12. Velma Doomweaver #3
Another tried the door. It slammed shut in his face, and when he grabbed the handle, it wouldn’t turn. He screamed as the brass grew red-hot under his grip.
“Now, Miss Brightly.” Miles gestured toward the last standing assassin, who was backing toward the corner with wild eyes. “A sustained kinetic hold. Remember: consistent pressure, not a single pulse.”
Nikka’s hands shook, but she extended them toward the man. Her face screwed up with concentration. Golden light flickered around her fingers—stuttered—then caught.
The assassin’s feet left the ground. He flailed, suspended four feet in the air, unable to reach anything solid. His blade clattered to the floor.
“Excellent form,” Miles said warmly. “Maintain the pressure. Don’t let him rotate.”
Silence fell over the dining room, broken only by the assassin’s panicked breathing and the soft drip of blood from various surfaces.
Gabriel straightened, surveying the carnage.
Bodies sprawled across the floor amid shattered glass and splintered furniture.
The chandelier still swung gently overhead.
At the table, Velma finished a notation in her ledger and looked up.
“As I was saying,” she said, “the present position indicates incoming disruption.”
Nikka huffed, holding her trembling hands high as the assassin continued to float.
“Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take to clean all this up?
Arterial spray is a nightmare! If it sets in this humidity, it turns into glue!
I’m going to be picking clotted marrow out of the wainscoting for a week and that’s assuming the parquet hasn’t absorbed—”
Gabriel bit back a grin. The girl who’d frozen solid at the first crash of glass was now more concerned about staining than stabbing.
He liked someone who developed spine under pressure.
“I suppose we’ll have to hire another cart,” he said instead, nudging a body with his boot.
“Viz is going to start giving us a bulk discount at this rate.”
The floor opened.
Gabriel stumbled back as the parquet split beneath every corpse simultaneously, neat rectangular holes snapping open. The bodies dropped into darkness without ceremony, tumbling into whatever void the house had created. Before Gabriel could process what he was seeing, the holes snapped shut again.
The blood vanished with them. Every drop, every splatter, every smear—gone. The floorboards gleamed as if freshly polished.
Gabriel stared at the immaculate surface where a bisected assassin had lain moments before.
“You cannot be serious.” Gabriel spread his arms wide, addressing the ceiling. “You could have done this the first time? We spent hours hauling rotting mercenaries through your halls and scrubbing off the goo, and you could have just—” He gestured at the pristine floor. “— swallowed them?”
The broken windows answered him. Glass shards lifted from the floor, spinning in the air like a glittering constellation before flowing back into their frames. The panes reassembled themselves with soft clicks, whole and unmarred.
But the shattered china stayed broken.
Miles strode forward to examine the cabinet. “Selective helpfulness? Or perhaps the house can only transmute its own substance and not the furnishings?”
“Wonderful. Whatever. We’ll figure it out later.” Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “I suppose we should deal with the survivor.”
He strode toward the floating assassin, who had watched the house consume his colleagues with mounting horror. The man’s eyes were white-rimmed, his limbs still flailing against nothing.
“You seem distressed,” Gabriel observed, looking up at him. “Does our housekeeping routine bother you? We could always end your panic the easy way and see if the house will whisk you away too.”
“N-no!” The man’s voice cracked. “Please, I—I don’t want to die like this.”
“Then I suggest you start providing something of value.” Gabriel examined his bloodied nails with feigned disinterest. “Beginning with who sent you.”
“L-Lord Vellast,” the man stammered. “He ordered us to kill you and search for hidden gold.”
“How predictable,” Gabriel sighed. “And what else is dear Vellast working on? Other business ventures I should know about? ”
“I don’t know! I swear!” The assassin’s eyes darted frantically. “We were just hired for this job. He didn’t tell us anything else.”
Gabriel considered the man for a long moment, head tilted like a predator deciding whether to kill or toy with its prey.
“I believe I’ll send you back with a message,” he finally decided, watching relief flood the assassin’s face.
“Tell Lord Vellast that this seems an unduly rough start to our shared business venture. The impulsiveness of it all has me convinced the man simply doesn’t have what it takes to be a good partner. ”
Nikka dropped her hands, and the assassin thudded to the ground.
Gabriel leaned closer, allowing his breath to wash over the terrified man’s face.
“I have his ledgers, you know. I was planning to put more thought into what to do with them, but perhaps that’s not how business is conducted in Averdon?” He shrugged dramatically. “Ah well, I’ll be the better man. Tell him to back off, and his secrets will remain secret. For now.”
The assassin nodded frantically, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Don’t worry about finding your way out,” Gabriel added, straightening up. “The house will show you the door.”
As if on cue, the dining room door swung open with an ominous creak.
Gabriel watched the remaining assassin stumble toward the open door, tripping over his own feet in his eagerness to escape. The door slammed shut behind him with a satisfying thud that seemed almost... smug.
“Did you see that?” Gabriel couldn’t keep the delight from his voice. “It opened the door precisely when I mentioned it would! And earlier—” He gestured at the parquet. “It saved me! Chomped that assassin in half like a bear trap.”
He strode to the spot where the man had been swallowed and tapped the floor with his boot. “That was quite impressive, I must say. Brutal, efficient... I approve.”
Miles approached, looking more fascinated than disturbed. “It appears to be responsive to you specifically. A recognition of authority, perhaps? The ownership bond Velma mentioned?”
Something unfamiliar stirred in his chest, a sense of wonder, even connection. He’d spent his entire life being controlled, and now here was something responding to his will. But it hadn’t, before. When they’d first come here .
“But it tried to stop us before,” Gabriel said, frowning at the pristine floorboards. “The stairs, the apparitions, the whole ‘get out’ performance. Why the change?”
Nikka pushed her spectacles up her nose. “You weren’t actually trying to command it then, were you? Just... exploring.”
“She’s right.” Miles crouched to examine the wood grain where the assassin had vanished. “You weren’t asserting authority. You didn’t take up the reins, as it were. So, it acted as it wished. And it wished us gone.”
“But since then—” Genna’s voice was thoughtful. “You cleaned it up. You didn’t hurt it. You brought someone here to learn about what it is.”
“So, it responded because it thought I was... taking ownership?” No. Anything but that.
“More likely it responded because you weren’t .” Miles straightened. “You haven’t tried to compel it, Gabriel. You’ve been frustrated with it, angry at it, but you haven’t attempted to dominate it. That’s probably the first time in its existence that’s happened.”
The chandelier’s crystals chimed softly overhead, a sound that might have been agreement.
Gabriel stared at the ceiling. A creature that didn’t want another master. That had learned to fear and obey and survive by anticipating cruelty. That flinched at the approach of authority because authority had only ever meant pain.
He knew something about that.
“Right.” He cleared his throat roughly. “Well. Good talk.”
Velma cleared her throat with pointed precision. “I am contractually obligated to complete this reading. Section four, paragraph three clearly states that consultations interrupted by external forces will resume immediately upon cessation of said force.”
Gabriel exchanged glances with Miles, who shrugged. Genna was already pulling her chair back to the table, and Nikka followed.
They settled into their seats as Velma removed the meteor card, setting it aside. “That particular present has passed.” She reached for the deck.
Gabriel settled back, regarding her with newfound respect. That warning had come at precisely the right moment. Too precise for coincidence.
“Well,” he admitted, “you certainly have my attention now. What else do your cards have to say? ”
Velma’s hands moved over the deck with that same unsettling precision, drawing a new card and placing it in the present position. The image showed two figures—one solid, one translucent—their hands nearly touching across a threshold. The Promise.
“The present position indicates a developing relationship.” Velma’s flat voice carried no drama, which somehow made the words land harder. “A bond forming between entities who share common experience.”
Gabriel shifted in his chair. “If you’re suggesting I’m developing a relationship with a building—”
“The cards show what they show.” Velma tapped the image, and the figures seemed to lean closer to each other. “The connection is nascent but genuine. Built on recognition rather than obligation.”
Miles leaned forward, scholarly interest overtaking any discomfort. “Recognition of what, precisely?”
Velma drew another card. The Reflection.
Two faces stared out from a mirror’s surface: one whole, one fractured into pieces that were slowly reassembling.
“Shared trauma creates resonance. The manor experienced prolonged abuse under its previous master. It learned the same survival strategies as any creature in such circumstances.”