I skidded to a halt, staring at the imposing door with a brass locking plate engraved with weasels and stoats. “What is this place?”
“It used to be the servant’s quarters, but an old water pipe burst a century ago and destroyed everything. My grandfather never got around to fixing it. This wing has been ignored ever since.”
Sounded about right. The Hawks only seemed to value those worth something valuable to their needs and wants. The moment they outlived their purpose, they were either dispatched or cast aside.
A tiny shadow scurried past my line of sight. I inched closer to Jasmine’s chair. I wouldn’t be against leaping into her lap to get off the floor if rats came to visit. “And what are we doing here?”
He’s alive.
He’s alive.
Surely, she didn’t keep him here.
Her bronze gaze glowed in the gloom. “Using one life to save another.”
A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold shot down my back. “What does that mean?”
I’m asking that question a lot lately.
She looked away, fumbling in the black blanket over her legs. “You’ll see.” Pulling free an old-fashioned key, she inserted it into the lock.
With a loud groan of protest, the rusty mechanism sprang open, cracking open the large moisture-logged door.
A noise sounded inside—fleeting—like a small gasp of dismay.
“Come on.” Jasmine pushed her rims, coasting from corridor to room. The moment we were inside, she closed the door. “Get the light, will you? The switch is to your left.”
I spread my fingers out in the dark, tracing the chilly wall and finding an ancient nub, which I assumed was illumination.
I pressed it.
Light spilled from a single cobwebbed chandelier above. The room came into view. Out of every place I’d visited in Hawksridge Hall, this was the worst room by far. Faded, chipped mint-green paint covered the walls. Beige carpet stretched across floorboards, moth-eaten and musty.
And the cold.
I hugged myself from the bitter bite of winter.
An entirely different season lived in this place. No central heating, no fire to ward off frost and snow.
Had Jethro ever been here? Was this where he learned how to embrace the coldness, so he could hide his condition?
He’s alive…
“Who—who’s there?”
No! Oh, my God.
My stomach clenched; vertigo stole my vision in a blip of blackness.
I didn’t have to see to know.
I’d know that voice anywhere.
“It’s me!” My legs unlocked, hurling me across the large room to the single cot pushed against the wall. Condensation dripped like frigid tears down the cold surface, and the only window didn’t perform its job of keeping the outside elements from entering. The stunning stained glass depiction of summer flowers had turned into a dartboard of holes. Intricate violets had been smashed, leaving a whistling draft to funnel around daisies and dandelions, slipping into the space unwanted.
Falling to my knees by the bed, I reached for my beloved twin’s face. “It’s me, V.”
“Threads?” He rolled onto his back, revealing swollen cheekbones, bruised jaw, and cut lip. His hands were tied, resting on his belly, and a black blindfold covered half his face, flapping over his nose every time he breathed.
“God, I’ll rip off their balls for this.” I fumbled behind his head. “Lean forward; let me get this off you.”
He did as I asked, groaning as he arched his head off the rank pillow.
Scrambling at the knot, I shoved it away the moment it loosened.
His eyes opened, blinking a few times. His mottled face turned to me. My heart cracked all over again, drinking in the signs of the horrendous beating he’d endured at the hands of Cut and Daniel.
In one afternoon, Cut had almost killed my brother and shot his sons. Yet, he hadn’t hurt any of them enough to end them.
Perhaps, there is hope after all.
Good had triumphed over evil.
Good would win over evil.