Dark Angels [07] Darkness Falls by Keri Arthur

Author:Keri Arthur [Arthur, Keri]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fantasy
Goodreads: 19275608
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Like most of these renovated terraces, the rear part of the house had become one big, open kitchen that also had plenty of room for a dining area. Amaya’s lilac flames cast a cool light across the white expanse of walls and kitchen cabinets but oddly gave the polished floorboards a richer, redder glow. I slid my shoes off so my footsteps didn’t echo, then carefully walked on. Beyond the soft ticking of a clock, the house was silent. But the still air was rich with a combination of leather and roses, the smells coming from both the furnishings and the various floral arrangements dotted around the room. There was no TV in this room, just a small kitchen table and a comfortable-looking sofa. Bookcases lined the wall to my left and were filled with hardcovers—some fiction, most not. Aside from the flowers, those books were the only spots of color in this otherwise white world.

I moved through the kitchen and up a couple of steps into the more formal dining area. There was a staircase to the right. I paused at its base, looking upward. There was a skylight at the top of the stairwell, but the moon hadn’t fully risen yet and there was little light shining through it. There was no sense of movement or life coming from the upper floors—and yet, there was something up there. I had no idea what it might be, but my skin crawled with awareness. Maybe it was the evil Amaya had sensed.

Not, she said. That ahead.

Oh. Great. I licked my lips and forced my feet on. The dining room, like the kitchen-diner, was expensively but sparsely furnished. In fact, there was very little in the way of decoration in this place—nothing beyond the furniture and the flower vases, anyway—and certainly nothing that hinted at the personality of the owner. It was almost a show home—although even show homes generally had a warmer feel than this place.

Beyond the dining room there was a small corridor and a gorgeous old grandfather clock. There were also two doors. One was the front door, so I reached for the doorknob of the other one. But as my fingers touched the metal, that sense of evil sharpened, its touch old and oddly putrid. I quickly released the doorknob and backed away.

What the fuck is in there, Amaya?

Sure not.

I frowned and glanced down at my hand. Though I couldn’t see anything, it felt as if a film of some kind had crawled from the knob to my skin. It was cold, wet—even though there was no moisture on my hand—and oddly reminded me of Mike’s grip when I’d shaken his hand.

Amaya, flame up. When she did so, I added, I want you to burn whatever it is I have on my hand.

I stuck my palm against her blade, and her flames crawled around my fingertips, their touch light, warm, and tingly.

After a moment, she said, Taste foul.

Is it magic or something else?

Not hell magic. She paused.

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