Chapter Twenty-Six
ELODIE
The room was small, cloaked in the smell of damp stone and time.
Torn remnants of wallpaper clung to the mildewed walls, curling like old petals.
My candle cast uncertain shadows over the space, revealing a bed in the centre draped in a white sheet that sagged with dust. Beside it, a crooked wardrobe leaned against the wall, its doors hanging on by little more than memory.
But it was the carved wooden chest at the foot of the bed that caught my attention.
Its surface was worn smooth, the lock already unlatched.
Curious, I slid the knife back into my pocket and eased the lid open.
Under the grey dust, dozens of books rested inside, aged and fraying, nestled like secrets.
I traced my fingers over the faded covers of The Secret Garden, Peter and Wendy, rare editions I’d never seen before.
“Bloody—” Preston’s low groan, sharp and soft all at once, pulled my attention like a string.
He was in the corner, hunched over something obscured by his body. I moved closer, my nose still buried in my sleeve to mask the stench. He muttered something under his breath and leaned aside, revealing the horror that was hidden behind him. The first thing I noticed was a hoof.
My stomach tightened into a small knot. I reached for my bracelet to twist it for comfort, only to find my wrist bare.
The lump in my throat grew. Damp, pale fleece, and a lonely glassy eye stared up at me, belonging to a sheep sprawled grotesquely across the floor.
I jerked back, swallowing to keep the bile from rising in my throat.
The sight was obscene—half rotted—wrong in a way that moulded the air in shades of dread.
“How did it get in here?” I forced the words out, looking around the chamber. Could it be that the animal roamed the passages, then somehow ended up in what seemed to be an old nursery?
Preston shook his head, a handkerchief pressed to his face, his breath uneven. The blood in my ears pulsed louder.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I turned from the scene, stepping toward the door to breathe, when I heard it again. What I thought to be blood pulsing in my ears was actually approaching footsteps. I jerked back, my eyes widening.
“Davenport,” I hissed, my words barely a whisper. Still Preston had heard me, his dark green gaze snapping to mine. I pressed a finger to my lips and gestured for him to listen. A beat later, the subtle shift in his expression told me he heard it too.
Someone was coming.
“We need to hide.”
I scanned the room. The bed wouldn’t work. The wardrobe—barely holding itself together—was our only option.
I flung it open. A mess of clothing lined the bottom, no hangers in sight.
Preston moved in after me, and together we shut the doors, the gap between them just wide enough to see through.
The room darkened as he blew out the candle.
Our bodies pressed together in the cramped space, his breath warm against my neck.
Fabric rustled outside. I leaned toward the gap, trying not to flinch at the sensation of Preston doing the same behind me. His scent brushed the air—clean, sharp, infuriatingly close.
Then, he touched my cheek. The air left my lungs, my cheeks heating, as I jerked back.
“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, still whispering.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured, his voice all mocking silk.
“You did,” I bit back, my heart drumming in my ears. “So don’t.” I tried to move away even more when his hand curled around my waist, stopping me. “I just told you not to,” I hissed, right as a match lit to life, blinding me for a split moment.
My breath hitched in fear of getting caught by whoever was outside. My eyes darted out through the gap to see the room had been lit by light as well.
“Don’t set us on fire either,” I muttered, trying to pull away, but his grip held me in place. My nostrils flared in annoyance. How was he so lean, yet strong?
“I won’t,” he answered. “As long as you don’t move.”
I looked at him in the yellow light of the match to see his gaze fixed on something above my head.
Slowly, I turned, not knowing what to expect, only to be met with…
nothing. I rolled my eyes, when something rustled, and suddenly a pair of gold eyes blinked down at me from the shadows.
I drew back and a warm hand shifted over my mouth, muffling my gasp.
His voice was in my ear again, low and razor-thin as his body pressed into mine. “I said, don’t move.” He held out the match in front of us, revealing the furry nightmares hanging above.
Bats.
Surely this had to be a sick joke. Small, furry bodies, long claws clinging to the wardrobe rod.
I closed my eyes, breathing through my nose.
It was alright. There were more terrifying things than being locked in a cramped space with bats.
My hand trembled as I raised it to remove Preston’s away from my face.
“Promise you won’t scream?” he whispered, his hand hovering just above my lips. I nodded, exhaling sharply, and he let go, a soft huff escaping him.
A groan from the other side of the wardrobe door broke the silence, and we both leaned toward the gap again. A boy stood in the pale light of the chamber, not much older than us, if that.
My brows creased.
I’ve never seen him before. Not in the manor, nor on the grounds.
His face was unnaturally pale, marked with tiny red welts.
My stomach twisted as I realized what had caused them.
Bats, like the ones hanging above us, feasted on his skin, leaving bite marks behind.
He didn’t react, didn’t flinch, as though he couldn’t feel them.
His auburn hair gleamed red in the candlelight as he dragged a white sheet behind him, with the one-eyed sheep’s head hanging out, leaving a thick scarlet smear on the stone. I clutched the edge of the wardrobe, my stomach turning with nausea for what felt like the hundredth time tonight.
My mind tangled back to the two women from The Grey Maiden.
And what did the Monster eat in all those stories, Maisie? Sheep and kids.
The door slammed shut with a heavy thud behind the boy, and my eyes darted up to the bats, still clearly visible, in the light of Preston’s newly lit match. I moved to climb out of the wardrobe when a low click rang through the chamber, freezing my blood.
Did he? My gaze met Preston’s and he closed his eyes, his features morphing into an annoyed grimace. Did that boy just lock us in?
I moved to the wretched door and yanked the handle, then bumped my forehead against the wood. Typical.
“There has to be another way out.” Preston closed the wardrobe with the bats inside. At least that was something. I walked around the chamber, running my palm over the damp walls.
“Has to?” I asked, sceptically.
He relit the candle, playing it around the space. “The manor is crammed with trapdoors. Let’s hope this room isn’t an exception.”
I watched him climb up from the bed to the top of the unstable wardrobe and tap across the ceiling. I cursed under my breath and continued searching the walls for a hidden latch.
“Have you tried pushing them?” Preston asked, shoving his head under the bed.
“What do you think I’ve been doing the past ten minutes?” I bit out, tapping the stone harder each time.
A loud crash echoed behind me, and I twisted around to see the broken remains of the wardrobe scattering over the floor. My back hit the door, my eyes fixed on the gripping claws of the bats as they climbed free of the remains.
“Brilliant,” I breathed, the air burning my throat.
Preston lifted the mattress and tore one of the slats out of the bed’s frame. “Find the door!”
Screeching erupted, high-pitched and horrible as it echoed off the walls.
I charged at the door, pounding it with my fist in an attempt to pry it open, but it didn’t budge. However old it was, it was still too firm for me to move it with my kicks and curses.
“We’re not even sure there’s another door!” I raised my voice over the bats’ screeching.
Preston was too focused on keeping the bats at bay to answer. My eyes blurred with inking darkness, and then, like an answer to my prayers, behind him, something glinted. A key was hanging on the wall where moments ago the wardrobe stood.
I lunged for it, ducking claws and wings, and rammed it into the locked door. Nothing. I pulled back, grinding my teeth. What was I missing?
Another screech. My heartbeat skipped.
“Anything?” Preston shouted, his voice fraying.
I lifted my gaze at him, as he moved the plank around, trying to keep the bats from charging at us. And that’s when I saw it. A small keyhole was edged into the wall just beside where the key hung before.
I ran to it. A bat sliced my cheek as I passed Preston, but I didn’t stop. I pushed the key into the hole, and it turned smoothly. The wall cracked open.
“Davenport!” I called, my voice barely cutting through the cacophony.
He twisted toward me and I gestured for him to hurry.
Another bat charged at me and I hid my face in the crook of my arm, lifting my knife as a weak try to protect myself.
A loud thump resonated through the walls and the chattering muffled.
I peeked out cautiously to see Preston drop the plank beside the few defeated bats, and follow me into the hole.
I almost fell onto the stairway with relief, while he closed the newly found door behind us.
I rested my back against the cool wall, letting the silence consume us once again.
My cheek was burning where the bat had flown against me, but the pain was still dull, probably from the adrenaline.
My body felt like it was running a fever.
Preston’s cheeks were flushed, his blonde hair a nest as his shoulders shook with silent laughter.
“You’re such a knob,” I muttered, which only made him laugh harder.
A slow smile curled on my lips as well, and I was unable to stop it. Relief rushed through me like warm silk, tickling my skin. I blew out a long breath, and pried his eyes open. His expression turned serious in a blink.
“What?” I asked, not knowing what happened.
He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the handkerchief he used earlier. “For your cheek.”
Oh. I forgot about that. “Thanks.” I took the tissue and wiped it over the sore spot, wincing. “Does it look nasty?” I asked.
“Depends on the scale of things.” Preston tilted his head. “You certainly look better than that sheep did.” The corner of his mouth tugged upward. “But I would reconsider that date with Declan Marzouq.”
I grimaced at the unwanted reminder. “It’s not a date,” I muttered, mounting the stairs leading up in the narrow corridor.
Preston didn’t answer. The damp steps thumped under our boots and my thoughts slowly wavered back to the one word the ghost said.
Here.
Could that boy we saw be the Great Monster? Was the woman right to be worried about her sheep, and the ghost about the passages?
“Do you know who that boy was?” I asked, trailing the stone with my fingertips. It was calming how it sucked the heat from my body.
Preston took a moment to answer. “Never seen him before,” he mumbled, and I hummed.
Strange, that he was right here under the manor and neither of us had seen him until now.
Reaching the top, we were faced with another trapdoor, but as I pushed the stone, it opened with ease. I climbed out, and Preston followed, the two of us looking around the newly found room. Except, it wasn’t new at all. Names were carved into the walls, an old iron gate stretching at the far end.
We were in the mausoleum.
“Charming,” Preston said beside me. “You bring me to the nicest places.”