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He stood in a rush; the flames danced indignantly with his movement. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re either lying or terrible at this!”
Her ears started ringing, and she pushed to her feet, hoping her nightdress shielded the shaking in her knees. “You can’t leave,” she managed. “We’re not finished, and you need to tell Christina you love her—”
“Christina is not here!” he roared. The turret seemed to shiver with the thunder of his words. “She never loved me, and I never loved—”
A sickening, guttural moan drummed through the floor, as if a monstrous beast had awoken from its slumber and was angry for being disturbed. The floorboards shuddered before yanking sideways. Bridget screamed, flung her arms wide as she stumbled, and Valebrook grasped her by the forearms. Candles toppled over, their flames guttering and spilling wax over the scattered papers and books. Only the tallest taper remained upright, casting its eerie glow over the crystal ball. It rattled within the circle of its silver base before plummeting over the side and rolling across the carpet. Bridget pulled away from Valebrook’s hold and grabbed for it, catching the orb just before it crashed into the stone wall.
All at once the vibrations ceased; the roar of her pulse in her ears echoed the roar of the sea far below them. The mysterious hand had vanished from inside the crystal ball, replaced by whirling black smoke.
Valebrook’s chest fell and rose with rapid breaths. “What was that?”
She shook her head, tight, stilted movements that did little to hide her fear. “I—I don’t know.” The realization scalded her skin like the wax had, sharp and biting before turning her numb. She should have expected this, that she would fail somehow. She’d always wanted something impossible.
“I think it’s safe to say,” he said, “things just got worse.”
The crystal clasped between her palms shattered.
CHAPTER 17
“This manor has a million doors,” Phineas called towards Bridget’s retreating figure. “They can’t all be locked.”
“They are,” she fired back. Her bitter words echoed off the stone walls of the main hall. “Every single one!” She punctuated her declaration with violent rapping of her fist against the glass door leading onto the terrace.
“Let me help you.” He hurried to catch up to her, guiding her backward. “I only just pulled the glass out of your hands,” he said, uncurling her hand. “You don’t need to put more into it.”
He wanted to crush her against his chest and hold her until her pulse slowed, until the fear driving her movements calmed. After the crystal ball exploded, he’d dragged her out of the turret and into the washroom so he could see her clearly, be certain she wasn’t harmed. Aside from a few minuscule slivers embedded in her palms, she was unharmed.
But he’d known how frightened she was by her utter lack of protest to his caring for her, the absence of biting remarks. He’d even teased her, offering to retrieve a wheel of cheese for the next ritual, but she remained silent, her unseeing gaze trapped somewhere in the distance.
Moments later, however, she’d rushed from his side to the main door, only to discover it locked tight. As was every other door.
He drifted his fingertips over her palm to ensure she hadn’t started bleeding again. To his surprise—and relief—she didn’t pull away, and he wasn’t in a hurry to let her go.
She exhaled harshly and shook her head. “One door could get stuck, but all of them? It makes no sense.”
“Do you think something locked us in here,” he asked, “like it did in the cellar?”
“I would suspect so.” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth and nibbled it. “But we should keep looking.”
“I don’t know why you’re in such a hurry to run from here. The bridge is washed out, it’s still raining, and you’re not wearing shoes.”
“Neither are you.” Her words lacked bite. Something had shifted between them, and he liked it. “I only want to check something outside.”
“What is that?” He brushed the tender skin of her wrist with his fingers. He wouldn’t admit that he’d been frightened in that turret, and the thought of losing her—
Well. He didn’t want to examine that thought too closely.
“The west wall.” She swallowed the tremble in her voice. “Directly below the turret. Mr. Keenan said it was unsound and might collapse—”
“Wait.” His fingers wrapped around her wrist and held her tight. “Are you saying you knew that side of the building might collapse, and had us up there anyway?”
She yanked her arm away, her green eyes flashing. “You’re the one who came to me.”
“Something led me to you,” he retorted, and immediately regretted it.
