Craven Manor(38)

“Who is it, Annalise?” He turned towards the girl, but she’d vanished. He was alone with the silhouette in the window, two strangers watching each other. Daniel tried to swallow, but the muscles in his throat didn’t want to work. Instead, he yanked the curtain back into place to block the phantom’s view.

It needs to stay trapped in the tower. Shivers had set in, and Daniel dragged his chair across the room to sit in front of the fire. He could feel the heat on his limbs, but it didn’t permeate far and left his core thoroughly frozen. He remembered the fingers scratching at the door, back and forth, incessant and desperate. Daniel didn’t like to think about what sort of creature needed four bolts to be contained… or what would happen since only one was left.

He stayed huddled over the fire until early dawn shed its rays across the closed curtains and his aching limbs and throbbing head pulled him back into sleep. He slipped in and out of consciousness, half falling out of his chair. When he finally shook himself out of his stupor, he found a note had been slid under his door.





Chapter Seventeen





Daniel pushed out of his chair. He hadn’t heard anyone approach the door, but he already knew who the note was from. The thick envelope and small neat letters spelling Daniel’s name identified his employer like a fingerprint.

Though he could be my ex-employer by now. Daniel ran his fingers across his chin as he picked up the letter. It was weighty but held a single sheet of paper.

Daniel fished the note out. Heartache dropped his shoulders before he even read the words. There was no way a letter that short—only ten words—could be anything except a brusque dismissal.

He blinked blurred, stinging eyes as he struggled to read the tight cursive. When he finished, he read it again, confusion and doubt making him certain he’d misunderstood some part of it. Except there wasn’t enough to misunderstand.



Mr. Kane,

Scatter salt across the tower door’s threshold.

-Bran



Daniel blinked, pinched the bridge of his nose, then read the message a fourth time in case his eyes were playing tricks on him. This is it? He’s not even going to mention Kyle’s robbery? No warnings, no recriminations, no forgiveness… just a task that makes no sense?

He wasn’t going to complain. He still had his job, as far as he could tell, though it felt painfully precarious. He wished Bran had elaborated even just a little bit. Was he still planning to fire Daniel, but wanted to do it face-to-face? Or was his employer ignoring the invasion entirely?

Daniel made to slide the note back into its envelope, but it still held some weight. He squeezed the pocket open and found two gold coins inside.

No way. This means he really does intend to keep me, right? He’d already paid me for my first week here, now these must be the wages for the upcoming seven days. And he didn’t even garnish them… how about that.

Daniel reverently placed the note on the desk before changing into warmer clothes and pulling on his boots. Despite the throbbing head and broken sleep, he felt invigorated.

He jogged to Craven Manor and didn’t even care as drips of freezing water fell off the branches and trickled through his hair. He leapt up the steps and into the foyer. His good mood was probably influencing his opinion, but the cobweb-coated space seemed a little less depressing than normal.

The black cat occupied its place by the fire. Only charcoal remained, but a hint of warmth still radiated from the hearth, and the cat was pressed as close as it could without sitting in the grate. It was curled into a tight little ball as it tried to conserve heat.

It might not like the food, but I can still curry its favour with warmth. Daniel knelt beside the cat and relit the fire. The cat peeked its eyes open to watch him but didn’t try to move away.

“There we go, little guy.” Daniel’s fingers itched to scratch its head, but he resisted. Baby steps. “Your owner has let me live another day. He wants me to salt a door, which seems like a strange thing to do, but I’d gladly throw some pepper on it, as well, if he asked me to. Only problem—I have no idea if they keep salt in this place. I bet you’d know where to find it, wouldn’t you?”

The cat’s bones rippled under the fur as it adjusted its position. Daniel tried to smile, but the expression felt flat. He’d grown fond of the cat, but its malnourished state still disturbed him. It wasn’t young. He’d heard that sometimes animals deliberately starved themselves when they grew too old, and he prayed that wasn’t what was happening.

If I see Bran again, I’ll talk to him about it. Maybe he’ll let me take the cat to a vet.

Daniel stayed until the fire was strong enough to be left untended, then he lit a candle from the mantelpiece and went to look for salt. In a worst-case scenario, he could bike to town, exchange one of the new coins for cash, and pick up a bag from the store. But it would save a lot of time if Craven Manor already had some.

He started his search in the most likely candidate, the kitchens. He found bags of weevil-devoured flour and oats, a bag of sugar, and small boxes of desiccated tea leaves, plus countless jars of preserves. Curious, he picked up one of the bottles. Its label had faded into illegibility, and when he swished it, an array of vague shapes swirled through a dark-amber liquid. They could have been severed toes for all he knew, and he put them back on the shelf.