Chapter 14

NEIL

Neil towel-dried his hair, pushing the curls away from his face. He tugged on a fresh shirt and then his fleece, shivering from the cold as he pulled the zipper all the way up.

As he smoothed his hands down his front, Neil couldn't help but think of her straddling him in the snow, of the way his hand had reached for her thigh automatically, wanting to pull her closer, of the way her braid had swung down as she bent forward, laughing and pumping her fists in victory.

He was spiraling so fast. He didn't know how he was supposed to pretend she had no effect on him when, clearly, he could speak of nothing but cheese around her.

Cheese.

"I'm never going to live that down," he groaned, crossing to his door.

Neil opened it just as she appeared on the threshold of her room, hair freshly braided, cheeks blazing. They stared at each other for a long, heated moment before they looked away.

"Hi," she said, not quite meeting his eyes.

Neil motioned to the hall as he closed his door, an invitation to join him. They walked silently down the hall toward the stairs, falling into step with each other. His hand brushed her hip, and she lurched away as if he'd burned her.

"Sorry," they said at the same time.

She smiled. It was so small, so gentle, Neil hardly recognized her. His heart pounded, and he was terrified she could hear it, the thunder of his pulse as he stared down at her.

"About earlier," they said in unison.

"Reading my mind?" she accused, laughing.

Were they flirting ? Hot damn, maybe Neil had the moves after all. Forget cheese, forget every flounder until now, they would start here .

"I just wanted to apologize about earlier," he said carefully.

She stopped in the hall and ran her fingers over one of the busts. His mouth went dry as he watched her, her finger swirling over the smooth stone. Neil couldn't help it; suddenly, he was picturing her hand on him, over him, touching him.

"What for?" she asked, not looking at him.

He sidled up next to her, surveying the marble, wishing desperately that he were in its place.

"I can be… awkward, I guess. I don't do well around people."

"I noticed."

Neil chuckled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "What gave me away?"

"When you asked about cheese."

They both burst into laughter, and Neil watched her, hand on his gut. It felt… nice, to laugh with her. To joke, even if it was at his expense. But the laughter died when she stopped on the stairs, her eyes drawn to the west wing across the way.

"Have you wondered what's down there?" she asked.

He followed her fixation to the darkened hall. The mere sight of it made him shudder. There was something off about the west wing, and though part of him knew it was the groundskeeper's warning, Neil couldn't help but think whatever thing he'd seen the night before, the eyes Skinner had seen in the cellar, the whispers in the castle, and the strange sense of being watched, all linked back to this spot in the castle.

It was rumored that the woman in black crept through the abandoned hall, and Neil wasn't so certain it was just a rumor.

Skinner took a step toward the west wing, and Neil reached for her out of instinct. He gripped her shoulder, fingers gently squeezing. "Hey, hey, we shouldn't go down there." He tried to keep his tone light, but a warning slinked into the cracks.

She turned to stare up at him, her gray eyes wide. His touch seemed to pull her out of whatever trance she was in because her blush only deepened as she shrugged out of his grip. Neil tried to hide his disappointment as she moved farther away from him, her hands worrying at a loose thread on her sweater.

"Sorry," she said, turning back toward the west wing. "I don't know what it is about that place, but I just feel so drawn to it, you know?"

As much as he hated to admit it, he did know. Neil felt it too. He'd felt it when he'd picked up the journal from the study's floor. And he'd felt it when he'd opened his door the night before and smelled something that made his stomach gurgle even now at the recollection.

He glanced sidelong at Skinner. Neil knew all too well what being drawn to something felt like, but only bad things could come out of a place so dark, so abandoned. When he searched the darkness, his gut twisted, and his hair stood on end. He didn't want to see the woman in black, if the portrait in the foyer was any sign of who she was. It was creepy and scary, and Neil was regretting coming to a haunted castle.

He cleared his throat and motioned to the stairs as the voices of the others grew louder below them. "Come on, Laszlo will kill us if we're any later than we already are."

She nodded and turned slowly, peering back at the west wing over her shoulder as they descended the staircase.

"You're late!" Daniela decreed as they turned into the kitchen.

Neil shook his head as Skinner pushed past him to the table and took a seat. "We got lost," he lied.

"Sure, you did."

Laszlo clapped, drawing their attention. "Okay! This time we're doing a partner activity. I was going to do it tomorrow morning, but you all seem to need a bit more stimulation today."

"Sure do," Daniela whispered to Neil.

"So, we pair up?" Neil asked, ignoring her pointed stare.

"Yes, we'll randomly select partners and rooms. The idea is to sit and write the first thing that comes to mind in these places. Take it in," Laszlo said, eyes flicking around them. "This castle holds a lot of inspiration. Look at the walls, at the floor, and just write whatever pops into your head, okay?" He clapped his hands again and motioned to the table. "I've already mapped out the creepiest rooms in the castle, so we'll draw from those."

Neil leaned toward the rough sketch Laszlo had laid out across the table. There were rooms he didn't know were there, secret doors and passageways in places he was frankly uncomfortable knowing even existed.

"Now that I think about it, this sounds like a terrible idea," Laszlo said, turning to Skinner.

Neil watched as the two leaned in toward each other conspiratorially. His stomach twisted at the sight. He wanted her to trust him like that. To smile without pulling back, to laugh freely.

"Laszlo, I will never understand why you decided renting out a haunted Scottish castle was a good idea," Skinner said.

"Frankly, neither will I."

"What about that one novel you wrote with the… thing that had the ghost doing… the thing? Wasn't that kind of scary?"

Laszlo squinted at her. "My gothic thriller?"

She shook her head, leaning forward. She tapped her finger against the wood of the table, scraping her nail in the grooves, and Neil thought of her straddling him, her hands splayed across his chest as she laughed.

"No, no it was…" She scrunched up her nose, thinking. "The one with the underground tunnels? And the vampire."

"Oh, The Drawn and the Closed ."

"Yes!" Skinner laughed and clapped. "That's the one."

"Is that a sex dungeon?" Daniela whispered from behind Neil, pointing to the map.

"What?" he asked, momentarily distracted.

Daniela smirked. "I was testing you. You're spending an awfully long time studying this map, Stormy."

"Please don't use that nickname."

"But it's my favorite!" Daniela slung an arm over his shoulder. "You know, we're from the same tribe, Stormy. We're practically cousins. Aw," she said when he tried to pull away, "why so gloomy?"

"Please don't with the weather puns." He shrugged her off and refocused on Skinner and Laszlo.

"Are you telling me you wrote that despite being scared of ghost stories and haunted places?" Skinner asked Laszlo, tilting her head.

Laszlo waved his hand. "I've been on dozens of underground tours. Something about those made it easier to write, you know? But that cellar? No, thank you. "

"What kind of underwear do you wear, Storm?" Daniela continued.

"Don't do it," he begged.

"Thunderwear," Daniela and Neil said in unison.

Daniela pouted. "It's no fun when you do it."

"Precisely why I do it. You don't think I haven't heard them all already?"

Laszlo straightened and waved his hands at the group, holding up a cup. "Okay, okay, calm down. I'm drawing the first pair…"

Neil clamped down on his bottom lip as Laszlo reached in and lifted out two names. "I'm with Daniela."

Daniela's face was carefully blank. "And the room?" she asked.

Laszlo reached into a second cup. "The study."

Sighing in relief, Laszlo leaned across the table to high-five Daniela, but she maneuvered out of the way. "Woo-hoo," she deadpanned, standing.

"I guess that means we know who the other pair is," Laszlo said, looking between Neil and Skinner.

Neil could see what Skinner was thinking from the way her hands tightened around the edge of the table. But he couldn't help it; he felt elated . Finally, alone with her. No more running away, no more interruptions.

Just the two of them.

"I think it's fine," Laszlo said. "Assuming you two can spend an hour in a room together."

"Sure," he said too quickly. Fuck, don't sound too excited.

Skinner turned to him. He tried to school his expression and force his lips into a flat, uncaring line.

"I guess." Skinner sighed, looking away quickly, but Neil could have sworn he saw the beginnings of a smile curling her lips.

"Okay," Laszlo said, glancing between them. "Only the room left, then."

"Can you please hurry up?" Skinner asked. Neil watched her carefully. She'd tried to mask the fear in her tone, but it was there, in the tightening of her lips, in the furrowed brow, and the waver in her voice.

Laszlo held up the small piece of paper in his hand, eyes widening. "I can choose another."

"It's the cellar, isn't it?" Skinner groaned.

"Um, no."

"It's worse?" Neil asked quietly. His stomach swirled viciously.

Laszlo slid the piece of paper across the table toward them and pointed to a place on the map, and Skinner sat up, craning her neck to read.

Neil's stomach dropped, the nerves in his body buzzing.

"You have to be fucking kidding me."

"I have the worst luck," Skinner whispered.

Excerpt from The Drawn and the Closed by Laszlo Morgenstern

Beneath the streets, a shadow waited. It lurked in the darkness like a phantom, half of its face hidden from view. It did not live there, nor in the theater above, but somewhere in between.

As in life, it lived in death: one foot on either side of the line.

Its throat ached with thirst, its teeth sharp and waiting for a person to wander above, alone and forgotten; for someone to fall into its trap. It was a lonely life, waiting and waiting, but, in time, it was always worth it.

And on this night, it did not have to wait long. A man wandered down the tunnels from the theater, slipping through the trapdoor beneath the stage.

The shadow watched him behind the curtain of darkness, waiting, waiting. But when he bent to bite the man, to suck him dry of his life force, the man met its eyes and said: "I've been looking for you."