Kiera Hudson & The Lethal Infected (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four 

I blasted out of the sky, the nearby trees and undergrowth rocking back and forth in my wake. Gravel sprayed up from beneath my boots as I landed before Hallowed Manor. The dawn was no more than an hour away now, and I didn’t know if I’d left it too late to save Sophie. With the bottle of Lot 13 in my fist, I raced up the front steps, pushing on the door and flying into the hallway. With my wings trailing out behind me, I went to the study.

Stepping in the room, I could see that Potter was still at Sophie’s side. She looked like nothing more than a sleeping statue now. Her face, arms, and legs were grey in colour and covered in an intricate maze of cracks and fissures. The dead flesh was thin about her wrist that Potter had managed to ease her hands from their restraints. Sophie was too weak now to put up any kind of struggle or fight.

Not wanting to ask the question, but needing to do so, I said, “Is she dead?”

“Only moments away,” Potter said without looking up at me from where he knelt on the floor beside the couch.

I glanced at the bottle of Lot 13 in my hand. I took a deep breath. This was my last chance to back out – to choose not to save Sophie – but to save Potter and me instead. To give us some chance of being together again in this world.

“Give Sophie this,” I said.

Potter looked at the bottle of red stuff. “What is it?”

“It will help her,” I said.

“Will it save her?” he asked.

“I’m not sure, but it will give her more time.”

“Drag out her agony and eventual death,” Potter said.

“Perhaps, but I want to try and save her at least,” I told him.

“Why do you want to save Sophie?” he asked, his eyes narrowing just a little.

“Because I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t,” I whispered, looking at the bottle of Lot 13. “Could you live with yourself if you didn’t?”

Slowly, Potter took the bottle from me. “What is it?” he asked, holding it up in the candlelight.

Not knowing where to even start explaining, or even if I could, I said, “Just give it to her, Potter. We don’t have time to waste.”

“Where did you get it?” he asked, pulling out the cork and holding it up to his nose and breathing in.

“Just give it to Sophie,” I said, ignoring his question again. “All you need to know, Potter, is that you can trust me. You do trust me, don’t you?”

Looking back into my eyes, he said, “For always.” Then turning, he gently eased Sophie’s cracked and flaky face toward him.

Holding the neck of the bottle to Sophie’s lips, he tilted the bottle up. With my heart racing, I watched the red stuff dribble from the bottle and onto her lips.

“Not so fast,” I warned Potter. “That’s all I have. We can’t afford to waste any.”

“Okay, okay,” Potter said, sounding a little unnerved. He splashed a few more drops onto her mouth.

From over his shoulder, I watched as the cracks around the corners of her lips began to fade as they sucked in the Lot 13 like a sponge. Very slowly, as the skin around Sophie’s lips became more supple and malleable, she parted her lips a fraction. Seeing this, Potter gently poured a few drops of the red stuff into her mouth.

“I think it’s working,” he breathed. 

The tip of Sophie grey tongue snaked from her mouth, mopping up the drops of red stuff from her lips.

“Drink it,” Potter coaxed, titling the bottle up again.

The crimson liquid ran into her mouth, pushing back the cracks and breaks that covered her face. I watched, my heart racing, as the Lot 13 brought Sophie back from the clutches of death. The colour in her cheeks returned as did the colour of her hair. No longer was it white and streaked grey but now the strawberry blond it had once been. The muscles in her neck began to flex as she now greedily guzzled down the Lot 13 that Potter was pouring into the back of her throat.

Seeing that there was only a very little left sloshing around in the bottom of the bottle, I reached out, curling my fingers around Potter’s hand. “That’s enough,” I whispered.

“But there is some left,” he said, looking at me.

“We need to keep some back,” I said. “Trust me.”

Without putting up a fight, Potter took the bottle from against Sophie’s lips and handed it to me. Replacing the cork, I put what was left of the Lot 13 into my coat pocket. As Potter turned and brushed Sophie’s fringe from her brow, I stepped away, back into the centre of the room. I felt as if I was suddenly intruding on them. I felt that it was just Sophie and Potter again. I watched as Potter eased Sophie into his arms, as the remaining cracks faded from her body. She still looked weak and frail as Potter cradled her close to him. To watch him hold her made me wonder again if he had ever truly meant what he had said to me in the summerhouse – how he had confessed his love for me. He looked very much in love with Sophie as he held her close to him. But how else did I expect him to behave? Sophie was carrying his child – not me – despite what my brother Jack had told me.

…it was just a dream, Kiera…
that voice whispered inside of me again…
just a dream
…  

Potter had told me that he wasn’t the kind of man that could ever walk away from his child and responsibilities despite what people thought of him. And I therefore knew in my heart he would never be able to walk away from the mother of that child despite how he felt about me. I knew I would always be that
other
girl in his life. But that would never be enough for me. And even if I could be happy with a few stolen moments here and there with Potter, I was better than that. I deserved better than that. I refused to be a cheat and a liar even if I hated the thought of Potter sharing his life with Sophie. They were together because of me – what right did I have to come between them?

Not wanting to be in the room anymore, and knowing that Potter and Sophie needed sometime alone, I turned to head for the door.

“Thank you,” I heard a weak and frail voice say.

I looked back to see Sophie looking at me over the crook of Potter’s elbow.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” I half smiled at her.

“You saved me. I knew you would, Kiera Hudson,” Sophie whispered, her voice sounding raspy as if she were out of breath. As she spoke, I couldn’t help but notice the glistening fangs jutting from each corner of her mouth. She did look strangely beautiful.

“I haven’t saved you yet,” I said, turning back to the door, nearly tripping over the turned up corner of the rug that Potter had earlier tripped over after I’d punched him in the face for stepping on one of the shells Nev had attached to that necklace for me.

With my hand poised mid-air as I was about to reach for the door, I couldn’t take my eyes off that turned up piece of rug. I saw the spots of wax again on it that I had earlier seen when on my hands and knees searching for the shells that had scattered over the study floor. How had I been so blind?

Chapter Twenty-Five

“As far as everyone else knows, Sophie died in this room tonight,” I said, heading back across the study to where Potter sat holding Sophie close to him.

“But I survived, thanks to you,” Sophie murmured.

“We must pretend that you died,” I told her.

“But if the others think that Sophie died, then the scum who tried to kill her won’t come back and have another go,” Potter said. “They’ll simply slip away…”

“Whoever tried to break into this room tonight didn’t come back to make another attempt on Sophie’s life,” I said. “Why would they? They knew it was only a matter of time before the poison took its full effect on her. No, whoever tried to break into this room last night came in search of something else.”

“What?” Potter asked.

The sound of footfalls came from above. “The others are waking up,” I said. “They will soon come asking questions. If my plan is going to work we must let them believe that Sophie is dead – that the poison worked.”

“But…” Potter started.

“Take off your jacket and cover Sophie with it,” I told him.

Potter searched my eyes with his.

“You said you trusted me, Potter,” I reminded him.

“Okay,” he sighed, taking off his jacket, placing it over Sophie as she lay on the couch.

“Not over her feet,” I groaned. “Cover her face.”

Sophie looked up at me one last time.

“Just keep still and play dead,” I whispered, as Potter repositioned the coat over her.

“Now what?” Potter asked me.

“Can’t you fake some tears?” I asked.

“Are you taking the piss?” he shot back.

“Your fiancée has just died,” I hissed. “If my plan is going to work, then you have to be convincing.”

From the other side of the door, I could hear the sound of the others coming down the stairs now. Making a hook with my finger, I silently beckoned him toward me. He came forward. And checking that Sophie’s face was covered with Potter’s jacket, I silently looped my arms about his neck, resting my cheek against his.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered in his ear.

“Sorry, for what?” he whispered.

“This,” I said, driving my knee up into his groin.

He stumbled backwards, both hands between his legs. “What the fuck was that for?” he groaned.

“You’ve got tears in your eyes now,” I grinned back at him, enjoying doing that more than perhaps I should have. “Now, stop acting like a baby and carry Sophie into the woods. The others will think you’re going to bury her in that graveyard beneath the willow trees. But instead, take her to the summerhouse. Stay with her. Don’t leave her for one moment.”

“What about you?” Potter said, hobbling toward Sophie and scooping her up into his arms.

“Leave the rest to me,” I said, heading toward the door. I opened it to find the rest of The Creeping Men gathered in the hallway. They watched as Potter came forward, Sophie draped in his arms, still and lifeless looking. Potter’s eyes still looked bloodshot and watery as he stepped out into the hall carrying her. None of the others spoke as he headed across the hall to the door. I watched them. But all were poker-faced. I couldn’t
see
anything that would give any one of them away as the killer.

Potter stepped from the manor and I went back into the study. Before I’d had a chance to close the door, Murphy had come forward.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

“No,” I said with a gentle shake of my head. “I’ just need to be alone for a moment or two.”

“Sure,” he said, turning his back and stepping away.

I closed the door behind him so I was alone in the study. I went back to the rug. Gripping the upturned corner, I yanked it back. Dropping to my hands and knees, I brushed my fingertips over the wooden floorboards. With a smile, I found what I suspected I would. One of the floorboards was loose. With my fingernails, I pulled it up to reveal a small hollow beneath the floor. Reaching inside, I closed my fist around what lay hidden beneath the loose floorboard. Replacing the rug, I got up and went to the window. I unfastened the lock. Turning, I crossed the room and left the study, intentionally leaving the door open just a fraction.

Crossing the now deserted hall, I left Hallowed Manor. It was light now, so crouching low, making myself as small as possible, I headed back toward the study window. Climbing over the flowerbed, I stood on tiptoe and pushed up the window. Glancing back just once to make sure I wasn’t being watched, I climbed in through the window and into the study. Concealing myself behind the curtain, I waited.

My wait wasn’t a long one. No more than five minutes could have passed before I heard the sound of the study door creaking open on the other side of the curtain. I held my breath, standing stock still so as not to give my hiding place away. I listened to the sound of footsteps crossing the wooden floorboards. Then came the whoosh of the rug being thrown back, followed by the sound of the floorboard being removed. Hearing this, I yanked back the curtain.

The figure crouched over the hole in the floor looked back at me.

“Looking for this?” I asked.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Doctor Ravenwood looked at the bottle of Lot 12 I was holding in my fist. His eyes grew wide beneath his thick, bushy white eyebrows. I stepped out from behind the curtain. Doctor Ravenwood stood up, his mass of white hair looking like a cloud had formed around his head.

“How did you know?” he asked, pushing his crescent-shaped glasses up onto the bridge of his hooked nose.

“How did I know it was you who poisoned Sophie, or how did I know where you’d hidden the Lot 12?” I asked.

“Both,” he said, not looking sorry for what he had done but defeated at being caught.

“To be honest, I had no idea it was you,” I started to explain. “I knew at once that it was someone at Hallowed Manor who had swapped the Lot 12 with the poison, but I didn’t know it was you until I discovered where it had been hidden.”

“And how did you know where to look?” he asked. “Only I know about that hiding place.”

“And that’s how I knew it was you who had poisoned Sophie,” I explained.

“I’m not sure I understand,” he said, wringing his huge hands together. Ravenwood appeared agitated and nervous. Not only because he had been caught for his crime – there was something else – but I couldn’t
see
what.

“You might have gotten away with your crime if you hadn’t have tried to break into this room last night,” I said. “You couldn’t come in via the door because I had the only key. You knew that, because you gave it to me. But why come back – why try and break into this room? It didn’t make sense to me. Whoever poisoned Sophie would’ve known that the queets and garlic would’ve killed her by morning. The only reason the killer would’ve risked breaking into this room was if he had come to retrieve something – something they wouldn’t want to be found. You knew that at first light Potter and I were going to undertake a thorough search of the manor in an attempt to find the missing Lot 12. You knew that if it was found in here – in your private study – the finger of blame could’ve only been pointed in your direction. That’s why you came back – that’s why you risked breaking into the room. After swapping the bottles last night, you came back to your study. You lit a candle so as to find the loose floorboard beneath the rug. You couldn’t use the lights as you had already cut the wire,” I said.

“You make it sound as if you were watching me the whole time,” Ravenwood frowned.

I crouched low over the rug, and pointing with my finger, I said, “There are drops of wax here and here. I saw them last night when I was searching for the shells that had fallen from my necklace. I failed to see the relevance of the drops of wax last night as I was too upset that my necklace had been broken. But I now know that the wax dripped from your candle as you searched for the loose floorboard in the near darkness. You were in a rush as you knew Potter would soon be back with me and you needed to be in the dining room with the others. In your rush you failed to replace the rug completely. Potter tripped over it last night, and because I was upset, I failed yet again to
see
the relevance, just like I failed to see how important the candle on the desk was.”

“The candle on the desk?” he asked. “Why was that important?”

“Because it was already alight when we carried Sophie in here last night,” I said. “Why was there a candle alight in this study when we had all been gathered in the dining room? Perhaps someone had forgotten to blow it out – perhaps they had been in a rush – but if so, why? The clues on their own don’t mean anything, but when put together, they told me everything. After swapping the bottle last night, you rushed into your study. You needed to hide the Lot 12 and you had the perfect hiding place. You would simply return to your study at some point after poisoning Sophie, retrieve the Lot 12, and dispose of it properly. But what you couldn’t have foreseen was that your study would be the place where Sophie would be locked away. I had the key so you had no way of retrieving the evidence that would put a noose about your neck. That’s why you risked breaking in last night and it was that which gave you away. Once I had the idea in my head that the killer came back not to finish off Sophie, but to retrieve something, I knew that whatever it was must be in this room. The only thing that could be so important to risk coming back for would be the evidence that would convict the murderer. So I knew then that the Lot 12 must be hidden in this room, but where? It was then I remembered the drops of wax, the upturned rug. It didn’t take me long to figure out that there must be some kind of hiding place beneath the rug. And like you said, there was only one person who could’ve possibly known about that hiding place, and that was you, Doctor Ravenwood. But what I can’t figure out is why you would want to kill Sophie. What has she ever done to you? Why would you want to try and kill that unborn baby?”

“Baby?” he scoffed. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I want to understand,” I said.

“You’ll hand me over to
them
!” he barked. “You’re just like
them
.”

“Like who?” I asked, taking a step closer toward him.

“They’ll kill me,” he said, backing away toward the door, his eyes wide with fear.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I tried to reassure him.

“You’ve already said that you’re going to put a noose about my neck,” he reminded me.

“I didn’t mean that,” I said, trying not to scare him any more than he already appeared to be. “It was just a figure of speech. If you could only remember, you would know I would never hurt you, Doctor Ravenwood.”

“Remember what?” He looked at me with growing unease and suspicion.

I wanted to remind him that we had once been friends. I wanted to tell him that it had been him who had revealed to me what I truly was and how he had left me that warning hidden between the pages of the book
The Wind in The Willows
. But how could I tell him any of that? He already didn’t trust me. He would only think I was trying to trick him further.

“I just want you to know that I’m your friend and you can trust me,” I said.

“You lie,” he hissed, claws tearing from his fists. He reached the nearby desk, throwing it across the room so I couldn’t get to him.

“What’s going on here?” Murphy was at the study door.

Turning to find him standing there, Ravenwood leapt forward burying one set of claws deep into Murphy’s stomach. An immediate patch of black blood began to form over the crisp white shirt he was wearing. I cringed at the sickening squelching sound as Ravenwood withdrew his claws from my friend. Murphy staggered backwards, his hands to his stomach. His knees buckled beneath him, as he went crashing to the floor.

“Murphy!” I screamed as Ravenwood bounded over him and rushed out into the hall.

At the sound of my scream, Uri, Phebe, Hunt, and Mrs. Payne came running from the dining room.

“Jim!” Mrs. Payne cried out, seeing Murphy lying in a lake of his own blood on the floor of the hall.

I knelt beside him, pressing the flats of my hand over the wound in an attempt to stop the blood flow. It felt sticky and hot beneath my fingers.

“Get after Ravenwood,” Murphy wheezed.

“But what about you?” I asked, leaning over him.

“I’ll heal, Kiera,” he said. “I promise. Now don’t let him get away.”

“See you later, alligator,” I smiled down at him.

“In a while, crocodile,” he whispered, closing his eyes against the pain.

“Someone look after him,” I told the others, as I raced to the front door.

“Not you!”
I suddenly heard Murphy roar.

I looked back over my shoulder to see Mrs. Payne trying to give Murphy the kiss of life.

Poor Murphy
, I smiled to myself before leaving Hallowed Manor in search of Doctor Ravenwood.