where supposedly the Pope himself read them. Father Jacques also carried a mysterious case that had always made Andre curious.
He slammed the last door. Aside from the curio cabinet, a chair and writing table were the only furniture in the room.
He must have taken the case with him.
The sound of flapping wings and cawing grew louder, startling Andre. He stepped back into the nave. Sitting on the edge of the pews, like a congregation of dark angels, were twenty ravens. A draft blew in through the shattered window, so cold it seized Andre’s breath. Behind him came the sound of wood knocking against wood. On the back wall, the crucifix was hanging upside down again.
33
At the bottom of the stairs, Chris jerked with his lantern. “What was that?”
Private Pembrook whispered, “Probably a rat.”
“It sounds bigger.” Chris cocked his pistol, aiming at the doorway to the next room. There it was again, the faint sound of a branch scraping a window. Or maybe it was claws dragging across metal.
“Bugger, I don’t like it.” Private Pembrook climbed halfway up the staircase and tried to see past the railing. “Lieutenant? Inspector?” No one responded.
“They must be at the far end of the lodge.” Chris took a few steps into the darkness beyond the staircase.
Pembrook hustled down to the foot of the stairs. “Wait, we shouldn’t leave our post.”
“Then stay.”
“Don’t leave me in the dark.” Pembrook followed Chris into the next chamber. The lantern light offered a few feet of visibility, but each time he turned, black nothingness filled in the void around them. Chris passed several columns that had been notched by hunting knives. He and Pembrook stepped into another room half-lit by pale daylight coming through a window. Foul odors burned Chris’ nostrils. His eyes watered. He held his breath just long enough to adjust to the stench.
“A ‘skinning room,’” Chris whispered. It was where dead animals were gutted, skinned, and butchered. He weaved between racks of beaver pelts stretched out for tanning. His hand grazed the soft fur. “Why would the trappers leave behind all these pelts? Aren’t they worth a lot of money?”
“There’s enough here to buy a year’s worth of rum. They must have left in some kind of hurry.”
Chris rounded a corner and explored a back room. The walls were lined with pens made of chicken wire. A kennel like the one Anika had. Most of the cage doors stood open. Tufts of fur covered the meshwork and surrounding walls.
Something crunched beneath his boots.
Bones.
Pembrook whispered, “Blimey.”
Piles and piles of dog skeletons littered the floor. Fur-covered skulls stared up at them. From the darkness, an animal growled. Turning with his lantern, Chris spotted two glowing eyes. The beast exposed its fangs.
“Shit!” Pembrook bolted.
34
On the third floor, Tom paused when he heard a crashing sound from downstairs. A strange howl echoed throughout the lodge. Tom hurried back down the stairs. “Chris?”
Private Pembrook entered the lantern’s halo, his eyes wide. “There’s a wolf in the lodge!”
Chris was missing. Panic shot through Tom as he followed the sounds of snarling at the other end of the lodge. “Son!”
Tom, Anika, and Hysmith stepped into a kennel. Their boots crunched over animal bones. “Chris!”
“Over here.”
Tom found his son hovering in a corner behind a sled. At the far wall barked a dog. Tom shone his light into the pen. The door was still closed. A tail brushed against the mesh. Growling inside the cage was a hairless husky that was all bones. It screeched and leaped at the latched door.
Everyone stepped back. The dog’s front teeth chomped at the metal. Its eyes gleamed solid white. As the dog snarled, strings of gray saliva dripped off its fangs.
Anika yelled, “It’s got rabies.”
“Everybody stand back.” Hysmith pressed the barrel of his shotgun against the cage and fired, splattering the
He slammed the last door. Aside from the curio cabinet, a chair and writing table were the only furniture in the room.
He must have taken the case with him.
The sound of flapping wings and cawing grew louder, startling Andre. He stepped back into the nave. Sitting on the edge of the pews, like a congregation of dark angels, were twenty ravens. A draft blew in through the shattered window, so cold it seized Andre’s breath. Behind him came the sound of wood knocking against wood. On the back wall, the crucifix was hanging upside down again.
33
At the bottom of the stairs, Chris jerked with his lantern. “What was that?”
Private Pembrook whispered, “Probably a rat.”
“It sounds bigger.” Chris cocked his pistol, aiming at the doorway to the next room. There it was again, the faint sound of a branch scraping a window. Or maybe it was claws dragging across metal.
“Bugger, I don’t like it.” Private Pembrook climbed halfway up the staircase and tried to see past the railing. “Lieutenant? Inspector?” No one responded.
“They must be at the far end of the lodge.” Chris took a few steps into the darkness beyond the staircase.
Pembrook hustled down to the foot of the stairs. “Wait, we shouldn’t leave our post.”
“Then stay.”
“Don’t leave me in the dark.” Pembrook followed Chris into the next chamber. The lantern light offered a few feet of visibility, but each time he turned, black nothingness filled in the void around them. Chris passed several columns that had been notched by hunting knives. He and Pembrook stepped into another room half-lit by pale daylight coming through a window. Foul odors burned Chris’ nostrils. His eyes watered. He held his breath just long enough to adjust to the stench.
“A ‘skinning room,’” Chris whispered. It was where dead animals were gutted, skinned, and butchered. He weaved between racks of beaver pelts stretched out for tanning. His hand grazed the soft fur. “Why would the trappers leave behind all these pelts? Aren’t they worth a lot of money?”
“There’s enough here to buy a year’s worth of rum. They must have left in some kind of hurry.”
Chris rounded a corner and explored a back room. The walls were lined with pens made of chicken wire. A kennel like the one Anika had. Most of the cage doors stood open. Tufts of fur covered the meshwork and surrounding walls.
Something crunched beneath his boots.
Bones.
Pembrook whispered, “Blimey.”
Piles and piles of dog skeletons littered the floor. Fur-covered skulls stared up at them. From the darkness, an animal growled. Turning with his lantern, Chris spotted two glowing eyes. The beast exposed its fangs.
“Shit!” Pembrook bolted.
34
On the third floor, Tom paused when he heard a crashing sound from downstairs. A strange howl echoed throughout the lodge. Tom hurried back down the stairs. “Chris?”
Private Pembrook entered the lantern’s halo, his eyes wide. “There’s a wolf in the lodge!”
Chris was missing. Panic shot through Tom as he followed the sounds of snarling at the other end of the lodge. “Son!”
Tom, Anika, and Hysmith stepped into a kennel. Their boots crunched over animal bones. “Chris!”
“Over here.”
Tom found his son hovering in a corner behind a sled. At the far wall barked a dog. Tom shone his light into the pen. The door was still closed. A tail brushed against the mesh. Growling inside the cage was a hairless husky that was all bones. It screeched and leaped at the latched door.
Everyone stepped back. The dog’s front teeth chomped at the metal. Its eyes gleamed solid white. As the dog snarled, strings of gray saliva dripped off its fangs.
Anika yelled, “It’s got rabies.”
“Everybody stand back.” Hysmith pressed the barrel of his shotgun against the cage and fired, splattering the
Similar Books
