Haunted Waterways (Dark Legacy Series Book 2) Page 5

  The room was darker than the bathroom. The thick shadows made it impossible for him to judge the true extent of each item. His panted breath fogged in front of him, making it even harder to discern anything. Bracing his hands on the floor he pushed himself up, useless eyes focused on the bathroom door. A hand latched around his ankle with an iron grip. It yanked sharply, pulling him a foot over the floor, the jolt knocking his hands out from under him and tumbling him back.

  Pressure pushed down on his chest. A solid weight that kept him pinned to the ground. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, the chill painful against his bare skin. The voice whispered again, so close that he could almost feel the lips against his ear.

  “Aren’t you a pretty boy?”

  Louis craned his neck. Like a captured animal he thrashed against the unseen force holding him, his muscles straining, his back aching. His feet kicked over the floor, colliding painfully with a table. A lamp toppled down and smashed against the ground with a loud crack.

  The door to the cabin opened and the specter released him. He pulled himself back over the floor in a panicked slide until his back hit something. With a cry stuck in his throat, he turned around to see a blur of red and white. The face was made of chalky skin and dark, bottomless holes. He jerked away before he heard Marigold’s voice.

  “What’s wrong? Louis?”

  “My glasses,” Louis stammered. He needed to be able to see. He needed things to be clear. “Can you find my glasses?”

  The blur moved around the room, drifting from one side to the other. He watched, his breath slowly becoming invisible as the room steadily regained its warmth. His heart was no longer a painful ache against his ribs as the blur came closer.

  “Here, they were on the bed.”

  “Little on the nose, don’t you think?”

  “What?” Marigold asked as Louis pulled them on.

  The world settled back into place, real and solid, something he could make sense of. Marigold was looking down at him, clearly worried. With a sigh, he shook his head and struggled onto his weak legs.

  ***

  “You got groped by a ghost?” Marigold asked as she strained her tea. “Can they even do that?”

  After the incident, Louis had left the room as quickly as he could. The original plan had been to brew some tea in the kitchen. Only a few pieces of the tea set had survived the crash. They were pretty and delicate and seemed to be fine china. It was a little bit of decadence, and at times, that could go a long way in helping improve her mood. But the ghost there wasn’t in any mood for company. It was only skirting things about and drifting cups to the side. Harmless really. But Louis was on edge and his attention darted to every noise. So Marigold had staked what they needed onto a tray and had led him to the small library. It was really just a few leather seats and a cabinet filled with books, but it was small and cozy and easily lit. It was also the one room that the ghosts didn’t seem to bother with. The whole time she had called this place home she had never had an encounter here, and she hoped that the trend would remain for Louis.

  “Ghost molestation is a bit more common than you would think,” he took his cup with a grateful smile. “It’s just never happened to me.”

  “Are you okay?”

  He nodded and leant into the wing-backed chair, “I feel like I need another shower, but other than that I’m fine.”

  “I swear if I had known, I would have given you a heads up.”

  “I don’t think you would have known.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “The way he called me ‘boy’, what I could sense from him.” Louis rubbed his forehead, eyelids drooping. “I don’t think you have the coloring or the equipment he’s interested in.”

  “Oh,” Marigold said. “Should we be worried? I mean, is he going to leave you alone?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe you should stay in my cabin.” Her cheeks heated a little as he turned his gaze onto her. “There’s more than one bed. Miss Giggles doesn’t get along with the ghost I’m now naming Creeper. They have kind of a turf war going on and some nights they get pretty noisy, but neither of them come into my room.”

  “Thanks,” Louis gave her a small smile and sipped his tea. “I feel like I just lost a lot of street cred.”

  “Street cred?” she laughed.

  “I stormed a house that not only was on fire but had a demon inside.”

  “It wasn’t on fire when you broke in.”

  “I think the key thing in that sentence is that there was a demon,” he said. “That impressed quite a few people, in the right social circles.”

  “I bet they’ll be quite disillusioned to hear that you were scared by a ghost.”

  “I didn’t have my glasses.”

  “And that changes things?”

  He shrugged, “It does for me.”

  “How much can you actually see without them?”

  “Not much at all.” He took another sip, his fingers wrapping more tightly around the small cup. “I have some bad memories of being in situations like that. Never gets any easier.”

  Marigold really wanted to know what memories were haunting him, but it didn’t seem like the time or place to ask.

  “You can always focus more on the fact that you were in the shower,” she offered. “That would throw anyone off.”

  “I’d actually prefer to play down that part.” His lips twitched in a smile that never fully grew.

  He yawned and rubbed a hand over his forehead. When they had first met, he had possessed a constant stream of energy, never tired, never lethargic. Now, each time she saw him, he looked a little more worn. The mounting stress he was under was starting to show, and she hoped that it wasn’t because of her. Not because of what she had dragged into his life.

  “How is your family?” she asked.

  “They’re good,” he clamped a hand over his mouth as he released a jaw-cracking yawn.

  “Business is good?”

  “Things are slowing up now that we’re out of the tourist season.” He looked up to her and realized what she was hinting at. “Are you worried about me, cher?”

  “You just look tired.”

  “Bad dreams,” he said softly.

  “Yeah,” she said and drank her tea to keep from commenting. She knew about bad dreams. It had been a while since she was able to sleep for more than a few hours at a time.

  “It’s getting late,” he said. “What time do you normally turn in?”

  She kept her eyes focused on her cup like it held some great fascination, “I don’t sleep at night anymore.”

  “Cher?”

  “I normally go to sleep around dawn,” she added with a hint of a real smile. “I feel a lot more comfortable if I can see them coming. Besides, it’s too noisy at night.”

  As if on cue, the low, haunting notes of a cello began to play. The melody was soft, gentle and sweet, coming from everywhere but nowhere at once. They sat and listened for some time, captivated by the sound even as it set her nerves on edge. Louis shuffled in his seat but she held up a hand to keep him in place.

  “Don’t bother. I can never find where it’s coming from.”

  “You’ve looked for it?”

  “A few times. I haven’t even been able to find a cello. You know,” she smiled sheepishly. “The first night I was here alone, I heard it playing. I got it in my head that it wasn’t a ghost. That there was some other homeless person wondering the bayous that had turned the boat into their home. I couldn’t decide which option scared me more. Ghost or human. Isn’t that weird?”

  “I’ve found myself equally afraid of both.”

  She met his eyes, her humor gone. “You never told me what Delilah did to you. When you were alone with her.”

  “No reason you need to know, cher.”

  It was hard to decide if he actually believed that or if he just didn’t want to talk about it. Then again, being locked in a torture chamber with a demon a
nd a murderous sadist can’t be an easy thing to talk about. She had told him numerous times that she was willing to listen, but he had never taken her up on it. A lifetime amongst ghosts and ghouls hadn’t affected him when they had first met. It was hard to shake the feeling that she was the one draining the life out of him. Slowly, precisely, like a ravaging disease that rotted him from the inside out.

  The song continued. As sweet as ever but holding a new malice that put her on edge. She hated that song. Louis seemed content to sit and listen, even as his eyelids began to droop. It didn’t seem like he was going to last long.

  “You look really tired.”

  He put his tea back on the tray and ran a hand over his head. “It’s been a crazy few days.”

  “You don’t have to force yourself to stay up for my sake. Get some rest.”

  “I’m not quite sure if sleep would be a good idea right now,” he admitted.

  “Do you want to play a card game?”

  He looked up at her even as he rested his head against the wing of the chair. It was as if the music had the opposite effect on him than it did on her. It soothed him, eased him into the deeper throws of his adrenaline crash. He agreed to play a few games, but could barely keep his eyes open. The cello got softer, a gentle whisper. Louis’ eyes closed as she sorted out the cards. Within a split second, the cello roared back into a concert level, startling Louis awake. He gripped the arms of the chair, but couldn’t keep himself from drifting off as it lowered again. It lured him and shocked him and did all it could to keep him tittering on the edge of sleep.

  Marigold stood up and moved to the bookshelf. She dragged her fingertips along the spines until she found something that could keep her interest. Louis hadn’t noticed her departure. His breathing was starting to even out. His limbs grew heavy. Then the cello was just outside the door and he jerked awake once more.

  “Sorry, cher,” he mumbled even as he struggled to remember where he was.

  “It’s okay,” she held her selected book in the air and smiled. “Well, I’m going to read in my cabin. If you want to hang out with me, and possibly fall asleep, you’re most welcome.”

  Louis heaved a reluctant sigh but admitted defeat to the demands of his body.

  “Okay, cher.” He struggled to his feet and stretched out his spine, “Lead the way.”

  Chapter 7

  The feeble light of the single candle was enough to cast a warm glow over the small cabin. The flickered flame released a soft crackle, the tiny noise mixing with the rhythmic sound of Louis’ steady breathing. Somewhere, distant within the bowels of the ship, she could hear the lonesome cello. Everything was still, hovering in an easy peace that Marigold knew wouldn’t last.

  She flicked up from the book she was reading to check on Louis. It was a habit she had honed years ago when her little sister would fall asleep at her side. Jasmine would always insist that she wasn’t sleepy, that she could make it through a whole chapter of whatever they were reading together. She would always be asleep before the last page, her beloved Care Bear plush toy cradled in her arms.

  Marigold swallowed thickly as guilt twisted painfully in the pit of her gut. She had given Jasmine that toy, Braveheart, the lion Care Bear with a heart on his fat white belly. Jasmine had been terrified of the boogieman and Marigold had told her that Braveheart would keep her safe. She had thought it was just a childish fear, something she would grow out of, something best to dismiss. Now, when the night was quiet and she didn’t have anything to keep her thoughts at bay, Marigold was haunted by the thought that Jasmine had known; about their parents, or the demon that they were destined to inherit, or of what was really lurking in the shadows. It was a thought that always broke something in Marigold. When she had learnt the truth, Louis had been there for her. There to help, there to believe. He hadn’t just given her a stuffed toy and sent her on her way.

  Louis was asleep on the lower bunk and for now, the chains were holding. Sleep had claimed him the second his head had hit the pillow, with one foot on the floor and his right arm dangling over the edge. He had kept his glasses on and they had shifted into a weird angle that couldn’t be comfortable. She had contemplated removing them, but had decided that he would feel better having his sight upon waking. Especially if Mr. Creeper decided to pay another visit. A small smile crept onto her lips as she watched him sleep, chest rising and falling in a peaceful swell.

  She had missed this; having someone nearby, sharing her space. Putting her book to the side, Marigold shuffled off of her bed. The flame crackled at her movements and made the shadows shift wildly. As quietly as she could, she slid her feet into her slippers, retrieved the extra blanket at the end of her bed, and approached him. He didn’t stir as she delicately placed the soft blanket over him. Bedding had been the one thing she was willing to splurge on. Sleep was not something to be dismissed, a belief that had only gotten stronger after months of forced insomnia.

  She reached for her bottle of water and found it empty. Louis had brought a few slabs but they were all in the kitchen. With everything that had happened, she had forgotten to bring in a few extra bottles to keep in her wardrobe. It was never the best idea to roam the hallways after dark. But now that the thought of getting a drink was in her head, her thirst only built.

  It didn’t sit well with her to leave the flame. It wasn’t unheard of for the ghosts to wander in, and when they did, they normally liked to throw things. But it was hard to take the candle with her and leave Louis in the dark. The night had rattled him. It was obvious even as he refused to talk about it. She couldn’t decide what event had broken through his carefully constructed armor, but something had provoked real fear in him. So she resolved to keep the candle with him, after checking and rechecking that there was nothing flammable around it. She’d be quick. Marigold tip-toed to the door and opened it as quietly as she could. The hinges squealed but she was able to get out without waking up her guest.

  The metal walls captured the sound of the phantom cello and carried its melancholy moan through the hallway. In the early evening, the songs were soothing and sweet. Beautiful enough that it had actually nurtured in her an appreciation for classical music. But all that would change after midnight. They were always more energetic in the early hours. She hoped Louis would get enough sleep before they got restless.

  The hall lights buzzed and flickered as if they were candles caught in a draft. In what had probably been a decorative choice, the bulbs were encased in lanterns of stained glass. Each one was made of blue, yellow, red, and green triangles that draped the hallway in a cluster of colors and shadows. She didn’t like the tricks it played over the peeling wallpaper. Her slippers whispered against the thin carpet and the cold air pushed against her like water as she hurriedly made her way to the kitchen.

  The lighting made each hallway look the same as all the others, with shadows gathering at each end. As she moved, the cello song stayed with her, neither getting louder or softer. It left her with the feeling that she wasn’t really moving at all but instead traversing the same hallway again and again. Her insides were squirming by the time she reached the kitchen.

  It was in the same condition as they had left it in, with everything scattered over the floor like an obstacle course. It had taken a lot of trial and error, but they had finally found a few places that the ghosts would allow her to store food and water. She had no idea what made these places better than any of the other options, but it wasn’t worth the effort to argue. With one hand braced on the countertop, she shifted through the course, taking care not to touch anything, as she made her way to the far side of the counter. The slabs were stacked neatly in a little gap under it, pressed up against the wall. She crouched down, tugged open the plastic wrapper, and grabbed a few bottles to take with her.

  With her brow furrowed she stood up. Her breath stuck in her throat and the bottles slipped from her fingers. She didn’t feel them hit her feet, didn’t notice them rolling to clatter into the items on the fl
oor. Her attention was focused solely on the large toy now sitting in the middle of the counter. It was a toy that didn’t exist anymore. It had been destroyed along with everything else when the outraged public had set fire to her family home. Braveheart, Jasmine’s Care Bear, sat on the counter, fire-eaten and soaked. Water dripped from its tattered mane and its stuffing poked out in blackened patches.

  “Jasmine?” she whispered, even though she knew that the presence she felt wasn’t her sister.

  It wasn’t just the sensation of being watched. Rage and disgust thickened the air until each breath felt like sludge pouring down her throat. Above it all, she could feel its unbridled lust to hurt her. The glee it felt at the very prospect of destroying her in every way. Her stomach clenched under the onslaught and her hands began to shake.

  It was a trap. Just like before. The demon was playing on her grief. It knew she longed for something, anything that could tie her back to the life she had. The ignorance she had enjoyed. The last time it had used this trick, it had almost drowned her in a few inches of oil. She didn’t want to know what it had planned for her in a room full of sharp objects.

  “You can’t be in here,” Marigold said.

  Her voice cracked and her eyes burned as she refused to blink. Not while it was there. Not while it was staring at her through those dead, glossy eyes. She could feel the temperature of the room steadily climb as she refused to look away. The air turned to steam and heat radiated from the metal that lined the walls. Sweat began to bead under her sweater.

  Without taking her eyes off of Braveheart, she backed away. The heels of her feet stumbled into the pots that littered the floor, forcing them to the side with a high-pitched scrape. Distance didn’t lessen the sensation. If anything it grew sharper. She was afraid to blink. Afraid of what might change in a split second. The cabinets hit her back as she gasped. Keeping her back to the wall, she edged against the counter, water forgotten. It didn’t move. But that scared her all the more.