Craven Manor(30)

When I left the mansion, the only light came from the fire I’d lit in the foyer. Did it catch on the furniture? Has it spread? Have I burnt Craven Manor to the ground?

Daniel’s mouth was too dry to speak. He looked back at Annalise. She clutched at the window, her fingers scrabbling uselessly against the glass and her eyes round with sick fear. Then, in a heartbeat, she vanished. Daniel pressed a hand to the place he’d last seen her touch. It felt like ice.

Daniel didn’t have a mobile, and no landline ran to the manor. He could race to town, but it would take at least half an hour to get there, and even then, the fire trucks wouldn’t be able to get through the forest. How much would be left of Craven Manor by the time they reached it? A handful of embers decorating its charred hull, most likely.

A new thought hit him. Did Bran spend the night in the house? The man was elderly and frail, and the mansion vast. There was no guarantee that he would have been able to get himself out.

Please, please, let it not be too late. Daniel snatched his coat off the hook beside the door as he dashed outside. Spits of rain hit him, but there weren’t enough to put out a fire. He prayed the clouds would give up their burden in earnest before the house was consumed.

How will I even find him inside that labyrinth? Or the cat, for that matter—the place seems to go on forever. I could spend hours in it and not see every room.

He shook his head to clear the panic and focussed on the golden glow cast across the treetops. It wasn’t too bright. The fire might still be small. If it was contained to one or two rooms, he might even be able to put it out. And the walls were built out of stone, which would slow the flames’ spread.

Daniel burst into the patch of clear ground ahead of Craven’s entryway. His momentum stalled. There was no sign of smoke pluming into the sky, and no bitter tang of charcoal in the air. The windows were intact. He couldn’t hear the snapping roar of uncontrolled flames.

And yet half of the building was lit up. Everywhere he looked, golden light poured out of the windows. It illuminated the crows in the tree. They were shuffling and bickering with discomfort.

“What…” Is Bran lighting every lamp in the house? What for? And if there’s no fire, why was Annalise so frantic?

His urgency replaced with caution, Daniel climbed the steps to the entryway. The foyer door stood open as always, inviting him inside.

The fire in the hearth had been allowed to die into coals. There was no sign of the little black cat. But the sconces around the wall had been lit. They bathed the area in a level of definition Daniel had never seen before. Cobwebs seemed to glimmer, and the massive chandelier helped refract some of the glow into sparkling lights across the ceiling.

Annalise’s portrait surveyed the scene from the top of the stairs. She was fully illuminated, and he found it hard to look away from the muted panic in her eyes.

Noises came from higher in the building. Daniel approached the stairs and hesitated with his fingers resting on the dust-smothered bannister. They weren’t the house’s normal sounds. He heard footsteps followed by doors banging open. The sound of objects hitting the floor. Then more quick, heavy footsteps.

Daniel began to climb. Annalise’s eyes never left him, and he had to force himself to look away. When he reached the landing, he found the hallways’ lights had been lit. Their doors were propped open, and more of the candlelight flooded out of them. Daniel had grown used to seeing the building closed up and silent, like a shrine to a long-dead family. In a strange way, it was physically distressing to see the light bring all of its faults and neglect into such sharp relief.

The clattering, scraping clamour continued along the third-floor hallway. Daniel turned towards the second flight of stairs, wet his lips, and called, “Hello!”

The sounds ceased. Daniel hung in suspense for a moment then called again, “Bran? Is everything all right?”

Pounding steps moved along the hallway, then a face, flushed and sweaty with exertion, appeared at the top of the stairs. “Ha!” Kyle crowed. “You finally made it!”

He struck a pose at the top of the stairs, one hand planted on his hip and the other extended in a flourish.

“Wha—what are you doing here?” Daniel felt as though his world might collapse. He moved up a stair but stopped before he could get any closer. Kyle carried a satchel on his side, as well as a backpack, and he’d worn dark clothes.

Kyle’s face scrunched up. “Come on, are you really that dumb? I’ve come to have a poke around. See if there are any souvenirs I like.”

Oh no. No, no, no. Daniel’s eyes darted to the backpack and satchel. They were half full. “You can’t take this stuff. Put it on the ground and leave.”

Kyle’s smiled dropped, and his face darkened. “I knew you were going to be a pain in the ass about this. I could see it in your face last night; you weren’t really going to ask your buddy Mr. Pen Pal about getting me a job, were you?”

“I-I will! I was going to write him a letter!”

The slant of Kyle’s eyes suggested he didn’t believe Daniel. “I thought we were friends. But friends are supposed to look out for each other.”

“Friends don’t steal from other friends’ employers,” Daniel hissed. He took another step closer. “I’m not playing around. You need to get out of here. Right now.”

Kyle made a scoffing noise then spat a globule of phlegm onto the floor. “You said it yourself. This place is abandoned. Its owner is AWOL. Who cares if a bit of stuff goes missing? He should thank me for clearing out some of his trash. Pretty much everything here is garbage, anyway.”