They followed the hallway around a corner, where Dorran unlocked and opened the door to a bedroom. A strange sensation spread through Clare as she stepped over the threshold. Most of the house had been maintained so impeccably that it was hard to imagine someone living there, but this room was filled with signs of life. At the same time, it had an odd feeling about it—one Clare couldn’t put into words.
A bed, not much different to their own, had been neatly made. A jacket hung across the back of a chair, with a scarf carelessly draped over a side table beside a hairbrush and watch.
Clare, feeling like she was intruding on something private, didn’t let herself touch anything. She stayed to the centre of the room with her arms wrapped around her chest. “What was his name?”
“Eros.” Dorran stepped around the bed to approach one of two large wardrobes.
Clare knew the name. Dorran had told her about Eros when recounting the night half of his family had died at Madeline’s whim. She’d put cyanide in their wine, culling the family of any sign of dissent. Eros had taken Dorran’s side in the disagreement, and he had lost his life for it.
Shivers travelled through her. She understood why the room disturbed her so much now. The way the scarf and jacket had been carelessly arranged made it look like Eros had risen from bed just that morning. But he had not lived there for many years.
Madeline had not left the room locked up and forgotten, either. The furniture had been kept free from dust. The sheets must have been changed regularly. Each morning, the jacket would have been lifted to allow the chair to be dusted then carefully placed back the way it had been.
“Found it.” Relief bled into Dorran’s voice as he pulled boxes out of the base of the wardrobe. He hadn’t been impervious to the room’s atmosphere, either. He tucked two objects under his arm, shoved the box back into the wardrobe, then crossed to the door with steps that were slightly too fast to be casual.
“Great.” Clare followed him, trying not to show how relieved she was. “What else do we need?”
“I think we’re ready, actually.” He held out a hand, pulled her in for a hug, then kissed her forehead. “Are you all right?”
“Absolutely.” She took a moment to rest against his chest, as though she could absorb some of his confidence. Then she stepped back and put a genuine smile on her face. “I’m ready.”
Dorran collected their equipment in the foyer. The sled looked old and shabby, and Clare instinctively knew it had been used by the staff rather than the Morthorne family. On it, Dorran stacked the pitchfork and a hatchet, along with two thermoses filled with hot tea and a spare jacket. The red-covered dome rested over them, just barely fitting on the sled. Dorran tied it down with twine then began gathering jackets and insulated pants from where they kept them on the side table by the door. He handed them to Clare one by one.
She remembered how cold the outside had been last time she’d ventured into it. The clothes had been enough to stop her from freezing, but they still hadn’t quite managed to keep her warm, so she didn’t complain as Dorran bundled her in layer after layer.
“These should also help protect us from the hollows,” Dorran said. “The clothes shouldn’t tear easily, and with this much padding, we will only need to watch our hands, ankles, neck, and face. In theory.”
Clare was already wearing knit gloves, but Dorran passed her a leather pair, as well. They were a men’s size and too big for her, but she knew why she was wearing them. Knit would be easy to bite through. Leather, not so much. The gloves extended over her wrist, and when she rolled down her jacket sleeves, Dorran tied a piece of twine around the them to hold everything in place. As he worked, his fingers grazed over the bandage on her wrist, and his eyebrows pulled a little lower. Clare wondered how closely his thoughts mimicked hers.
Will it be enough?
Even with the layers, even with the gloves, even with every heavy, bulky protection they could find, she didn’t know if they could stay safe. But she was ready to try. Because if they could get to the car, it meant they were that much closer to reaching Beth.
“Hm.” Dorran paced around her, tugging on bits of her clothing, checking everything was secure. The pants had been tied over the boots. A belt had been looped through holes in one of the jackets to ensure it couldn’t be pulled up to expose her stomach. Still, he kept pacing, scanning her, and brushing stray hair away from her cheek.
“I feel like the world’s puffiest astronaut.” Clare gave an exaggerated waddle, trying to break some of the sombreness.
Dorran cracked a smile, but he didn’t laugh. “Come back, you’re not ready yet.” He scooped her hair away from her neck and tied it into a bun, fit a knit hat over it, and tied a scarf around the lower parts of her face so that only her eyes were free. Then he returned to the table and picked up the fencing face guard.
The mesh shield fit snugly over Clare’s head. Thick padding pressed against her cheeks, forehead, and chin, to protect her from the metal. The oval mesh ballooned out from it, extending just far enough that she had about an inch between her nose and the super-fine metal. Her joke about astronauts suddenly felt much more appropriate. The mask was as good as a helmet. As it fit over her head, the world turned a shade darker.
Dorran adjusted it, checking that it was comfortable and making sure it wouldn’t come loose. Flaps of padded fabric draped over her neck, and he tucked it into the collar of her jacket then stepped back. She couldn’t be completely sure through the mesh, but she thought he looked paler. Still, he nodded as though he were happy. “I think that is the best we can do.”
Clare hoped she looked cool. She knew she probably didn’t. She gave Dorran two thumbs up then rested against the wall while he donned his own gear. He was faster about dressing himself. By the time he was ready, Clare was starting to feel overheated. She was almost looking forward to the first blast of icy air as they opened the doors.
Dorran took up his own mask and fit it on. She hadn’t expected the mesh to hide his face so perfectly. It left her with an odd sensation, as though she were facing a stranger. The dark, expressive eyes she loved were gone. The straight, strong nose. The lips that could look so serious and so happy. All of it vanished under a blank, smooth sheet.
“Follow the same rules as last time,” Dorran said. Even his voice seemed muffled. “Stay close to me. If you feel unwell, tell me immediately. If you hear or see something, let me know. If we have a choice between fighting and sheltering, always choose shelter. Are you ready?”
She prayed she was. “Yes.”
He wrenched the doors open and welcomed winter into their home.
Chapter Eight
The first blast of cold air was as welcome and refreshing as Clare had hoped it would be. But when the second gust came, she scrunched up her face against the chill.
Snow was packed nearly to the top of the door. Dorran took up a shovel and attacked it, alternately pulling it into the foyer and shoving it out. The snow would drench the tiles when it melted, but they didn’t have much choice.
Dorran carved a channel through the middle of the snowdrift, effectively creating a ramp leading up to the ridge. Clare understood his plan and got behind the sled. He joined her, and together, they shoved their luggage over the peak. The wire-and-drape shell rattled as the wind tried to get under it, then the sled tipped over the ramp’s balance point and disappeared down the slope.