room inches from their feet, finally running between the cracks by the baseboard. It was impossible to tell which way the river of black progressed—from the basement to the ceiling or vice versa. It somehow looked like it did both at once.

What Holly could tell was that the sparkling blackness radiated a feeling of threat. A prickling sensation ran up her shins, as if an electrical charge surrounded the river, but that was only part of its disturbing presence. It was faintly warm, still fresh from whatever source disgorged it. She didn't know what would happen if they stepped in it, but one way or another, it wouldn't be good.

"Blood. Or something almost like it," said Alessandro, his voice hollow. "I can smell it."

Holly's stomach rolled over, his tone as disturbing as her thoughts. "It's not blood."

"Then what is it?"

"I've heard of this happening in rogue houses, but I've never seen it before. A really bad house doesn't just absorb ambient energy, it goes on the attack. The black ooze is its… I dunno… its digestive system, I guess. It's hunting. It's draining the six people here. What you smell is… um… it's their lives." Her voice trailed off to a whisper.

"Where's it coming from?"

"Up there." Holly pointed. "Or beneath us. I can't tell which way it's going. Wherever it begins, that's where we'll find our victims."

At her words, the river of darkness faded from sight. She had seen what the house wanted her to see. It was squeezing its victims dry.

If it was doing that to ordinary humans, what did it mean to do to a witch like her?

The energy level in the air dropped, dragging the temperature down to near freezing. The whispering voices in her head grew fainter, as if the house were drawing away to plan its next move.

This wasn't like any other house-gone-bad she had encountered. Usually they were evil but predictable. Hungry and dumb. This place, on the other hand, had done postgrad work in homicidal malevolence with a minor in seriously creepy, and she sensed it was just warming up.

Things were going to get interesting when it hit full stride.

The broad oak steps to the upper floor were still covered by a runner tacked down with tiny brass rails, a touch of elegance left over from better times. Holly shone her flashlight up the stairway. There were some boxes and painting equipment left on the steps, but otherwise the coast looked clear.

The voices were all but silent, whispering among themselves. Holly ignored them, concentrating on stepping over a roll of builder's plastic. The beam of her flashlight caught something. A loaded backpack was lying on the small landing where the stairs turned at a right angle. Odd that the police hadn't taken it. Had they been so rattled by the house that they'd missed it?

"At least one of the students came this way," she said, mounting the stairs and kneeling to have a better look. The pack was a common enough style, navy with the Fairview U crest on the pocket. A stainless steel coffee mug was clipped to the strap. She had a similar pack herself, and so did Ben. He had bought them for the first day of classes, one of his sweet gestures. He was so proud of Holly for going back to school. The fact that she had been accepted to the School of Business, his own department, was the cherry on top.

"The pack looks like it was dropped in a hurry," Alessandro observed, scooping something off the landing. "Look. A cell phone fell out."

He flipped it open, but there was no signal. Not unusual in haunted houses. Something in the spooky vibes interfered with reception.

The top of the backpack was unzipped. Holly lifted the flap for a cursory glance. She didn't mean to spend time on a thorough examination. Who the owner was didn't matter, just the fact that they were lost in the terrible, whispering house. Then she saw what was inside, and recognized the sticker on the laptop: Economists supply it on demand .

Holly bowed her head, devastation sapping her strength. "Omigod, this is Ben's."

" Merda ." Alessandro knelt beside her. "He must have been one of the professors Raglan said came looking for the students."

"He never said anything about sponsoring a frat. Damn it, where is he?" Holly rose and ran up the rest of the stairs. Had Ben said something about coming here this morning, and she'd just tuned out his breakfast monologue? Fear and guilt drove her heart, slamming it against her ribs.

"Holly!" Alessandro surged after, taking the steps two at a time.

The upstairs landing opened onto a large area flanked by two more hallways. A large drop cloth made a ghostly heap beside the banister. Holly looked from one side to the other, searching for some sign of the dark river she had seen in the dining room. Her mind felt suddenly sharp and clear, her thoughts ticking over with digital precision.

Alessandro stopped, lifting his head. He took a short, sharp breath and made a face. "There is death here."

"Where?" Holly said, her voice flat and cold. Oh, Ben !

Alessandro pointed straight ahead.

The house's rustling deepened into a throaty female laugh, fading away into a soft chuckle. The house is a woman . The fact that it had a gender made things worse. It was more personal. Specific. And the house had Ben, who brought Holly coffee and bagels. Ben, who liked Thai food and classic cartoons and gave great foot massages. Holly's stomach curdled.

Give him back, house . She stalked down the hall, clutching the flashlight like a truncheon. Ten seconds, or you're plaster dust and kindling .

The last of the chuckle slipped away, leaving behind empty silence. Holly strode along, her heels loud on the hardwood. She flung open one door, then the next, pausing only long enough to sweep the empty spaces with her flashlight. All she saw were small, plain rooms with slanted ceilings in the far corners. Bedrooms, perhaps.

She thumped the wall in frustration. The center of the house's consciousness was nearby—she could feel it, but the exact location eluded her. "Give it up, Scrap Heap," Holly called out. "Where'd you put your playmates?"

Alessandro glided past her. He opened the last door in the hallway, pushing it open and then recoiling, poised and ready to fight. Holly marched toward him, barely slowing until he raised one hand, palm out. "Wait. This is the source of the black river," he said. "I can see it now, too. There was a look-away spell. That explains why the police didn't see any of this."