Chapter 22 - The Weight of the Bronze Weapon
The bronze weapon came down with sickening velocity, stopping a fraction of an inch from Arthur’s temple.
Arthur flinched violently, squeezing his eyes shut as the cold brass grazed his earlobe.
Eleanor burst into high, musical laughter that sent chills down his spine.
"Still a coward," she purred, tapping the blunt edge gently against his cheekbone.
"Stop playing with him, Eleanor," Thomas barked from the doorway, his eyes darting nervously toward the window. "We don't have time."
"We have all the time in the world, brother-in-law," Eleanor said without looking back.
She reached down, her gloved fingers plunging roughly into Arthur’s interior coat pocket.
She pulled out a leather wallet, flicking it open and tossing credit cards and cash onto the bloodstained rug.
Hidden behind a photograph of Arthur’s mother was a small, notched brass key marked with the number four-hundred-twelve.
"There you are, my lovely," Eleanor murmured, holding the key up to the dim chandelier light.
Thomas lunged forward, snatching the key straight out of her fingers before she could react.
Eleanor’s smile vanished in an instant, replaced by an expression of pure, murderous rage.
"Don't forget who financed the escape, Eleanor," Thomas warned, pocketing the key inside his trench coat. "Fifty-fifty. That was our deal."
"You touch me again, Thomas, and I will bash your teeth down your throat," Eleanor replied in a flat, terrifying monotone.
Arthur looked between them, realizing the fragile alliance holding his captors together.
"He’s going to kill you, Eleanor," Arthur choked out, clutching his bruised ribs.
Thomas swung his heavy boot, kicking Arthur square in the stomach and cutting off his breath in an agonizing gasp.
"Shut up, old man," Thomas snarled, wiping sweat from his forehead despite the bitter cold.
Julian stepped back, watching the tension between Thomas and Eleanor with calculating eyes.
"We need to douse the study and the master bedroom," Julian intervened, checking his watch. "The timer on the fuel line gives us ten minutes."
"Go downstairs and start the parlor," Thomas ordered the doctor without taking his eyes off Eleanor.
Julian nodded silently, turning and descending into the shadows of the lower floor.
Eleanor stood up slowly, smoothing the wrinkles of her black woolen coat with exquisite care.
"Get up, Arthur," she said, her voice turning sweet once again.
When Arthur didn't move fast enough, she grabbed him by the collar and dragged him toward the staircase.
The heavy bronze candlestick swung loosely in her left hand, leaving dark scuff marks on the floral wallpaper.
"You built this house as a cage for me," she whispered as they reached the landing. "Tonight, it will be your crematorium."
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From the dark ground floor below, a sudden metallic crash echoed through the halls, followed by Julian shouting in shock.
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