Craven Manor(72)

Someone had tied the silver talisman around his hand, strapping the vial and silver beads against his skin. He was surprised to see the swelling had gone down. It was still discoloured, and mottled red-and-purple bruises ran through the slate-grey undertones, but he could curl his fingers into a proper fist.

He lowered the arm and turned to face the room. The space in front of the fireplace was empty. Daniel let a smile grow. “Well, how about that.”





Chapter Thirty-Two





Three Days After the Fire





Daniel approached Craven Manor. The storm had doused the flames, but the sour scent of burnt wood and fabric still lingered in the air. Three of the trees growing closest to the building were scorched black. A sense of gratitude crashed through him. Without Bran’s storm, the flames could have easily spread through the long-dead vegetation filling the gardens and burnt Daniel alive in his cottage.

The flock of crows complained behind him. They’d abandoned the blackened tree beside the front door but still lingered close to the house. Daniel made a mental note to bring them some fresh meat later. They deserved a treat for their efforts in the fight against Eliza.

He climbed the wide stone steps, where a layer of soot had replaced the usual coating of dried leaves. The smell of smoke became stronger as Daniel stopped in the space where the wooden doors had once stood.

The thick dark-wood slabs were almost completely gone. Clumps of charcoal lay across the top step, and he could see the melted remnants of the hinges. Daniel swallowed and looked through the hole the doors had left.

Craven Manor’s insides made for a depressing sight. It had never been especially welcoming or cosy, but he’d grown to appreciate the massive hall and its antique fittings. The chandelier lay in a tangled wreck in the centre of the foyer. The marble floor was invisible under thick ash. The high windows had exploded in the heat, and parts of the roof had collapsed. The rotted furniture surrounding the fireplace was gone, as were all of the trinkets on its mantelpiece.

One element upset Daniel more than any other: the dramatic wooden staircase had been consumed, and only an ugly stub remained. Without it, the room felt unbalanced and wrong. He couldn’t see Annalise’s painting on the landing, but the damage to the lower level didn’t bode well for it. He exhaled and folded his arms across his chest.

“Sometimes, a drastic loss can herald a new start. A fresh start.”

Daniel turned. Bran stood on the patch of ground outside the manor. He gave Daniel a short nod and climbed the stairs to stand at his side. Together, they stared through the charred remains of the door.

Daniel’s throat was tight, and it took him a moment to speak. “Are you all right?”

“As well as a dead man can be, I suppose.” He looked better than Daniel had expected him to; his skin was still paper-thin and grey, but the awful mapping of black veins was less pronounced. “I feel drained. Scraped thin. But I hope time will return some of my strength, as much as is left.” Bran’s glance was sharp. “I’m surprised you returned.”

Daniel shrugged. “I didn’t really have anywhere else to go. I spent a night in the hospital waiting room and a second night with Mrs. Kirshner—she’s my old neighbour—but I needed to come back eventually.”

“Were my coins not enough to afford you new quarters?”

Daniel tactfully avoided the fact that Mrs. Kirshner was spending them on cat toys. Instead, he told the truth. “They would have. But nowhere else feels like home.”

“I am grateful.” A smile was audible in Bran’s voice. “It was lonely without you. And rebuilding the manor will be easier with someone who can lift objects heavier than a pen. How is your arm?”

“Uh, sore.” Daniel flexed the fingers. The flesh was still blotchy shades of grey and black, but the swelling had subsided. He’d wrapped it in bandages, partially to protect against infection and partially to avoid horrifying people he passed in the streets, and kept the talisman tied against the skin. It seemed to help. “The doctors had no idea what it was or how to treat it. I left before they could suggest any crazy experiments. Do you know if it will get better?”

“Truthfully, I have no idea.” Bran held out his own hands. The fingertips that had once been mottled black were a dark grey. “Now that Eliza is dead, my own affliction seems to be receding. The plague must have been tied to her will. Without her anger to fuel it, it is dying. But I am not mortal. I do not know how the infection will impact a living organism. I suppose we must take each day as it comes.”

Daniel tilted his head back to examine Craven Manor’s ceiling. “You said something about rebuilding.”

“Yes. It is perhaps foolish and more than a little vain, but I do not like seeing my family’s home brought to such a level of disgrace. If I can borrow your talents, we might see what some time and effort can repair.” Bran nodded over Daniel’s shoulder, towards the forest. “We can begin by retrieving the bag of coins your cousin attempted to abscond with.”



Four Weeks After





“No, I’m just saying, it doesn’t make sense.”

Daniel’s attention picked up at the words. He was in the dining room, working through a budget for Craven Manor’s repairs. The words floated through the dining room door, and he put down the pen and crept closer to the opening. Two men were working on the fireplace, removing the scorch marks and repairing the mantelpiece. They spoke in subdued voices, but the words still carried easily through the manor’s empty foyer.