Page 65 of The Seven Rings
“No time like the present.”
She opened the first file, studied the photos of Cleo she and Corrine had chosen.
Glancing at the time, she saw it was approaching after-businesshours, but decided she’d send them anyway. Along with the others if they struck her as the right choices.
When they did, she shook her fists in the air.
“Wow! She did a hell of a good job.”
Sonya sent a return email back saying just that, then composed another for her contacts at Ryder, and attached the day’s work.
High on success, she jogged up to Cleo’s studio.
As she approached, the door to the Gold Room creaked open. Through it, she heard the whisper of her name.
Clover warned her with Electric Six and “Danger! High Voltage.”
“Yeah, don’t worry. Not falling for it.”
As she spoke, the door blew open. As it crashed against the wall, it seemed the storm had moved into the room. Even from a distance, Sonya felt the wind blow cold over her, saw the flash of light, smelled the ozone.
The floor trembled under her feet, and Cleo rushed out of her studio.
“Don’t go near it!” Calling out, Sonya rushed to her friend. “She’s trying to bait me, or us.”
When the cat came out of the studio, hissed, Cleo scooped her up.
“You stay with us.”
Fog crawled out of the room, across the hall, and up the wall. Sonya watched the wallpaper curl and peel away, and the plaster beneath crack.
Yoda came on the run, snarling. Sonya headed him off, and like Cleo with Pye, grabbed him up.
“Nobody’s going near that.”
In what sounded like an explosion, they heard glass shatter. Shards flew out of the room to embed themselves in the cracking plaster.
So it bled from the wounds.
As it dripped on the floor, the hardwood shook, then opened like a pit.
“Jesus, that can’t be real.”
“It’s not. It’s not, but—” Cleo grabbed Sonya’s arm and pulled her into the studio.
As they watched, the floor in the hall split and fell. Smoke billowed out; flames speared up, then licked their greedy way along the walls.
The laughter came, high-pitched and mad, as more glass shattered, as fire roared. The ceiling fell with a rain of charred plaster, flaming boards.
Dobbs glided out and down, black hair, black dress whipping in the wind she’d created.
“Your death is here, in fire and blood. And your bones will wash away in a flood. Here you risk a fiery death and will carry my curse to your last breath. This house is mine for all time.”
Leading with fury as much as fear, Sonya grabbed one of Cleo’s rocks, heaved it. Whether by luck or aim, it struck Dobbs in the center of her chest.
Had the house fallen around them, Sonya would’ve still felt satisfaction by the look of shock and—yes, it was pain—on Dobbs’s face.
“Go to hell! This is my house!”
