House of the Angels
Chapter 11: One Peg in the Grave

An ear splitting screech echoed through the halls of Mason Noir, waking Grey up out of his sleep. He shot to his feet and carefully made his way out of the room to the end of the hall where the door to Brutus’s room had been cracked open. When he peeked in, he was taken completely aback by the sight before him. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Brutus was splayed all over his bed, his arms hanging limp over the sides and his open eyes staring straight up at the ceiling. Blood flowed like a red river from a deep open wound in his chest, staining the sheets and his pillow. Mallory stood hunched over his body, her shoulders shuddering and her eyes reddened from her bitter tears.

“Mallory?” Grey said quietly.

Mallory’s gaze quickly met Grey’s, her eyes burning with fiery hate and anger.

“GET OUT!!” she screamed, hurling a ball of hard black onyx in Grey’s direction and sending in crashing into a mirror. Grey carefully backed out of the room and returned to his own. He locked the door and carefully moved his dresser in front of it lest Hillary or someone else try to enter the one place he had to himself.

I should’ve went with Dylan when I had the chance….he thought to himself.

The regret of not leaving Mason Noir weighed heavy on his mind and heart as he slumped against the wall and sank to the floor. Grey wished with every fiber of his being that he had left when he did, but there were too many risks that came with it. He risked the wrath of Sally Caulfield and her brood of hell spawn but his greatest fear was that of Sybilla.

Grey was fearful of the voodoo priestess above all things in this world. Her reputation and power was so great throughout the bayou that he shivered just thinking about her name. But then again he wondered if living under the same roof as a voodoo priestess was really better than living under the same roof as Miss Sally Caulfield. Maybe then he would have the one thing that he never had, a good family who actually gave a damn about him.

Grey took a seat at his desk and opened the black, leather covered journal to a fresh page. With his leaky ball point pen he began to make a list of the pros and cons of running away to live at Angel Manor. On one hand he wouldn’t have to eat soup or stew made from blood every night and he wouldn’t have to put up with Hillary’s cattiness.

When Grey had finished his list he found that the results were just as he had suspected. There were far more advantages than disadvantages to leaving the place. After that, he had made up his mind.

From the dresser drawers he pulled as many clothes as he could and shoved them into a small duffel bag. Carefully and quietly, he shoved it under his bed and prayed that nobody would see it. But something was missing. Something very important was missing. Grey needed an escape plan.

Back to his journal he went, flipping through past entries to a blank page where he wrote down and crossed off all the ideas that ran through his head. There weren’t a lot of options, but sooner or later he had to find one that actually worked. Maybe it would be best if he had made up some excuse to leave the dinner table and make his escape then. That was the only option that seemed to work, but Grey would have to tread very carefully. One wrong move and the whole plan would fall apart.

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