Chapter Eight
A deep sluggishness eclipsed her every thought.
She’d barely gotten a few hours of sleep, yet again, since arriving at Sallow Manor.
Every time she tried to rest, the house would groan in protest. Floorboards creaked and the windows rattled.
When she did eventually collapse from exhaustion in the early evening, the nightmares would plague her, sometimes bleeding into her wakefulness and paralyzing her body.
Despite the tiredness wearying her bones and the ache in her lower back that was slowly getting worse, she still refused to climb back into bed.
Nathaniel left a note earlier that evening outside her door saying he was leaving to find her cat and grimoires.
Ever since then, she’d waited by the window in her bedroom, watching the night darken into twilight.
She pressed her back against the stone arch surrounding the tall glass panes and stretched her legs out along the ledge, the rain hammering against the glass.
Heavy droplets raced down the lead inlays, and she traced her fingertips over the intricate tracery, wondering if Duke was out in the storm.
What if he didn’t return to the manor after her absence?
Her stomach dipped. Her poor baby probably thought she had abandoned him, just like his previous owners had.
Every muscle in her body tensed. What if Duke had gone looking for her in the manor, and then someone had done something to him? Without her there, he had no one to advocate for him.
Stop! She pressed her palms to the sides of her head. The thoughts spiraled with visuals of Duke hurt or worse.
No, she wouldn’t think of it. Duke had to be okay, and Nathaniel would find him.
He had to. Duke was the only family Charlotte had left, and if something had happened to him too, then she’d just give up.
She pressed her forehead against the glass, trying to distract herself from the stream of panicked thoughts.
There was something about rainy nights that calmed her soul.
Even from inside the manor, she could smell the deep, earthy fragrance of the rain hitting the ground through the cracks.
At least the plants outside were well-watered, not that she’d been able to see the gardens yet except from her window.
Much like the rest of the manor, everything was well tended.
A low growl resounded from her stomach. Her fingers flew to her stomach as a hollow ache deepened in her core. Suddenly, for the first time since her sister’s passing, she was ravenous. She could almost taste her mother’s mutton stew, followed by a large helping of layered sponge cake.
Another growl gurgled in her stomach, deeper this time.
She grabbed the candle from her bedside table by the gold-plated handle and walked out of her bedroom and into the narrow, quiet corridor. The kitchen had to be down from the foyer. She wished she’d asked Alexander for a map.
An icy chill enveloped her as she slowly made her way down the hallway, the plum-colored carpet muffling her footsteps. Shadows flickered against the large oil paintings hanging on the walls above the ornate paneling, all framed with antique gold.
She turned left, walking toward the dining room through the maze of interconnected corridors, each taking her deeper into the center of Sallow Manor.
The last corridor was narrower than the others, the wall-sconces unlit.
Her boot heels echoed against the ancient stone steps carrying her down into the cold, stone passage.
This definitely was not the way to the dining room, although she’d sworn she’d gone in the right direction.
Her breath fogged in front of her, the dwindling light of her single candle illuminating the dust motes hanging in the air.
Howling winds creaked beyond the walls, the whistles breaking through the eerie quiet along with the trail of her dress rustling as it dragged over cold stone.
Charlotte’s breath caught, the candle almost tumbling from her weak grasp when she spotted a figure draped in tattered white, mostly obscured by the corridor, just beyond the reaches of candlelight.
She glanced back toward the way she’d come, but the light at the end of the corridor was gone.
Someone had extinguished the lamps in the upper hallways.
From somewhere behind her, a drawn-out breath reverberated, and the temperature dropped, raising the hairs on her arms and neck.
With a roll of her shoulders, she suppressed a shiver, and swallowed thickly, her mouth dry. Her eyes focused on the darkness ahead, and the flickering of the candle that danced with every gust of air.
“Don’t go out,” Charlotte begged the candle, her hand shaking as she white-knuckled the handle and took a hesitant step forward, away from the ungodly sounds happening behind her.
Determined not to look back, to acknowledge whatever was following her, she kept moving, her pace quickening despite her joints protesting against the sudden increase in speed.
With every step, the walls tightened around her. The rough stone brushed her forearms, her dry gasps echoing around her as the candlelight dwindled until it was nothing but a small, blue flame.
The scent of mildew and lilies hung in the air, the musky fragrance turning her stomach. The corridor twisted deeper into darkness, and as she descended the tiny, stone steps, her foot met the hard, icy edge, toppling her off balance.
She gripped the wall, her heart pounding in her chest as the ground beneath her feet disappeared for a moment. A spike of energy pushed through her body as she gasped in deep lungfuls of air and regained her balance.
The muscles in her legs tightened and twitched, a tremor flickering the muscles under her right eye. She needed to get back to her bedroom, or the library, anywhere but the creepy corridor that didn’t even feel like it was a part of the house anymore.
Cold tendrils grazed her arm. She whipped her head back to look over her shoulder and screamed when she saw the semi-translucent figure of a young woman standing before her, with blacked-out eyes and long, dark hair hanging around her face like curtains.
Dried blood crusted around the puncture marks on the woman’s pale throat, her tattered, white dress stained with crimson.
The figure, its form barely visible in the dim, yellow light, hovered over her, arms outstretched. Charlotte spun, nearly losing her balance, and the candle toppled from her grip, clanking down several steps and plunging her into darkness.
In the unending darkness, Charlotte felt for the stone, her frantic climb up the stairs guided by her fingertips. Her heart pounded and each shallow breath scraped her throat.
As she raced out, ignoring the pain searing through her calves, the ghost’s face, with its dark, empty eyes, burrowed deep into her mind.
Panting, she stumbled, her foot catching the edge of a step, and her knees met the ground with a thud. With a groan, she pushed herself up, crawling forward while the heavy, rhythmic pounding of footsteps grew louder behind her.
Robbed of her sight, she tried to focus on the feel of each step to navigate her way out, but the footsteps and ragged breaths were getting louder, faster, and while she moved as quickly as she could, the spirit was faster.
Meow.
Charlotte jumped, uncertain if she had imagined the sound, when a second, louder meow drifted down the hallway. A glimmer of light flickered ahead, illuminating the entrance to the corridor and Duke was sitting at the top, hissing as if warning her to hurry.
Icy fingers curled around her ankle, forcing another, louder scream from her throat. She was so close to the light of the upper corridor, and Duke, who was crouched close to the ground, had his yellow eyes fixated on the space behind her.
She fell out into the open space of the corridor, tears pricking her eyes as she sucked in a deep breath and kicked her way up the plush carpet, her back sliding against the floor.
Footsteps pounded from the staircase to where she was, and in seconds, Nathaniel was standing over her, worry etched into every line creasing around his eyes. “What happened?”
He turned his head when she pointed at the door to the passageway, but when she looked over, it was gone.
“There was a corridor,” she spluttered.
Nathaniel pushed against the wall. He didn’t say anything, but his brows deepened, wrinkles forming around his eyes.
She climbed to her feet, pointing at the wall. “It was right there. I’m telling you.”
“It’s been a long and tiring week.”
“I’m not insane. I saw a ghost, a woman. She had—”
Meow.
Her heart leaped when she looked at Duke, forgetting for a moment about what had happened.
He nudged against her ankles, his nose still wet from the rain.
“Hello old friend.” She leaned over and scooped him into her arms. Resting her cheek against his rain-stricken fur, she closed her eyes, breathing in his scent. “I’ve missed you.”
Loud purrs vibrated against her chest, and she hugged him tighter. His claws curled into the fabric of her dress when she moved to put him down.
She looked at Nathaniel, who swept his fingers through his rain-soaked locks.
“You said there was a woman?”
“Yes.” She ran her fingers over Duke’s fur, his purrs calming the buzz pulsing through her body. “She had long dark hair and was wearing a white dress. She had bite marks on her throat. I think it was the ghost of one of your victims.”
“What did she do?”
“She attacked me.”
“Now, why would one of my victims do that?”
“I don’t know, but clearly at least one of them is trapped in this house.”
He glared at Duke, who tensed under Nathaniel’s stare, then flicked his eyes to meet hers. “Likely more than one. Whoever it was, she probably attacked you to get to me. Ignore them.”
“That’s your advice? To ignore them?”
“What would you suggest?”