I crossed through the light in two quick steps, when a faint scratching sound caused my feet to stutter. Darting a look into the room, I glimpsed a large shadow through the window as it ducked out of sight. I gasped and jerked back, inadvertently knocking the candle from the holder. In the pitch-black, I hurried down the hallway, the soft thump of my slippers breaking the heavy silence.
Nearly at the stairs, I came to a sudden stop when something scratched again, this time against the front door. A tentative rattle of the iron handle sent my heart flying straight into my sternum. Rather than run, I found myself rooted in place, staring toward the door as the rattling grew more determined.
The door refused to budge, having been bolted for the night by one of the servants. The room soon fell silent, and yet I waited, every muscle held taught, hardly even breathing so as not to give myself away. The silence pressed on until it appeared the would-be intruder had left, I hoped from Brighmor altogether, but quite possibly to look for another entrance. Whichever the case, I now had time to alert James of the situation. He, in turn, could wake the numerous field hands who slept above the carriage house, and together they could search the grounds.
I had just willed my feet to move when the door handle creaked sharply. The iron groaned under the strain, and the wooden jam splintered around the bolt. The commotion was over in seconds, the loud protests of metal and wood replaced by the sound of my ragged breath. Where the door had previously held fast, a sliver of silvery moonlight now cut through the darkness. Confusion clouded my head as the sliver continued to grow to a wide arc, and I found myself staring at the shrubberies that lined the front walkway. Then fear took me, stealing my voice and turning my first scream into a small, terrified squeak.
A large beast stepped into the entry, its pale, canine body illuminated in the moonlight. The summer heat turned to ice around me and I started to shiver, overtaken by a tremendous chill. Partway in the room, the beast lifted its muzzle to sniff the air, each exhaled breath reappearing as a frosty puff.
Blood pounded through my heart. The beast was too big to fight single-handed. To survive, I had to run. Either back down the hallway to the servants’ quarters or up the stairs to my bedroom where Henry had insisted I keep a loaded pistol. I opted for the pistol, hoping a well-aimed shot to the head could stop a creature capable of breaking through solid wood doors and iron locks. Chancing a tentative step toward the stairs, I heard a snarl of warning. Another step, just the smallest movement, brought more snarls as the beast moved closer, cutting off my path.
Not daring to move again, I pressed my back into the wall, aware of one last option other than simply playing dead. I might lack the strength to kill the creature, but I could at least hurt it a little, or even scare it off for the few necessary seconds I needed to get up the stairs. Slowly lifting my left hand, I hurled the brass candleholder straight at the beast. There was a meaty thud, followed by a loud clatter as the candleholder hit the wood floor and rolled away. I tensed, ready to bolt.
It didn’t even flinch! I had hit the devil with all my strength, and it didn’t even flinch! Instead, it tilted its head to the side, the previous snarls replaced by an odd wheezing sound. At first I thought it might be whimpering when another thought flashed through my mind. The cursed thing was laughing at me!
By now I was too mad to try playing dead.
I stared at the beast, a strange fire stirring deep inside my chest, feeding my anger. “Stop laughing,” I hissed.
It wheezed some more, obviously amused by my words.
The fire surged inside me, white hot and deadly. “Get out of my house or...or...I’ll tear your blasted heart out!”
The beast snarled in response and edged another step closer. Then it lunged, its teeth flashing at my neck. I screamed, this time loud enough to wake the dead, and threw my hands up to protect myself.
It slammed into me, knocking my head hard against the plaster. My arms jolted painfully, pinned to my chest beneath its massive weight. A long hiss, like the sound of searing meat, came from between us and my nose filled with the scent of burnt fur and flesh. At once, the beast’s savage snarls turned to howls of pain, then fell silent. A bitter cold moved into my right hand, stinging my fingers before I remembered the smooth, bone handle clamped in my fist. I let go, and the beast sank to the ground, Brigid’s knife deep in its chest. The fire receded inside of me, sapping my strength along with the maddening rage.
Footsteps came pounding down the stairs. I turned to see James, a candle in one hand and sword drawn in the other. “What happened?” he demanded.
Unable to speak yet, I let my eyes fall toward the ground.
James followed with the candle, sucking in a hard breath when he saw the beast lying at my feet. “What is that?”
I stared down, at a loss what to tell him. Canine in form, its fur was completely white, except for the newly formed bloodstain around its heart.