Craven Manor(71)

“Are you coming, Annalise?” He couldn’t see the girl. For all he knew, she might have retreated back to the crypt as soon as light danced along the horizon. He took a deep breath and tried not to let the shivers bring him to his knees as he pressed into the forest.

The rain was no more than mist-like flecks, but fat drops continued to run off the trees. Daniel barely felt them. His clothes were sodden and heavy, and his shoes squelched in the mud. He felt as though he would never be warm again.

The groundskeeper’s cottage emerged from between the trees. Home. It meant warmth, dry clothes, and a bed, but he was too tired to feel more than a dull anticipation. His legs moved faster as he drew nearer, until he was stumbling through the weeds to reach its door.

He struggled to keep Bran in his arms as he blindly felt for the door handle. When he’d left the building, he hadn’t expected to ever return to it. He was glad he hadn’t locked it on the way out.

The room was quiet but not as warm as he’d hoped it would be. He carefully placed Bran on the ground beside the fireplace then scooted onto the hearth to light it. His fingers shook so badly that it took him two minutes to coax sparks out of the flint. When the kindling finally caught, he threw the stones aside and held his fingers so close to the flames that he would have burnt if he weren’t so cold.

The plague-infested flesh in his right hand was like something out of nightmares. In the soft glow of the fire, there was no way to avoid looking at it. He prodded at the back of his hand, and shudders coursed through him at the spongy sensation.

He tried flexing the fingers again. They were still stiff but curled a little farther. He didn’t want to think about the limb being amputated, though that was probably what a hospital would do.

Am I even safe to go to a hospital? The damage had stopped spreading when Eliza died, but that didn’t mean it was harmless. He didn’t want to risk infecting other people… especially patients with compromised immune systems.

But what’s going to happen to me if I don’t get it treated? Will it kill me? Turn to rot and poison my blood?

Two soft taps echoed from the house’s front. Daniel turned. In his rush to light the fire, he’d left the door open, and he thought he saw a glimmer of flowing hair. The sun was just starting to breach the horizon and soften the pitch-black sky, but there were still a couple of minutes until dawn proper reached Craven Manor. Daniel managed a thin smile. “Did you want to come in? I’ll shut the door and leave the windows closed so you’ll be safe from the sun.”

He hadn’t even finished speaking before Annalise ran through the doorway. Her form took on enough solidity to be clearly visible. She stopped beside the fire, hands clasped ahead of herself, and looked down at her brother.

“I’m sorry,” Daniel said. He forced himself to leave the growing flames to shut the door. Annalise folded herself onto the hearth beside Bran then faded from sight again.

His wet clothes were leaving puddles across the floor. Daniel cleared his throat. “Could you face the wall for a few moments, please?”

He couldn’t see the girl anymore, so he hoped she had listened. He grabbed a towel and dry clothes from his bag then hurried to change. Getting the shirt over the swollen arm was a challenge, especially with numb fingers, but he managed it after a brief struggle.

The soot still stuck to Bran. Daniel hated seeing him like that, coated in the residue of his insane mother. He fetched a tea towel, wet it, and did what he could to wipe the grime off Bran’s face. As he worked, he tried to swallow the aching lump in his throat. He hadn’t yet thought about what would come next. He would need to bury the house’s master. He thought he could dig the grave beside Annalise’s tomb, as long as the girl approved.

At least for now, he can sleep here. I’ll worry about his final resting place later.

Daniel threw the grimy cloth into the sink. He knew he should eat something, but he’d run out of energy. He compromised by drinking deeply from the tap then stumbled back to the fireplace and dropped two new logs onto the growing flames. Then he crept to his bed and curled up under the layers of blankets as the fire began to spread warmth through the room.

Even after the physically exhausting night, sleep eluded Daniel for more than an hour. Every time he started to drift under, nightmarish images shocked him awake. He kept accidentally touching the damaged flesh on his right arm. And it was impossible to forget the body sprawled on the hearthside rug behind him.

Finally, weariness dragged him under. His dreams were strange. At one point, he imagined he saw Bran standing by the fire, hands clasped behind himself as the firelight danced over his grey features. Daniel stared at his profile for a moment then mumbled, “I thought you were dead.”

“I am. And I have been for quite a while.” Bran’s mouth twitched into a smile. “But I’ve found that death and I don’t agree too much. Go back to sleep, Mr. Kane.”

“You need to start calling me Daniel. Figure we’ve been through enough to be on a first-name basis, haven’t we?”

“I suppose so. Daniel.”

When Daniel next woke, the fire was dead. There was no hint of light around the window or under his door, which meant he’d slept through the whole day. He sat up and rubbed his hand over his eyes as he waited for his head to clear.

His left arm ached. He shambled out of bed and searched for the candle on the desk. He managed to light it one-handed and lifted the growing flame to see his damaged arm.