Craven Manor(61)

“The little cupboard behind the kitchens.”

“Good. I will go ahead and search for my mother. I suspect she will be lethargic after being contained for so long. I will buy you what time I can. Keep the talisman close for now, but be ready to pass it to me once she is trapped.”

“Okay.” Daniel felt for the little vial under his shirt and squeezed it. “Good luck.”

“To you, as well, Mr. Kane.” Bran fell forward as though lunging towards the floor. The man vanished in the space of a heartbeat, and in his place was the black cat. Its amber eyes glinted in traces of moonlight as it bounded towards the stairs. It bled into the shadows and a moment later was gone.

Daniel ran his eyes over the space, trying to gauge how much salt he would need to block all of the broken windows. The foyer was oppressive during the day, but at night, he could only make out small patches of it where moonlight sneaked through the glass. Finding his way through the maze-like back rooms would be impossible without light, and he’d lost his torch in the tower.

He jogged towards the fireplace, where the half-melted candles stood between the empty photo frames and vases. He snatched a three-pronged candelabrum up and struggled to get it lit. The trio of flames were small, only really enough to light his face and two feet of the darkness that stretched ahead, but they were better than nothing.

Daniel kept half of his attention on the staircase and the higher floors as he crossed to the servants’ area at the back of the building. It was hard to know if the silence was a good sign… or a warning. Bran seemed to think Eliza would be slow and cautious after her incarceration, but they had spent a lot of time in the yard. There was no guarantee the woman was still in the house—and if she was, which section she might be creeping through.

A board groaned above him, and Daniel flinched. He held his candles higher and scanned the barely visible chandelier and the plaster ceiling. It might be the wind. It’s an old building.

The metal door handle to the kitchens screeched as he turned it. Daniel tried to swallow around his dry tongue. The collage of abandoned pots and dust-coated plates glimmered in his light. He slipped around the massive wooden bench and towards the door hidden in the back of the room.

Something clattered on the second floor. Daniel froze, breath held, but the sound didn’t repeat. He quickened his movements as he entered the storage room and knelt beside the bags of salt.

Thank goodness for Eliza’s paranoia. She probably never expected to be trapped by her own precautions.

The bags were too heavy to lift. Daniel gripped the corners of one hessian sack and tried to drag it, but it weighed more than he did. He felt tiny twitches as the fibres, weakened by age, frayed.

Another floorboard groaned, this time from the opposite side of the house.

Daniel leapt back into the kitchen and hunted through the benches and drawers for a sharp knife. He found one that was discoloured with rust but still gouged a chip out of the tabletop when he stabbed it. He took it back to the pantry and used it to slash a hole in the bag’s side.

Litres of fine white salt poured out. Daniel kicked the bag, encouraging it to spill its load, until only a third remained. Even mostly empty, it still carried at least twenty kilos, and that would be plenty.

Daniel heaved the bag over his shoulder and grunted as the weight taxed aching joints. He snatched the candelabrum off the floor and moved through the kitchen, knocking chairs askew in his haste.

Block any door or window a human could slip through. He started by shutting the most obvious escape—the front door. The hinges were stiff, and he had to lean his weight into the wood to move it, but a satisfying click echoed through the space as it shut.

Daniel put the candles down and kicked the leaf litter away from the entrance. He didn’t know if the salt line had to be unbroken to work, but it wasn’t a time to take risks. Once the space was clear, he heaved the bag off his shoulder and, cradling it in both arms, tipped it so that a stream of the white crystals poured out. He drew the line from stone to stone, completely blocking the doorway, then stepped back.

Daniel considered the windows. They were high—he would need to stand on a ladder to reach them—and just wide enough for a human to squeeze through. They had latches, which meant they could be opened, and some were broken. Daniel dragged the sack behind himself and ran a line of salt along both windowed walls. Finally, he gave the same treatment to the doors leading to the servants’ quarters and the other doors leading off from the foyer. He didn’t know the house well enough to guess what kind of back doors and staff entrances it might be hiding, so it was safer to simply block them off wholesale.

Once Eliza comes down the stairs, she’ll be trapped in the foyer. Theoretically. He glanced towards the staircase, but there was no sign of either Bran or the shadow creature. No more noises came from the higher floors.

Daniel retreated to his candles near the front door and tied the top of the sack to make a strap. It still held four or five litres of salt, and he slung it over his shoulders like a satchel.

Am I missing anything? I’ve covered every escape on the ground floor. And the upstairs windows should all be sealed. Except…

Something rattled on the second floor to his right. Daniel twitched towards it, one hand braced on the makeshift satchel, and waited. A board flexed above and to the left. Silence reigned for a beat, then one of the crows outside the door cawed, making Daniel flinch.

The house had two broken windows: the tower and the third-floor window Kyle had been pushed through. Bran believed Eliza wouldn’t make any kind of jump that could hurt her, but the broken window had a tree beside it. The gnarled structure could be climbed. The chances that Eliza would find it were small, but even small chances were too risky to ignore.