by Darcy Coates
Clare closed her eyes as she struggled to think through the headache and the pain. “They’re cannibalistic. The maids. That’s what they’ve been surviving on—each other.”
He groaned and tied off the final bandage. “Then we cannot wait them out.”
She didn’t know what to say. Fighting an uncoordinated band of creatures in the forest had been one thing. They could be outsmarted. But with someone like Madeline at their helm—clever, ruthless, and motivated—it was hard to believe anywhere was safe.
She ran her hand over Dorran’s cheek, just below the scratch.
He leaned into the touch. “Clare.” He kissed her palm. “You are alive.” He pressed another kiss to her hand, this one featherlight. “And you are with me. For that, I am grateful.”
She tried to smile. “No matter how this ends, I don’t regret anything. I don’t regret being with you. I want you to know that.”
His shoulders shook as he pulled her close. He was careful to only hold her in places she wasn’t hurt, but once he had his arms around her, he held her so desperately that she felt like he might never let go. “Dearest Clare, stay with me a little longer. I will figure this out. Somehow, some way, I will make it right.”
“We’ll make it right together,” she whispered.
Scratching noises echoed from the wall behind them. One of the creatures picked at the door, scrabbling around the edges and clawing at the handle. Clare’s heart dropped, and the hairs rose on the backs of her arms.
“Stay with me,” Dorran murmured, tightening his arms around her. “We will get out of here.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
With Dorran’s help, Clare stood and swayed. Her muscles were stiff, and every motion jarred the cuts on her legs. Dorran moved to lift her, but she shook her head. She couldn’t let him carry her again. It would put him at too much of a disadvantage if he had to fight.
Dorran scooped the torch off the ground. It had burnt out while they talked. He ripped away the old material and wrapped the remainder of his jacket around it. Then he picked up a jug from the shelf and poured fuel over the cloth.
“We’ll aim for our room,” he said as he used the lamp to light the torch. Flames bloomed, sending stark golden light across the space before reducing to a manageable size. “It is a long walk, so we may need to shelter somewhere closer. But if we can reach there, we have supplies to get us through the rest of the day and allow us to regroup.”
His arm went around Clare’s back, and he helped her across the cavernous space. She had to limp, but Dorran took a lot of her weight as they passed the furnaces and moved towards the stairs in the opposite wall.
The running furnace—the one funnelling heat into the gardens—was down to coals, but the heat coming out of it was still immense. The metal stairs glittered in its glow, like strips of orange running up the wall. As they drew closer to the stairway, Clare pulled Dorran back. “Wait.”
“What’s wrong?”
She squinted into the shadows surrounding the staircase. The space was too dark—she couldn’t even see the walls. When she turned her head, she could still make out the scrabbling noises at the secret door they’d come through. Her mouth turned dry. “It’s a trap.”
Dorran’s eyebrows pulled together. “You think so?”
“Yes. It’s too easy. If we were just dealing with mindless hollow ones, there would be nothing strange about them picking at a locked door. But Madeline is in control. She wouldn’t send them to waste their efforts at that door—”
“Unless she wanted to herd us away from it,” Dorran finished, realisation crossing his features. “Which means she must be waiting for us ahead.”
“Somewhere.” Clare continued to scan the dark stairwell and the walls surrounding it. She couldn’t see anything. But almost as though the creature behind them felt their hesitation, the scrabbling intensified.
Dorran held the torch ahead of them, trying to light the space as much as possible. Clare felt torn. They couldn’t stay in the furnace room. Her energy was quickly dripping away, and the hollow had seemingly limitless endurance. But if she and Dorran tried to climb the stairs, they would be doing so essentially blind.
“Put more wood in the furnace,” she murmured. “They’re trying to lure us into their element—the cold and the dark. If we’re going to confront them, it should be on our terms—right here, where it’s warm, and where we can see what’s happening.”
Dorran nodded and fixed the torch into a holder in the wall. He unfastened something from his belt and offered it to her. Clare realised he’d been carrying the fire poker she’d dropped. She wrapped both hands around it like a bat as she alternated between watching the stairwell and watching the furnace.
Clare tried to listen for the telltale scraping noise heralding the hollows’ approach, but it was hard to be sure what she was hearing through the furnace’s crackles and the unseen creature attacking the far door. Dorran moved swiftly, gathering wood from the stack in the nearest wall and tossing it into the furnace. The logs were big, but the heat was intense enough that they caught quickly. He built the fire up until it was roaring, and all traces of cold left Clare. When he returned to her side, sweat dripped from his jaw. “That’s as much as I can manage without cooking myself.”
“It’s perfect.” Clare squinted at a shadow near the stairs that might have been a rock or might have been something more. The furnace’s light spread out in a semicircle, beating its way through the shadows and dousing the environment in a red tint. “Let’s throw the torch up there and see what we can shake out.”
Dorran took the torch from the wall and crept towards the stairs. Clare followed closely, her poker held at the ready. They stopped twenty feet from the base of the stairs, and Dorran wound his arm back then hurled the flaming torch up.
They watched it spiral. Its light caught on the walls and on parts of the stairs then, horrifyingly, illuminated three pairs of glinting eyes.
“There they are.” Clare took a step back as the torch clattered onto the stairs. The creatures, hissing and spitting, scuttled away from the light. The metal clanged as they charged down the stairs. Dorran picked up the shovel and stepped in front of Clare. As the first of the hollow neared, he swung. A meaty thwack rang out as his weapon connected with a skull.
The creature skidded across the stone floor, but the other two quickly took its place. Like the hollow ones in the forest, they were moving recklessly, unafraid of the weapons. Clare brought her poker down on one of the monster’s protruding shoulder blades, dislocating it, and Dorran followed up with a swing that connected with the creature’s side. The blow sent it tumbling away in a mess of limbs and teeth. It came to a halt in front of the furnace. Dorran followed it, darting in just long enough to jab the shovel’s edge into its chest and force it into the inferno. The monster let out a deafening screech as the flames swallowed it.
The second monster charged Dorran. Clare moved to deliver a jab, throwing it off-balance and allowing Dorran to get behind it. A solid blow sent it skidding after its companion. It convulsed as it fell into the furnace. Already, the other hollow one seemed to have disintegrated in the flames.
Something’s not right. Panting and shaking, Clare inched close to Dorran as she watched the third and final hollow one regain its feet. The fight seemed… not easy, but too convenient. There had been more than a dozen maids in the cavern. One was still occupied with the door, but the rest were unaccounted for. So why are we only being made to fight three? Madeline acted as though she had control over them, as though they obeyed her orders. So why aren’t we being swarmed? Unless…
A sprinkle of sand caught in the light as it fell. She looked up. High above her, two eyes flashed in the light. Something large moved across the ceiling. Clare took a sharp breath as the shapes resolved themselves.
Madeline led the remainder of her fleet. Her clawlike feet dug into the stony ceiling. Strips of her torn dress fluttered around her like flags. Behind her were t
he remaining hollow. Their pale bodies contorted horribly as they squirmed across the ragged ceiling like insects.
Clare gasped and yanked Dorran back, closer to the furnace. “Above!”
He bludgeoned the hissing maid away then looked up just in time to see the monsters release their hold on the ceiling. They plunged down, twisting in the air, extending their arms and legs towards the floor. Dorran and Clare had only a second to move, and they both leapt back to avoid the outstretched limbs.
Madeline hit the ground in an explosion of dust and cracking stone. She rose out of the plume, standing tall, back straight and neck high as her insectile legs lifted her to tower over them.
A choking noise escaped Dorran. Shock froze his expression.
Madeline’s unblinking eyes fixed on him as she stretched one long hand towards her son. “Dorran. Come.”
The words were said with such unyielding authority that Clare flinched. She looked at Dorran, afraid of how he might react. For a second, his eyes reflected pure, blind terror. Then they cleared. He braced his feet, his face hard, and raised the shovel.
Madeline’s nostrils flared. “I said come.”
He matched the harshness in her voice. “No.”
His mother’s expression twisted. She threw her hand outwards, and five maids swarmed Dorran. Clare tried to block them, but they scuttled past her, pushing Dorran back, separating him from Clare.
Madeline turned towards Clare. The matriarch’s eyes seethed with loathing, and her lips twitched, barely containing her fury.
Before, it wasn’t personal. She wanted me gone because Dorran liked me, but that’s all I was to her: an inconvenience. Now she really, genuinely hates me because I ruined everything for her. Dorran knows she’s here now. He knows what she’s done. And she’s a woman who isn’t used to being crossed.
Clare backed up, matching Madeline’s pace as she stalked forward. Each step the older woman took made a soft clicking noise on the stone. Then, faster than Clare had thought she was capable of, Madeline darted forward. One bone-tipped leg shot out. Clare sidestepped and swung her poker, trying to break the appendage. She only managed to swipe it aside so that it missed her. Clare moved back, putting herself out of reach, but stumbled on her injured leg. Pain bloomed out from the cuts, and Clare swallowed a gasp. The makeshift bandage was saturated.
She risked a glance to the side. Dorran was trying to reach her, but every movement was foiled by the monsters surrounding him. Their bony arms wrapped around his, slack jaws chattered into his face, and talon-like claws dug into him. He lifted the shovel repeatedly, slamming into them, knocking them back, but there were too many. The creatures never stayed down for more than a second before rising again and rejoining the fray.
He was running out of energy. Clare tried not to think about what would happen when he was exhausted. Madeline claimed she had control over her maids and had instructed them not to kill her son. But as their bulging eyes fixed on Dorran’s exposed skin, Clare had the sense that their hunger was at risk of overcoming their loyalty.
Madeline circled Clare, her eyes unblinking. Her arms stayed at her side, but she repeatedly clenched her fingers into fists then relaxed them. That and the coldness in her eyes were the only visible signs of emotion.
“You’re out of choices.” Clare held the poker ahead of herself, wishing it shook less than it did. “Dorran won’t be coming back to you. But there’s still time to save yourself. Take your maids and leave us alone. You can start a new life without him.”
“Insolent. Ignorant.” The words hissed through clenched teeth. Madeline’s expression flashed dark. She darted forward, two of the legs stretched out to impale Clare.
Clare had anticipated the attack, but she didn’t try to escape it. Every step sapped her energy and caused fresh blood to trickle down her leg. She had to end the fight quickly. It was their only chance. She took a risk. Instead of trying to dart back, she stepped forward.
Madeline had been expecting a retreat. Her legs went wide of Clare’s new position and stabbed thin air. Moving forwards pushed Clare right into the woman’s personal space. Her eyes were level with the twitching claws extended from the matriarch’s stomach. They wiggled, agitated. Clare could hear Madeline exhale. See the sweat glistening on her neck. Smell the stench of breath tainted by rotten meat. She angled the fire poker towards the ceiling and stabbed up in the same instant Madeline lunged down.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Hot liquid drenched Clare’s arms. She squeezed her eyes closed, knowing she would either pass out or be sick if she had to look at what she’d just done. The fire poker twitched in her hands as Madeline convulsed. Then it was wrenched out of her grasp entirely as the woman lurched back.
Clare’s nose was full of the harsh metallic tang of blood. It coated her, sticking to her hair and face and dripping from her arms. Clare finally opened her eyes. Madeline stood a pace away. The metal pole impaled her head, running through the underside of her jaw and with the sharp tip poking out from her steel-grey hair.
The woman’s upper eyelids fluttered, and the sagging lower ones twitched. Clare let her arms slump. Madeline’s lips parted as though to speak, and Clare caught a glimpse of the black metal inside her mouth. Then the matriarch crumpled backwards.
A plume of dust billowed up around her when she fell. Her spindly insectile legs tangled over themselves. One gave a feeble twitch then fell still as the dust began to settle.
“Oh.” Clare couldn’t hold herself upright any longer. She dropped to her knees and retched. She was dizzy, and she couldn’t tell if it was caused by blood loss or shock.
Through the buzzing in her head, she was faintly aware of noises in the room. Scratching. Clattering. Her consciousness made a final bid for coherence.
Dorran is here. He needs help. You’ve got to get up. Don’t leave him to fight them alone.
She struggled a few inches off the ground then slumped back down. Everything was turning numb. She couldn’t see properly, but suddenly, she wasn’t alone. Hands caught her, and she heard Dorran speaking her name.
“Did she hurt you? Clare, my darling, I need you to talk to me. Where are you hurt?”
She blinked, and Dorran filled her vision. Tracks of sweat and blood ran through the grey dust coating his face. He held her, one hand on each of her shoulders, keeping her upright.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled. She squeezed her eyes closed as she waited for the nausea to fade. “You… you killed them?”
“Two of them. The others ran off when…” He glanced over his shoulder, towards his mother’s corpse, and when he returned his attention to Clare, his expression softened with mingled relief and sadness. “You were very brave, my darling. They ran when she fell. I think we are safe now.”
Clare nodded. Her eyes burned. Tears began to escape, and she was too tired to stop them. Dorran moved closer and circled one arm around her back so that she could rest against his shoulder. She knew she must smell awful, like blood, sweat, and the oily musk that permeated the basement. But he didn’t try to recoil. As he ran his hand over her hair and murmured soft words of comfort, Clare felt safe for the first time in a long while.
“I can take you somewhere more comfortable where we can clean up and rest. We can worry about this mess later.”
Clare looked from the fallen matriarch to the crushed bodies of the two dead creatures. She nodded sluggishly. Dorran kept one arm around her back and reached the other under her legs to lift her.
“I can walk,” she mumbled.
“I know. But this is easier.”
Clare’s eyes were already drooping. “You’re tired.”
She could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m never too tired to hold you. Rest now. I will take care of everything.”
Clare drifted into sleep. Her subconscious was vaguely aware of the bumps of ascending stairs, but whenever she stirred, Dorran rocked her and lulled her back under.
It was night when she woke properly. The
familiar bed and crackling flames told her she was back in the bedroom. Blankets were draped over her. She rolled over, moving gingerly as aches flared. A warm body lay at her side. Dorran watched her, his eyes half-lidded.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” He smiled, and featherlight fingertips brushed stray hair away from her forehead. He ran his fingers across her cheek in a caress then relaxed again, leaving the hand resting on the crisp sheets between them. Clare squirmed her own hand out from under the blankets and took Dorran’s. Their fingers wrapped together. It was a small touch, but it felt intimate and good.
She was clean, and she realised he must have undressed and washed her while she was asleep. Fresh bandages were wrapped across the bite marks and scrapes.
It was a sudden reminder of the first day she’d met Dorran. She’d woken in his bed, wearing nothing except her underwear and bandages. Back then, she’d been terrified of him. Now she couldn’t think of anyone she trusted more.
Outside, the storm raged, hurling sleet against the walls and rattling the windows, but Clare had never felt so comfortable.
“We’ll have to face the real world again soon,” she murmured.
He smiled, his thumb grazing over her fingers. “Unfortunately, my darling. But not just yet.”
“Do you think any of the hollow are left in the house?”
“It is possible. But I suspect most of them have fled. There are tracks in the snow outside leading towards the forest. With Madeline gone, perhaps Winterbourne is no longer a hospitable place for them. They may have realised food will be more easily found in the forest, where there are rabbits and rodents to hunt. They don’t seem interested in the greens in the garden.”
“Oh no—poor garden. We must have cooked it.”
