63

I t was another few days before the storm stopped.

Florence slept the whole time.

The term sleep, however, was generous.

Koen didn’t leave her side as she continued to stare into space and mumble about belonging to the house. Every so often she would cough or flinch and we thought she might be coming-to, but it was more like an involuntary bodily response instead of waking from her state.

The Manor was going berserk. Though the temperature eventually went back to a livable degree, the sconces and candles that usually remained eerily lit continued to blow out and leave us in darkness, fumbling about for hours at a time.

Items moved unprovoked, many times whipping themselves across the room and making direct contact with one of our bodies, leaving large and painful bruises. Doors slammed and locked, making it impossible to move around easily to investigate. We had been forced to remove the doors entirely from the bedrooms we inhabited, though we spent most of the time in shifts with Florence, and in the library. Just that morning, while I had been attempting to prepare tea on the range, the fire surged white hot and shattered the kettle into shards that flew out over the kitchen, slicing open both my hand, and my cheek .

Koen had been experiencing similar events. Finally motivated into sorting through the maps I had drawn, he set up shop in the sitting room. He had been minding his own business when all the windows bowed and shattered around him simultaneously. Glass had embedded into his face, arms and neck. It had taken Wes and I over an hour of tweezing to remove them all.

We needed out. Even more, we needed a way out that would involve bringing Florence with us.

“Did you find anything?” Wes limped into the library and slumped down against one of the tables in a red tartan and a pair of worn jeans. He had started to look better and move around more easily, which was promising, since I believed we were all starting to feel like we were preparing for a fight. Given all the research I had been doing, we might be in for exactly that.

“There’s no real death certificate for the old lady that lived in the Manor before Florence,” I explained, showing him a book with my notes. He looked down at them, entertaining me without reading anything, and waited for me to verbally explain what I found.

“But if her timeline is right, and my math, Agatha Warren died in this house one hundred and seventy-two years ago tomorrow.”

“So Florence is throwing a hissy fit to what?” He paused. “Celebrate the old lady's death?” The candles in the library surged, the flames licking impossibly high from the wick in response to his joke.

“It’s not her doing this Wes,” I sighed. “I can feel it. I need her to wake up, I need to ask her what the hell she knows that she’s hidden. There was a letter mentioned, from the late Mrs. Warren, but I haven’t been able to find it in any of the journals written by Florence.” I ran my hands through my hair, frustrated. “I really don’t think its her. It’s this fucking place, Wes. It’s acting out, it protects her and punishes her in the same breath. It makes no sense. There doesn’t seem to be any rules. It certainly seems to be pissed with us…”

As if in punctuation, an entire top shelf of books plummeted down on top of us.

“Fuck!” Wes swore, rubbing a freshly forming goose egg on his temple. I could see the frustration seeping from him. “Listen, I know you’re attached to this, deeper now than before,” he paused, “and I get it, I do–but it seems like the more you search, the more reasons you find that point to her being the culprit for all of the supernatural bullshit happening around us. Koen almost froze to death pulling her from that pool and we don't even know why the hell she was in there. How do we know she wasn’t the thing that killed the widow?”

I couldn’t argue that. I wish I could. My heart tore at the logical parts of my brain with razor-sharp claws, blurring the lines of reasoning and blind faith. It made me sick to my stomach.

I shuffled through the pages on the table in front of me, and caught a glimpse of his face. It was scrunched up in disgust as he looked around the library, and reached out to lift one of the books I’d been reading between two fingers, like it was a piece of rubbish.

I scoffed. “What’s with the face?”

His eyes met mine and his eyebrow cocked. “I just don’t understand how you can spend so much time in here. This place is a mess and it reeks of mold,” he said, waving his hand in front of his nose for effect.

I take a deep inhale through my nose but the library smells the same as the first day Florence had revealed it to me; like leather bound pages and oil lamps and something sweet- her. I stared at him confused. “I know I tend to work messily,” I said motioning, to the papers and books piled in heaps on the table. “But this place is stunning, all other things considered. What do you mean it’s disgusting?”

“What do I mean? What do you mean? This whole place is a condemned hole, this room is especially dank and dusty,” he insisted, waving his hands about as if to display his point. It clicked then for me.

Wes couldn’t see the Manor at all. Koen and I had remarked to each other briefly about the small changes we had begun to notice since being here; the brightening of the wallpaper, the temperature of the space, the furniture seeming to revert to its original luxuriousness. It was as if the Manor were opening up to us, allowing us to see what Florence saw. It was remarkable and stunning, just like the woman who inhabited it.

I cringed as another row of books flew from the bookshelves, pulling me from my thoughts as they crashed to the floor.

“What the fuck is that?” Wes looked around one of the walls at the commotion.

“It’s the latest of the unnecessary bullshit!” I yelled at the Manor. “I took a shelf to the face yesterday.” I pointed to bruises along my cheek and jaw. “At least I know it’s pissed off at you too…” I sighed and pointed to the forming bruise on his face.

Wes limped toward the shelves to inspect them. He opened his mouth to speak when Koen burst into the library out of breath.

“She’s awake.”

Wes stopped me as I started after Koen from the library. He stared at me for a long time, a weary concern in his eyes. “Before you do something stupid,” he said firmly, “like fall in love with her. Think about how this all ends. Is she worth it?”

I ground my teeth together, meeting his glare with my own.

“Every person we save is worth it,” I said.

“You know what I meant,” he responded, blocking my exit. “It’s hard enough keeping the reins on Koen. Don’t make it worse.”

“Whatever, Wes.” I shoved past him and followed Koen down the hall to the room we had set her up in. The last time I was with her she was so peaceful. Her mumbling had quieted and she was finally at an average temperature but I missed her voice. I missed her eyes.

She stared at the three of us flooding the doorway.

“Why are you all staring at me like that,” she asked, looking down at herself. “And what am I wearing?”

Wes cleared his throat. “We’re staring because you’ve been a zombie for three days and that’s…mine.”

Her cheeks flushed but she closed her eyes and curled her legs to her chest. “What day is it?” She asked, then paused, her nose scrunching up in the way that I adored. “And what is a zombie?”

“If I’m correct, it’s the day before the anniversary of Agatha’s death,” I said. Koen turned his head to look at me in shock. “Does this happen often, Florence?” I asked her and made my way into the room.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, I waited for her to collect herself enough to answer me.

She looked up from the blankets with a mixture of fear and sadness and… knowing in her eyes that hurt me more than I had expected…She had known this was coming .

“It’s not your fault, but I need help,” I said, moving closer to her. “I’m at a dead end with my research and you know more about this place than anyone. I need you to explain what you know so I can put together the puzzle pieces.”

“Not now,” she said, speaking only to me. “You really all need to leave,” she said tightly. “I’ve made a mess of everything. I wanted to protect you all, but I couldn’t help but–” She paused, her green eyes seeming to grow deeper as they welled with tears. “–but crave your companionship.” A tear escaped and she wiped it hastily from her cheek, looking away from us. “The Manor has never let anyone in, in all these years. I knew whatever reason it had for allowing you all in–it could not have been for anything good. I–I can’t protect you from…”

Florence looked at the other two, her jaw tight and her expression hollow.

Her fingers picked at the fabric that covered her knees and, when I reached out to her, she pulled back from my touch. My heart wilted at the action.

“Mr. Dunn,” she whispered. The shift was obvious when she called me that.

“Tell us what’s happening so we can help,” I pressed. “What did Agatha’s letter say?”

“There is nothing you can do!” She snapped. “The house is only going to get…” She looked around her wildly. The curtains began to blow as if pushed by a breeze that was not there and the fire surged, crackling loudly in the fireplace. She shot up from the bed, the hem of Wes’ shirt falling around her bare thighs. “If you do truly care for me then please do this one thing for me; leave this place before things get worse.”

“What do you mean, get worse?” Wes asked, blocking her exit from the room with his hand in front of him. Koen was just itching to get between them as his fingers twitched against his side.

“This is just the beginning,” she whispered, but it wasn’t her. Her voice was low and there was no hint of the honey that usually dripped from her. It was cold .

“Cryptic,” Koen sighed and moved around Wes to stand beside the bed. “Let us protect you. It’s what we’re good at.”

Florence looked at the three of us and I could see the overwhelming look in her eyes that screamed that she had already begun to feel more and more like a caged animal again and less like a woman.

“I’m not the one who needs protection,” she spoke slowly. “I’m not the one in real danger.”

Wes chuckled. “What did I tell you?” He looked directly at me.

“I hope you fall from your high horse and break your neck,” I snapped at him, pissed off and frustrated that Florence was giving us nothing to go on.

“You aren’t making any sense,” Koen said, gracefully ignoring the two of us. He stepped forward but Florence moved back from him and avoided his touch. “You kept whispering that you belonged to the house when you were out of it. What does that mean?” He asked.

She stared at him for a long time, no doubt weighing her options. but her eyes flickered upward as if she could hear something we couldn’t before she returned to focus. “It means that I still have no control here, that none of us are safe, and that you all need to leave.”

“We aren’t going anywhere,” Koen fought back, but it was useless.

Florence had already made up her mind .

“You don't get to shut down.” Wes stepped forward. “Not after everything we’ve been through these last few months. You’re the reason we’re still in this stupid fucking haunted house and you’re going to start talking to Clay and explaining what this all means before I start to do things my way.”

"And pray tell, Wesley, what is your way?" She bit, green eyes sharp and cold as she peered up at him with fury on her round face.

"I will carve the answers out of you." He dropped his gaze and lowered his tone into the scary, authoritative area he reserved only for people that pissed him off. “Debt or not, your life is not worth more than my family.”

“You have no idea what you’re getting into.” She shook her head and looked at me for a moment that stretched longer than I was comfortable with. “I don’t know how to keep you all safe.” Her voice was strained but the threat from Wes seemed to rattle her willingness to participate loose.

“Information,” I told her. “That's a good start. What are you keeping from us?”

“Nothing that I haven’t already told you, Mr. Dunn.”

“You’re lying to us.” Wes stared her down.

Her big, terrified green eyes flickered back and forth over the three of us. Her tongue darted out of her lips nervously as she tried to determine whether to talk more or run. I could see the urge to rabbit written all over her face, but Wes did too, and he stepped his massive shoulders back into the doorway as if on cue.

She sighed, grinding her teeth together as we waited patiently for the answer.

“I warned you—” She clenched her jaw, fighting frustrated tears. “The house is alive .”