Читать книгу The Demon Road Trilogy: The Complete Collection: Demon Road; Desolation; American Monsters - Derek Landy - Страница 30

AMBER LURCHED SIDEWAYS, a fast-moving terror spreading outwards from the back of her neck to her fingertips and toes. She ran from the hall, seeing now how fake it all was, how flimsy the walls were. She skidded into the kitchen, with its table and chairs and stove and fridge, and her foot caught on something and she went stumbling, nearly falling over a sofa. The architecture was crazy. It made no sense. One half of this room was a kitchen, the other a living room.

She heard Dacre Shanks coming down the stairs.

“I fibbed,” he called. “I tricked you. You can use the key, but only I control where it leads. I admit it, I played you for a fool. In my defence, though, you were an easy target.”

Amber ran quietly into another room, a room with floor-to-ceiling shelves. Upon those shelves were rows of cardboard painted with the spines of anonymous books. This was the library, and it was also a utility room with a washing machine and a plastic bed for the dog.

She caught her foot again. A crack ran in a perfectly straight line between the dual rooms. It took her adrenalised brain another moment to piece it together. This was a dollhouse, after all. The front was a façade that split somewhere near the middle, and opened up like uneven wings, like the covers of a book, revealing the interior with its collection of half-rooms. Closed up like this, nothing made sense, and everything was folded together at an unnatural angle.

“Amber,” Shanks called in a sing-song voice.

She ducked down in the dark behind a washing machine. Her hands were shaking.

“You’re being silly,” he continued. He was still in the hall, probably trying to figure out which way she’d run. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re the first person I’ll be able to talk to, eye to eye, in all the time I’ve been here. Come out. Come on. You know I’m going to find you eventually.”

She shuffled forward a little, and peeked round the edge of a bookcase. She glimpsed him, just enough to see the knife he held as he moved away. He was checking the other side of the house first. She’d been given a moment, a chance to think, to put her thoughts in order.

When he didn’t find her over there, he’d come over here, and he’d find her within seconds. So she had to move. Upstairs. That was the way to go. Upstairs would have multiple bedrooms, which meant more places to hide. She gripped the bookcase, getting ready to pull herself up on to her quaking, trembling legs, but her gaze caught on her hand, and she looked at how soft and pink it was.

She’d almost forgotten.

She shifted. She felt that pain again, that peculiar kind of pain as the strength flooded through her and her limbs lengthened and her body reshaped itself. She had horns now, and her hands were long-fingered and tipped with black nails. She forced the fear down and got up off her knees. She crept quickly and quietly back through the kitchen-living room, keeping her eyes locked on the darkness at the other side of the hall.

She reached the staircase. From a few steps away, the banisters had seemed ornate, but as she ascended she could feel the chips and inconsistencies in the wood beneath her hand. The steps didn’t creak, though, and for this she was thankful. She sank into darkness and then plunged into light, a harsh light that cascaded through the circular window and bathed the second-floor landing in hellish reds and fiery oranges.

Amber moved to the side, into the shadow, and crouched, looking through the wooden railing and down into the hall. Seconds passed, then Dacre Shanks walked into view, crossing from one side of the hall to the other. She watched her enemy, marvelling at how easily the hunter can become the prey. All it takes is a new perspective.

To her right, a half-wall with a doorway leading into a bedroom, the wallpaper a dark colour, a blue or something like it. Maybe a green. Pressed against it, in the closed wing of the front of the house, another bedroom of a lighter colour. It was hard to tell in all this gloom, but it was probably pink.

To her left, the main bedroom and a bathroom with a Jacuzzi and a tub. No shower, though. There was also a toilet and a sink with a framed piece of reflective plastic that acted as a mirror.

Dacre Shanks strolled back into the hall, and raised his head. He was a narrow man, with dark hair turning grey and receding fast from his temples like it was afraid of his face. His face was something to fear. A long nose and a thin mouth and eyes in shadow. “Are you up there, Amber? Did you sneak by me? Oh, aren’t you a clever one? Aren’t you a sneaky one? But you know what you are, most of all? You are fun. You are a fun one. So come on down, Amber. You win our little game of hide-and-seek. I give up.”

He raised his hands in surrender and chuckled.

“I’m waiting,” said Amber.

Shanks swivelled his head to where she was crouched. He couldn’t see her, though. His eyes passed over her.

“What was that?” he called. “I’m afraid I didn’t quite hear you. Old age, you see. I’m not as young as I used to—”

“I said, I’m waiting.”

Shanks zeroed in on her position, and gave her a smile that opened like a wound. “Waiting for me?”

“I’m not like the others you’ve killed,” Amber said. “I’m not going to scream and run away.”

“Ooooh,” said Shanks, and laughed. “A fighter, are we? Heather was a fighter, back in her teenage years.”

“And she beat you,” said Amber. “So now I’m going to beat you.”

“Wrong,” said Shanks, a flicker of irritation crossing his features for the first time. “She tricked me. She didn’t beat me, she tricked me into doing this to myself.”

“So not only are you weak,” Amber said, “you’re also an idiot?”

Shanks made a sound she couldn’t identify, and started up the stairs. “I’ve been doing this a very long time, young lady. I’ve hunted all kinds of people.”

Amber stood as he approached. “You’ve never hunted anyone quite like me.”

He reached the top, came towards her, and she stepped out of the shadows and smiled, giving him a flash of her fangs.

He froze, stared at her, and then his eyes narrowed. “You are a girl full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said, starting to move to the side. Circling her. That knife in his hand. “So that’s why you want Buxton. You have your power and now you want more. Funny the effect power has on a person.”

“I suppose it is,” she said, turning with him as he circled.

“Has it changed you, Amber? Apart from physically, I mean. Are you a different person now?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Shanks smiled. “I bet. I saw you and I thought to myself, easy target. Now look at you. Suddenly I feel very silly indeed.”

“How did you get me in here?”

Shanks’s chuckle was dry, and lacking good cheer. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he said. “You’re never going to leave.”

He lunged, jabbing low and then slashing high. Amber dodged backwards, barely avoiding the blade that whistled by her throat. Shanks didn’t stop moving, however. In an instant, he was on her, pushing her back against the banister. She grabbed at his knife hand, fingers closing round his wrist. He was stronger than she’d expected. Not as strong as her but close enough. He headbutted her and pain flashed outwards from her nose. His other hand was on her throat and he was pushing her back, over the banister. She grew talons and raked his arm.

Howling, Shanks released his grip. They stumbled, locked together. Blood ran from Shanks’s forearm, but he ignored it and reached up for her horns. He suddenly stepped back and yanked downwards and Amber cried out, her knees hitting the floor. He kicked her, the toe of his shoe connecting with her chin, and Amber sprawled.

“You’re all strength,” Shanks said, kneeling on her throat, “but no finesse. No style.”

“Amber!” came Milo’s voice from all around them. “Amber, someone’s coming. We must have set off an alarm. Amber?”

Through the window behind Shanks, she could see out into the room as Milo stepped in. He was a giant.

“Amber?” he said, his voice astonishingly loud.

Shanks smiled down at her. “Hush now. Don’t spoil the surprise.” He pulled her up, holding the knife against her throat, and moved her to the window.

Glen came in after Milo, closing the door. He noticed the key. “Where is she?” he asked, fiddling with it. The key twisted as he fiddled, locking the door.

“Oh my,” whispered Shanks. “This will be even easier than I thought.”

Milo came closer to the dollhouse, peering through the windows. “Shanks. I’d like a word.”

Behind him, Glen turned the key in the other direction, and opened the door.

Shanks shoved Amber away, and ran for the stairs.

Amber toppled, still woozy from the kick to the head. She looked down through the banisters, saw Shanks sprinting for the front door. He vanished right before he hit it and she snapped her head up—

—as he smashed into Glen, throwing him violently off his feet, then rebounded, went stumbling towards Milo as Milo turned. As the door slammed shut behind him, Shanks hit Milo with a wild swing boosted by his momentum, and Milo twisted and went down. Shanks got his feet under him, looked around and then through the dollhouse window, and a smile broke across his features.

Amber stood up, fresh terror mounting.

She heard footsteps, running footsteps from beyond the closed door.

“Get out of there!” came Heather’s voice.

Shanks’s face took on an expression of pure joy, and he darted behind the door.

“Heather, no!” Amber screamed, stumbling to the window. “Don’t come in!”

Heather didn’t hear her. She threw the door open and ran in and Shanks grabbed her, pushed her back against the wall and plunged his knife into her and Amber went cold.

Heather stared into Shanks’s eyes, her mouth open, but no sound coming out.

“I told you,” Shanks snarled as he dragged the blade across her belly. “I told you I’d kill you, you interfering little bitch.”

He gave the knife another twist and Heather made a sound halfway between a sigh and a gag, and then a series of explosions filled Amber’s ears. Shanks went stumbling, letting Heather fall as he scrambled out of the door. A moment later, Milo rose into view, his gun in his hand.

He helped Glen back to his feet, then tore the jacket off him. He crouched by Heather, pressing the jacket against her wound. “Keep applying pressure,” he said. “Glen! Call an ambulance!”

Heather grabbed his arm. “Stop Shanks,” she said, her voice weak. “Stop him.”

Milo hesitated, then stood. “Glen, stay with her. When help comes, find Amber.”

Then he was gone.