Everything happened so quickly. One moment, he was cursing whatever draft had disturbed the closet door and the next, an icy blast swept from within and hurled one of their companions out into hallway. He pivoted sharply, his hand reaching out to her and narrowly missing her wrist. The door slammed and both of his palms impacted upon its surface, fingernails curling into the cracked paint there. Oh so slowly, he dipped his shoulder to one side and cast his gaze upon the woman still in the room with him. Strange that she seemed so unaffected by the goings-on that had just transpired, his brows drew close together in an inquisitive scowl.

Rationality warred with everything that he had felt in that instance. Surely, they were playing some kind of trick on him. In all of his 'investigations', he had never truly felt anything. There was no denying the cold, fear-tinged wind that had assaulted Arabella. No denying this feeling welling up inside him. His sister had been right about this place....

His gaze, the color of which had hardened into slate gray, slid along the length of her finger and landed upon the two dolls she spoke of. Her words surmised his own sister's findings. Of course they did...

Then, he whipped his attention around and reached for the door knob, giving it a hard twist. Icy particulates attached themselves to his fingers and he jerked his hand away, shaking flecks of frost to the ground that had begun to form in the cup of his palm. In the span of a few moments, the entire door was weeping frozen residue.

"You can feel things, as she did. I'll be requiring answers..." Another glance over his shoulder again, his mouth tilting into a bit of an arrogant, lopsided, dimpled smirk that he aimed directly at her.

Then he grabbed the doorknob again and threw his shoulder into the woodwork, slamming the door back open and alighting upon the threshold with his pistol drawn.