61

“ F lorence?” I blinked twice in the darkness as the lightning flashed through the heavy curtains in the bedroom.

Clay was still sound asleep beside me, but the sound of booming thunder had woken me from a dead sleep to find her missing from the space between us.

Her silhouette stood at the end of the bed and then, as quickly as the lightning had danced across the walls, she was gone, causing me to question whether I had actually seen her or not. I pulled myself from the bed. When we had first arrived it had been ratty and covered in cobwebs but, since the first night I had kissed Florence, rooms had been slowly changing, at first almost without my being fully aware, until the moment she had come undone in my arms in the bathing room.

The water around us had warmed and sparkled, the tiles no longer chipped, windows clear and clean that glimmered with the moonlight above us. As if the moment my heart became fully entangled with hers, the Manor revealed itself fully. I came back to myself as I tried to shake off the feeling that I was being watched and padded across the cold hardwood to the door. My toes curled against the cold wood, and then my fingers shot back in surprise from the ice on the door knob.

The Manor was freezing .

The windows glimmered when the lightning struck again, illuminating the frost that cloaked the furniture and the walls that I hadn’t noticed upon waking. My breath puffed out visibly before me and the hairs on the back of my neck raised. This wasn’t right, it was only mid August, how could it possibly be this cold?

Panic pulled tight like a rope about to snap across my chest.

Something was very wrong.

“Clay,” I barked, startling him from his sleep. “Get up.”

He stretched and yawned but felt around for his glasses on the table beside him. Slipping them over his slender face, he tried the light but it didn’t flicker on. He shrugged as the lightning flashed again across the room.

“It’s freezing in here,” he said, reaching for his clothes. Then he realized that Florence wasn’t in the bed with him. “Where did she go?”

I shrugged and pointed to the knob. “Feel this.”

I moved out of his way as he approached and grabbed a clean pair of sweatpants, pulling them over my boxers before slipping on my shoes and tugging my jumper over my head.

“That’s not good.” Clay pulled his hand back and rubbed them together to bring the warmth back to his skin. His brows furrowed together as his lips pressed into a tight line and, quietly, he surveyed the room.

“Take this,” he handed my gun to me from the dresser.

“I don’t want that.” I shook my head. “You take it. I’ll keep tight.”

“Hey.” Clay stopped me as I went for the door again. “What the hell is going on with you? You barely helped with the wendigo, now this? Since when are you gun shy?” He asked me, sliding into a jumper of his own.

“I’m not.” I swallowed tightly and looked down at it .

Florence was clouding my judgments. I could be stupid and reckless but I wasn’t that stupid and reckless. I could see the effect she was having on me. My every waking thought was about her. How could I make her smile? How could I hear her laugh? But the hesitation wasn’t due to the musings of a hopeless romantic, it was the cautious thoughts of a Hunter who had seen too much.

The faces of the children I couldn’t save flashed behind my eyes.

The children I had murdered.

I had also nearly gotten Wes killed. I was so busy being mad at him on her behalf that I had lost sight that he was the only family I had. He had almost died, and it was like a shock to my system.

I was dangerous.

The thought of taking that gun from Clay and potentially having to use it? It made me sick to my stomach.

Clay wasn’t going to drop the issue. I could see it in the way he stared at me, waiting for a better answer than ‘ I’m not .’ But it wasn’t something we had time to pause and work through. We had a bigger problem at hand.

“We should get Wes,” I said when Clay wouldn’t stop staring at me. “We don’t know what’s happening and he isn’t exactly mobile.”

He stared at me for a moment longer, debating whether or not that moment was the right time for a fight, and then nodded, biting his bottom lip in frustration and adjusting the gun in his palm, holding it at his side.

“Stay close,” he ordered me, and I listened.

He reached for the handle and jostled it, but it didn’t move .

“Fuck!” He hissed, his hand flying back and almost clocking me in the nose. I managed to jump back just in time. He spun on his heel and showed me his palm. The center was bright red, as though the flesh had been burnt.

“A burn?” I asked, confused. The knob had been cold to the touch a moment before.

“Frostbite, bad frostbite.” He winced as he shook out his hand. “The door is locked. Move back a step, we are going to have to kick it down.”

I did as he said and, seconds later, his foot connected with the handle. Nothing. He lined himself up again, angling more to the side, and kicked again with enough force that it should have shot the handle clear off, but again it did not budge. With an exasperated huff he motioned me to move further back, pulling the gun from his waistband and cocking it, leveling the gun almost point blank against the door where the lock chamber would be.

“Shite!” I fought the urge to flinch when the gun went off, loudly echoing around the room that seemed to be getting increasingly colder despite the summer storm that was raging outside. The lock blew apart, sending splinters flying through the air. Clay covered his hand with his jumper sleeve and wrenched the handle again, but the door remained stubbornly in place.

“The Manor is locking us in,” he said, frustration creasing his brow.

I scanned the room, looking for something that might help, when my eyes landed on the poker hanging with the set of other fire tools by the fireplace. I grabbed it and the base it hung from, shaking off the other tools that clanged heavily to the floor. Both were a good weight, made out of heavy wrought iron, and I tossed the poker to Clay with a shrug .

“Guess we are hacking our way out of here.”

It took more strength and endurance than I think either of us would have copped to, both letting out exhausted grunts as we finally ripped off the solid brass hinges of the door. The Manor must have been below freezing but we were at least warmed with the effort of our escape. I was getting more and more worried for Florence as each second passed.

Where was she?

What the hell was going on?

I followed Clay, chest to back, our steps in hushed unison as we moved down the hall, checking each room on the second floor for Florence before making it all the way to Wes’s room. Loud banging came from inside as we rounded the corner and approached.

I popped the door open for Clay and he entered, barrel first, to find Wes stumbling around, trying to pull on a shirt with one hand.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I swore and ducked behind Clay into the room.

“The candles are out and won't light no matter how hard I try.” Wes whipped his arm around, gun pointed at Clay, who just rolled his eyes and lowered his weapon.

“It’s storming outside.” I looped myself under Wes and helped him back into bed as he let out a sarcastic grumble, ‘ oh I didn't notice… .’

“Have you seen Florence?” I asked, getting him situated.

“Why would I have seen her?” Wes growled as I threw a blanket around him.

“ Her ?” The word came out a stutter. “That’s a new revelation.”

He ignored my comment and huffed. “I haven’t seen her. Why does that worry you? She hides all the time and after what I heard earlier… ”

Clay exhaled, his breath visible in a white puff mist, cutting off Wes’s thoughts. “Because it’s freezing.”

“So? It’s just the storm.” Wes shrugged, not catching on.

“In the middle of August? What? You get one injury and forget how to Hunt?” I scowled.

“It’s clearly not due to the storm,” Clay shouted over the crack of thunder overhead. It rattled the windows even harder this time. “We’re sitting in a fucking ghost house thats been climate controled for over a month, and the temperature dropped too rapidly for it to be natural.”

Something was playing with us.

“Did you check the kitchen? She’s always in there,” Wes suggested.

Clay looked at me “It's a start.”