The Attic (Completed)

Chapter 23

Mike decided the puppeteer was a clever actor.

After entering Ian's workshop, Lily had removed his shirt and washed his wounds with water from a bottle. She had then cut a sheet into strips and used them as a makeshift bandage tied around his chest. The dog-man stayed outside.

While she worked, Lily explained everything that had happened to her from the time she'd left Auguste's study with Ian the evening before. Through everything, the puppeteer reacted with the appropriate level of shock and horror as though all of this were news to him, and Lily had shown no signs of suspicion—only sympathy and concern for his wellbeing.

Mike was growing increasingly distressed and frustrated—on the verge of losing his mind from not being able to express himself. If only he could communicate with Lily somehow and warn her of the danger she was in. She was so close—so close that he could kiss her lips—yet she may as well have been all the way across the ocean. And with the puppeteer being such a good actor, how was she ever to notice that something was amiss?

The puppeteer would have no trouble baiting her.

He could only hope that Ian would know something was wrong, and might even be able to save him.

If only he were here now.

"Did the others tell you about Ian's letter instructing them to pack up and leave?" Lily asked, moving away from him and sitting down on a stack of tomes.

"His letter?"

Mike was instantly hopeful. The puppeteer seemed confused. Maybe he would slip up after all.

"Yes, he left them a letter saying to vacate the mansion immediately. That's why he went back to the mansion this morning—because he suspected Hannah hadn't left, and no one could find you either."

Mike was horrified. This would play perfectly into the cloaked man's plan.

"Oh, the letter," the puppeteer said, posturing as though his mind had simply gone blank in the excitement of the morning's events. "Of course they told me about it. And you can imagine how devastated Hannah was. I spent a considerable amount of time consoling her." An appropriate pause for effect. "After she calmed down, I told her I'd help her pack," he continued. "But when we reached the foot of the stairs leading to our rooms, we saw a hooded man dressed in ancient leather standing on the landing, looking down at us. He had a sword in his hand."

Lily's face visibly paled. "How did you get away?" she asked in a choked voice.

"We ran like crazy to the back door and didn't look back, but Hannah fell on the greensward and hurt her ankle real bad."

"Is she . . . all right?" Lily's sea-green eyes were wide and limpid, full of fear.

"I don't know," the puppeteer said in a regrettable tone as though he cared very deeply about Hannah's welfare. "I didn't have car keys on me," he explained, "so I carried her into the forest and covered her with evergreen boughs and leaves—told her to lay very still while I went for help. As far as I could tell, the maniac hadn't followed us outside." He paused as though to increase the suspense; Lily's attention was rapt.

"I considered running down the road to seek out a neighbor, but I didn't want to risk passing the mansion—in case the maniac had come out the front or side doors. . . . In the end, we opted to spend the night in the forest and just wait it out."

"And that's when you came looking for Ian—this morning."

"Yes." A nod. And perhaps for effect—a painful cringe. He looked down at his chest and her eyes followed his.