Dear R.,
I’m writing to gain your insight on a strange matter. Last night, I sensed something odd. There was a clinking in the floor beneath me, followed by rumbles, like thunder. My host says that this has been happening in town for a week now, and none of them can explain it. But I sense that it may be something sinister, and I don’t even know why I’m telling you all of this save for my fervent hope that you may have an answer or advice?
Yours,
E.
Dear E.,
I’m afraid I don’t have an answer at the ready but give me a day. I may be able to find one for you.
In the meantime, remain on guard.
I’ll write soon.
Yours,
R.
The rain continued to fall hard the following day, turning Bitteryne’s streets into creek beds. Iris and Attie spent the afternoon going door-to-door, gathering reports and stories from the townspeople. But there wasn’t much new information to glean. Rumors swirled that Dacre had finally left Avalon Bluff and was now stationed in a town called Merrow. Why was he taking his time moving eastward? What was he waiting for?
Iris didn’t know, although she sensed Roman might. She was anxious, waiting for his reply, but as the afternoon waned into a stormy eventide, he had yet to write.
She decided to sit in the dining room with Attie and work after dinner. They spread their notes out on the table, sharing a pitcher of chilled cider while a fire crackled in the stone hearth. Iris was halfway through with her article when she realized that Attie had gone still, her gaze fixated on the back door.
“What is it?” Iris asked. “Is it the ground again?”
“No, it’s Bexley,” Attie replied. “He said he would be back by now.”
Iris was quiet, listening as the rain continued to pour through the night.
“I’m sure it’s just the storm slowing him down,” she said, but she was anxious about Tobias driving through such weather. “And it’s only evening. He may still arrive tonight.”
Attie sighed and resumed her typing, but her words seemed to come slower. Her eyes continued to dart to the back door, as if she expected it to swing open any moment.
The hours melted. The storm only grew stronger.
The electricity flickered and eventually went out. Iris and Attie worked by firelight, bidding Lonnie Fielding goodnight when he ensured they had everything they needed.
But when midnight struck, the girls finally packed up their typewriters and notes, returning to their rooms.
Tobias Bexley had failed to return.
{16}
Nine Lives
Iris woke to a clap of thunder.
She opened her eyes to the darkness, uncertain where she was. Her heart was pounding as she sat forward, lightning illuminating her surroundings with an impatient flash.
You’re in Bitteryne, she told herself. Everything is fine. It was just the storm that woke you.
She waited for the next clap of thunder, but it never came. The lightning was bright but silent, and Iris could hear the clink, clink, clink below the foundation followed by a startling boom in the house, just down the hallway. It sounded like the back door had blown open.
Iris threw off the blankets, rising in a breathless rush.
Remain on guard, Roman had told her.
She grappled in the dark, remembering the electricity was out. Slowly, she opened her door and peered into the hallway. It was pitch black, but she could hear someone walking through the house. The floor creaked beneath their steps.
“Mr. Fielding?” Iris said, her voice thin.
“Iris.”
She turned, sensing Attie’s presence to her right.
“Did you hear that noise?” Attie whispered.
“Yes. I think someone’s in the house.”
They stood shoulder to shoulder and listened. A clatter, like a bowl had overturned. A deep-pitched curse. A chair scratching along the floor.
Attie began to stride down the hall, fearless. Iris hurried after her.
“Attie? Attie, wait.”
All Iris could think was that something had come from the ground. A hole had opened in the garden. One of Dacre’s creatures had slithered through it and was now in the house, hungry for blood.
The girls reached the dining room. The hearth still glowed with dying embers, but the rest of the room was stained in darkness. Iris saw a tall shadow walk in front of the mullioned windows.
“Who are you?” Attie said sharply. “What do you want?”
The shadow ceased moving, but Iris could feel someone gazing in their direction. The hair rose on her arms as her heart quickened. She curled her fingers into a fist, preparing for a fight.
A deep, mirthful voice broke the silence. “Attie? It’s only me.”
Attie drew a sharp breath. “Bexley?”
“Yes, who else?”
“Who the bloody else? We thought you were a burglar!”
“I did tell you I’d return tonight.”
“Yes, and in case you lost track of time, it’s three in the morning. When midnight struck, we realized you were running late.”
“Wait up on me, did you?” Tobias said.
“We were working,” Attie amended, but she had stepped deeper into the room, heading in the direction of his voice.
Tobias was silent, but his breaths were heavy. Iris began to edge along the wall toward the hearth mantel, where she knew Lonnie kept a matchbook and candle tapers.
“Are you hurt?” Attie asked.
“No. And don’t … don’t touch me. At least not yet.”
Iris lit a candlestick. The firelight cast a ring into the darkness, and she could at last see Tobias clearly.
His clothes were plastered to him, drenched from the rain, and his arms and face were splattered with mud. He looked exhausted, but his eyes gleamed, feverishly, as if he had just won a race.
He glanced at Iris, reading her expression.
“Do I look that bad, Miss Winnow?”
“You look like you just drove all night through a storm,” Iris replied, awestruck.
“I told you not much comes between me and assignments,” he said, his attention returning to Attie. “Not even impassable roads.”
Attie crossed her arms, jaw set. “What if you had wrecked your car?”
“Always a possibility.” He set his valise down on the floor. “But I didn’t. Not this time, at least. And I have letters for you both.”
Iris stepped closer, watching as Tobias carefully removed his drenched gloves and opened the valise, handing them each a letter. Hers was from Forest; she recognized her brother’s handwriting and it warmed her from within to see it.
“Your brother actually helped service the roadster this time,” Tobias said. “At my mechanic’s shop.”
Iris glanced up, surprised. “Oh? I’m glad to hear it.”
“He did a good job,” Tobias said. “And I promised him tickets to the next race. He mentioned he would like to take you, when the war is over.”
Iris smiled, but she felt a sudden twinge of homesickness. She glanced down at the letter in her hand, thankful for the faint light as she blinked back her tears.