“Where are they, Hogarth? I don’t see them here.”
“I’m over here,” came a voice from across the cellar. A shape moved under more wreckage. A small figure struggled up onto her arms. Penny wiped straw and splinters from her hair and put a hand to her head. “I feel like I was run over by a coach.”
Simon left Hogarth and struggled across to Penny. He studied her for grievous wounds. Dried blood caked down her face, but she had suffered no obvious terrible damage. He took her face and stared into her eyes. They were clear, or nearly so.
“What happened to Kate?” he asked. “Where is she?”
Penny looked confused. “I don’t know, Simon. She was still fighting when I went down.”
“Gretta took her? And Imogen.” He looked from Penny to Hogarth for confirmation.
The servant said, “She must’ve done, sir. The creature disabled me when she entered. I managed to rally, but she made short work of me, I’m ashamed to say.”
Simon stood with a groan of pain and started toward the door. “I’m going after them.”
Nick appeared in the doorway and put a firm hand against Simon’s chest. “Easy, old boy.”
He started to push by only to find Malcolm standing in the hallway. The hunter was covered in a mixture of blood and plaster from where the wall had collapsed on them.
“Damn it!” Nick shouted, grabbing Simon by the arm. “Will you stop and think. We’re dead on our feet. All of us, you included. If we go up against Gretta and her crew now, we will die.”
Simon pulled his arm free. “I must do something.”
“You’re smarter than this, Simon.” Nick stared intently at his friend. “Don’t play her game. You can’t win like that.”
“He’s right, Archer.” Malcolm spat blood on the floor. “You can’t catch them; they’re all well away. But we know where they’ve gone.”
Simon growled in desperation, “We have no idea what they might do to her while we sit here doing nothing.”
“We’re going after her,” Malcolm insisted. “But we must reload and staunch the bleeding at least. There are dead and wounded all over the house.”
Simon took a long breath. He nodded as if in understanding. Then he said, “Hogarth, can you find horses?”
“I’ll do my best, sir.” The manservant pulled himself upright, shedding dust and shards of glass.
“Good man.” Simon draped the bandolier over his shoulder. “All of you take one of Kate’s vitality elixirs, pack anything you can find that will kill werewolves, and meet me out front in thirty minutes if you’re able. I’ll be leaving for Bedlam then.”
Nick shook his head. “You damned idiot, you’re going to kill yourself.”
Malcolm watched Simon silently limp up the stairs. He smiled grimly, helped Penny to her feet, and led her out of the wrecked cellar.
Chapter Twenty-six
Kate felt as if she were bogged down in a mire though she had no memory of how it had happened. She attempted to drag open her eyes, which were gummed with deep sleep residue. The area around her was mostly in shadow. A horrific stench flooded her nose and she gagged. Her coughing started a fierce ache in her skull. As she tried to lift a hand to cover her mouth, she found it wouldn’t move. Neither of her arms responded. Through the haze, she saw that her wrists were strapped down to the arms of a chair. There was also a broad strap around her chest, pinning her upright, and her ankles were bound tight. She was in a wooden wheelchair. The stench assaulting her was suddenly all too familiar. Her gut twisted.
She was in Bedlam.
She started violently. Her memory snapped back to Hartley Hall and the werewolves. She struggled wildly at her bindings, but they had no give at all. Fear pushed its way up from her stomach, but she fought to bring it back under control.
Her gaze swept around, squinting at medical equipment. A dull metal examination table sat in the middle of the dim room. Leather straps hung from iron rails that ran the length of the table. Black blood and desiccated ooze clung to their length.
Kate felt sick. Her fingers fluttered, stretching as far as they could, but the buckles trapping her remained tantalizingly out of her reach. She glanced about for anything to cut through the thick leather. A knife or a scalpel. Then she saw a frail shape on the far side of the room.
“Imogen!” Kate whispered as loud as she dared.
Her sister stood in the corner, head hanging low on her chest, her hair a tangled mess obscuring her face.
“Imogen, help me!” Kate pleaded.
Imogen didn’t move although Kate could see the shallow rise and fall of her chest. She shouted her sister’s name, trying to shake the girl from her stupor, but to no avail.
A door creaked open and Dr. White walked inside, carrying a metal tray. Kate fought to keep her fear under control, breathing heavily through her nose, and stoking her anger instead.