The creature moved too fast to avoid. Ethan slammed a fist deep into its gut, but the blow failed to halt its charge. The two of them went down in a fighting tangle of arms and legs.
Ethan swore viciously. Every second he wasted with these creatures left Shirley Ericson another second closer to death. The little fool had entered the room. His enemy's hunger was palpable, a beast that filled the darkness.
Anger surged through him; a deep, dark fury he desperately tried to control. He needed a clear head, not a mind ruled by blood rage. The creature wrapped its hands around his neck and squeezed hard. Ethan laughed harshly; the stupidity of these things was beyond belief. He reached up and wrenched loose its fingers. Holding them away from his neck, he gave a quick thrust with his knees, throwing the creature back over his head. It smashed through the front doorway and disappeared down the steps.
He scrambled to his feet, then swung, sensing the approach of a second creature. Instead of charging, the beast slithered to a halt—in that instant he saw the silver blade the creature held.
He backed away. The beast followed him, the blade an argent flame promising death.
Foreboding ran through him. He had no time for this. The web of darkness was closing in around Shirley. He should have stopped her in the park, should have seized control of her mind and ordered her away from the child and this house.
But she was different from most others. While he could read her surface thoughts easily enough, he doubted he'd be able to reach far enough into her mind to achieve any sort of real control. Her gifts were too strong—for him, and more than likely, for Flinch.
But after death, it was a whole new ball game. Flinch had the ability to call his victims from the grave. Death wouldn't kill her abilities. Not while there was flesh on her bones, at any rate.
The creature lunged at him. Ethan dodged the thrust of the knife then grabbed the creature's wrist. Squeezing tight, he forced the blade from its grip, then thrust an elbow into its face, shattering its nose.
It howled, a high keening sound of distress. Ethan cursed softly. The creature was an abomination, but who was the greater horror? The dead or the man who forced them from their graves?
He might not be able to kill Flinch right now, but he could give this creature final peace. Gripping its head, he snapped it hard sideways, breaking its neck. It fell to a lifeless heap at his feet. One down, five to go, if he included Flinch and the teenager.
Ethan kicked the blade away with his foot then retrieved the can of gas. Undoing the lid, he sloshed the contents round the floor and up the walls. Anywhere and everywhere. It didn't matter, as long as it burned.
Throwing the empty can into a corner, he dug a box of matches out of his pocket. The old house was tinder dry. With the gas he'd splashed around, it would ignite like wildfire. But there was no one in the house except the four of them.
Flinch wouldn't burn—he'd run the minute he smelled the flames. If Merry was too stupid to follow, then that was just too bad. Shirley was the one he had to get out. She'd be too dangerous a weapon in Flinch's hands.
Ethan lit the match and flicked it in the direction of the can. Then he turned and ran for
the stairs.
****
The door slammed shut behind her. Shirley spun but knew there was no escape. Childish laughter echoed through the silence, mocking her. Merry, in league with the devil himself.
"You have done well, my pet."
The soft voice was powerful. Hypnotic. It filled the room with its warmth, and yet her skin crawled in terror of its touch. Instinct warned her not to move, told the slightest show of fear would quickly bring death. But the beat of her heart was a drum that filled the silence. He had to know—had to feel—her fear.
The air stirred. She stepped back quickly. The presence laughed, a low sound of amusement. Shirley clenched her fists. Energy tingled across her fingertips, but she didn't release it, instead retreating another step. Her back hit the wall, but she felt no better for its protection. If she could get to the door...
"There is no escape for you now." The stranger's tone was oddly gentle, yet filled with the certainty of death.
Shirley edged sideways, one hand outstretched, searching desperately for the doorknob. It had to be close; she hadn't walked that far into the room, for Christ's sake.
"Look at me," The voice changed, became deeper, more alluring. "Look at me..."
Blue fire flared in the darkness. Shirley stared, mesmerized, as the flame grew brighter, transforming itself into a pair of sapphire eyes.
So beautiful.
So very deadly.
Shirley swallowed and tore her gaze away. Her fingers touched the doorknob, clenched convulsively around it.
"No," he whispered. "Stay with me."
His words wrapped around her, seductive and compelling. Blue fire pinned her. She couldn't tear herself free of the commanding beauty of his gaze.
"Be mine."
Memories rose unbidden, and Shirley saw another time, another man, uttering the same words.
"No," she said and flung out her arm, releasing the pent-up kinetic energy. The sapphire gaze disappeared, then something heavy hit the far wall.
Anger hissed across the darkness. Shirley slammed the door open and ran for the hall.
Smoke swirled through the darkness, a stench that caught in her throat, making her cough.Christ, there's a fire somewhere . But she couldn't stop. Not with evil so close to her heels. She reached the door leading out into the hall and flung it open.
Only to be greeted by hell. Wallpaper dripped fiery tears to the floor, and the stairs were lost to an inferno of red heat. Smoke curled around her, stinging her eyes and making it difficult to breathe. She coughed, and dashed the tears away from her eyes. What was she going to do now?
Wood creaked behind her.
Run, she thought, and leaped into the hall, slamming the door shut behind her.