Dahlia Falz's Arc

Chapter 4 of 7

The thing under the house was climbing. Dahlia heard its claws scrape stone, slow and steady, rising toward them. At the top of the stair, Luna crouched and stared into the black. Her silver eyes caught what little light there was. "Something is coming," Luna said. "Up the back stair. And we set no barrier there." Dahlia's stomach dropped. The dead all stood at the front door, holding the enemy. The rear was open. Nothing stood between the dark and her daughter. Dahlia looked back through the great hall. Phyllis pressed against the wall, both hands raised, her white eyes shut. Sweat soaked her hair. She held fifty corpses upright by will alone. If Dahlia pulled even one skeleton back, the front line might break. The choice was cruel. Guard the stair, or hold the door. "We block it ourselves," Dahlia said. "Luna, with me." She dropped to her knees at the top of the stair and pressed her palms to the stone. Three centuries of grief had taught her one thing well. She could shape barriers from her own sorrow, walls thick as guilt. She poured it out now. A gray wall of force bloomed across the narrow stair, sealing the passage. The climbing thing struck it. The wall held. It struck again, harder. Cracks spread like ice. "It's too strong," Luna said. She did not flinch. Her loyalty was iron. "Your wall buys us seconds, not minutes." Cynder appeared beside them, fangs bare, grinning at the bad odds she loved. "Then let me spend the seconds well," she said. Before Dahlia could stop her, Cynder leapt through a gap in the cracking wall and dropped into the dark below. Dahlia heard the fight begin. Flesh tore. Cynder snarled. The thing shrieked, a sound no throat should make. The stair shook. Dahlia held her wall together with both hands, feeding it more of her endless sadness, keeping the crack from splitting wide. "Cynder!" Dahlia called down. "Almost!" Cynder's voice came ragged. A wet crunch followed. Then silence. Dahlia let her wall fall. Cynder climbed the stair slowly. Black blood streaked her jacket. In her fist she dragged the thing's severed head, wide-jawed and eyeless. "It won't reach her now," Cynder said, and dropped the head at Dahlia's feet. Dahlia ran to Phyllis. Her daughter opened her white eyes and let the skeletons fall. Bone clattered across the floor. The front line collapsed, but the hooded attackers had already fled into the night, their prize dead beneath the house. Dahlia held her daughter close. The threat below was gone. But Cynder wiped the black blood on her sleeve and frowned. "That thing guarded something," she said. "Guards don't die for nothing." Dahlia looked toward the dark stair. Whatever they came for still waited below. Now the way down stood open.