Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nina
Saltwick House
Nina dashed upstairs for her coat and the meager supplies hidden therein and bullied a lantern from the maid before setting off.
A trap. The Marsh witches turned the entire house into a trap. The audacity of it.
The rain had intensified overnight. Wind sent the rain sideways, drops landing on her skin with a sharp sting. Nina clutched the hood of her coat under her chin, tucked her head down, and walked into the storm.
She wasn’t venturing out blindly. Not exactly. Relics had a Nexus signature, and she moved in that direction. It wasn’t precise and didn’t help her navigate the obstacles in the garden, but every step got her closer.
How she’d get the crypt open was a problem she’d have to tackle very soon. If it was a multigenerational trap, as the ancient witch implied, it wasn’t a matter of waiting for the energy to disperse, not like the cage in Wychwood.
Brute force was always an option. Some relics were very hard, perfect for piercing, like her daggers, but vulnerable to smashing. Her daggers could cut through steel, but one blow with a hammer would shatter them.
Outside the crypt, soaked to the bone, she needed a hammer and other supplies. Rushing out, she failed to take a moment to organize herself.
She tugged on the crypt doors. They would not budge, as promised.
Lock picks. One of the dubious skills necessary to her occupation.
The set of picks she carried was small but highly useful.
Kneeling down to be eye level with the lock, the wet ground soaked through her trousers.
She slipped the tension bar into the keyhole, followed by the pick.
Pins clicked as she moved the pick. The cold numbed her fingers, decreasing her dexterity.
This required a light touch and she felt like she was merely jabbing the pick, not carefully maneuvering through the pins.
The pick snapped.
She tried again to the same results.
Frustrated, she pounded her hands against the cast iron, shouting.
Time was wasting.
Nina pressed her forehead against the door. It wouldn’t open, not until the trap’s criteria had been met.
She needed to focus. In a crisis, she was always cool and collected. She’d never felt so frazzled, pulled in a dozen directions, and so utterly helpless.
Not since losing Lucas.
Perhaps this was for the best. What did she think would happen when she returned home? Anthony had bonded to her. She was his anchor. They were tied together for life and couldn’t ease back into their old lives, pretending as if nothing changed.
Everything changed.
Her family would never accept Anthony. He had that right. Things would be less complicated if she walked away.
Two weeks ago, she might have done just that.
Nina pounded her fist against the door. She didn’t want less complicated. She wanted Anthony.
Somehow. She couldn’t imagine the next steps of her life without him.
She closed her eyes and tried to think beyond the rain, beyond the panicking beat of her heart.
A relic was just a vessel for Nexus energy. She removed her gloves, tossing them to the ground, and pressed her hand to the lock. The metal was warm.
The Nexus energy was woven through with strands.
She didn’t have to recreate a tapestry. She just needed to poke a hole large enough through the weave to slip inside.
She took a deep breath. She could do this. She did it all the time with her daggers. They always hit true. Anyone could fling them about but with her, they never missed the mark. True, she never consciously manipulated them, but the principle remained the same.
She hoped.
Please work.
Breathing in, she pushed her will into the lock, finding the space between the strands, and exhaled.
A gap.
Encouraged, she did it again. This was not delicate work. It was blunt and concussive, smashing a magic hammer against a magic lock.
The metal groaned.
She did it again, her head aching and hands trembling.
The lock had grown cold. Beating into a new shape, the strands completely avoided the lock.
Feeling lightheaded—she completely forgot to eat while in the kitchen and one cup of tea was not enough fuel for this work—she tried again with the lockpick. She had one pick remaining. It had to work or she’d tear down the crypt brick by brick.
The pins cooperated. The mechanism unlocked with a thunk. She yanked the door open and rushed inside.
It was a well-used family crypt with two stone caskets in the center and alcoves along the walls. No Anthony tied up and in distress.
She held the lantern aloft, investigating the corners and the alcoves. The air was dusty and stagnant.
There. At the back, steps down. A breeze drifted up, disturbing the cobwebs.
She followed the steps down.
And down.
“The things I do for that man.”
Anthony
Saltwick House
The Crypt
The situation was not ideal.
Anthony woke up on the floor of the dungeon. Again. Honestly, he suspected this said something unkind about his character.
He sat up quickly, head spinning. Once vertical, he vomited. Bending over to retch made the dizziness worse. Once that uncomfortable business subsided, he sat upright with care.
He appeared to be alone and his hands and feet were bound. Where Roderick acquired the rope was a mystery, but well done on the villainy. They were proper knots, the kind he could not easily slip with his injured shoulder.
Were his teeth sharp enough to bite through the rope? He ran his tongue over the ridges. They were sharp, but perhaps he could gnaw at the rope.
He attempted to raise his wrists to his mouth. Searing pain tore through him. No raising the arm. He would remember.
His eyes adjusted to the dark and realized he was not as alone as he first assumed.
“Hello,” he called out to the other captives.
No response.
Because the crypt was filled with Roderick’s victims, all in various states of decay. Embarrassment at attempting to converse with his dead relations did not register. His head hurt too much. Besides, the situation did not warrant dwelling upon. It was a horror. Enough said.
Anthony pushed down the revulsion, compartmentalizing it so that it may haunt him on sleepless nights if he were so fortunate to survive long enough to have sleepless nights.
He felt odd. Giddy, which was not the response one associated with mortal peril.
There was something amiss with the air quality. That was why he could not think. Mold and mildew. Stagnant air. The noxious byproducts of decay and?—
He pushed that right back down with the other horrors to be examined later, if there was a later.
That smell was smoke. Mildew and decay, yes, but also smoke. It tickled his nose.
Footsteps approached, then a light.
“If you’ve come to gloat, Roderick, you’re wasting your time,” he called out to the approaching figure. “Frankly, taunting an injured man while he slowly dies is very low brow. I expected better of you.”
The figure emerged from a recessed alcove, holding a lantern aloft. The light blinding, he turned his head.
“I did not come to gloat, but I could imagine a little ridicule,” Nina said.
Delight surged through him, then immediate panic that she trapped herself in the crypt.
“Well, well, well, look at the mess you got yourself into.” She set the lantern down next to him. “How was that?”
“Uninspired. I am glad to see you. Is this a rescue?”
“Yes, Pearson, this is a rescue.” She drew a dagger. “You rescue me. I rescue you. We’re even. Now sit still.”
“You came for me.”
“How hard did Roderick hit your head?”
“Very. Monumentally hard. You should kiss it and make it better.”
The rope fell away from his hands. He twisted in place for her to cut the rope binding his feet.
“You seemed a touch… touched. You need a doctor.”
“No doctors.” He didn’t feel like himself, but he hadn’t felt like himself in some time. “I am feeling a touch lightheaded, but it will pass.”
“Another joke. He knocked the levity right into you.” Her dagger sliced through the rope. She coughed and frowned.
“Smoke,” he said and kicked the rope away before surging to his feet. Too quickly, as it happened. He swayed. Nina reached out to steady him. “I am well.”
“The lies you tell, Pearson,” she said.
“You shouldn’t have come. I suppose it is tragically romantic being trapped in the crypt together but I’d rather not be, all things considered.”
“I broke the lock.” She grinned. “It was more brute force than elegance but I’d say the results speak for themselves.”
She wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him, bumping into his arm. He hissed in pain.
“Roderick shot me,” he explained.
“Damn him.” She moved to the bullet-free side. “Better?”
“Yes. He also announced his intentions to destroy the house. That smoke may be deliberate.”
“I agree. It’s surprisingly crowded in here,” she said, as if noticing the other occupants.
“Roderick’s been busy murdering the extended family. There’s a door over there,” he said, pointing with his good arm. “I must caution you. We do not know what to expect when it opens.”
“Yes, I am aware, but the safest route out is the shortest.” Nina tried to open the door, but it would not budge. She pressed her hand against the iron and closed her eyes. After a long moment she shook her head. “No joy. We’ll have to climb the stairs.”
“You said you broke the lock.”
“Apparently it’s easier to break in than to break out. Can you manage the stairs?”
“There’s nothing wrong with my legs,” he said with a scoff.
“Your innate charm is returning. How it gladdens my heart.” Her eyes appeared to water. “I thought I lost you. Don’t you ever do that again.”
“As I hadn’t planned on this situation, I believe I can make that promise.”
She looked as if she had something to confess.
He had to crane his neck to look at her, which was quite difficult to do while attempting to navigate stairs. “Roderick said he would kill you. I’m so glad he failed.”
“I love you,” she said in a rush, a small waver in her voice. Her arm tightened around his waist. “I know this isn’t the time or the place?—”
“I beg to differ.”
“And you’re not in your right mind, and I should have said it earlier, but my affection for you snuck up on me. I don’t know how you did it, Pearson, but you’re a devil.”
“A devil you love.” He grinned, his pain and poor balance forgotten. She loved him. Despite all his faults. Despite all his bungled attempts at, well, socialization in any context. “Thank you. I’ve admired you for a long time. I was terrible at showing it.”
“Yes, you were,” she said. The delicate waver had vanished from her voice and her normal grit and iron returned. “We are never visiting your relations again and never setting foot in this abomination of a house.”
“Agreed.”
The smoke grew heavier, causing Nina to cough and cover her face to a scarf. She produced a handkerchief from one of the many pockets of her coat and tied it around his lower face. It kept out enough of the smoke to continue climbing.
Eventually, they reached fresh air. He tore the handkerchief away, taking deep gulps.
A few more steps up and they were at the ground level of the crypt.
The two stone caskets and alcoves were far more orderly than the horror below.
Well, he reasoned, it would be supremely difficult for Roderick to lure his victims to the family crypt.
That screamed villainy. An unknown entrance through the tunnels was simply practical.
He laughed.
Nina gave him a curious look. “The smoke has gone to your mind.”
“Just deliriously happy. Do not be concerned.”
When they exited the crypt, a small explosion shattered glass. He flinched and pulled Nina down to the ground, further aggravating his shoulder. He would not apologize. It was a reflex that kept him alive in battle.
The roar of a flame was unmistakable, coupled with the crackling of dry wood.
Fire appeared in an upstairs window. Another explosion, more shattered glass, and another window engulfed.
Flame licked up the outside of the house.
Soon it reached the roof. There was no saving the house even if he had been so inclined.
Figures emerged, all women. Four. A maid helped an elderly woman and Anthony recognized her immediately.
“Mrs. Marsh,” he said. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m better than you.” She turned to face the flaming wreckage of the house. “Saltwick is no more. We’re free of it.”
He felt that. The pull to be here, that relentless need, was gone.
“Roderick?” Nina asked.
“Set the fire,” Mary, the maid, answered. “I don’t know what with.”
“Gunpowder,” Anthony answered. “There were barrels of it in the cellars. Likely ruined but obvious enough to get the job done.”
Wood crackled and stone shattered from the heat. Saltwick was no more. The curse was broken.
“Look!” Nina pointed to the roof.
Roderick stood on the edge, his arms raised and his head thrown back. He was shouting, perhaps chanting, but the distance and the cacophony of the fire made it impossible to hear.
There was a great crack, then a groan. The roof gave way, sending plumes of sparks high into the sky. It started on the far side of the house and rolled toward Roderick’s outstretched arms.
He fell, vanishing into the blaze.
Tension eased in Anthony’s chest. His last living relation was gone. The Pearson family was no more.
He was free.