Craven Manor(40)

“Light the fire. Then sit.”

The words came out of the darkest corner of the room. When Daniel stared at it, he thought he saw the glint of two eyes. He quickly turned away and knelt on the hearth. His fingers shook. Even with bone-dry kindling and practice using flint, he struggled to start a fire.

“Ease your mind.” The cracked voice hadn’t lost its formality, but the tone sounded a fraction softer. “This discussion is for your benefit.”

“Terrific,” Daniel managed.

The kindling caught. He waited until the flames were large enough, then he placed a thin log on top. The two wingback chairs on the fireside rug were a long way through the decomposition process, but Bran had told him to sit, and Daniel still had concerns about how easily his body might sail through the massive window. He shuffled backwards into one of the chairs.

A floorboard creaked as Bran paced behind him. Daniel dared to glance around the side of the chair, but the fire’s light couldn’t stretch any farther than his candle had.

Unnatural shadows. He shuddered and turned back to the flames. There’s something not right with this room.

“I wish to speak with you on several topics,” Bran said. “But most pressingly, the entity in the tower.”

Daniel licked dry lips. “What is it?”

“My burden. My curse.” Bran had drawn close without Daniel realising. A change of tension in the chair’s fabric told him Bran had placed his hand on its back. “Eliza Myricks.”





Chapter Eighteen





Daniel wanted to tilt his head back to see the fingers resting on the fabric above his head, but he resisted the temptation. Every nerve in his body felt twitchy with anxiety, and he had to curl his toes to keep his legs still. “I was starting to suspect it might be. Is she a ghost, too?”

“Hmm.” Wood creaked as the hand moved away. “I am not certain. She is not alive, at any rate.”

Curiosity ate at him, but Daniel forced himself to exercise patience as he waited for his companion to continue. Bran paced the room twice before he spoke again.

“Eliza Myricks believed evil spirits stalked her. Salt has long been used to cleanse ground and ward off bad spirits, and Eliza stored immense quantities in her private pantry and used it liberally. When she became paranoid that Annalise was a witch, she tried to force the girl to eat it. Annalise became sick as she tried to swallow the salt, and that was when Eliza chose to burn her to death.”

Nausea rose alongside the horror, and Daniel pressed a hand over his mouth.

“When Eliza Myricks perished, she did not leave the earth, but stayed behind as a twisted version of herself. Ironically, salt now works to keep her sealed in her tower. I am concerned about the door’s durability since your friend tried to open it, but it seems to be holding. For now.”

“Again, I’m really, really sorry about what happened.”

“As am I. It was not my intention to harm your companion, but he broke through the window during the struggle, and I could not stop his fall.”

“You weren’t… trying to kill him?”

“No. Simply remove him from the vicinity of the tower. It is vital that the door remains sealed.”

“I can buy some new locks.”

“The locks were unique. Their manner of preparation cannot be reproduced.” Bran’s voice was emotionless, but his feet continued to carry him across the floor in slow, even loops. “What is done is done. You were careless but not malicious. I trust you will learn from the experience, so we will not dwell on it.”

“You’re not…” Daniel tried to find a more appropriate word but settled for “Angry?”

“I have lived for some time now, Mr. Kane, and it has given me appreciation for how insignificant many of our daily trials are. You will not find me lacking in patience.”

Again, Daniel tried to look around the back of his chair. The fire had grown, but so had the shadows. They warred through the room, and contrary to nature, the shadows were winning. “You’re dead, aren’t you?”

The words escaped him before he could stop them. Bran chuckled, and the rasping noise drew goose bumps across Daniel’s flesh.

“I am not a ghost, if that is what you are wondering. But I am not alive, either.”

“What are you, then?”

Bran was silent for so long that Daniel began to imagine he’d disappeared. But then the man said, “Open the curtains, if you wish.”

A queasy dread filled Daniel as he crossed to the massive window. Its curtains were stiff with age and thick enough to block out every hint of sunlight. He gripped one half and dragged it back. Blinding light raced through the shadows and highlighted the clouds of dust he’d inadvertently shaken out of the fabric. He pulled back the second curtain, and finally, the room and its contents were laid bare to see.

A large mahogany table, ringed with three chairs and covered with thick dust, stood to one side. The space above the fireplace had been invisible in the earlier shadows, but Daniel saw empty picture frames hung there. The volumes filling the bookcase looked expensive; most had gold on their spines or were bound in thick leather.

A man stood in front of the desk, facing Daniel. He wore a charcoal vest and long black coat, both looking as though they dated to the early 1800s. Black hair was swept back from his temple and curled at the base of his neck. His face was long, like the fingers clasped ahead of himself, and his lips were thin.