Chapter 12

Lucky fully believed Maverick’s explanation once Hennessee tried it again.

When she’d gone inside, she felt an invisible force gently tugging her back. Maverick had to escort her up the stairs so she could get cleaned up and change her clothes. Everything felt normal inside of the suite, but the second she stepped back into the hall, the tug returned.

“Fine. I’ll go! I wanted to be out there today anyway,” she relented and then noticed Maverick staring at her. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” he said. “Come on.”

“So, you admit it: you’re giving me a look.”

“In that I’m looking at you, yeah.” He gestured for her to go down the stairs first like a gentleman. “None of this gets to you? You’re just fine with everything that’s happened so far?”

“Someone has to be.” She shrugged. “Might as well be me.”

“Georgia is flipping out because it seems like you’re triggering reactions too often.” He shook his head, clearly worried as well. “You can tell me if this is too much.”

“It’s honestly not,” she said. “This is what I meant when I said my style clashes with everyone. People expect me to panic, I never do, and then they get scared of me. It always plays out like this.”

“She’s scared for you. There’s a difference,” he said. “Would you even tell me if it was too much?”

“You’re my second, right?” She grinned at him. “I wouldn’t even hesitate.”

The team, Maverick included, set up shop in the gazebo. They stationed cameras on both sides of the backyard to get a full panoramic view from two angles, with strict instructions for Lucky to announce if she planned to travel deeper inside the orchard. For the time being, she only wanted to build the pet house. She picked a spot near the fence, right where the backyard grass ended and the orchard began.

“Hi.” Rebel’s shadow arrived before she did. The sun beamed overhead at the perfect angle.

“Hey, Shortcake.”

“What are you doing?”

“About to start building a cat house. See?” She held up the instruction booklet.

“I like cats.”

“Of course you do. You’re a young lady of taste.”

Xander didn’t ask a single follow-up question when she emailed him requesting a bag of top-quality cat food, throw blankets, a stainless-steel water fountain, and a medium-size yellow house she’d found online. He’d only replied with “OK” and like magic, the box arrived. He must’ve known that black cat lived in the orchard. She’d spotted it a few more times and had a feeling it was currently in the bushes watching her.

“Does it have a name?” Rebel asked.

“I think it’s a stray so probably not. I’m leaning toward Gengar. Every haunted house needs a haunted cat.”

“That’s a good name, I guess. Can I help?”

She glanced at the gazebo. “How’s interning going?”

“I’m on break.” Rebel squatted down, hugging her knees to her chest. “It’s kind of boring. I wanted to film more of my show, but they said no.”

“What’s it about? You never said.”

“Behind-the-scenes vlog stuff. You’re the main show and I’d be the side show. I was gonna call it Spooky Scary but now I’m not allowed to go anywhere unsupervised.” She made a face and rolled her eyes.

“Oh, wow, I wonder why. You’ve been nothing but responsible and mature since I’ve known you.”

“I understand why they said no. My dad explained it.” She pouted. “I’m not mad but I still don’t like it.”

“Much better.”

“They’re just sitting there. Someone could go with me through the house and stuff.”

“It might look like that’s what they’re doing, but I’m sure they’re working. Tell you what, if they say it’s okay, you can make your vlog with me.”

“Really?” Her face brightened like sunflowers turning toward the sun.

“Only if you agree to stay with me on my agenda.” Which included testing Hennessee House’s reactivity to moods at some point. “We go where I say.”

Rebel jumped up, sprinting back to the gazebo and returning moments later dragging Maverick by the hand.

“Lucky, tell my dad what you said.” She was nearly breathless with excitement. What a sweetheart—it truly didn’t take much to make her day.

“I said if it’s okay she can tag along with me today and film some of her show. I don’t mind.”

Maverick looked unsure. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“I have references available if you’re worried,” she teased. “You can call my former family. They’ll vouch for my nanny prowess.”

He laughed. “Ah, no. That’s not the issue. Rebel constantly being in the shot is. She won’t be in the show. She’ll be fully edited out before it airs.”

“How much footage do they need? Surely, they have enough for today by now. I mean, I already got hijacked. What more do they want from me? Should I hold a séance to try channeling the house directly?” she joked.

“Please, Dad? Pleeeeease?” Rebel begged, bouncing on her tiptoes.

Lucky almost laughed watching Maverick lose the battle against Rebel’s sweet little face. Helen of Troy had nothing on her.

“I’ll talk to them,” he said, finally. “No promises. Their answer is final. No appeals. Deal?”

“Deal!” They locked pinkies and Lucky about perished.

Stephen agreed to let Rebel film her vlogs as long as Maverick was an “on-site supervising producer,” aka if anything supernatural happened, he’d quickly get her out of the shot.

“I expect to see my name in the credits,” Maverick said to Rebel.

“You got it.”

In addition to that morning’s orchard stunt, Hennessee had reacted to happiness in the bathtub, curiosity in the sitting room, and…whatever she and Maverick felt in the bedroom. And when she was on the phone with him. Ahem. Her plan consisted of experimenting with different emotions in new locations. Rebel fit into that project quite nicely—Lucky couldn’t have planned it better herself.

She slid into nanny mode, altering her schedule the tiniest bit to make it fun for Rebel, who narrated and filmed as they assembled the pet house. Afterward, they placed small bowls of dry cat food in various spots around the orchard.

Maverick temporarily took over filming duties while Rebel used the small ladder, the entire top half of her body hidden by the tree, to fill up brown baskets with fresh oranges, plums, and figs for about an hour. Lucky held her steady, while singing along to the pop music she played for atmosphere.

Identified feeling(s): joy, excitement. No visible response.

Lucky’s lunch plans evolved to include her signature playtime menu she’d perfected with her previous family’s kids. She taught Rebel how to make sophisticated mimosas (Diet Sprite and fresh orange juice), experimental tea sandwiches, and homemade fruit popsicles using molds they found in the kitchen.

Identified feeling(s): nostalgia, amusement. No visible response.

They moved the furniture out of the way in the parlor room to film dance videos, which then turned into a cartwheel competition, resulting in Stephen’s veins popping out of his neck when he found out. Apparently, there were lamps in that room older than all of them.

Identified feeling(s): competitiveness, exhaustion. No visible response.

Properly chastised for “not respecting a borderline historical monument,” they moved into the library. Turned out, Rebel was a reader too, and that was how their day ended—both curled up in an armchair, reading together with soft jazz playing at a soothing volume.

Identified feeling(s): contentment, happiness.

“We should head out,” Maverick said, checking his watch.

Rebel glanced at Lucky and then asked, “Can we spend the night?”

“Absolutely not. Get your stuff.”

“Fine.” Rebel grumped as she stood up. “Can I borrow this book, then? It’s about a super smart girl with really mean parents who develops superpowers.”

Lucky said, “As long as you bring it back when you’re done.”

“I will. I always return my library books on time.”

“She does,” he confirmed.

“I’ll walk you out,” Lucky said, completely missing the two purple flowers on the windowsill. She walked right by them as they softly glowed in the early-evening sunset.

That night, Hennessee left the lights on for Lucky.

“How considerate. You wouldn’t happen to be cousins with Motel 6?” she joked. Suited and booted in her gear, she traversed down the stairs to investigate the first floor. Her expectations for finding anything interesting were low, so she revised her initial plans to involve talking to Hennessee.

Sentient supernatural activity had been confirmed ten times over. Establishing a reliable method of communication was the next logical step.

“Is it okay if I open this curtain?” she asked while in the sitting room. “Are you hoping people would ask first? Ooh, are curtains your eyelids and we’re just ripping them open every day? But not this one—this one is yours?”

Silence.

She didn’t care how silly she sounded. Pride had no place in her experiments.

“If you’ve been rummaging around in my brain like everyone suspects, you’ve probably found my memory palace by now.” She walked into the dining room, the last place of confirmed activity between them, and leaned against the wall. “You’d also know that I read first impressions of people. If you showed me your eyes, or what you consider to be your eyes, I could try to read them. You know me and I’ll get to know you. It might give us a better understanding of each other.”

Lucky’s phone rang loud as all hell, interrupting her moment. “Aren’t you sick of me yet?”

“Not even close,” Maverick said, rolling with it. “Besides, you have to know you’re easy to talk to.”

“Occupational hazard. You can’t bullshit most kids and survive in the childcare industry. Before I knew it, I developed a skill I could use whenever I wanted.”

“It works. Rebel really likes you. She recapped her entire day with you as if I weren’t there the entire time.”

“I have that effect on kids. I think I give off intense big sister energy.”

“No, that’s not it,” he said, confidently. “I have a question for you. I’ve been trying to puzzle through something, and I can’t quite figure it out.”

“About me?” she asked, intrigued. “All right.”

“What are you aiming for? You’re obviously choosing to be there for a reason, but I think everything I’ve come up with is wrong.”

“Aww, did you think I was trying to be America’s Next Top Medium?”

“Yeah, right up until you panicked. I’m not new to this. I know what it looks like when people are trying to fool me and show out for the cameras. That’s not what you’re doing,” he said thoughtfully. “What’s your goal? Why Hennessee House?”

Lucky tried not to smile but being seen so clearly, by Maverick of all people, was exhilarating. Her heart reacted as if she’d suddenly sprinted around the block. “Well, this is an opportunity for me to discover and possibly define something new, which I love,” she said honestly. “I’ve already figured out I’m not interested in ghosts, cryptids, and a host of other phenomena through experiments just like this—putting myself on the line. The only way out is through.

“But ultimately, Hennessee is a means to an end. I want people to take me seriously. I know what I’m up against. Skepticism, sexism, racism, people like my family thinking I’m weird for wanting to work on supernatural cases because that’s white people stuff. But it’s not. It’s for everyone because these kinds of phenomena happen all over the world. I’m respectful, smart, inquisitive, talented…and I really think I can make a difference, not to mention that I have a unique perspective to offer the field. I just needed a chance to prove it to private investors.”

Maverick remained quiet for a handful of rapid heartbeats. “Why didn’t you say any of that during your interview?”

“They wouldn’t have hired me.” She truly believed people only liked her when she strategically hid parts of herself. As a result, she’d gotten pretty good at figuring out how to blend in for most situations, but it was hard to keep it up for long periods of time without burning out.

“That’s not true,” he said. “A TV show is admittedly a great way to get your foot in the door, but you’ll need to start thinking about next steps to cement your name and what you can do into the public consciousness.”

Lucky’s eyes widened. Was Maverick giving her career advice? “Like what?”

“What about writing a book? Nothing says respectable like getting published, especially if you can pull it off without a ghost writer.” He laughed. “No pun intended.”

She chuckled. “Oh, no. I’m not that kind of writer. I’m not like you. I don’t think I could do that.”

“I was suggesting nonfiction. Once the show airs, I can help you develop your social platform,” he said. “But since you brought it up, why not? You can do whatever the hell you want.”

“Because I already tried and it was really bad,” she said. “I used to love it when you read guest stories on your podcast. I wanted to submit one for consideration, so I shared it with a creative writing workshop. They met weekly on campus and…were not interested.” She laughed against the memory. “My ideas just weren’t very good, I think. After that, my creative well dried up. I stick to factual essays and blog posts these days.”

Peppermint swirled underneath Lucky’s nose. She pushed off the wall ready to follow—the kitchen.

“They were wrong,” Maverick said, firmly. “You can tell a person who they are after meeting them once. You’re full of stories waiting to be written.”

Hennessee led her directly to the walk-in pantry. Inside, she clicked on the overhead light. Everything seemed to be in place. “But that’s not interesting. Not compared to what you were doing.”

“Sure, it’s not.”

Lucky scoffed, shaking her head. “Most of the time, I can’t even translate what I’ve read in a way that matters. You said it yourself—it should be specific. Anyone can say ‘you’re stubborn’ or ‘you have a good heart’ but I read all the pieces that make them into the person that they are. I can’t even articulate just how daunting that is, never mind trying to turn it into a story comparable to what I’ve seen.” And because that felt a little too vulnerable, she added, “I’m exceptional at a lot of things and I have no shame in claiming that. Not being able to translate is just one of the many ways my ego succeeds in keeping me humble.”

“You did it with me and Rebel.”

“Twice out of thousands. Not exactly the best odds.” Since the peppermint hadn’t faded, she began inspecting the shelves one by one. Moving things out of the way, tapping the wall to check the sound, inspecting the baseboards for gaps. “How does it work for you? You said you pull your stories out of your dreams, right?”

“I can’t tell the future, and no, I don’t know what you’re going to do next, but I am a lucid dreamer.”

She snorted. “Cute. Go on.”

“That was brilliant, by the way. Stephen’s soul left his body when he watched that footage. He thinks you’re perfect,” he said. “I always know when I’m dreaming. I can manipulate things. I remember everything that happens. I take pieces from there and turn them into my stories.” He laughed, dryly. “I had a severe case of dreamer’s block for the past couple of weeks. As luck would have it, seems to be gone now.”

Lucky thought of his supernatural story time podcast, Hypnopompic Remnants, the first thing that ever connected her to him. “Those dreams must be intense.”

Something clicked directly above her head. Startled, she hopped to her feet, searching for the source.

“They can be, but like I said, I’m always in control. They don’t affect me. They creeped everyone else out, though.”

“Not me.” She found it hidden behind the pasta. A red handle had been embedded into the wall.

“Because almost nothing scares you.”

“I listened to every episode of your podcast. It was my absolute favorite.”

“What did you like about it?”

It took some trial and error to find the trick for the handle, but she did. Push in on one side, grip the other, and then pull out. The entire wall moved forward, revealing a narrow staircase leading upward. Cold air slowly flowed into the house, chilling her almost as much as the discovery.

“I found something,” she whispered, knowingly breaking the rules. “A big something.”

Lucky closed her eyes, once again using the sound of Maverick’s rhythmic, steady breathing to help her stay calm and distracted. She didn’t decide to answer so much as the words found their way out of her. “I liked how your podcast made me feel.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “And how was that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been able to describe it.”

“Could you try? For me?”

“I don’t know if I even have the words for it. All I know is I needed to listen to it. For a long time, I couldn’t go to sleep without replaying my favorite episodes. Something about hearing your stories and your voice told my brain, It’s okay. You can rest now. I’ll be here when you wake up.” She opened her eyes, ready to die from embarrassment. “Ew, sorry, that doesn’t even make sense. Please forget I said that.”

“Why would I do that? It made perfect sense to me.”

“It did?” She stared at the staircase.

“Yeah. It’s probably the greatest compliment anyone has ever given me about my work.” He paused. “I’ve never told anyone this either, but I think I’d like to write a novel.”

More silence and breathing and then, “I think I’d love to read it. If you’d let me,” she said, feeling so raw and exposed it made her chest ache.

Thinking of his podcast reminded her how bad things used to be. Living in a college apartment with two girls who relentlessly ostracized her had been hell. She walked on eggshells, kept to herself, and developed a severe case of anxiety. She literally needed his podcast, his voice, to help her sleep at night because she spent her days so wound up.

Maverick had no idea how much he’d helped her and was still helping her. So far almost every time Hennessee House shared something with Lucky he’d been there too, unintentionally splitting her focus or guiding her away. Making a habit of relying on him instead of herself to make safe choices seemed like a bad idea.

Besides, Lucky wasn’t used to needing other people anymore. She didn’t want to need it.

“I’m sorry but I have to hang up now.”

“Lucky, wait, no—”

“I’m sorry! Don’t call me back until morning.” She wanted to experience whatever Hennessee had in store for her with a clear mind—to comply or resist of her own volition. “I’ll see you at sunrise. I promise.”

She took several deep breaths and began walking up the stairs. Alone.

The passage didn’t have built-in lights to guide her. Dust had settled on every surface. “This is fine. This is good,” she whispered, carefully avoiding years-old spiderwebs and dead bugs. “There could be rats instead. Or jumping spiders. Oh god, why did I think of that?” Peppermint surrounded her every step of the way, easing her queasiness, but not erasing it. Just enough left to keep her steady and focused. As long as she felt that, she’d steer clear of true recklessness.

The red door appeared almost suddenly, burning in the near darkness. Her hand shook until it wrapped around the shockingly warm doorknob, which twisted with ease.

“Hello?” Lucky stepped across the threshold and found nothing but an empty attic. It was completely barren and swept clean save for one black fountain pen laid in front of a wall. She only spotted the pen because moonlight streamed in from the circular stained-glass window directly onto it.

She paused, giving herself a moment to check in. Sweating, sore legs, rapid breathing, stomach roiling…nerves steady. No indicators of fear response. Good. She reached for the pen—it rolled closer to the wall and flipped upright as if pointing.

“All righty then.” She almost laughed but sobered up when she noticed the writing on the wall. There were names, several of them in a list. She held her light over each one to give the camera time to record it. At the bottom, one name had been carved into the wood with short, slanted lines.

XANDER