Draccon considered him for a moment. Then she let out a curse and picked up her phone. “Send a security detail to Wayne Manor.”
—
By the time they reached the front gates to Bruce’s estate, the rain had stopped altogether.
The path leading up to the main gates was still empty—the security detail had yet to arrive. Immediately, Bruce felt like something was wrong.Off.
Detective Draccon slowed to a stop in front of the gates’ intercom and was about to speak into the glass surface when Bruce reached a hand out to stop her. “Wait,” he said. His eyes focused on the gates.
“Are your gates typically unlocked?” Draccon said, now seeing what had caught Bruce’s attention.
“No,” Bruce replied. In fact,never.Alfred did not have a habit of leaving gates unlocked, even if he was expecting Bruce to come home. But there was no denying that the gateswereopen right now—the two sides pulled so slightly apart that at first glance it seemed like they were still closed. There was just enough room between them for a single person to slip through.
Bruce felt a wave of uneasiness. The gates were supposed to sound an alarm if left ajar like this. But now they sat silent, disabled.
“Wait here,” Draccon said, her hand already on the hilt of hergun.
“But I—”
“Stay in the car, Bruce.That’s an order.” Draccon stepped out of the vehicle, drew her gun, and crept forward, her coat draped loosely across her shoulders. She slid through the subtle opening between the gates. Madeleine had warned him only an hour earlier. Had someone…? His attention turned to the mansion itself. None of the lights were on, leaving every window plunged in gloom.
A sickening feeling hit Bruce in the chest.Alfred.
Draccon had made her way to the front steps of the house now and was slowly heading up the stairs, her back turned to one side and her gun pointed down. She was muttering something into the radio clipped near her collar. Bruce looked in the rear window. Still no security detail yet. He looked back toward the house, where Draccon was shouting for someone to open the door. A wave of dread washed over Bruce as Draccon called out again, but Alfred still didn’t show up to let her in. A moment later, Bruce heard the door creak open as Draccon nudged it ajar.It was unlocked.
The details of the murders came back to him in a flash.Trapped within their own homes.The Nightwalkers were here, and theywantedhim to go inside.
Draccon’s tan coat had already disappeared behind the front pillars, and she had made her way into the house.
Bruce looked around in the car for anything he could use as a weapon but came away with nothing. If Madeleine was right about this—if they were here forhim—they’d come to find him out here soon enough.
Bruce narrowed his eyes.Let them come to me, then.It would distract them from hurting Alfred—if they hadn’t already done so. He opened the car door, stepped out, and closed it behind him with a quiet snap. Then he hurried through the gap in the gates.
The house sat eerily silent as he approached. Bruce crept forward, imitating the detective’s stance, keeping his back against the pillars and his gaze constantly moving. He inched inside the door to the parlor. The house greeted him with shadows. As he closed the door behind him, it made a soft click. He paused, his hand still on the knob, and then gave it a tug. A harder tug. The door refused to budge.
He was locked in with the killers.
Bruce could hear the roar of blood in his ears. Draccon was nowhere to be seen.
Dark streaks against one wall made him freeze in his tracks.Blood? Paint?He peered closer, unsure of what he was seeing—then leaned away hastily when he realized what it was. A symbol had been spray-painted on the wall, a crude shape of a coin consumed by flames.
The Nightwalkers were here, waiting for him.
Bruce’s nightmares came back to him, full force—walking down the dim corridors of his own home, running across Madeleine in the halls, being hunted.
No.He forced himself to close his eyes and steady his thinking. He had the advantage here—this washishouse, and he knew it like the back of his hand, could walk the grounds blindfolded if he had to.
The darkness was his ally, not his enemy.
Bruce moved forward with soft steps, aiming for the kitchen. He needed a weapon.
From somewhere in the house came the sound of footsteps. They were not Alfred’s familiar tread. The hairs rose on the back of Bruce’s neck. He kept going. The white drapes over the dining and living room furniture looked ghostly in the darkness; the door to his study was thrown wide open. His eyes locked, as always, on the unused grandfather clock in there. And as he stared—he saw a silhouette pass before it.
His heart froze.
Standing still would mean death. He swiftly crossed the hallway into the kitchen, illuminated dimly by light from the window over the sink. Next to that window, he saw the row of knives displayed over the large wooden cutting board, magnetically locked onto a metal bar.
Footsteps out in the main foyer.If it was Draccon out there, she could easily shoot Bruce by mistake if he wasn’t careful. He needed to hide. Bruce grabbed one of the knives from the metal bar, clutched it tight in his fist, and then felt his way through the shadows toward a large, empty cabinet that had once contained a wine fridge.
