Page 38 of Wolf's Bane
And nearly collided with a man.
“Colonel Chambers!”
He reached out a hand to steady her. “Are you well? The door was open.”
“Jase…Mr. Parkell arrived with Miles. He’s been injured,” she said in a rush. “What are you doing back here? They’re in the front drawing room.”
“I thought I heard a noise, and the door was open.” He ran a hand down her arm. The gesture was a touch more familiar than she appreciated, almost possessive.
She pulled away and stepped toward her workroom. “I require my kit.”
“Was my nephew injured? He went out before dusk and did not return. I was worried.”
“They were attacked in the forest, but he is well.”
“Attacked? Here? Do you think something followed them into the house?”
She hadn’t until that moment. Ice rushed over her. She told Travers to open the door, against every protocol, then had been too distracted to secure the door.
Her eyes darted to the iron door down the hall. Chambers followed her gaze, then touched the handle of the nearest door. Silver nails decorated the door in a grid, but time had tarnished the nails to a dull gray.
He drew his hand back when the handle did not budge.
“We must be prepared to defend ourselves, I fear,” he said, shaking his hand slightly. “Can you open this door?”
“That goes to the basement. There is nothing of use down there,” she said. Only the vault where the old and broken artifacts were kept, along with the few items too dangerous to leave unsecured.
“The weapons we use are here,” she said, brushing past him in the narrow corridor. The skin at the back of her neck pricked at the proximity.
The door to the weapons room required a code to open the lock. The ancient keypad, numbers worn smooth on the keys, had not worked in more than a hundred years. Now a combination lock kept the room secure.
“Marvelous,” Chambers said. He reached for a club studded with silver nails. It was a brutal piece of work. “This will do.” He gave a test swing, lunging forward and stepping back.
Solenne elected to leave the room unlocked, in case they needed to make a mad dash for another weapon. Chambers went to join his nephew in the drawing room, and she finally made it to her workshop.
Dust and the scent of dried herbs hung in the air. Moonlight filtered in through the windows. She grabbed her kit and all the bottles of wolfsbane tonic. The supply was distressingly low. She felt certain she had more, but there was no time to count.
A loud crash made her jolt. She turned around, her elbow knocking over a bottle that should not have been there. It rolled across the table, heading for the edge. “No, no, no!” she cried, dashing to catch it.
The bottle smashed to the floor.
Everything was going wrong that night. She felt flustered and wanted to toss her entire stock to the floor. She made do with old equipment and limited supplies. Everyone said the family’s work was important, valued, but those were only words. They did not offer tangible support. That smashed bottle cost money she did not have. She’d have to barter for a replacement.
Solenne touched the silver bracelet on her wrist. When things went wrong, her mother always said it was best to take a moment to decide why, rather than fly into a rage. As much as Solenne’s natural inclination urged her to throw a tantrum out of fear and frustration, she needed to think.
Calm.
Someone had been in her workroom. They moved the bottles, carelessly leaving them in a location where it would be easy to knock them over. She had already caught Aleksandar helping himself to her wares. It was not inconceivable to imagine him doing so again and then being thoughtless enough to leave a mess.
They would have words once this horrible night finally finished.
She gathered up the supplies required for Miles’ wound, then hurried through the corridors.
The air had shifted. First, Solenne noticed the scent of flowers that only bloomed at night. The air felt dry and crackled with static. Tension wound itself through every room in the house, tracing a path down the darkened halls, up the stairs, and into the secret, forgotten corners.
The front door was open. Again. Still.
“Travers. Chambers,” she called.
