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My hands shook like they belonged to some other body. I tried to reassure myself that his threats were hollow. Father’s body would be too decomposed to reanimate, and yet the fear of it, unreasonable as it was, left me so terrified I could hardly find my voice.
“Turn them over and I’ll leave peacefully,” he said. “Don’t, and my men will kill every living thing on the property and tear through the manor until we find the journals ourselves. You’re ruthless, Miss Moreau, and so am I. Don’t test me.”
The tension crackled in the air. From the stone gates behind Radcliffe’s men, Balthazar and Montgomery peeked out with their rifles at the ready. Overhead, the servants would be poised to fire. I knew McKenna would be damned before she let the likes of Radcliffe seize the manor that gave them all sanctuary.
It would be a bloodbath—but sometimes blood was the price to pay.
I took a deep breath to give the order to fire. Just before I spoke, movement at the southern tower caught my gaze. A figure was climbing down the electric wire Jack Serra’s men had lowered. Edward. I’d never seen him move so fast, even when he’d been the Beast.
I dared a glance back at Radcliffe; he hadn’t noticed. A terrible moment of indecision overcame me. Did I let Edward risk it? Or did I give the order to fire?
The windmill spun faster and faster.
A low hum began, and the hair on the back of my neck started to rise. I jerked my head toward the tower window, where I could just make out Jack with his hand on the electrical switch. I couldn’t have stopped him now, even if I’d wanted to.
He flipped the switch, and sparks rained down the southern tower.
I screamed. The horses went wild, pawing at the gravel as their riders fought to regain control. Among all the chaos, Edward threw himself to his knees into the deepest end of the courtyard, and plunged the live wire deep into the water.
With a terrible crackle and burst of smoke, the electricity spread.
I threw my hands over my ears; men cried out, horses screamed. Not even the rain could clear the air of the smell of burned flesh. When I dared to open my eyes, half of Radcliffe’s men were dead, the other half disoriented and dying.
Montgomery and Balthazar still hid in the lee of the stone gate, on pillars that kept them dry and safe.
Edward, however, lay facedown in the water.
He wasn’t moving.
“EDWARD!”
I started toward his body, but jerked back as a bullet hit the gravel inches from my foot. It came from Radcliffe. Atop his horse, on the highest ground near the front steps, he hadn’t been electrocuted. Through the rain, he aimed his pistol at me again with unwavering determination. I fumbled for the pistol I’d strapped to my leg, but my skirts were soaked and heavy, and I collapsed back onto the wet gravel. He spurred his horse closer.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Montgomery running from his hidden post, rifle aimed at Radcliffe, but I knew he wouldn’t make it in time. I stared into the barrel of Radcliffe’s gun and saw my future there. Blackness. Death. There’d be no one to bring me back.
A volley of gunshots rang out overhead as the servants took aim. With a grunt of pain, Radcliffe clutched his thigh where a bullet had gone clean through. McKenna grinned down at me from the window before reloading. Beside her, Lily and Moira and Carlyle were all raining down bullets on Radcliffe’s few remaining men.
I stumbled to my feet, scrambling over the slick gravel onto the stone steps, and took shelter from the gunfire behind a statue of a lion. My pulse raced as bullets flew around me. One clipped the stairs by my foot. Another chipped the lion’s ear. The wooden entrance to the manor was only a few feet away, but I couldn’t make it. I’d be exposed for too long.
Carefully, I peeked over the lion statue. As best I could tell, only four of Radcliffe’s men had been on high enough ground to survive the electrocution. They’d taken shelter behind the bodies of their comrades’ dead horses. Montgomery and Balthazar both crouched by the gate, taking careful aim, narrowly avoiding being shot themselves.
I crawled to the other side of the statue to look for Edward’s body. I prayed that he’d awoken and managed to crawl away, yet my heart sunk. He still lay facedown in the puddle. Blood trailed in the water from where an errant bullet must have hit him. I bit my lip, willing him to move.
“Get up,” I urged. “Prove that you can’t be killed that easily.”
But he didn’t. One of Radcliffe’s officers caught sight of me and started racing up the steps, knife in one hand.
“Blast.” I tore at my skirt to get my pistol out. Finally my fingers found the cold, sturdy handle, and I pulled it free of its holster. I aimed, but panic made my hands tremble, and I missed the man by a few feet. I scrambled to reload but the gun slipped from my wet fingers and tumbled down the stairs.
I lunged after it. I was exposed, an easy target, but I had to get that pistol. The officer had his knife at the ready. Another few feet and he’d be on me.
A blur came from the rain, a flash of white shirt and brown wide-brimmed hat that tackled the officer to the ground.
Montgomery.
I grabbed my pistol and aimed it at the pair scrapping in the gravel, but I didn’t dare shoot for fear of hitting Montgomery by accident. Across the courtyard, Radcliffe’s head whirled at my call. A pistol gleamed in his hand as he aimed at the pair, not caring if he accidentally shot his own man.
He fired.
I cried out at the sound. Montgomery jerked upright, tossing the wet hair out of his eyes. For a terrible instant I thought he’d been shot and my heart missed a beat. But then the other man slumped to the ground, blood pouring out of a shot in his back. I let out a ragged cry.
Montgomery hadn’t been shot.
My relief was short-lived. Radcliffe took advantage of the chaos to grab the back of Montgomery’s shirt and press the pistol against his temple.
“Give the order for your men to cease fire, Miss Moreau.” He jerked his chin toward the upper windows. “Or I’ll shoot him in the head right now.”
“Stop!” I called without hesitation. “McKenna, Carlyle, hold your fire!”
One more errant bullet went off, and then there was silence. Smoke cleared as gunpowder settled, the night air thick with the smell of blood and sulfur and the moans of a few dying men.
“You two,” Radcliffe said, nodding to a few of his mercenaries. “Keep your pistols trained on this man. If he moves, shoot him.”
Blood pooled from a nick on Montgomery’s arm. His blue eyes met mine.
