Craven Manor(60)

Bran tilted his head back to look up at the tower, and his eyes tightened. “I did not expect the shadow creature to survive after her mortal body died. It spewed out of her mouth like a vile pillar of smoke and nearly killed me before I trapped it in the tower.”

And I set it free. Daniel groaned. He tried to push away from the wall, but unsteadiness threatened to topple him.

“I suppose you visited Flinton. That is what infused you with doubt, correct?”

“Yeah. I, uh…” Daniel swallowed. “I was told you were responsible for what happened there.”

“Then this is my own fault, more than anyone else’s.” The shadows spreading out from Bran twisted like angry snakes. “With the town dead, and no one allowed to visit it, rumours about its demise were rife. I spent months spreading my own version of events. I visited pubs and wrote anonymously to influential members of society. In my tale, I was the villain. I removed all mention of my mother from the story and claimed that I alone had killed the town.”

Daniel frowned. “Why would you do that?”

“Protection. I worried about what would happen to Annalise and to the creature in the tower if strangers came to the house. By spreading the report that I was an old-world monster hungry for blood and capable of poisoning a village, I could make people fear me. A handful of labourers came to loot the manor in the years after Annalise’s death. Simply making my presence known was enough to frighten them away.” Pale lips stretched into a ghastly smile. “I am sure my appearance aided in that effort.”

“So you taught people to fear your home to keep them away.”

“Precisely. As time went by, Flinton and Craven Manor grew fainter in people’s memories. The forests hid them from curious eyes. Stories became myths. And now the youngest generation—your generation, Mr. Kane—have not so much as heard of them. And I had intended for it to always stay that way, forgotten, hidden, safe where we can cause no more harm.”

“And to keep Eliza trapped?”

“She is the plague.” Bran’s fingers twitched. “Now that she is unchained, she will be eager to feed and regain her strength. If she finds her way to any towns, the plague will spread, and nothing can be done for those infected.”

Daniel pictured Mrs. Kirshner, terrified and alone in her apartment, cradling her cat as the plague turned her veins black and bubbled her skin. He lurched away from the wall and grabbed at Bran. Touching the other man felt like clutching spiderwebs; they were real and tangible but had no substance. The sensation was alarming, but he didn’t let go. “We’ve got to stop her.”

The man’s grey face twisted. “How? Salt will slow her but cannot contain her. I had used bolts from the church she worshipped at, but now that they are broken, I have no other recourse.”

Daniel scrambled for the strap around his neck and pulled the talisman out. “What about this? I used it against her in the tower. She was afraid of it.”

Bran bent closer. As his fingers traced over the beads and vial, his eyes lit up. “Holy water. Pure silver. I can feel the energy flowing out like heat. And if I can feel it, she will, as well. It… it may be enough.”

“You think it can kill her?”

“I do not know. But we can try.” He turned to examine the house. His movements had become sharp and tense. “My mother will have left the tower by now, but if we are lucky, she might still be contained within the house. Come, quickly, Mr. Kane. I will need your help.”





Chapter Twenty-Seven





Bran led Daniel along the side of the house. His coat flapped behind him in the cold night air, and his vein-mottled skin looked almost ghostly in the moonlight. Daniel’s right leg ached, and his joints were still jarred from the fall, but desperation pushed him to match Bran’s half run.

They rounded the mansion’s corner, weaving between dead trees and snagging vines. Bran moved with the litheness of a cat and seemed to almost float between the obstacles. That was one of the perks of being made from shadows, Daniel supposed. As they neared the front entrance, the murmur of restless crows filled the cold night air.

Bran sent a glance over his shoulder. “I have very little strength, so I will rely on you to be my hands. We must spread salt across the exits before my mother has a chance to leave the house. Once she is outside the manor, cornering or containing her will be impossible.”

“Salt. Yes.” Adrenaline kept him on his feet as he stumbled, half-blind, through the weeds and bushes. “Just tell me where to put it.”

“Any unlocked door or open window.” Bran ran a hand across the tree’s bark as he passed under it, and the crows sent up a mournful cry. “Any escape large enough for a human to move through and close enough to the ground that you could survive the jump. And be careful. She is trapped in the same sphere I am, the limbo between the living and the dead. Do you understand? She will be looking for prey to feed on, and she can hurt both you and Annalise.”

They reached the open door at the top of the stairs. Bran paused just inside the foyer, his back straight and chin lifted as he scanned the darkness. Daniel held his breath, and together, they listened for motion inside the building. It was deathly quiet.

Bran inclined his head towards Daniel. “Do you remember where the salt is?”