Chapter 53
Chapter Fifty-Three
R ose tried to roll over, but couldn’t manage it. Something heavy hovered. Something wrong.
Her eyes flickered open. She took a breath and immediately coughed. Fog surrounded her as if she were outside in the early dawn amongst the trees. Was this a dream?
Then she heard it.
The fire alarm.
Briar House’s original fire alarm, clattering like something out of an antique movie. Or an antique home. Her room wasn’t full of fog.
Smoke.
Fire!
She grabbed Finn’s shoulder, called his name. His eyes were open. She scrambled out of bed.
“The house—it’s on fire.”
Finn swore. He stood, pulled his jeans on, and grabbed hers. She dressed quick as she could. Finn opened a dresser drawer and pulled something out. Then grabbed her water bottle by her bedside, using its contents to dampen the clothing.
He handed her one of her own t-shirts, now damp. “Try to keep this over your face.”
On impulse, she jammed her socked feet into the new pair of rain boots Mr. Munstead and his daughter had given her. They were too big, but with the situation, they were better than nothing. Finn wore wool socks.
He handed her his wool sweater. “Put this on.”
The smell of smoke crept in stronger through the seams of the drafty closed door. Both of them coughed, even with the damp tees against their faces.
She touched the door, then pressed her palm against it. “It’s warm.”
Beside her, he tapped the doorknob. “Same.”
Even if it had been hot, they didn’t have a choice. They were on the third floor. She dashed to her window. There were no fire trucks on the gravel drive.
He crouched down, pulling her with him. “Stay low—straight for the stairs if we can.”
She nodded, swallowed, and tried not to think of what could happen.
“Ready?” He looked at her with concern as he slipped his fingers through hers.
She nodded and squeezed his hand. “Together.”
Finn opened the door. It swung inward. A burst of heat hit their faces.
It came from below. She turned her face away in reaction, pressed the cloth harder.
The 1920s fire alarm continued to clang, louder now that the door was open.
The newer up to code fire alarms emitted their shrill screams, background singers to the ancient one.
She and Finn edged out of the room and made their way toward the stairs. The wall sconces flickered like candles. The stairs so far were untouched. Smoke bellowed below, making it hard to see its source.
Halfway down the first set of stairs, the smoke cleared enough for her to see.
Magnolia’s bedroom door stood open. Fingers of flame licked the edges of the doorway as if searching for fuel. Fire and smoke swirled within the room, hungry and loud.
“No.”
Finn’s expression was grim as he tugged on her. “Come on. We’re running out of time.”
He kept hold of her hand as they moved toward the second floor as low as they could manage.
That’s when Rose saw him, the man who’d caused too much turmoil these past weeks. He skittered out of Magnolia’s room. His white hair alone identified him, a contrast to the sight of flames on his legs, his back.
The one the sheriff called harmless.
The one who claimed Magnolia was his.
The man responsible for Boone Murray’s injuries. And for the death of Magnolia’s horse, Lady, all those years ago.
She froze at the sight of him, forgot what all the smoke, the glowing colors, and crackling sounds around her meant.
Finn’s voice brought her back as he turned her to face him. “The floor’s unstable. We’ve got to make a run for it!”
She felt it too. The slight tremble beneath her feet.
They were so close to the second floor landing, just a few feet from the next set of stairs.
But so was George.
He’d spotted her. Even across the smoky space, a chill encircled her wrist.
“Evie, don’t look at him. I’ve got you. Go!”
The second they went into motion, everything blurred.
She heard a roar.
Something hit them.
Her breath left her as her body slammed against the hard floor. She heard another sound, a sick thud. Felt more pain as Finn landed on top of her.
Trapped beneath his weight, a moment of silence followed, one in which he didn’t stir.
“Finn—Finn—damn it! Answer me!” Louder. “Finn!”
He didn’t answer, didn’t move.
But someone else did.
Dark boots came into view. A foot from where they lay. Sound rushed back along with the overloud beat of her heart.
A sinister voice. “Come out, pet. He can’t have you now.”
No.
Her heart, her mind. Both screamed. Not Finn. She’d lost enough. She couldn’t lose him, too.
The smoke was thicker, muffling the surrounding light. She coughed. Wished Finn would. Then she’d know he was alive.
His weight shifted. His chest against her back. Just a tad.
His hand lay against her side—his fingers, they curled. He was alive.
The icy voice came again. “Come out of there, Maggie. If I have to pull you out, your husband goes over the rail.”
Husband? Finn wasn’t her…
It came to her. He’d called her Maggie. Damn it.
She needed more time, time for Finn to come all the way around. Even if she could manage it, she didn’t think he’d enjoy being dragged down the stairs.
She felt heat on her face. Pinpricks of pain as the flames moved closer. She had to get herself and Finn out. Get rid of the man who threatened them.
Hopefully, the fire department was outside now. Working to help before their time ran out.
“Pet!”
A warning. A word that should never describe a human being. Anger flooded her. If this was the end, she wasn’t going down without a fight. With a lot of grunting and effort, she wriggled out from beneath Finn. She grabbed one of the railing spindles and got to her feet. The spindle came with her.
With a choked breath and a cough, she faced the man that had terrorized her and, likely, Magnolia in her last weeks of life.
Rage took fear’s place, along with a desire to protect Finn. Love like theirs was hard to find. The two of them had waited long enough. She refused to let him go.
They’d never been in a situation this dangerous. This was no DIY adventure from their youth. This villain’s grip was ice and steel. She doubted she could win a fight against him.
For herself, for Finn, for Magnolia, for the rest of her family—she had to try.
The house suffered more damage. She could hear it, feel it. Her home was in pain.
She wished ghosts were real, that they could fight alongside her. Lady with her sharp hooves. Old Macintosh with his supposed shovel. The civil war soldiers. They could use reinforcements.
Finn still lay on the ground unmoving, although she thought he’d shifted again.
There was no sign of rescue. Fire never played soft. Monsters didn’t wait for the injured to recover before attacking.
It came down to her and George.
The spindle wasn’t what she considered a weapon, but in this moment it was better than nothing. She gripped it tight, hoping it would be enough.
Then—
A flash. A glimmer.
Against the wall, close enough to reach, its blade reflected the flames.
Magnolia’s dragon letter opener.
She switched the spindle to her left hand, crouched once more, and reached for the blade.
It wasn’t as sharp as a knife, but it didn’t matter.
Her fingers closed around the handle; her fingertips brushed over its emerald dragon eyes.
It felt natural as she adjusted her grip, like a dagger, blade side down.
She wanted to survive. With Finn.
Magnolia’s words. I want you to have your happy ever after .
They deserved that. Whether or not Finn heard her, she vowed, “We are not dying in this house.”
She shifted and spoke over the crackles, the heat that inched closer. “I told you—I’m not Maggie.”
Hunched over as if ready to strike, George broke into a grin that reminded her of the Cheshire cat mating with a piranha. “I’m going to have fun with you, pet.”
With a cry of rage, he rushed toward her. His single-minded purpose had him on a specific course.
Her.
She swung the blade and spindle as hard as she could, let go when she felt the impact, the knowledge she’d stabbed him. She then dove out of the way in some semblance of a self-defense move Thorne had taught her.
George crashed through a section of railing.
His weight, his fall, changed things.
The floor of the landing splintered and pitched downward with a slow groan. Rose slipped, began to slide. A scream tore out of her. Her legs were no longer on a surface.
Hands clamped over her forearms. Finn’s face appeared above her, smeared with blood and soot. His eyes were dark, but open.
“I’ve got you. I’ll pull you up.”
She kept her eyes focused on him. Even as more embers singed her arms. She wanted to get out of this. She wanted everything with him. Why hadn’t she told him yet?
“I love you.”
He gave her a hard look. “We’re going to make it, Evie.” He pulled, evidence of strain on his face. Her body moved upward. Hope pitter-pattered within her heart.
A second set of hands latched onto her. She screamed again as pain exploded through her left side. The weight that came with it took her backwards, along with Finn. His grip slid to her wrists, both hands locked tight, set determination on his face.
Finn said, “I won’t let go.”
George hadn’t fallen.
She tried to kick, but the left didn’t respond.
Too much weight. Her right leg, though—she kicked as hard as she could manage.
And hit something. She couldn’t see, didn’t dare try.
Only knew she had to get this monster to let go of her.
Before the rest of the landing went with nothing but dead air beneath.
Crack!
The floor gave way; she was yanked downward. The pressure on her leg was unbearable. More pain lashed up her body. She cried out. She heard a scream, felt a popping sensation in her leg. Her pain eased. She struggled to take a breath.