14.6

 

The glow flared — soft, steady, ancient, and Roisin felt her whole body being wrenched inside out.

Not toward the darkness.

Toward the cross.

The bulb in the overhead light died with a soft ping; a quiet death for something that had spent its whole life illuminating the darkness. Roisin shrieked. Being town apart in darkness was far worse than experiencing her own death in the light. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that she was about to die right after discovering the existence of the supernatural. It wasn’t fair that she would die without making her big break into the art world. She would die in obscurity, never having had a solo show at a London Gallery. Never having travelled the vast world that didn’t even know it was waiting for her. Never--

The front door slammed open, allowing the air to change. It grew cold immediately, frost particles sparking in the spilled light from the streetlamp outside. She could see the shadow now, its writhing, spherical form highlighted against the silhouette of a figure framed by the doorway; a figure with a metal hammer in one hand and a stone chisel in the other, with which he’d broken the lock off the door.

Paul.

The darkness recoiled violently, collapsing inward like a shadow being sucked back into itself. The pressure in the hallway eased. The air warmed. The pressure inside Roisin’s chest softened, the vibration fading into a faint tremor.

Steve stepped forward, holding the artifact out like a lantern.

The darkness retreated.

Slowly.

Reluctantly.

Then it was gone.

Not dispersed.

Not dissolved.

Just… gone.

Roisin’s knees buckled and she sank to the floor.

“I’m not a bloody vampire, you know. I do actually live here. Why are the lights out?”

Steve lowered the artifact, wrapping it again carefully. His hands were shaking.

Roisin scooted backward as far as the coat rack and leaned against the wall  taking shallow breaths. She had the urge to be sick but hadn’t eaten all day and so had nothing in her stomach. She leaned forward instead, resting her head against her knees. “What was that?”

“Sorry, mate.” Steve didn’t look at her. “We had a bit of an unwelcome visitor.”

“And you drove him off with a crucifix?” Paul got out his phone and switched it to flashlight mode, shining it first at Stevem and then around the lobby. It alighted on Roisin and she looked up, shielding her eyes against the glare. He hesitated. “Are you okay? I heard a scream.”

“She’ll be grand.” Steve answered for her. “She just needs some rest.”

Paul aimed his phone’s light at the ground and squatted in front of her. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Roisin shook her head. “I’m all right, Paul, though I wouldn’t have been if Steve hadn’t been here. I think I’ve had a lucky escape.”

“You don’t look alright, duck.” Paul put his hammer and chisel on the floor and rested one hand on her knee. “You look…” his eyebrows furrowed. “Hollow.”

“She’d just a bit drained.” Steve reached down and hooked Roisin’s elbow, helping her to her feet. “She’ll be reet after a nice cup o’ tea.” He tucked the re-wrapped cross under his arm with the remained two wrapped objects.

“Wait.” Paul stood, retrieving his tools in one meaty fist. “Where’s this intruder, then?”

Steve paused and looked back. “Gone. We… er… saw your silhouette through the window and thought you were him, come back. Did you not see him go past you?”

Paul shook his head. “Does that mean I broke the lock for nothing? That’ll be a week’s wages gone.”

Steve laughed. “That’s the least of our troubles. Don’t worry about it. I know the landlord.”

“I’m not going to argue about that.” Paul shone his light on the broken lock. “At least it came off cleanly with no damage to the door.”

“Alternatively, and this is just an observation, not a criticism, you understand,” Steve began climbing up the stairs, half-supporting Roisin. “You could have used your key.”

“And undercut the drama?” Paul grinned. “Have you called the police? Or do you want me to?”

“No, don’t bother. They’d wouldn’t do anything, anyway.”

“Yes, I know that. I don’t come from Gornal. But we still need a crime number to claim on the insurance.” Paul closed the front door and casting the light around for something to keep it from swinging open, picked up a quarter-brick from the floor, studied it for a moment, then wedged it between the door and the frame.

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