angel of lies

three

warnings: swearing, frightening themes, suggestive scenes, violence, tw; description of blood, discussion & description of death

word count: 9.3k (i am so sorry)

a/n: the final installment! i meant to publish this on halloween... oops... only a day late, though!

~⚘~

"The witch?" you repeated in disbelief.

"But how?!" John cried. "I have known her all my life, she cannot be!"

"Why not?" asked Brian, matter-of-factly.

John sputtered, "Because she is my sister."

"And that changes what, exactly?"

John had turned pale and his shaking hands crept through his hair, his eyes wide and unfocused.

You chided Brian with a glare, but he only blinked in response.

"John," you said, placing your hands on his shoulders. "It's alright. She is still your sister. She has not changed from that in the hours she has been missing."

But John was looking rather faint. "I'd like to sit down, if that's okay with you all," he muttered.

"Absolutely no time for that," said Brian, and pulled John up as he began to sit down.

"Whyever not?" Freddie intervened, and Jim nodded.

"Let the poor man 'ave a rest."

But Brian was firm. "No," he said. "The sooner you sit down, John, the sooner your sister will die."

"Brian!" you all but shouted, for his insensitivity had climbed to a new high.

He affixed you with a dark stare, and despite your standing-up to him earlier, you fought the urge to shudder.

"There is no time," he answered resolutely. "We must go. We have only searched half of the opera, and the hour grows later."

You patted John's shoulder sympathetically, and he smiled tightly.

Brian sighed, turning about the room, appearing to examine its many doors. He was deciding where to go next, that much was clear. And from the rigidness of his posture, you guessed him anxious about the decision he was about to make.

Fear of failure. Fear of letting people down. You recognised that as surely as daylight, and were once more struck by how human he looked, with that crease between his eyes, shadows of sleeplessness beneath them. How you could ever have thought him paranormal was beyond you, because for but his beauty, you had never seen anyone look so humanly vulnerable as he did now, trailing his gaze cautiously about the room.

"Does anybody else hear that?" said Freddie suddenly, and you frowned.

"Hear what?" John asked, rubbing his temple with curled fingers.

"That ringing, darling," Freddie articulated. "High-pitched."

The five of you stood in tense silence, peering through the darkness like patrons of some ghastly museum, all straining to hear what Freddie had remarked upon.

"I don't—" you began, but then cut yourself off, because you did.

You did hear what Freddie was talking about, a piercing sort of whistle which grew louder the longer you listened, reaching an irritable whine which caused you all to plug your ears.

But when you finally thought that it could grow no louder, that you could stand it no longer, glancing over at one another in anguish, the sound turned sweeter, like music.