Isla succumbed to the darkness, and Daniel let his own tears gather.
His worry for her over the past two days had consumed him even as he’d tried to remain rational. He had done everything he could think of to help her retrieve what she needed and get her to safety. For the bulk of those hours he hadn’t been certain she was even still alive, and when he’d seen her in Malette’s lair, his relief at seeing her was eclipsed only by his fear he would witness her death.
By dragon.
He had yet to fully absorb the reality surrounding him. He had helped Isla slay the dragon, only to have her fall into darkness. A darkness that, according to Malette, would be permanent. He held Isla close. Her breathing and pulse slowed, as it always did at midnight, and as always, his own pulse increased with panic as he waited for her to breathe again.
He waited. And waited.
Finally, a full minute later, Isla’s chest rose and fell in a shallow breath. He swallowed, relieved that she was still alive, and hoping perhaps he’d have until six o’clock to find another solution, another way to save her.
He would drive himself mad if he stayed there, waiting for her to breathe, so he eased himself away from her side and stood over her for a moment.
Daniel ran a hand through his hair, bunching it in his fist and scrunching his eyes closed. “She did it,” he muttered. “The witch found a way even from the grave . . .” He swallowed reflexively, feeling ill. All the work, all the tears and sweat and effort and agony—to come to this? He shook his head. “There must be something . . .”
Lewis pushed himself to his feet with a groan. He wiped his arm across his forehead and paged through the diary. “We’ll find a way, Daniel. Let me do some digging in the library.” He glanced at Crowe. “Are there lanterns somewhere? We need light.”
Crowe nodded and stiffly shoved himself to his feet. “Upstairs in storage. Should be kerosene there as well. I’ll help you look.”
Lewis swept his eyes over Crowe’s battered body. “You stay here with Daniel. I can find the lamps.”
Crowe nodded. “Let me see the spell book.”
Lewis handed the book to him and then made his way to the doors. He shoved them open, and the resulting creak sounded loud in the room.
Daniel stepped out onto the broken edge of the floor. Open to the sky, he let the wind and the rain lash at him, willing himself to feel something—anything—besides the encroaching numbness.
Isla is gone.
The idea would not leave him. He dug his hand into his hair and looked out over land and air. There was nothing but marshland and river water beneath him, and the sky was equally dark.
Isla is gone.
And he loved her so much, it hurt. He heard footsteps and glanced over his shoulder as Nigel approached him.
Daniel had seen the extent of the damage Malette had done to her son—the bruises and cuts were plentiful—but the man had held himself together, and Daniel had yet to hear him complain even once about the physical pain.
Crowe remained silent, squinting against occasional gusts of wind.
“I refuse to accept this,” Daniel finally bit out, fury building. He hated Malette so much it physically burned. “Why, why?”
“Because she was evil. She was evil incarnate, there was not a decent bone in her body.” Nigel cursed and rubbed his face.
“There has to be something.” Daniel’s thoughts spun, grasping and discarding the tiniest of possibilities. “Something . . . anything . . .”
“There is.” Nigel looked at him with clouded eyes.
“What?” It took Daniel a moment before he realized that Crowe held Malette’s spell book by his side. His finger holding a place near the back of the book.
Nigel flipped open the book to the page he had marked. “She made some personal notes here.” He pointed to something Daniel couldn’t read. “It’s in Romanian. She kept all of her personal notes in either French or Romanian.”
Daniel felt a shiver of anxiety run through the numbness in his chest. “What does it say?”
“The kiss—the actual kiss?”
Daniel waited, not daring to allow even a moment of hope to rise up in him.
“It must occur after the first strike of midnight but before the last.”
Daniel barked out a laugh. “Midnight has come and gone. The clock has chimed its last.” He shook his head. “Isla was right. We are too late.”
Nigel shook his head. “I don’t believe that is what Malette meant. I believe she meant the end of the midnight hour—before the last minute when midnight changes to one o’clock. I believe we have an hour before the curse becomes permanent.”
Daniel couldn’t make sense of it. He looked at Nigel, feeling faint, numb. An hour? Could it be possible?
Nigel snapped the book shut. “We have Malette’s blood. We have Isla’s. We simply need to mingle it with the blood from a loved one’s finger, and trace it onto her forehead. And then the kiss.”
“But her family—”
“—is not here,” Nigel finished. “Even if they were, I’m not sure they could break the curse.”
“What do you mean?”
Nigel offered him a ghost of a smile. “You’re either modest or stupid, I’m not sure which.”
Daniel studied the man carefully.
“You love her,” Nigel said wearily. “It’s obvious to everyone—except, perhaps, the two of you.”
Daniel shook his head, his lips tightening. “I do not wish to discuss it.”
“You have to do it.”
“No! We have exactly one drop of Malette’s blood extracted from the spindle. Once used, it is gone. If I were to attempt it and meet with failure—”
“Fool!” Crowe’s eyes looked blacker and fiercer than ever. “Do you love her or not?”
“Of course I do! I love her more than my own life!”
“Then prove it!”
Daniel looked at the darkness around him and shook his head, feeling perilously close to tears. “I have no more claim to her than anyone else,” he said. “There have been no declarations of love, no discussions about building a life together. It won’t work.”
“Never in my life have I ever watched anyone the way you two look at each other.”
Daniel thought back to his interaction with Isla before reaching Port Lucy, of the times she’d whispered in his ear, her lips lightly grazing him. Of the way she leaned subtly back into his hand when he escorted her through a door before him, or up a flight of stairs. He’d registered the details on a deeper level where there was no conscious thought—it was those signals and more that had driven him half mad with desire for her, for everything about her, everything he wanted with her.
It might work . . . He allowed himself to hope, even as he realized how dangerous that was. Malette was vicious and cruel. If she’d built in any other surprises to her blasted curse, they would never know, and time was against them. Still. What was it he’d heard Lia say even as a young girl? Work and luck. Faith and hope in good things.
Could he truly walk away before he’d tried every possible option? Quince, Bonadea, Lewis—they had cared for her and loved her. Even Nigel, who had been one of her harshest critics, a thorn in her side, had saved her more than once.
Could he do any less?
Lewis returned with two glowing lanterns and motioned with his head. “Crowe, help me in the library. We must mix the concoction for Isla to drink.”
Daniel looked at him dubiously. “She’s unconscious.”
“Then we shall sit her upright and open her mouth. As for the kiss from a loved one—we’ll think on it.”
“Problem already solved,” Nigel said, glaring at Daniel. He shuffled forward, wincing as he made his way to the library with Lewis.
“How so?” Lewis asked before they disappeared around the corner and their conversation was muted.
Daniel returned to the main room, away from the wind and rain, and sat next to Isla’s prostrate form, noting the blue that had already stolen across her features. He lifted her from the cold floor and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her and tucking her head under his chin.
He rocked her slowly, back and forth, for what felt like an eternity. He whispered all the things they were going to experience together once she awoke, He had to clear his throat more than once as his eyes burned with unshed tears. He hoped he was telling her the truth, that he wouldn’t have to return to London with her in a state resembling death.
He occasionally heard Lewis’s and Nigel’s murmured conversation coming from the library. Feeling desperate to do something, anything, he retrieved his telescriber from his pocket and sent a message to Samson. He was determined to get them all away from the cursed manor house and the evil that had brought about so much pain and loss. Before long, he heard the whir of the airship and, through the ruins, saw the familiar sight of the Briar Rose as Samson maneuvered her close to the building.
Daniel stood, cramped and stiff, but still holding Isla close, and made his way into the library where Lewis and Nigel worked side-by-side, reading from the spell book and combining ingredients from Malette’s stash.
Lewis glanced up from his work. “Is that the airship?”
Daniel nodded. “I’m taking her aboard. As soon as you’re finished, we can go.”
Nigel frowned as he measured out a spice and added it to the small bowl on the table. “This will take a bit longer,” he said, glancing at Daniel. “We’re nearly finished mixing, but it needs to steep.”
Daniel looked at the clock on the wall. “How much time?”
Lewis ran a finger down the page. “Fifteen minutes.”
Daniel’s heart thumped. “So, at most, we’ll have a window of five minutes.” He paused, thinking. “Can it steep aboard the airship?”
Nigel nodded and stirred the contents of the bowl with a small, wooden spoon. He looked at Lewis. “We have everything?”
Lewis consulted the book again and nodded. “Done.”
Nigel grabbed the bag containing the spindle, and Lewis carefully lifted the bowl and spell book. As they left the library and made their way through the outer room to the collapsed wall, Daniel glanced at Nigel. “I’m sorry, Crowe.”
Nigel shook his head and cast one last, unreadable look at the floor where his mother had died. “There is nothing for me here. Never has been. I’m better off.”
Samson docked the Briar Rose and helped them aboard. The ’ton gently took Isla from Daniel and carried her to the wheelhouse. The three men followed: Daniel, anxious and unsettled; Nigel, winded and slow, and Lewis, carefully carrying the cure.
In the wheelhouse, Samson lay Isla on the settee near the windows, and Daniel mentally reviewed the past hour. They had done everything they possibly could. It had to be enough.
Please, let it be enough.
Lewis explained everything to Samson while both Daniel and Nigel watched the clock. The minutes ticked closer to the one o’clock hour, and for the first time in his life, Daniel felt faint.
Nigel finally lifted the bowl and swirled the contents. He gestured toward Isla. “Lift her up.”
Daniel propped Isla against his arm and pulled her chin down with his thumb. Nigel slowly poured a small amount into her open mouth and, when it trickled down her throat without choking her, added more.
Daniel laid her back down and glanced at the clock over his shoulder. Seconds passed. He briefly closed his eyes, hoping Nigel’s supposition about the time was right.
Lewis held out the small vial containing Malette’s blood and the spindle, sharp and deadly and still stained red from piercing the witch’s heart.
Without a word, Nigel took the spindle from Lewis and knelt next to Isla. Daniel knelt on her other side.
Nigel carefully lifted Isla’s hand and stabbed the sharp end of it into her finger. Daniel extended his own finger, and Nigel did the same to him.
Daniel touched the blood welling on his fingertip to Isla’s. Nigel unstopped the vial of Malette’s blood and carefully poured out the single drop onto Daniel’s and Isla’s joined fingertips.
“Quickly now,” Nigel said.
Daniel moved his hand to Isla’s forehead and smeared the mass of dark red onto her smooth skin. He sucked in a deep breath, hoping the blood from Malette was enough, that all contributions were mixed in well enough, that somehow it would work.
Framing her face with his hands, he slowly bent over Isla and kissed her unresponsive lips. He closed his eyes against the tears that burned hot. He kept them tightly closed and remained connected to her, still, unmoving, for the space of a minute—then two.
The room was silent.
Her lips were still. She did not return his kiss.
Daniel felt a sob build in his throat, and his tears fell onto her closed eyelids. He clasped her close, hauling her into his arms and squeezing her so tightly he felt her ribs against his fingertips. He rocked slowly back and forth, her dead weight heavy against his arms.
The only sound in the room was his ragged breathing. It hadn’t worked.