Ravenwood(92)

There was something she was following, but she wasn’t sure what. Elinore had a sense of moving in the correct direction, toward the back of the stables, but could not articulate why. She made her way past several occupied stalls and then stared for a moment at the empty one - the former home of Storm, poor beast, found only yesterday morning, slaughtered on the back steps. One of the other horses stamped its feet rather loudly and Elinore started slightly, her reverie broken. She was on edge, nervous, fearful. She kicked something with her foot and looked down to see the edge of a hay rake poking out, slightly in the way. Then, she saw something else in the hay, something dark yet wet. She crouched down and touched her fingers to it, raising her hand up and rubbing her fingers together. She’d known what it was as soon as she saw it, but needed to touch it to confirm.

Blood.

That was why she was so agitated, perhaps even why the horses were agitated as well. Elinore could smell blood and likely they could too. Now that she knew it was there, she could taste the metallic sensation in the back of her throat as she breathed. There was a trail of blood on the floor, covered slightly, haphazardly, with hay. Elinore kicked at the hay with the toe of her boot and continued to follow the trail until it abruptly stopped at the second last stall. She peered inside. The stall was empty of animal life and indeed looked as though it had not housed a horse in quite some time, if ever at all. The boards of the stall were pristine - no marks like the other stalls from horse hooves or tools or clumsy humans. But the smell of blood was pervasive. Elinore bent over nearly in half and sniffed, nose wiggling as she did. She could still smell blood, quite a bit, although she couldn’t see any. How strange. She turned in a circle, trying to make sense of it. She paused and then stamped her feet. The sound of the boots on the floorboards was different here, not like the rest of the stables. She stamped her feet again and realized what the difference was. She was standing above something hollow.

Heedless of the improperness of it, Elinore dropped to her hands and knees and started running her hands under the covering of hay, against the floorboards. Her fingers hit something metal, a ring or a latch. She grabbed it and heaved with all her strength, marveling as a section of the floor came up. Beneath her was a cavernous blackness, its depth barely penetrated by the light of the small lamp she’d set off to one side. Lifting the lamp and hovering it over the hole, she could now see there was a worn ladder descending; to what depth, she did not know.

There was blood on the ladder.

Elinore rested on her belly, shimmying herself forward so that she could bend, nearly in half, and peer into the hatch. Her ears pricked as she heard a low sound. Not quite a whimper, but definitely a pained noise. Her heart lurched in her chest and she lowered her arms, wondering for a moment if something would reach up from the dark and pull at her, snatching her down into a labyrinth, never to be heard from again.

Perhaps foolishly, she spoke, her voice soft and quiet. “Hello?”

A whimpering sound came from the dark and then, the blackness beneath her lamp seemed to shift and move, separating itself from the rest of the inky dark. A black snout appeared in her line of sight, followed by the rest of a dark wolf. A black wolf.

Caleb.

“Oh dear heavens,” she breathed, almost dropping her lantern. The black wolf, Caleb, came out into the pale circle cast by her light and then fell onto his side. Elinore’s eyes widened even further as she took in the shiny wetness of his flank and tried to make sense of what she was seeing. He was covered in blood. Long slashes in his fur revealed viscera - pale and nauseating. The more rational part of her brain froze and she opened her mouth to scream, to call for Mrs. Davenport and Mrs. Thistlewaite, Alice, the men of the manor, the women of the staff - to anyone and everyone that may hear her. She meant to call for help, call out her dismay and distress, but from her lips, another sound came out.

She howled.





Chapter Nineteen





Elinore’s howl brought help. The help of the pack, she realized. She’d howled and the pack of Ravenwood came to assist. Mrs. Davenport, Mrs. Thistlewaite, Jonah and two other staff members, Mary and Stefan. They found Elinore already descended down into the hidden space, her fingers carefully searching through Caleb’s fur for more injuries. He lay on his side panting, still in wolf form. Elinore was sick at the sight of the blood, his blood, glistening in his fur, spread across his belly, sinking into the dirt floor. With her lamp set on the ground now, some eight feet below the hatch, she could see how much had already escaped his body and seeped into the earth below.

She tore at her petticoat, trying to rip off a strip, but the garment wouldn’t rend. A frustrated sob broke through her throat and she clutched at the fabric, her hands shaking. Another pained sound came from Caleb and he moved his head slightly, pressing his soft pink wolf tongue against her wrist, a gesture of comfort. It made her throat hurt even more and then she felt the sharp press of her fingernails rip through the fabric she twisted in her hands. She looked down to see small claws extending out from three of her fingers - two on the right and one on the left. She was able to tear the fabric now, ripping off some strips as Jonah and Stefan came down the ladder, followed by Mrs. Davenport.

“It’s Caleb,” Elinore said lowly, not sure if they knew him in his wolf form. “He’s hurt,” she added, feeling summarily useless.

“Aye,” said Jonah lowly, checking over Caleb’s wounds just as Elinore herself had done moments before.