86

A feeling I had never felt from the Manor pulsed through me. A manic delight, that almost felt as though it bubbled up from my toes and released in a laugh. I put a hand to my mouth to cover the laughter, it felt hateful and violent and sounded nothing like me. It made a chill run through me.

The shutters slapped against the windows as a wild wind kicked up outside. All the candles sparked and lit up around me, bathing the room in glittering orange light. The Manor was excited. I could feel everything it felt, after so long of it forcing its way into my mind- this was the first time it occurred to me that I could use it to my advantage. It was excited about something, it felt like, anticipation. I froze, knowing that whatever was causing the Manor to have such a reaction could not be good.

Something was wrong.

If they thought I was going to stay put, they were foolish.

Something they could argue over later, after I saved them.

Tired.

I stopped, my fingers sinking into the bed as the Manor rustled around me. Its will so heavy in my mind, I could feel the pain of carrying it in the base of my skull. I closed my eyes and attempted to steady myself. I needed to push the Manor back but I could feel the weight in my eyes, forcing them to blink sluggishly with sleep. It was pulling me down, I felt like I was sinking in a pool of my own exhaustion.

You are exhausted.

But it wasn’t just the Manor’s voice, it was also my own. Wound together so tightly it seemed almost impossible to untwist. The window panes slammed victoriously as I leaned back into the bed and allowed my eyes to drift closed, – No. I stood back up, a chill settling in my bones and I shook my head. Trying to force it to clear.

They needed my help.

No they don’t.

They did, just for what …

My mind spun and confusion ripped through me and tore my thoughts into fragments, allowing the Manor’s suggestions to slip in and take root. I tried to remain focused, I had been going somewhere. There was something important that I needed to do. The wardrobe door opened and pulled my attention. I needed to go downstairs… so I should change … I needed clothes.

The fire crackled like an explosion to my left, a warning. My eyes focused on the flames, digging out clothes from the wardrobe without a thought. My hands pulled out a chemise and a corset, petticoats and the over skirts of a dress I had worn so often before. I reached for the matching blouse and the movement was halted and uncoordinated, my heart and body sparring with the hold the Manor had on my mind.

Mine.

It took issue with any new experience the men had brought me. I could feel the tight grip of its possessiveness with each touch, each kiss, every gift. The Manor wanted to be the only one to provide for me. It had never liked the clothing they had given me. It did not like change. It wanted everything to be the same as it always was, including me. I could feel its pleased vibrations pulse through me, praising my decision. I hated that I had once found comfort in the warmth that now filled my body.

Mine

It was different now. Not the way it overcame me, but my understanding of it. I could see it more clearly now than I ever had before. The sentiment had plunged into me like a knife and twisted. There was no shred of warmth, no consideration, not even the false overwhelming sensation of calm that it so often pushed through me. The Manor was charged with darkness like it had been that day with Agatha. Suffocating and sinister.

The next voice I hear is my own.

“You can’t have them.”

All of the furniture in the room upended, tossed through the air and smashing against the floors and walls.

“You can’t have them!” I said it louder, finding myself long enough to grip the knife from the table beside the wardrobe in my hand. I made my way down the stairs to the foyer, listening for them but hearing nothing, not even the Manor. It had gone silent. Fear took hold and panic muddled my movements.

Goosebumps raised along my arms and I looked over my shoulder to the left, being drawn to the cellar. I started for the door when I paused, as Clay and Wesley walked out from the parlor in the middle of a conversation.

Wesley and his beautiful hazel eyes, Clay with his intelligent and intense stare.

I gripped the staircase with one hand and hobbled down the rest of the stairs toward them. My body was so sore that it begged for relief but I couldn’t just sit down and let this battle be fought for me. I was the reason they were still here, the reason they were still in danger.

“What are you doing?” Wesley barked the second he saw me, the muscles in his neck straining.

“Something’s wrong,” I swallowed. “You need to get out.” Laughter echoed in my ears and, for a moment I thought it was coming from them, but when I blinked they were still watching me with concern.

“Florence it’s all locked…” Clay reminded me, his stormy gray-blue eyes followed my movements as I stepped into the magnetized pull of the cellar door.

“No you have to go, find a way out.” I could feel the Manor refocusing all its efforts on me, the chorus of abhorrent requests and horrifying suggestions of what it could do, would do , and what it could force me to do to these men I cared so deeply for.

“You have to—you have—” I shook my head violently like a dog trying to rid itself of a buzzing fly. My mind flickered between reality and what the Manor wanted me to believe. I couldn’t tell them apart—”

“There are no options, Vengeful. The only way out is through,” Wes said.

I rolled the knife in my hand, unsure how to find the strength to use it if needed.

Finally.

No . I would never use it on them.

“You aren’t well, Florence.” Clay stepped forward, extending his hand to me, but I couldn’t take it .

It was touching him, feeling his warmth that would be my downfall.

“I’m perfectly fine.” I stepped away. “It’s you—we need—I need you all—to leave.” My head was throbbing at the sheer force of the Manor’s foul will. It blurred the edges of my vision, tinting everything in the red hot loathing that it surged through me.

“You don’t mean that, Florence,” Wesley said, and my eyes snapped at him.

“Be quiet, Wesley,” I growled, rage bubbling beneath the surface. The closer Clay got to me, the more I felt like a trapped animal. The handle of the knife bit into my skin. I gripped it so tightly. “You know I’m right,” I said to him. “We’ve always agreed on that, if nothing else. You're leaving.”

“We can’t get out. So tell me what you want, you , not the monster knocking at the door. What do you want, Florence?” He quipped back, using my name and, oddly, I longed for the day he had called me a monster. I couldn’t stand the look of betrayal in his eyes. I needed the anger to return.

Clay’s eyes followed mine to where they bored into Wesley. “Even if we could, we aren’t going anywhere. We aren’t leaving you here.”

The words were like gasoline to a fire.

A door slammed from down the hall, echoing through the house loudly and silenced the argument.

“Where is Koen?” I asked, trying to disguise the panic in my voice. They both looked at each other and back past me down the hall. “Where is he?” I shouted his name frantically, taking off on shaky legs towards where the sound had come from. The two of them were right on my heels as I moved through the turns and nearly fell to my knees before it .

Rotten, twisted, and dark, it throbbed like it had a pulse. Even worse, it called to me, whispering dark thoughts to entice me. My fingers clenched around the hilt of my knife. It felt so good in my hands.

Screaming broke through the barrier of noise and darkness that stained my every thought. Blood-curdling pleas for help echoed up the steps and banged violently against the locked door. Wesley moved me to the side and tried the knob, rattling it more than once before throwing himself up against it. It didn’t budge.

“Is he down there?” Panic sunk its claws into my skin and ripped at my nerves as Wesley tried the door again. “Wesley!” I cried, and he turned his pained hazel eyes on me. “Wesley…” the name came out in a whisper as more screaming drowned out the sound of my concern.

“Get him out,” I said. “Get him out!” Again, with more terrified urgency. I could hear my heart thumping in my ears as it tried to escape my chest. “He’s in pain!” I yelled as Koen’s agonized screams rippled through the wood.

I brought my hands to my ears, trying to block out the sound, but it pierced through all the same and it burned like fire as it coursed through my veins. I couldn’t stand it; I needed it out. The blade in my hand bit into my skin, but it felt like nothing compared to the pain that tore from Koen’s lips in the distance.

“Wes,” Clay interrupted and gave him a look to which Wesley just nodded. “Florence.” He pressed his fingers around my forearm and guided me backward, eyes lingering on the knife in my hand.

“On the count of three,” Wesley said as they lined up facing one another. “Three, two…” on one they ran at the door as quickly as possible. Propelling themselves forward against the wood, their sheer size should have been enough to split it, but nothing happened.

“I warned you,” I whispered over the sounds of the wood waning under their weight. They lined up again, shallow breathing uneven and rough in the cramped hall. “I told you what would happen!” I said louder, fighting against the cracking wood. ”I begged you!”

“Whining about it now isn’t going to fix this.” Wesley turned to me and bit as Clay surged against the door again without luck.

Do you see how cruel they can be?

I shook my head, ignoring the nipping feeling and focusing on getting Koen out. Time was running out for him, the Manor doing unimaginable acts of violence to him behind closed doors.

Wesley’s gun fired off, and the house throbbed in anger. The hallway squeezed tightly around us for a moment and sucked all the air from the space before pushing it back out and kicking up my hair with a powerful gust of wind. The bullet dropped to the floor, crumbled, and ineffective against the door.