Page 64 of House of Furies
The Resident floated to the side, revealing the doorknob. It did not leave or dissipate, but I had enough room at least to access the door. And I tried. Locked. Cursing, I rattled the knob, but the lock was strong.
“Like thissss,” the Resident said, startling me. It crowded in close but I held my ground, watching as one of its slender black fingers lengthened, then hooked and slid with perfect ease into the keyhole. I heard a soft click and the lock released.
It withdrew its hand, holding it closely to the chest. Then it simply watched me, silent as I opened the door as slowly and quietly as I could.
“Thank you,” I whispered. The cold, odd presence still unnerved me, especially knowing it was out in the hallway observing me, but at least it passed out of view as I ducked into the room. The curtains were pulled shut, the room lying in heavy darkness. It smelled oddly sweet and rank, yet it looked as though nobody had stayed in the room at all. All of Bremerton’s things were stacked neatly next to the bed, as if he anticipated leaving at any moment.
The strange stench worsened the farther I moved into the room. He must have told Mrs. Haylam he wanted his room untouched, for someone would have seen to that smell by now. I pinched my nose shut and tiptoed to the desk. There wasnothing on top of the desk, just an undisturbed pen and ink. A well-loved Bible was there, too, though when I flipped through it I found no annotations in his hand. The drawers were likewise barren. Nothing. I sighed and pushed through to the bedroom, swallowing a retch from the worsening smell of rot. Had he left a bit of food to molder and not known it? What could possibly cause such a stench...
I knew in the pit of my stomach that it was a bad omen. Only death smelled that way; the sweet yet tainted perfume of decaying flesh.
The bedroom held nothing for me, and I wondered over the wisdom of opening his bags to look inside. He might return at any moment. The argument in the foyer had dwindled, or else they were speaking more quietly and rationally now. I lingered, staring down at his bags and worrying my lower lip. The chance to poke around might not come again. I would do it.
I knelt, nearly losing my composure and the fortitude of my stomach, the reek of rot so overwhelming it made my eyes water. Reaching for one of his bags, I stopped, trembling. Something shiny and black poked out just the smallest bit from under the bed frame. Gently, I leaned closer, holding my nose, finding at last the source of the smell...
There was no need to touch it; I could see the dainty black hoof and a hint of pure white wool stained with old blood. It was as if Joanna’s kind voice whispered through my head.
You’ll both like that. I thought you might be gone for good; secondwee one this week to wander away. If only we’d found the first.
Here it was. I stood, quickly, so quickly that my head spun from the smell and the shock. What was this wretch doing with a murdered lamb under his bed? I needed to clear my mind. Focus. There had been a lamb painted in blood on the wall behind Lee’s mother. Could this be the connection I needed? I backed away from the bed to escape the smell a little and pace, and when I turned I saw it, plain as anything.
I hadn’t bothered to look at the door after I closed it behind me, but now I had the penmanship sample I needed. Blood pounded in my ears; a shortness of breath that felt like drowning made my chest tight and clenched. Well, this was proof, but I did not want it, not like this, not when it made my flesh prickle with cold.
Shaking, I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out the scrap of paper, holding it up to compare against the words written in blackening blood on the door. The slants and loops were the same. A match.
AND THEY OVERCAME HIM BY THE BLOOD OF THE LAMB
I mouthed the words to myself with the paper still held aloft. I mouthed them as the door burst inward and George Bremerton flew at me with pistol cocked and ready.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ascream like ice shattering across a frozen lake ripped through the room. I had never heard anything close to that pitch, so high and terrible it made my mind practicallybend. It was the Resident outside the door. It was clawing at the air, at the open door, as if some invisible barrier prevented it from ingress.
But that was the least of my worries. Bremerton was upon me and fast, knocking his bags out of the way and grabbing me by the throat before I could defend myself. He threw me back against the wall next to the window, following up with a heavy fist squeezing around my neck.
“You did it,” I cried. “You killed his mother! Murderer!”
“His mother?” Bremerton snorted and pressed his thumb into the fleshy hollow of my throat. “I have no earthly idea who spawned my nephew and I don’t care. That wench was one of ours until she decided to turn her back on the cause. She was to be made an example of, nothing more.”
“Then why... Why are you here?” If I was going to die, I at least wanted to know what had been the cause of all this suffering. All this confusion.
He rolled his eyes and pushed his thumb into my neck until I coughed. “Why, to kill the Devil, girl, what else? I didn’t kill my brother, John, for my health. And now you will answer myquestion and be quick about it. How?” He shook me, hard, clamping down on my throat until only the lightest trickle of air got through. His eyes and nostrils bulged, spit flying from his lips as he shouted in my face. “Devious little bitch, how did you get in here? You’re one of them. I know you are. So how did you do it?”
I scratched desperately at his hands, trying to pry his fingers loose from my neck.
“Uncle!”
Lee’s voice rang out from the hall, and for a beautiful, shining instant I thought I was saved. But Bremerton blind fired over his shoulder, shooting the door frame. I heard Lee’s cry faintly over the ringing in my ears. A thread of a whining sound persisted. Had I gone deaf? The pistol had sounded, and felt like raw fire exploding in my face.
He cocked the pistol again and turned it on me, shoving the hot barrel against my temple.
“I don’t know,” I wheezed, tears squeezing out of the corners of my eyes. “Please! I don’t know anything.”
“Lies!” he thundered, shaking me again. Through bleary eyes I could see the welts I had made on his hand, blood running under my fingernails. Nothing dislodged him. “You work for the Devil, girl, and no servant of evil is ever so innocent or naive. Tell me how you got in here!”
How... How... I scrambled for an answer that would mollify him, if such a thing existed.
“I’m not one of them!” I cried.
