Chapter 21

NEIL

They ascended the last of the stairs, her fingers wrapped around his and squeezing tightly. He hoped they could find their answers without coming face-to-face with the woman in white, but he had the sinking doubt that it wouldn't be so easy. If there was one thing Neil had learned since they'd arrived in the castle, it was that this ghost didn't care about the time of day.

She appeared when she wanted to appear, day or night, and there was nothing to protect Neil and Penelope from her. He just hoped that they were on the right path, and she was some forlorn lover rather than a murderous ghost. If ghosts could indeed kill.

"I really wish I'd brought white sage," Penelope said as they stopped on the last stair before the landing.

"If I'm being honest, I thought about bringing some, too, but I didn't want to be the superstitious person in the group."

Penelope let out a laugh. "Well, whether or not you brought sage, you were right to think about it because this castle is definitely haunted."

"Yeah, I was unfortunately right in assuming the haunted castle we'd rented was haunted." Neil tilted his head at her, and asked, "Do you want to make this fun?"

"This is the least fun situation. We're running toward a ghost ."

"But if I could make it fun?"

"How do you mean?"

Stepping onto the landing, Neil tugged her after him and toward the west wing. His stomach was a mess of nerves as he glanced over his shoulder, zeroing in on the cobwebs in the corners, and the torn and stained wallpaper. They stopped before the threshold leading down the hellish hall. The hall that belonged to the woman in white.

Letting go of Penelope's hands, Neil reached out and brushed her bangs from her eyes, adjusting her glasses. There was something so mundane about the action, so comfortable, he was startled to realize he'd love the opportunity to do it a hundred more times.

"Laszlo wants us to use our senses to describe this place, right?" She nodded. "And you've been struggling with your writing?" She hesitated, so he barreled on, "Then let's kill two birds with one stone."

Penelope shook her head and made to leave. His hands gripped her shoulders, steering her forward.

"Neil, this is a terrible idea. I'm beginning to doubt this. There must be another way."

"Stop thinking of this as an idea, or something we must do. It's inspiration."

"Inspiration? More like nightmares . This is—"

Turning her toward him, he leaned down, searching those pale eyes. "Do you write horror?"

She stared blankly back. Her mouth opened and closed, eyes narrowing. "Well, yes—"

"Then where are we?" he demanded, motioning to the space.

"In a hall?"

"More specifically?"

"I feel like I'm back in school," she muttered, swiveling toward the west wing. "We're in a hall in a castle," she said, several emotions flitting over her features.

"A haunted castle," Neil corrected as he motioned to the space around them, letting go of her shoulders. "We came on this retreat for two reasons, right?" He held up a finger. "First, to get away from the world and focus on writing. And second, to get inspired by our surroundings."

He thought of the woman in the window, of the way half her body was decaying, the raspy tone of her voice when she'd whispered to him in the study. He fought a shiver, keeping his eyes trained on Penelope. He could do this— they could do this .

For the sake of writing.

And the people downstairs.

"I know it's scary—literally scary, but you need to get out of your comfort zone. The best stories have a bit of truth behind them, and what's better for a horror writer than to find themselves in some danger?"

Penelope rocked on her heels, her whole body tensing in front of him. "Can we please just get this show on the road?"

Biting back a smile, Neil rolled up his sleeves and took a step away, gently nudging her forward.

"What do you see?" he asked, eyes locked on the space ahead. He wrapped his hands loosely around her shoulders from behind, and she flinched before settling beneath the weight of them.

"I see…" She trailed off, her head moving slightly as she took it all in. She breathed in deeply before releasing a shuddering exhale. "Blackened walls, as if a fire reached its way through this side of the castle and swallowed it whole."

"Keep going."

She cleared her throat, and he waited. Standing there like this, she fit into the grooves of him. He couldn't help but think of the kiss in the mudroom, of the path her hips made in the study when his hands had traced her every curve before dipping down between her legs, the sounds that she'd made as they ground against one another.

"Is this turning you on?" she asked.

Neil coughed, reaching down to adjust himself. "Just continue."

"This side of the house has been abandoned," she went on in a whisper. "The wallpaper has been torn from the walls, leaving behind dust and residue. The sconces are falling off." As she said this, the light in the dark space seemed to dim even further. "It is so dark that I can hardly see," she said a little quicker. "The cracks in the walls seem to grow, stretching farther and farther, a maw opening wide."

He felt a slight pang of jealousy at Penelope's ability to paint an image. How she wasn't a bestselling author was anyone's guess.

"Now close your eyes," he urged in her ear.

"No, thank you."

"Only for a moment." He cupped his hands in front of her face. Neil waited for a beat and then asked, "What do you hear?" He shivered at the thought, eyes flicking around the space. There was nothing and no one; just the two of them.

For now.

"Nothing," she said. "I hear nothing."

"Come on, what else?"

"Everything is too still, too quiet. I could hear a pin drop, a squeak of the floorboard." She tilted her head ever so slightly, a lock of hair falling from behind her ear where she'd tucked it. "The silence of a graveyard."

No wonder she wrote horror; she was fucking terrifying. Neil shuddered. "Good." He cleared his throat, the dread coiling in his gut as he asked, "And what do you smell?"

She breathed in deeply, letting the air out with a sigh. "Dust and mold, and a bit of smoke as if the fire has lingered here long after." She smelled the air, tilting her head up slightly like a cat. "And… and decay?" She stopped suddenly, her voice shaky. "It smells like death, like something died here, is still here."

No . He knew the scent she spoke of and could imagine it from the night before. But that meant—

There was a long, dreadful screech. Penelope flinched in his arms, a hand flying up to tighten around his wrist.

"What was that?" she asked, her voice wavering.

She was right. The castle—the wing—was too still, and they could hear the slightest noise. Neil watched in horror as a door down the hall swung slowly outward. The squeak of a step across the floorboards sounded, then another.

And the smell hit him, that sickeningly sweet stench of rot. It was the same one, the same dreadful scent that had filled his senses and blotted out everything else around him, even the comforting, fruity scent of Penelope's hair.

"Neil," she whispered, "is it her?" And he wanted to bask in the sound of his name on her lips, but there was no time for that.

The woman in white stood before them, ragged dress trailing behind her. Her image flashed between whole and rotten, who she must have once been to who she now was. Neil's hands tightened around Penelope protectively, and slowly he began to ease backward.

"Neil!" Penelope screeched, clawing at his hands.

"Don't look," he urged her. "Please, Penelope, don't look." If he could do anything, he'd protect her from this.

The woman's mouth opened wide, a maw full of sharpened, blackened teeth, jaw unhinging, just as Penelope had described the cracks in the walls. It was a nightmare made manifest. Everything in Neil seized up as he tightened his hold on Penelope.

"Don't look," he repeated, more to himself than to Penelope as he pulled them away from her.

"Archie," the woman croaked.

He stumbled, too in awe to notice as Penelope wriggled free of his grasp. She floundered into him with a high-pitched scream, and they fell, landing with an oomph as the woman surged forward.

"Neil!" Penelope cried. She flung herself off him and half dragged, half yanked him backward.

Neil stared up at the woman in horror, his heart pounding in his chest, his eyes wide as he and Penelope scrambled back the way they'd come. His father had taught him that spirits lingered in places, settling like memories of pasts and futures, reflections of experiences tied to the place of their death. But ghosts were entirely different things—different beings. They were fun things to write about, strange, otherworldly beings to craft tales out of, but never in his wildest dreams did he believe he'd see one, let alone meet one.

"Holyfuckingshit," he cursed as the ghost descended on them.

Penelope struggled to stand, her breath shaky and hands clambering for purchase.

"Archie," the woman moaned, her image flickering in and out.

And then he was being yanked away, his shoulder popping as Penelope apparently used all her strength to propel him down the hall and toward the landing.

Neil gasped as he sat back on his heels, hugging his arm as he turned to Penelope. God, he'd been so foolish to think they could just waltz into the hall and pluck the answers out of one of these rooms like the fucking lottery.

"What is she doing?" Penelope asked, nudging Neil.

With a long, shuddering sigh, the woman in white turned and glided into the room she'd come from, the door slamming shut behind her. The sound rattled the hall, one of the sconces along the wall bouncing from the impact, casting warped shadows until all fell still.

Penelope sank to her knees, hands limp in her lap as she stared past Neil. "If I have writer's block after this, I can really only blame myself."

Neil chuckled, unable to stop the laughter bubbling up in him. She joined in only moments later, her laughter short and sharp until she was throwing back her head and cackling uncontrollably.

"Your plan kind of failed," she said as he held out a hand to her.

"I know." Neil scratched at his neck as he peered down the west wing toward the ghost's door. Damn it, how were they going to get the answers they needed when this woman was guarding that room? This castle was a ticking time bomb, and Neil couldn't be certain how much longer they had in this place before things escalated. If they could even escalate.

"Neil?"

Her hand was soft and warm in his, and he turned slowly toward her, his brow pinched. Smiling, she reached up and smoothed her thumb over it. Adrenaline was still pumping through him. His heart was beating a frantic rhythm.

"What are we supposed to do?" he asked quietly.

"You know, we're obviously at some sort of impasse. Maybe, while we're thinking really hard about next steps and how to save ourselves and our friends from a potentially dangerous ghost, we could do… other things."

Neil smiled down at her. "Are you coming on to me, Penelope Skinner?"

Penelope dropped his hands and leaned up on her tiptoes to loop her arms around his neck. "Maybe."

His hands went automatically to her hips, his eyes soaking in her every curve as if to memorize them. Neil groaned as his hands ran down her side, scraping over her jeans before he gripped her ass and squeezed.

"We could die."

"We could," she agreed with a sigh as his thumb brushed the notch of her waist.

"And instead of figuring out how to stop the ghost…"

She nodded solemnly. "I would like to fuck."

Neil straightened and cleared his throat. "Well, when you put it like that—"

"Hard to resist?"

He laughed. "Impossible . "

With one hand wrapping around her wrists, he nuzzled into her and backed them up until her back was flush with the wall.

"What is with you and walls?" she breathed.

"They're sturdy," he said as he pinned her wrists above her head, "and reliable," he whispered against her collarbone, "and let me focus on other things."

His lips skated across her jaw, down her neck, breathing in that heady, sweet scent of hers.

"You smell like summer," he said against the hollow curve of her collarbone. His tongue traced her pulse, and she squirmed beneath him, breath hot on his ear as he tasted her. God, he was already so fucking hard. "You taste like sugar."

"Are you using the five senses to turn me on?" she gasped.

Ignoring her, he pressed his ear to her breast, her heart thrumming against her chest. He tapped his fingers against her wrist in time with her heartbeat. "You sound like a drumbeat." He pulled back to look at her. Stormy eyes were wide above a thin, straight nose. Her bow-shaped lips were parted as she looked up at him.

"You look fucking magnificent."

"And touch?" she asked.

Grinning, he ran a hand up her side. His fingers skimmed over her breast, toying with the collar of her sweater before he bent and kissed her bare shoulder.

"You are so soft," he whispered against her skin. "And your body is driving me wild ."

Dizzy with her closeness, Neil let his hand slide back down, his thumb brushing the underside of her bra, toying with the wire. She moved into him, with him, her chest rising and falling as his hand cupped her breast.

Neil's thumb brushed over her nipple through her bra, but there was still too much fabric between them. He wanted to drag his hands slowly over her skin, stoop down between her thighs and taste her, really taste her.

When he pulled back and met those gray eyes, she seemed to read his thoughts.

"Maybe we should move to the bedroom?" she asked. "Wouldn't want to be interrupted again."

"Now that I can agree with," he said into her hair as he hoisted her up and carried her down the hall, the ghost and the castle and the years of animosity between them forgotten as their bodies searched for each other.