“I can’t trust you, darling. You’ve proven that.” He strode closer, so close she could see the runnels of sweat trickling from his temples. His lips widened into a vulpine grin. “But if I’m to be honest, that’s not the reason I’m going to kill you. No. I merely want the pleasure of watching you die. And I am more my father than you know.” He lunged toward her, his hands grazing her throat.
Now! Eliza roared and torqued her leg upward, her knee solidly connecting with his groin. He toppled backward, falling to the floor as he clutched himself and howled. She jumped over the chair and crouched, striking all three matches against the floor. The scent of sulfur blossomed as fire flared in her hands. Eliza threw the matches onto the chair, where the threadbare drapes and horsehair stuffing kindled immediately.
Malcolm’s eyes widened in panic at the sight of the flames. He gave an infuriated howl as he struggled to stand. The hem of his pajamas caught a tongue of flame, and fire raced up his leg. He thrashed and rolled on the floor, trying to put it out. To her horror, a shadow slowly emerged from the wall behind Malcolm. For a moment, she thought it was only smoke, until it took on the form of a man, looming and dark with anger. Her stomach turned, just as it had at the séance. Old Havenwood.
Eliza bounded toward the trapdoor, her knees quaking with fear. She jumped through, pulling it closed and buckling the hasp. Malcolm screamed over and over, his cries harrowing. She was a murderer. But she couldn’t dwell on that now. She had to save Gabriel. If she was lucky,she had perhaps ten minutes before the fire consumed the south wing and crossed into the north. Once the fire made it to the north wing, the gas lines would ignite. If that happened ...
Panic hurtled her onward, as she relied on memory and adrenaline to guide her steps through the dark corridor. Finally, she saw the slender cone of light leaking from Gabriel’s room. Eliza rushed through. He opened his eyes, shock flashing across his face. He’d been crying.
“Eliza! What are you doing?”
“We have to go. I’ve set the house on fire.”
“Oh my God.”
She worked at the rope, her fingers brittle and sharp as daggers. Still, the knots held fast. “Do you have anything? A knife, scissors?”
“Yes, there’s a hunting knife in my bureau, in the top drawer.”
Eliza rushed to the chest of drawers and flung the top one open. A bowie knife lay neatly on a stack of handkerchiefs. She knelt at Gabriel’s side and started sawing at the wiry hemp. The acrid smell of smoke curled through the door. They didn’t have much time.
Finally, she had one hand free, and then the other. Gabriel took the knife from her and sawed through the rope at his feet. Overhead, there was an earsplitting crash.
“Likely the floor to the room you set fire to,” Gabriel said, panting.
The room Malcolm had died in. She couldn’t ... no. No guilt. Not now.
Gabriel got shakily to his feet, swaying. “We can’t go back through the south wing. There’s another way out.”
“Save your breath and show me,” Eliza said. She grabbed the handkerchiefs from the drawer. “Put these over your nose and mouth.”
Eliza propped Gabriel’s arm over her shoulders, supporting his weight, and they went out. The passageway snarled with bouncing, hellish orange light. Above her head, black smoke choked the air like a funeral pall. Panic flared again in Eliza’s gut, momentarily paralyzingher and numbing her legs. She shook her head and covered her mouth and nose, taking shallow, spare breaths.
“We have to go to the right. There’s a service stair by the ... coal chute,” Gabriel said weakly.
They trudged forward. Gabriel’s height made the going even more difficult as the passageway narrowed, and he was growing heavier by the moment. Eliza’s eyes stung as the heat from the fire channeled down the corridor. Finally, a dim square of moonlight appeared through the tumbling smoke. It was the opening to the coal chute. Eliza moved toward it, and Gabriel pulled her to the left.
“No. The door ... is there.”
As they pushed forward, Eliza tripped, falling against the edge of a stone step. She pulled Gabriel up with her, his breath rattling in his chest. She put her hand out to feel in front of her. After five steps, there it was—dry wood splintering beneath her fingertips. The door.
“I’ll have to let go of you for a moment to find the latch,” Eliza said.
Gabriel didn’t answer. Instead, he went completely lax, his weight pulling Eliza down as he collapsed, his head hitting the stone step beneath them. No, no, no. Not now. Not when they were so close! Eliza found the latch and the door sprung free, snow blowing over the threshold. She grasped Gabriel beneath the arms and pulled. His great length dragged forward, one agonizing inch at a time.
There was another crash, then a low rumble vibrated through her feet. A sound as if a thousand cannons were being fired all at once blasted from above. The gas lines had ruptured. The house was going to collapse, and they were going to die here, buried beneath flaming rubble. The conflagration above roared in her ears, shaking the foundation of the house like an earthquake. Suddenly, a light as bright as a thousand suns careened down the basement corridor toward them with a deadly, searing heat.
Eliza saw her death coming and denied it.
She gave a Valkyrie’s scream and pulled with everything left in her.
They were free then, alive, tumbling onto the snow-covered ground. The cold air woke Gabriel from his stupor. He rolled onto his knees and coughed raggedly. Eliza helped him to his feet, and together they hurtled to the safety of the gravel service drive as another explosion rocked the ground. She eased Gabriel gently down, then turned to witness the hellish inferno that was now consuming Havenwood Manor. The hellshe’dwrought.
All three stories were fully engulfed, orange light bouncing off the skeletal trees, vivid against the indigo night. Smoke billowed heavenward, sparks flickering like fireworks as flames licked at the windowsills and roofline. It was a terrible kind of beauty.
A cacophony of ringing bells and clattering hooves broke through the low roar of the fire. The fire brigade burst through the main gates and rattled up the drive. A hodgepodge of volunteers made up of young men from the village hopped off the wagon and began priming the water pump.
“Man the line, men! Hurry, now. Aim for the roof and the foundation!” the fire chief barked. Lengths of hose uncoiled like serpents and water spurted forth, but it was far too late. With an agonizing groan, the house Eliza had once loved collapsed as if it were falling onto its knees in surrender, its new slate roof flinging smoldering embers through the air as its weight forced the brittle wooden frame to the earth.
