Wamphyri! Brian Lumley

‘Gower burned the dog,’ Newton yelled back. ‘Except it wasn’t. . . wasn’t a dog not any more!’

Roberts’s lips drew back from his teeth in a half-snarl, half-grimace. ‘We got Anne Lake,’ he said, as Newton and Gower came closer. ‘And, of course, she wasn’t all woman! Where’re Layard and Jordan?’

‘Inside,’ said Gower. He was shaking, rivered in sweat. ‘And it’s not finished yet, Guy. Not yet. There’s more to come!’

‘I’ve tried scanning the house,’ Roberts said. ‘Nothing! Just a fog in there. A mental fucking fog! Pointless trying, anyway. Too damned much going on!’ He grabbed Gower. ‘You OK?’

Gower nodded. ‘I think so.’

‘Right. Now listen. Thermite bombs in the truck; plastic explosive, too, in haversacks. Dump ‘em in the cellars. Spread ‘em out. Try to take ‘em all down in one go. And no torching while you’re holding the stuff! In fact get out of that kit and take a crossbow like Newton. The stuff’s all set to go off from excessive heat or naked flame. Plant it and get out and then stay out! Three of us in the house itself should be enough. If not the fire will be.’

‘You’re going in there?’ Gower looked at the house, licked his lips.

‘I’m going in, yes,’ Roberts nodded. ‘There’s still Bodescu, his mother and the girl to account for. And don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself. The cellars could be far worse than the house.’ He headed for the open door under the columned portico . .

Chapter Fourteen

Inside the house, Layard and Jordan had carefully, systematically searched the ground floor and now approached the main staircase to the upper levels. They’d switched on dim lights as they went, compensating a little for the gloom. At the foot of the stairs they paused.

‘Where the hell is Roberts?’ Layard whispered. ‘We could use some instructions.’

‘Why?’ Jordan glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. ‘We know what we’re up against mainly. And we know what to do.’

‘But there should be four of us in here.’

Jordan gritted his teeth. ‘There was something of a row out front. Trouble, obviously. Anyway, by now someone should be planting charges in the cellars. So let’s not waste time. We can ask questions later.’

On a narrow landing where the stairs turned through a right angle, a large, built-in cupboard faced them squarely, its door a little ajar. Jordan kept his crossbow lined up on the large-panelled door, sidled past and continued up the stairs. He wasn’t passing the buck; it was simply that if there was anything nasty in there, he knew Layard could stop it with a single burst of liquid fire.

Layard checked that the valve on his hose was open, rested his finger on the trigger, toed the door open. In there. . . darkness.

He waited until his eyes were growing accustomed to the dimness, then spotted a light switch on the wall just inside the door. He reached out his hand, then drew it back. He stepped forward a pace, used the nozzle of his hose to trip the switch. A light came on, throwing the interior of the cupboard into sharp relief. At the back a tall figure! Layard drew breath sharply; his jaw fell partly open and the corners of his mouth drew back in a half-rictus of fear. He was a breath from squeezing the trigger but then his eyes focussed and he saw only an old raincoat, hanging on a peg.

Layard gulped, filled his lungs, quietly closed the door. Jordan was up on the first floor landing. He saw two alcoves, arched over, with closed doors set centrally. There was also a passage, with two more doors that he could see before the corridor turned a corner. The closest door was maybe eight paces away, the furthest twelve. He turned back to the doors in the alcoves, approached the first of them, turned the doorknob and kicked it open: it was a toilet with a high window, letting in grey light.

Jordan turned to the second door, dealt with it as with the first. Inside was an extensive library, the whole room visible at a glance. Then, aware that Layard was coming up the stairs, he started down the corridor and at once paused. His ears pricked up. He heard . . . water? The hiss and gurgle of a tap?

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