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They’d started walking to the house, two hounds straining on leashes, and Mason had booked it to the basement where he’d holed up behind the secret wall, listening as they searched the house, and then hearing their footsteps move toward the front door and spill out into the forest. Whatever item they’d given the dogs to trace, it hadn’t been his. Apparently, they had other priorities, namely Camden and Scarlett who the dogs must have tracked to the forest. But that wouldn’t be the case for long. They’d come for him next. And Georgia. He was certain they had the roads blocked off. Just like Camden had said, there would be no leaving Farrow.
If they could manage it somehow, there’d be no entering Farrow, either.
He’d risked calling Georgia once he’d heard the door of Lilith House slam, but it went straight to voicemail again. He’d turned his off too and stuck it in his pocket, lest his phone give him away by lighting up.
Mason itched to move, to come out of hiding and search for Georgia, perhaps leave the house and make his way to the edge of the road, wait for her car. Would they have posted someone on the road? Either at the turnoff from town or at the beginning of the long driveway that led to Lilith House? Both?
As he sat there, Mason ran through escape scenarios, all his possibilities, trying to figure out the safest thing to do. There was only the smallest modicum of light in the hidden space, only enough to see the outline of his own legs, and the box that sat next to him, the one Camden had shoved in Mason’s hands. A gun. Use this if you need to.
Mason opened the box, removing the weapon, and then pushing the portion of wall aside. He climbed out of his hiding spot as quietly as he could. Would they have left someone behind to guard the house in case anyone tried to return? Likely. Maybe that person was outside, walking the perimeter? Or maybe they were stationed in the foyer, sitting as quietly as a mouse.
Mason crept through the basement, climbing the stairs noiselessly, toward the slip of light below the door. He remembered each place to step to avoid the creaky boards, just as he and Cam had done so many times in their youth for one reason or another, just as he and Georgia had done the night they broke in and tried to scare Scarlett from the crawlspaces in the walls. He couldn’t use those crawlspaces now. Camden had nailed them shut, and even if Mason tore the boards away, the nail holes and damage would expose the once-hidden entries.
With utmost caution, Mason opened the upper door, slipping into the hallway and using the back stairs to climb to the second floor, stopping every few minutes to listen to the sounds around him. He heard a series of strange squeaks and they caused him pause, but Lilith House was undergoing several structural changes, ones he’d overseen himself. Her sounds might be slightly different now than when he’d lived there, but he had no way of knowing for sure. He entered a dark second-floor bedroom at the front and went to the window, sticking the gun in his waistband, moving the heavy, moth-eaten curtain aside, and peering out.
The darkened woods spread out around him, but from this higher vantage point, he could see the dim faraway glow of the spotlights they must be using, moving slowly forward.
He stared up at a particularly bright star and took a moment to make a silent wish for Camden and Scarlett and those two young girls, out there being hunted like animals right that very moment.
He saw movement below and moved quickly, stepping to the side of the window just enough that his body was hidden, but he could still see below. A man walked by, he couldn’t tell who it was from this angle, but he saw the rifle in his hands.
He had to do something. He had to intercept Georgia if she was on her way. Mason turned, exiting the room and walking quietly down the hall until he got to the railing overlooking the foyer, gas lanterns burning brightly. He leaned forward. Empty. He let out a long, silent breath. How long would it take him to make it through the backwoods to the main road? Thirty minutes? Mason began to turn toward the back stairs when movement to his left caused him to whirl around.
Clarence Dreschel, the head of the guild, and the man who’d been Georgia’s guardian, stood in the doorway of a bedroom across the open space, his cane in one hand, a gun held in the other. A delighted smile stretched across his angular face. “Hello there.”
Mason stared, his hand itching to move toward his waistband where he’d stuck the gun.
