Chapter 24

PEN

Pen's arm was asleep, and as she blinked up groggily at the stream of light coming in from the window, she slowly pulled it out from under her, shaking it uselessly in the air above her. Yawning, she ran a hand over her face, brushing the sleep from her eyes.

The night before came back to her in waves, and when she glanced over at the naked man in the bed beside her, she smiled. Their legs were tangled together, his hand thrown over her hip, warm palm pressed to her bare skin.

It was strange to wake up beside someone. How long had it been since she'd felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in someone's arms? Too long, she presumed.

Smiling, Pen pulled on her glasses. She settled back on the pillows, brushing the curls from Neil's forehead. The bed smelled like him, like morning coffee and warm fires, like the beginnings of something that made her toes curl and her lips spread wide into a smile.

Her stomach sank at the sight of his new bruise, though, and the black and blue and purple blotting his nose and eye along the left side of his face. How had she been so ignorant? Ghosts were not corporeal. She should have known better.

"You're awake," he murmured, nuzzling into her neck. Pen pulled away her hand, trying to ignore the guilt that had wormed its way into her thoughts so early in the morning. His breath fanned across her skin, making her shiver as he tugged her close, arms locking tight around her.

"Only just," she said, her voice thick with sleep.

She stretched in his arms, sighing against him as she took in the room. His room was like hers, the space immaculately decorated with the same four-post bed and the same cracked and aging leather chairs. Though her room was slightly larger, the memory of the man on her threshold, of the door leading up to that abandoned turret, had her shivering.

"Cold?" he asked against the shell of her ear.

"No." She turned in his arms, frowning even as his fingers slid across her skin, reaching down for her hips.

"Then what is it?"

"Just… this place. This castle."

"We're going to be okay."

"I sure hope so."

And then they heard it: a soft tap-tap .

Pen glanced up at the canopy over the bed, her brows pinched together.

"Did you hear that?" she asked.

Neil tightened his hold on her. "I wish I could say no."

Slowly, he let go, and they slid out of the bed as one, pausing as they scanned the space.

Tap-tap.

Neil tugged on his pants, and she tugged on her shirt.

Tap-tap.

Pen and Neil whipped around, eyes wide.

"It's coming from the hall," she whispered as he skirted the bed and stepped toward the door.

"You stay here."

"Like hell you're leaving me here alone."

He didn't try to stop her as he opened the door and Pen trudged after him, pausing in the hallway. All the doors were shut tight, no other sounds to be heard so early in the morning. The castle was painted in the silver-blue light of the snow beyond the windows, and the dark gray sky cast a strange, eerie hue over everything as small flurries flitted down to the already white-covered castle grounds.

She snagged Neil's hand, squeezing tight as the floorboards squeaked beneath their shifting weight.

"Maybe we should stop running toward creepy noises," she said. Her round, stormy eyes flitted over the hall, taking in the busts and paintings as if something in them might move at any given moment.

Tap-tap.

"Come on," he urged, tugging her closer.

She settled against his side as they crept on. One step, and then another, their bare feet sinking into the plush carpet.

Tap-tap.

They paused outside the last door on the left, hands clasped tight as they looked from each other to the door.

"What do you think it is?" Pen asked.

Neil shook his head. "I'm not sure. Maybe Georgina? Should we… look?"

Pen swallowed as another tap-tap sounded in the room beyond. It was Daniela's room. Was there a ghost trapped in each room or section of the castle? How many ghosts were there in this place? Worse yet, if they died here, would they spend eternity haunting these halls too?

She shuddered and squeezed his fingers, motioning to the door.

As quietly as possible, Neil leaned forward and turned the knob, wincing with each click until the door popped open.

"H-hello?" he called, peering in.

"Get out!"

Pen and Neil screamed as they stumbled away, a barrage of pillows and clothes hitting them.

"Go!" Pen screamed, scrambling to stand.

But Neil stood frozen, eyes crinkling as he lifted a pair of lacy black underwear in the air.

"Penelope, I don't think these belong to the ghost, do you?"

Pen turned to the door. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but a fuming Daniela wrapped in a sheet was not it.

"Would you two please keep it down?" Daniela hissed as she readjusted the sheet.

"Who's there?" someone called from inside the room.

Pen and Neil peered around the door to see Daniela's laptop open and what appeared to be a large array of sex toys spread out over the bed.

"Zoe couldn't make it to the retreat, and we've sort of been seeing each other. I finally got a patchy signal on my phone, so I tethered it to my laptop and figured we'd try some cam stuff," Daniela said, leaning against the doorframe.

"I thought the internet was down?" Neil asked.

"It was, but the second you two went to sleep, it was working again. Well, it was, but now that you're up, it's misbehaving."

"Dan… la? Losing…"

Daniela scowled at the laptop, her curls sticking out in every direction. She turned and winked at Pen. "No hard feelings, right? You and I were not a good fit."

"From the looks… she… moved on," Zoe said from the laptop.

Pen wrapped her arms around her middle, suddenly aware that she wore nothing but a loose T-shirt and underwear. Blushing, she swiveled toward her room. "I'm going to go put on some clothes."

"Probably a good idea," Neil said as his hand settled on her lower back.

"Next time, knock if you want to join!" Daniela called, laughing.

Neil and Pen stopped in the hall between their rooms, both clearly unsure of what to say. Pen swallowed and glanced down the hall, the sight of the shadowy west wing making the pit in her stomach drop as she imagined the woman in white and the man who'd slipped out of the secret passage in her room and toward the hall as if Pen's presence had been no bother.

"I guess we have some research to do today," Pen said finally, rocking back on her heels.

Neil nodded slowly. They stared at each other in the silence, the dread of the coming day tethering them to the space for a moment longer.

"How mad do you think Laszlo will be if we skip today's itinerary?" Pen asked, taking a step toward her room.

"Furious," Neil said, mirroring her action.

"Then we better get a move on."

"See you in a few."

"In a few," she agreed, slipping into her room and closing the door softly behind her.

She leaned against the door and pressed her palms to her heated face. Would she ever get used to this feeling? To this giddy, bubbly burst of excitement she felt in her chest whenever she looked at him? She doubted it.

Sighing, Pen glanced up and surveyed her room. It was a whirlwind of clothes and blankets and pillows. They'd abandoned everything where they'd left it the night before, tossing things carelessly as they scrambled for each other.

Pen felt her face grow hot as she remembered their bodies meeting so perfectly, and the space between her legs began to ache. Even though they'd showered after the first round, she could still feel the weight of his hands on her, in her. His lips against her skin, his tongue and his teeth scraping a path toward the slickness between her legs.

Damn it, she was turned on again.

"What is wrong with me?" she muttered as she shoved her dirty clothes in a laundry bag and pulled out fresh ones.

Pen hadn't felt this way in a long while, if ever. Dozens of failed dates, one-night stands, and a few heated, albeit short relationships throughout the years had not prepared her for the fondness she was beginning to feel for Neil Storm.

This new thing between them felt like it would go up in flames at any moment.

Dressed, and with her hair brushed and pulled into a messy braid, Pen opened her door. Neil's door was still shut, and as she leaned out into the hall, she found the silence of the castle loud. The patter of the snow on the windows fell into a rhythm, melding with the ringing in her ears like a distorted ambiance. Pen's palms were clammy, so she wiped them down her thighs before wrapping her arms across her middle.

Before she could think better of it, Pen stepped out into the hallway, peering down the long corridor. Everything was still. There was no tap-tap, no whispers or voices floating down the narrow walls.

"Hello?"

No one answered.

She inched farther down the hall, her sock-clad feet quiet on the floorboards as she crept forward, automatically drawn to the west wing. She paused on the landing between the wings, a creeping sensation dripping down her spine.

"Don't do this," she whispered, her hands balling into the fabric of her sweater.

Pen glanced over her shoulder; the door to Neil's room was still shut tight. Though she knew she shouldn't, Pen slipped over the landing and to the edge of the light, hesitating on the dark threshold to this cursed place.

"This is a terrible idea," she said.

And still, she started down the hall.

Something pulled her here, and though she knew Neil was coming to terms with his own writing, taking back the power he'd given up all those years ago, she was beginning to think that the answer to all her troubles lay in wait in Georgina Walsh's room. She'd been drawn to it since she arrived, pulled like a part of her was connected to the ghost.

The hall was as she remembered from the day before, the same cracked and torn wallpaper, the same blackened walls, as if this side of the castle had survived a tremendous fire. The floors squeaked beneath her weight, and Pen's eyes were trained on the door Georgina had opened.

Pen stopped, clasping and unclasping her sweaty palms. She could still turn around, still return to the east wing and its sconces casting everything in a warm glow. She would be safe. But… surely someone would come find her, if only she yelled?

She stepped forward. Pen didn't want to be rescued; she wanted to know . It was clear Neil felt it, too, albeit on a lower level. It was that urge to see, to uncover. Pen had never been so close to the answers, and all she had to do was fling open that door and look.

She puffed out her cheeks and reached for the door, her hand outstretched for the copper knob. The tips of her fingers brushed the cool metal, and she clasped it in her hand, fingers itching to turn it. Her gut roiled as she worked up the courage, her nerves buzzing at the bite of the handle in her palm.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder, and Pen screamed, flailing her arms as she stumbled back a step and into—

"Neil?" Pen panted, her hands gripping his arms as she stared up at him. "What are you doing here?"

He frowned down at her.

"I could ask you the same thing. I thought you were going to wait for me?"

Pen whirled around, eyes going to the doorknob she'd been gripping. Swallowing, she and Neil hurried out of the hall and to the landing. Pen shivered, instantly relieved to be in the light.

She shook her head, squinting into the darkness. "I don't know. I couldn't help myself." Pen let out a shaky breath. "It's like I couldn't stop, almost as if something was tugging me to the door." There had been some strange magnetic force pulling her down the hall to the things that waited for her beyond, and it wasn't the first time she'd felt it.

Neil ran a hand anxiously through his hair, pulling on curls.

"This isn't good. None of this can be any good." He grabbed her hand and started for the staircase. "Come on, we have some work to do."

She struggled in his grip, her eyes returning to the hall. "Neil, I was so close."

"This isn't the way, Penelope. There are safer ways to go about this. Just… please." His eyes were wide, lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at her, silently pleading.

"Please," he begged, again.

This time, his words reached her.

Reluctantly, Pen followed him down the stairs, but she looked back at the shadows over her shoulder, feet tripping on the stairs as they retreated toward the kitchen. She hated to think it, hated to even imagine it, but she could have sworn she saw the edge of a white dress drifting out from the corner.

Where she and Neil had been only moments ago.

Shivering, Pen tightened her hold on Neil's hands and hurried after him, that awful sensation of being watched making her hands shake and the hair on her neck stand on end.

They were not alone.

In this castle, no one ever was.