Nigel looked around. There was Oscar and Chris, Tina and Dr. Lawson, all of them battered but on their feet. But there was no sign of Montague.
“What the hell?” Dr. Lawson asked. “Patricia? Where the fuck are you?”
Oscar’s face paled. “I think…I think he took her.”
Was that even possible? Why was he even bothering to wonder, since clearly she wasn’t here, and Nigel didn’t think she could move that fast on her own?
“She was trying to help cover up his crimes, though,” Tina said.
“At least some of his friends on the boat surely wanted to keep everything hidden.” Oscar’s expression was grim. “That didn’t stop him from killing them.”
Ethan clutched his flashlight. “You—you have to save her!”
Dr. Lawson let out a hollow laugh. “Why? She’s the one who wanted to let Ullman out of the box. Let her reap what she’s sown.”
“Can you live with that?” Oscar asked.
Lawson’s anger visibly foundered. “I…no. God damn her.”
Nigel went to where the Faraday tent lay propped against a wall. “The tower is the safest place to hide from the storm—it’s made out of stone, even if it does have a few windows. Ethan, go to the room on this floor. It was used for storage, like its counterpart on the third floor, but there’s just renovation supplies in this one. Throw out anything you need to make room, set up the Faraday tent so Ullman can’t get to you, and hunker down.”
“I will.” He took the mesh tent from Nigel. “Thank you. I-I’m story I took the ledger and the tape.”
Dr. Lawson gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Patricia’s a persuasive woman. Now get to cover, while we try to save her from her own bad decisions.”
CHAPTER
FIFTY-FIVE
Nigel’s pulse thudded in his throat as they climbed the stairs toward the seance room.
The tower might be stone, but the stairs to get to the third floor landing were part of the main house. The shutters were long gone, and some of the windows had cracked under the onslaught of wind and debris. Rain poured in through gaps, forming puddles beneath them. The storm should have blotted out all light, but a red beam reached out from the tower above, painting the world in shades of blood.
Impossibly, the lantern was lit.
They’d just left behind the third floor and started up the steps to the seance room when a paler glow joined the scarlet.
Though they were encased in stonework now, the narrow windows were still glass, and had broken out entirely. Shards glittered in their flashlight beams and reflected back the radiance seeping in from outside. Nigel hurried to the closest window and peered out. Rain lashed his skin, cold as ice and almost as hard. The sound of the ocean was nearly deafening as the surf pounded against the island, a roaring animal seeking to devour them all.
A flaming ship rode the waves.
It was an old-fashioned yacht, its sails turned to sheets of fire, the wooden deck ablaze. Small figures stood along the rail, staring inland, their hair and bodies burning ferociously.
“It looks like everyone’s joining the party,” Lawson said. She was breathing heavily from the climb, but Nigel kept his worry to himself, knowing she’d refuse to turn back now. No matter what it might cost her.
“There’s nothing we can do about them, unless they’re able to come ashore.” Oscar started up the last bend in the stairs before the seance room. “Let’s keep going.”
The door was shut, and the scarlet paint on it looked wet and fresh. As Oscar reached to push it open, the snarling wolf’s head on the knocker snapped at him.
“Fuck!” He snatched his fingers back.
Nigel grabbed the baggie of salt out of his pocket and threw the contents at the door. A growl seemed to come from the knocker—then it was still and silent. The paint was dry and mottled with age once again.
Oscar opened the door, much more cautiously this time. Inside, all the windows were blown out, but no shards littered the floor—the force that had destroyed them had come from inside the building. The boards over the broken window were cracked in the middle, as if at a terrible blow, but held for now.
The table lay on its side, one leg broken, the chairs smashed into kindling. At the top of the narrow ladder to the light, the trap door was pinned open, and cold air flooded down from it along with the lantern’s crimson glow.
“They’re up there,” Oscar said, looking to the trap door. “The rest of you wait on the stairway where it’s safe. Safer, anyway.”
