Chapter 9

PEN

"Wait!"

Pen reached forward and covered his hand with hers. His pinky wrapped around hers as if out of instinct. She stared down at their joined hands, remembering the moment in the ruins, being crushed against the fence… Why did she keep thinking of that? Why the fuck was she so goddamn hung up on a fake almost kiss when Storm felt as little for her as she felt for him: a whole lot of nothing.

She glanced from their hands to his face, cheeks heating as she failed to banish the thoughts. God, she was a terrible liar. If he saw it, if he asked, she wasn't so sure she could lie to his face.

"You really don't need to do this," she said as she tugged her hand free.

Neil Storm looked down at her, emerald eyes serious, pupils dilated. He was buzzed, cheeks colored pink, weight shifting awkwardly as he tried to straighten. He seemed unsteady, because who in their right mind would say, Why, yes, I will indeed go into the cellar of this haunted castle!

Pen recalled Fanny's earlier warnings, something about death or peril lingering at the back of her mind. God, this was foolish. She was being petty, and it wasn't worth risking someone else's life if there was indeed some dark spirit waiting in the shadows of this cellar to kill them all.

He frowned down at her and this close, her hip brushing his, her fingers inches from tangling with his, she thought again of earlier, the heat of him so close, his breath on her lips as he leaned forward and pressed her into the fence. Pen had the sudden, strange urge to drag him down to her level.

"Yes," he said, pulling back and shaking out his hand as if it hurt. "I do."

"I'll go with you." Pen clamped her mouth shut with wide eyes. Damn it, she was being foolish.

His eyes snapped to hers, then to the cellar door, already partially ajar. Darkness lay beyond, and the longer she stared at it, the sicker she felt. He looked at her questioningly, waiting for her to back out.

"Let's just go back to the study," Laszlo urged, tugging on Pen's arm.

His eyes flicked between Neil and Pen, widening a fraction as if telling her, Please don't do this again . But this wasn't the same. This wasn't another convention, and Pen was a hell of a lot more focused and calmer than when she was on that panel.

"I'm going down there," Neil said, taking a step toward the stairs. He looked pointedly at Pen. "You dared me, and I agreed to it, so let's just get this over with, okay? No need to make a big scene."

"I'm not making a scene. But if you're going down there, so am I," Pen insisted, shaking off Laszlo's hand.

Laszlo looked between them. "You two deserve each other," he muttered under his breath.

Pen tried not to think about the nervous flutter in her belly at the thought.

Daniela nodded in agreement, and they shuffled away a few steps, wary of the cellar and whatever lay beyond. They could laugh and joke about the castle being haunted all day, but when it came down to it, none of them were willing to risk it. Because there was a sense of something else here. Franny had been shaken, scared, even, and Pen was suddenly certain that there had to be some truth to the local lore.

"You do know basements and cellars are like two of the most common haunting grounds, right?" Laszlo asked, shrinking away.

"I'd choose a haunted attic over a basement any day," Daniela said.

Storm pulled the door open the rest of the way, and nothing but darkness and cool air greeted them. Pen shivered, wrapping her arms around her middle as she stared past the doorframe.

All to prove a point. That's all this was. Storm wanted to prove he could do it, and Pen wanted to prove… prove what? That she wasn't trying to send him to his death? That she wasn't a total asshole? This was a fucking mistake. Could she truly not back down from Storm because of her pride?

He slid his hand into the open air before them, searching the walls on each side of the door. The sleeve of his fleece inched up, and Pen thought she saw a bit of black ink poking out from beneath it. She wanted to reach out and roll up his sleeve, to see what he kept hidden beneath it.

"There's no light," he mumbled, searching for an invisible string.

Pen pulled out her phone, switching on the flashlight feature. "Thank god for technology." Although, as she shone it into the darkness, she wasn't entirely certain it was enough. It cast a faint, white glow a few feet before her, but it was nothing to battle the depths of the cellar. Storm nodded and did the same, taking the first step down.

Swallowing, Pen followed.

It grew colder as they descended. Though Pen could hardly see past his tall frame, she moved her phone from left to right, sweeping the light over covered furniture and racks of wine along the farthest wall. It looked like any cellar one might expect beneath a castle. Creaking wooden steps, a concrete floor, shelves, wine racks, and abandoned and broken furniture. At its peak, the cellar might have been used to store food and wine, but now, it was a place for abandoned things. Lost things.

Like wandering spirits trapped in this world.

"Can you see anything?" she whispered, leaning close.

Storm shivered, waving her away. "Don't do that."

Pen eyed him sidelong, smiling. "Did I scare you ?"

"No," he snapped.

She opened her mouth to retort, but her eyes landed on something lurking in the shadows of the cellar. It twitched. Pen paused on the step, her heart racing as she leaned down and peered into the dark. Something round caught the light of her phone, gleaming like an eye from the shadows of the cellar. She blinked and found the shape of a person, the wisp of a shadow.

Too human. It was too human .

Oh no, oh no, it was the spirit, the one that Fanny had warned them about. The protector. It was going to kill them, if spirits could indeed kill people.

Pen's breath caught as the thing moved, writhing as those glowing orbs shimmered. And then she smelled it, thick and heavy, the dampness and musk of growing mold. She shivered and gagged, that same dread from the secret passageway raising goose bumps along her arms and the nape of her neck.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod it's the ghost!" she chanted as she leaned close to Storm. One of her hands gripped his shoulder, her nails digging in past fabric to his flesh. "Storm, it's going to kill us, holy shit, we're going to die." Her heartbeat was erratic as she raised a shaky hand and pointed at the thing in the dark.

"What?" he said as he turned toward her.

"It's a ghost, there's a fucking ghost, " she cried out. "We don't mean your castle any harm, brother protector ghost!" she called. "It's just a silly game, a very foolish mistake we won't be making again! Please, don't kill us."

He followed her finger and stooped over the railing of the cellar stairs, flashlight bright against the darkness. The beam scanned the cellar, and Pen followed the line of light across the floor eagerly.

But there was nothing. There was no monster, no shadow, no pair of glowing eyes watching them. Pen's lips trembled. Had she imagined it, that thing gleaming in the dark? She moved to shine her own phone to prove him wrong, but her hand was empty. She groaned, covering her face.

"Skinner, calm down," he admonished, reaching for her. His fingers skated over her wrist. "There's nothing here."

"I dropped my phone," she groaned again. She didn't want to peel back her hands, to see that thing again, the whisper of a human lurking in the darkened corners of the cellar. It was a mistake coming down here. What had she been thinking? Rumors and myths and legends existed because they relied on truths. And what's to say ghosts weren't real just because she wrote stories about them?

Slowly, he tugged her hands away with soft, warm fingers, and the tenderness of the action, of his touch, made her pulse flutter. Storm's features were cast in shadow as she blinked down at him, tracing his strong nose and bright eyes with new clarity.

"Skinner, there's nothing there." His voice was whisper-soft, a contrast to his sharp words earlier.

Something was changing between them, their pasts morphing into a present she'd never stopped to imagine, and although Pen wanted to ask what it was, she could think of nothing but the eyes in the dark. She was certain she'd seen something. She didn't know what it was, but there had been something .

Hadn't there?

Light leaked in from behind them, casting a bright glow down the stairs and into the cellar. Now Pen could see a string dangling from the bottom of the stairs, dancing in the air almost playfully a few steps down. Storm followed her gaze and reached out and tugged on it, his other hand still grasping Pen's as light flooded the room.

"Are you okay?" Daniela called down, her curl-framed face appearing in the doorway.

"We'll be up in a minute!" Storm said.

They turned in unison and scanned the cellar. Other than the wine and furniture and closed, labeled boxes, there was nothing else— no one else. Concern was written across his features, in the lines around his eyes and mouth, and her heart skipped a beat.

Imagining things, Pen was imagining things. Neil Storm could not possibly be concerned for her. Swallowing down her confusion, Pen tugged her hand free, swiveled back to the top of the stairs and jogged up.

"Are you okay?" Laszlo asked as she pushed her way past them. "We heard the scream…"

"I'm fine."

Storm appeared a moment later with two bottles of champagne tucked under his arm and her phone in his hand. Why had he gotten it for her? She stared at him as he closed the door with his hip, shutting in whatever she'd seen. He held her phone out, and she took it, their fingers brushing and sending a shock of electricity up her arm.

She snatched her hand away, anxiety peaking. Ignoring her, Storm passed the champagne bottles to Daniela, and they followed Laszlo back toward the study. Pen lingered behind, fighting a shiver as she tightened her hand around her phone.

"Hey," Storm started, reaching out as if to touch her, comfort her. "Are you okay?"

It was a loaded question. There were the stairs, the door that led to the cellar and the thing that lurked below. Had she imagined it? Or had it truly been there, waiting in the dark for someone to find it? Fanny seemed to know more about this castle than she was letting on, and Pen was beginning to believe that there was a lot more to the stories Fanny had told.

"I swear," she said, leaning close. "I saw something down there. The protector ghost Fanny spoke of. Something. I wasn't imagining it."

"Maybe you did see something."

Pen wrinkled her nose, watching him closely, searching those green eyes that had become shockingly familiar in just a day. "You don't believe me, do you?"

He sighed, running his fingers through his curls. "No?" He shrugged. "I don't know. I'd like to believe you. Maybe I just didn't see it. Maybe, if there was something down there, it didn't want to be seen by anyone other than you."

Pen shuddered and wrapped her arms around her middle. "Yeah, I don't like the sound of that."

"I can imagine."

They stopped just outside the study. Inside, Daniela had slid back into her empty chair, and Laszlo huddled next to the fire for warmth, the couch empty. Pen glared at it, aware of the heat of Storm beside her, and she imagined, almost strangely, what it would be like to sit next to him, thighs squished together, their bodies aligned. Touching. It was oddly comforting knowing he was beside her even now. And perhaps he was right. Perhaps, if it had indeed been a ghost down in the cellar, it had only wanted Pen to see it.

"Maybe you're right." She smiled weakly, meeting his eyes. "I've always had an affinity for lost things."

He watched her silently. Daniela and Laszlo laughed as they settled into their cushy seats beside the dwindling fire and passed the bottles back and forth, bubbly golden liquid spilling over their flutes. But Pen couldn't stay here any longer. She couldn't drink champagne and laugh and smile as if she weren't comforted by Storm's presence, as if the electricity between them wasn't transforming into something that scared her. As if she hadn't seen the thing in the cellar.

Mind buzzing, she turned to go.

"Pen," Laszlo started, standing.

"I'm just tired. I was up pretty early." Pen faked a yawn, covering her mouth with her hand as she avoided their gazes. "See you all in the morning."

They murmured their goodnights, and she turned down the hall, hurrying toward the stairs leading up to the second floor. The goose bumps wouldn't go away. There was something so very wrong with this castle, and perhaps they never should have come here.

"Skinner, wait."

She paused in the hall, peering over her shoulder to catch Storm as he stepped over the discarded bottles. His hair was disheveled, cheeks flushed. His fleece was unzipped, the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms and more of the tattoo that peeked out from beneath. It looked to be a feather, the black ink fading out, stippled.

"What are you doing?" she asked, flicking her eyes away from the ink.

He shrugged. "Tired too."

She was exhausted. Pen didn't want to argue anymore tonight, and she especially didn't want to walk through this place on her own. Chewing on her lip, she nodded.

Storm followed closely behind, and she felt that odd comfort in his presence again. The castle felt peculiar on her own, too dark, too quiet. Storm was saying something as she gripped the banister to steady herself, but she couldn't hear him, a ringing in her ears as she ascended the stairs.

She paused on the landing, angling to the right. What had Fanny said about the west wing?

It was strictly off-limits.

Still, she felt herself pulled to it. Ignoring the call of her name, Pen stepped closer, squinting down the dark hallway. Well, she was just full of reckless ideas today. She shivered as she took another step forward. The eerie setting and the dark, looming hall reminded her of a passage from The Lies They Told Us .

"And in that hall, dark and long and harrowing, did I step toward the unknown. The Sounds crept toward me," Pen whispered, taking one step and then another into the shadows stretching out before her. The wood screamed beneath her feet, protesting each step as if she did not belong there in the dark. She took a deep breath and continued forward. "And when I saw it, I knew."

A door creaked open at the end of the corridor, and Pen froze, eyes wide as it swung outward. There was absolutely no way in hell it was air or a loose lock. That door had opened on purpose. It waited, unmoving, as if it had opened just for her. Pen swallowed hard, her throat dry as she took another step toward it. Her heart thundered, adrenaline pumping through her as a hand snaked around it, gripping the edge of the peeling wood of the door.

She knew she should go, flee from this place, but a strange feeling urged her forward, led her to wonder what might be luring her into the darkness.

"Skinner!" Storm called.

Pen jumped in surprise, whipping her head around to see him stopped at the landing, eyes wide. He felt so far away. In her haze, Pen had wandered farther down the hall than she'd thought. Breathing shakily, she turned back to the door, to the flicker of movement she'd seen moments earlier. Was it the woman in black? Was she looking for her next victim?

But the door was closed, the west wing empty but for the two of them.

"That's not possible," she said, searching the shadows.

"What's not possible?" he asked, slipping his hand into hers and pulling her back to the light.

Pen opened her mouth, but what was there to tell? Maybe she was imagining things.

"Nothing," she said. "It was nothing."

She let him lead her toward the east wing, enjoying the warmth of his touch far more than she was willing to admit, but she half turned, considering the door. Pen swore she'd seen a flicker of movement, a shadow, or a silhouette in the darkened corners of the abandoned corridor, but when she blinked, it was gone.

Storm pulled her silently down the hall, past the art and statue busts, until they stopped between their rooms. Pen struggled to focus on him, a breath settling between her ribs.

"Did you really see nothing?" she asked quietly, crossing her arms over her chest.

He shook his head, brows pinched together. "I'm sorry." He laughed awkwardly. "Not that I wanted to see something, just sorry that you're the only one who's…"

"The only one seeing ghosts or imagining things? Yeah, lucky me."

Pen smiled weakly as she toed the plush carpet. She'd seen things twice in one night. A coincidence, for now. But maybe the legends Fanny spoke of were truer than she'd let on.

Clearing her throat, Pen opened her door. Leaning against the doorframe, she summoned a smirk, the merriment not quite reaching her eyes.

"Goodnight, Storm. I hope you dream about flying books and angry writers."

He chuckled, taking a step back. "Just the one."

Pressing her lips into a thin line to keep from truly smiling, she closed the door between them. Her bag still rested inside the door, the mismatched colors a strange contrast to the décor. The top had been unzipped, but Pen couldn't recall opening it. She nudged it with her foot, stepping farther into the room.

It was cold at night, the darkness beyond the window lit only by the white of the snow sprinkled over the grounds. The sky had that strange, purplish glow to it; more snow in the forecast, Pen suspected.

She wanted to fling open the window and breathe that familiar scent in, to dispel the thick odor of murky dampness that she couldn't seem to shake from the cellar, but her chattering teeth and freezing hands convinced her otherwise.

Pen changed into her pajamas, her hands shaking, stumbling as she slipped off her clothes and into something warm. With her feet clad in a pair of thick wool socks and a hoodie thrown over a loose shirt, she pulled back the covers of her bed. She paused as she climbed in, her gaze going to the tapestry and the hidden door behind it.

Swallowing, she crossed the room and tugged on the handle, making sure it was closed. She locked it to be certain. Although Pen did not know what lay in wait in the castle, she was not willing to take any more chances.