“What?” I ask.
He leans in so close I can smell the alcohol lingering on his shirt. Gin, now mixed with blood.
“You,” he says, “hurt, in need of rescue.”
I laugh weakly. “I am hardly in need of rescue.”
Ransom opens his mouth to say something, but Bram is back in the room, holding a sloshing bottle in his hands. He kneels beside us, blinks twice at the cravat, the hint of black stitches in my skin, blood already leaking through the fabric.
“You did this?” he asks.
“I’m more than a fancy lord in a silk coat,” Ransom replies.
Bram raises an eyebrow and opens the bottle. The scent of heady wine floods the air. “Well, we should still disinfect the wound. Just in case.”
“With what?” Ransom snaps. “Dead man’s wine?”
Bram bends down, shoving Ransom out of the way. “Communion wine is about as clean as it comes around here.” He takes a swig, and the ghost of liquid travels down his throat. Bram catches my eyes, his own blazing. “This is probably going to hurt.”
I reach for the hymnal but then let it rest. The pain, I can take. It reminds me I am alive. I pull my skirts higher and grit my teeth. “Do it.”
Coolness rushes against my wound, then the stinging bite of alcohol against open flesh. I fist my hands and sink teeth into my lip until I taste pennies.
Beside me, Rascal groans. I shift uncomfortably when Bram pulls the bottle away and dabs at the running wine with the corner of his sleeve.
“How long will it take to heal?”
He shrugs. “Like I said, wounds work funny here. Could be a few hours or a few days. The good news is, the leech is out. You should heal right as rain.”
I open my mouth to ask if there is even rain here, in this wood between life and death, and how am I supposed to rescue my mother if I can’t even walk? But I shut my mouth.
Bram stands, and Rascal lifts his head, red eyes glowing at all three of us.
“Strange travel companion, a hellhound.” Ransom glowers at the dog, arms folded.
I look at Rascal and ruffle his ears. He yelps in delight and throws his weight against my ribcage, earning a laugh.
“I think he’s sweet.”
“They tend to wander the wood. I was terrified of them at first, but when this guy came along—” Bram bends down and scrubs his fingers along Rascal’s crown, sending the hellhound’s tail beating on the pew. “Well, I guess I couldn’t say no to that face. Plus, he’s good at knowing when there are Haunts around. Keeps a sharp eye out.”
Ransom harrumphs.
Bram straightens, the bottle sloshing in his grasp. “The Haunts should be gone by now, but we should stay here in the church a little longer. Holy ground and all that. Fancy taking first watch of the night?”
Ransom wrinkles his nose and straightens his jacket. “I hardly think—”
“I think the one who ran the fastest without looking back should be the one to take first watch.” Bram’s words are edged steel, and they cut across Ransom’s face, bleeding anger.
“Fine,” he says. “Where should I go for said watch?”
Bram points behind us, toward the doors. “Sit with your back against those, and if the Haunts come knocking, you’ll feel it. I’ll take Adelaide back to the vestry and relieve you in a few hours.” He shoves the half-spent bottle of wine into Ransom’s arms. “You seem like the kind of chap who’d need the stronger stuff.”
Ransom glares and then wilts beneath Bram’s words, reaching for the bottle. “Fine,” he says. “But I get the hound.”
Rascal whimpers and draws closer to me while I pet the curled fur at his neck.
“Go with Ransom, Rascal.” I gently nudge the hound with my foot. “He promises he won’t turn you into a coat.”
