Chapter 20

PEN

Laszlo stared daggers at them as they slipped quietly into the kitchen. It smelled heavenly, thyme and butter lingering in the air and making Pen's mouth water. He was pouring a pint of beer at the counter, and Pen surged forward and snatched it from him, taking a long drink.

"You missed the afternoon session."

"We've been busy," Pen gasped as she handed it back to Laszlo and wiped her hand over her mouth.

"Bet you have." Laszlo snorted, refilling his pint.

"Can I have one of those?" Neil asked, leaning in past Pen.

"If it means you don't steal mine," Laszlo said, narrowing his eyes at a retreating Pen. "We have one more exercise today. Unless you two have other things you need to get to?"

Pen and Neil looked at one another. She thought of the grave, of the woman in the window, of the red journal and the stack of letters. Chewing a bite of sausage, she shook her head.

"No, no, we're free."

"How thoughtful."

"What is it?" Neil asked, popping a potato into his mouth.

"More partner work. You pair off and describe each of the five senses in whichever place you've been assigned." Laszlo raised a brow. "Should we get new partners, or stick with the ones we drew earlier?"

Pen coughed, remembering the way she'd been wrapped around Neil in the mudroom when the others had found them. The way he'd touched her in the study, whispered obscene things against her skin as his fingers slid beneath her jeans.

"I think we should stick with the ones we already drew," Pen said, motioning to Neil. He nodded vigorously, the corners of his lips curling, that dimple popping in his cheek.

"Wow, you two really dove headfirst into this partnership," Daniela muttered.

"At least they're not bickering," Laszlo warned. "No offense."

"No offense taken," Pen said.

Pen and Neil sat at the end of the table. She shoveled a spoonful of potatoes into her mouth, chewing quickly. It felt wrong to be keeping quiet about the woman in white, but would it do more harm than good to claim that there was a ghost? No one had believed her when she'd screamed in the cellar; what would convince them otherwise but solid proof?

Though neither of them had any clue what they were dealing with here, it was probably best not to raise the alarm until they had some concrete answers.

"What is with you two?" Laszlo asked, leaning toward Neil.

"Nothing," he said, not quite meeting his eyes.

Pen reached for Neil's pint of beer, taking another long pull. She burped, covering her mouth with her hand. Her stomach gurgled dangerously, the beer in her threatening to make a fast escape. She was too nervous, too anxious about the things she and Neil were going in search of, but if not them, then who?

"Hey," she ventured, "have you two seen anything yet?"

"No," Daniela said. "Was hoping to spot the lady in black, you know? What's the point in renting out a haunted castle if it's not haunted by a murderous lady in black?"

Laszlo grunted, his expression twisted as if to say, I'm actually quite thankful this castle isn't haunted.

Pen met Neil's gaze, and he shook his head. She took another long pull of beer. The alcohol warmed her, making her cheeks flush as she silently shoveled more food into her mouth.

"While we're eating, we should talk about the rooms you were all sent to earlier," Laszlo announced. "What did you see?"

Daniela snorted. "We saw nothing in the study. We did find this cool old book about sex dungeons."

"It was eye-opening," he agreed.

"That wasn't the only thing that opened," Daniela joked, sputtering into her beer.

They turned to Pen and Neil. They knew about Pen's scream in the cellar, about the things she claimed she'd seen down there. This was her and Neil's chance to finally tell them the truth . Pen opened her mouth to respond, but Neil squeezed her knee, stopping her from spilling anything about the woman in white.

"It was creepy and cold," he said with a nod, "but we didn't really notice anything out of the ordinary."

Their ordinary, anyway.

He wasn't lying, per se, but he wasn't telling the whole truth either. Neil tapped her knee in a tune she couldn't quite pick out, and his bright eyes seemed to say, You know it's better this way.

And she did, but it didn't make it any easier.

Pen turned to the others, smiling weakly as she forked in another bite past her lips. "Just creepy," she agreed around the mouthful. The food turned to ash on her tongue, and she reached for Neil's beer, forcing it down.

She shivered, thinking of that creeping feeling in the stairwell. The darkness had been pressed to their backs, desperately reaching for them past the circle of light. And as they sat, examining the room, pretending like things between them hadn't changed, the door had been slammed shut and locked by some unseen force.

The woman from the window, presumably.

"Well, could you tell us a bit more about the next partner exercise?" Neil asked, turning back to Laszlo.

"This one is a bit more catered to the horror or paranormal writers here, but each pair will be sent to a specific part of the castle to describe it aloud to each other using your five senses." Holding up a finger for each one, he counted, "Sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch. What do you see? What do you hear? Taste and smell, and," he said with a smile, "if you're daring enough, what do you feel ?"

"Not that kind of feeling," Daniela murmured.

Pen smacked her on the arm. "Will you stop it, please? It's embarrassing enough that you walked in on us, I don't need you rubbing salt in the wound."

"Ouch," Neil muttered. "Didn't know I was a wound ."

"You're not a wound. That's not what I meant."

"I mean," Laszlo piped up, "you did use that metaphor."

She ran her hands down her face, groaning.

Laszlo and Daniela had strolled in casually and watched as Pen wrapped herself around Neil like a koala and practically writhed against him. Pen and Neil would never live it down, but her especially. And now she was saying all the wrong things. Couldn't she be normal for once?

"Okay, so, same pairings," Laszlo said, changing topics as Neil glared down at the table. "Do you want me to draw places, or do you want to choose?"

"Maybe we could choose? The study has nothing," Daniela drawled.

Neil turned to Pen, his expression carefully blank. Pen pressed her lips together, clearing her throat. It wasn't the place; it was the people. Whoever Georgina was, she did not want to communicate with this lot. For whatever reason, she had chosen Pen and Neil.

"I guess we could try the tower," Laszlo said. "I mean, Pen and Neil didn't see anything up there, but it could be different for us."

Daniela nodded as she drank the last of the beer. "Yeah, that's a good idea."

Pen swiveled to Neil. They knew where they needed to go; there was only one place in this castle with the answers.

"We'll head upstairs, check out the east wing," Neil lied.

"But not the west wing," Laszlo reminded as he and Daniela stood to go.

Pen wrung her hands as Neil stood. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" she hissed, following him out.

They abandoned their laptops and turned to the left, down the hall to the staircase. Pen paused on the bottom stair, glancing from the chandelier hanging in the foyer to the sconces and finally, to the portrait of the woman.

Georgina.

The tear she'd seen in it when they'd first arrived was even worse, the upper right of the canvas shredded. Georgina's eyes seemed even fiercer, and there was now a line between her brows like she was growing angry. It was weird to see a legend, a story passed down and whispered in the dark as children nuzzled in for bed, come to life. But Georgina was real, and here they were, planning to seek her out.

"We've got some Dorian Gray–level shit going on here," Pen murmured.

"I don't like that," Neil said.

"Me neither."

He grunted in confirmation but said nothing more. Pen pulled him to a stop next to her, searching his expression. "I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean what I said."

He raised a brow. "Which part? That I'm a wound, or that you're embarrassed to be seen with me?"

"Neil."

Neil sighed and pushed his sleeves up, exposing the tattoo on his right forearm. Her eyes were drawn to it, pulled to the soft brown skin etched with ink.

"I know you didn't mean it. I know this… us, is new. We can take it slow, but maybe, for future reference, don't refer to me or whatever we are as a wound?"

Pen smiled. "I can do that."

They resumed walking up the staircase, their arms brushing as she slowed on their ascent. Pen felt that strange tether at her core, the urge to go to the west wing and the ghost that lurked in its shadows. The owner of the hand, no doubt.

"It's a terrible idea," he said slowly, reaching for her hand, "but it's the only one we've got."

She rocked from foot to foot, teeth grinding as her attention was pulled up the banister to the landing, and then to the churning shadows that led to the west wing.

"I never imagined myself running toward ghosts," she admitted.

"You'd be surprised how much a person can change."

Pen looked up at him, her hand tightening in his. "I can't believe I'm about to say this to you of all people, but I'm happy that you're the one here with me."

"That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Well, let's get this ghost show on the road, shall we?"

Neil's features softened. "Remember, I'm here with you. And if you want to leave, if you want to get out of there, just tell me, and we're gone."

"Okay, but promise me, if we make it through this," she said with a blush and a wave of her hand to the castle and their surroundings, "we'll finish where we left off earlier?"

Stepping forward, Neil cupped her face with one hand, brushing his thumb over her cheek, sliding it down until it lingered on the corner of her mouth. "That's a promise I can keep."