Chapter 14

Xander Hennessee read like a skeleton. Harsh, clean bone structure, empty eyes, and bared teeth. Exposed and cold save for a fragile, friendly warmth using his rib cage as a shield from a snowstorm. Only certain people turned that single flame into a raging fire. And he was searching for them. Always searching.

But he wasn’t always that way—Xander’s core had changed. He’d been stripped down to almost nothing by overwhelming grief and steadily rebuilt himself one bone at a time. He nurtured an unmatched resilience buoyed by a sentimental and loving interior. And he had an inquisitive and understanding disposition.

Lucky had been right before about the snowstorm and his grief. But he was healing by embracing it. She barely had time to breathe before accidentally making eye contact with Stephen, too.

Stephen carried a soft determination that he wielded like a weapon. A pushover who’d learned to stand his ground, but whose heart would always be in the right place. He’d been born with a strong desire for knowledge and was burdened by the rigidity of his beliefs. His greatest motivations in life were connections and family and creating art that would outlive him.

Horrific pain bloomed in the center of Lucky’s face as if she’d been punched by a professional boxer. She simultaneously gasped and closed her eyes. “I need my glasses!” She used the heels of her hands to press down on her eye sockets to counteract the building pressure.

It’d been literal years since she’d felt so much agony. She’d forgotten how cursed she truly was. The throbbing dull ache in her forehead and temples, her inflamed skin stretched too tight across her face, the fire behind the backs of her eyes and the searing pain between them—

“Here. Come with me.” Maverick’s insistent, hushed voice sounded close to her ear. A hand on her waist and another on her back gently turned her around until she felt his crisp linen shirt against her forearms as he held her to him. His presence enveloped her, slashing through the pain. She inhaled—the comforting scent of cocoa butter soothed her like a balm. “Let me put your glasses on,” he said. “Put your hands down.”

“My eyes,” she whimpered. “Are my eyes okay?”

“I don’t know. Let me see,” he coaxed.

She lowered her shaking hands.

“Oh—shit.”

“Is it bad? Is it both of them?” Burst blood vessels should’ve taken more than two back-to-back readings to happen. Judging by Maverick’s expression, they must’ve looked terrible, but at least they didn’t hurt. The rest of her head, however, hadn’t been so fortunate.

“Yeah. It’s both,” he said, caressing her cheek.

“Shit.” She held still while he helped her with her glasses. “My head hurts. I need to lie down. And I need an ice pack. Please.”

“Bring her here.” Xander’s stoic ice-king fa?ade had melted into pure concern. Maverick didn’t let go so they escorted her together to the newly empty couch.

“I got frozen peas!” Rebel appeared at Lucky’s side, handing her the bag.

“Thank you, Shortcake.” She smiled weakly before tilting her head and placing the peas longways, from chin to forehead.

“Take these,” Georgia said.

Lucky felt a hand on hers, turning it palm up. She temporarily displaced the peas to take the two Tylenol with some water. “Thank you.”

“What the hell happened?” Georgia asked.

“I’m not sure,” Lucky said. “I accidentally read Stephen and Xander back-to-back. Something must have gone wrong inside my memory palace.”

Her automatons never failed her. They usually retrieved her readings so fast they rarely ever backed up like that anymore. And it had only been two—she should’ve only felt a little tired, not like this.

“Memory palace?” Stephen whispered, clearly not to her, but she answered anyway.

“You try housing over a thousand readings on top of all your other memories and see how you feel without one.” She pointed at the room at large to emphasize her point. “Once I read someone, it stays with me forever. I needed an efficient filing system to keep my head clear.”

Stephen said, “My apologies. I didn’t realize that’s how your power worked.”

The room seemingly fell silent, but she knew they weren’t just standing around staring at her. “I can hear you trying not to talk. I don’t have that kind of headache.”

Maverick said, “I’ll get breakfast started. You should eat something since you took those pills. Rebel, come on.”

“I want to stay with Lucky.”

“No, come on. I need your help with a special project.”

“Holler if you want me,” Georgia said, voice fading into the distance. “I’ll come right back.”

Lucky listened to a procession of steps as they left her alone to recover. She waited a moment before saying, “I know someone is still there.”

“I am,” Xander said. “Is it all right if I sit next to you?”

She shrugged. “Anybody else?”

“Just me.”

Lucky sat up and removed her glasses to give the peas contact with her eyelids. The burning and pressure were fading, but the persistent ache unfortunately kept rolling right along. “What do you want?” She quickly lifted the bag to look at him, nearly laughing as he sucked in a breath, eyes widening. “The rupturing takes the normal amount of time to heal. Should be back to normal in a few days.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I fear I owe you an apology as well. I honestly believed you wore the glasses as a comedic bit.”

“Nope. It’s all in the name of self-preservation. And occasionally fashion. I like to match them to my outfit for fun,” she said. “So. They finally called in the cavalry…”

He nodded. “They had some rather interesting things to tell me. Primarily concerning you.”

“Hey man, I warned you. Did I not say I was uniquely qualified for this job?” she joked.

“You did. I believed your assertion was rooted in an abundance of hubris.”

She removed the peas to squint at him, regretting it immediately when her sore facial muscles protested. “Where in the hell are you from? Do you always talk like that?”

“Whenever it suits me.” He smirked. “Don’t worry—it’ll grow on you.”

“Does that mean you’re sticking around?”

“For the time being, yes. If it’s all the same, I’d like to ask you some questions.” He retrieved a tablet from a satchel resting on the end table next to him.

“Sure, if you agree to answer mine. I only operate on two-way streets.”

“I’ll do what I can.” His placating smile felt like condescension.

“Looks like we’re taking turns, then.” She set the peas on the table and whipped out her phone with a theatrical flourish, ready to transcribe. Intense head pain, swollen face, and bloodshot eyes be damned. She’d conducted interviews under far worse conditions, like the one time she’d been sick with a flu straight from the pits of hell and had to stay up until two a.m. to meet a potential contact in Romania via Zoom. “I’ll be generous—you can go first.”

He regarded her for a moment, gaze assessing her from head to toe before nodding. “I’ve watched all your interviews thus far. I noticed Maverick rarely inquired after your physical state. How have you been sleeping?”

“Fine.” Realizing he was clearly waiting for her to say more, she added, “I slept fine. Do you need complete sentences or something?”

He exhaled in what could only be described as a regal huff. “Could you elaborate? Please.”

“Could you give me specifics?” she shot back. “Look, I’m not trying to be difficult, but I answered the question.” Until she felt satisfied that he’d make good on their little quid pro quo deal, she’d answer exactly what he asked. No more. No less.

“Have you noticed any changes from your normal sleeping habits?”

“Yes, actually.” She grinned. “Why is your name on the attic wall?”

“Because I wrote it there.” His icy tone could give the arctic tundra a run for its money. “Please list all the changes you’ve experienced while sleeping.”

“I sleep longer. I’ve stopped waking up during the night. I don’t really move either, like whatever position I go to sleep in, that’s exactly how I am in the morning. I haven’t had a single dream since I’ve been here. When I wake up, I am fully awake and extremely well rested,” she said, ticking them off on her fingers. “Did Hennessee ask you to write your name on the wall?”

“No,” he said. “Do you experience headaches or sudden overwhelming bouts of exhaustion in the evenings?”

“No,” she said. “Did you know the other caretakers had written their names on the wall? The team didn’t.”

Xander paused, unable to keep the sudden surprise off his face.

Lucky gave him her cheeriest smile. She probably looked mad in the British sense—a Cheshire cat with bloodshot eyes. “Do you need me to repeat the question?”

He shifted in his seat, surprise giving way to his usual steely expression. “I suspected as much,” he said. “Does the smell of peppermint truly not mean anything to you?”

“I have an exceptional memory, medically speaking. I’d remember if it did,” she answered honestly. “Has Stephen slept in the house before?”

“No. I don’t believe so.” His measured response nearly sounded like a question. “Do you hear voices at night? Blatant or subtle ones that are easy enough to explain away as paranoia?”

She almost answered Just Maverick’s as a joke but had a feeling Xander wouldn’t find that funny. He was as much the boss as Stephen—being flippant might get Maverick in trouble. “I haven’t heard any unexplainable voices. Did you use to live here?”

“Intermittently. My family used it as a vacation home,” he said. “Have you seen anyone who isn’t supposed to be here? Glimpses in the mirror, your peripheral vision, walking through the orchard, sitting on the stairs—anyone at all?”

“No.” The hairs on the back of Lucky’s neck stood at attention. “Don’t lie to me: Are there ghosts in this house?”

“Not that I know of.” He held out a hand as a peaceful gesture. “Please calm down. I am not attempting to deceive you. I was simply referencing common places where specters have manifested. The caretakers recognized each manifestation, most of them matching people who were still alive. Hennessee seemingly pulled them from their memories.”

“Not ghosts?” Her brain was stuck.

He smiled gently. “No ghosts. It’s all right.”

She nodded, sitting back against the couch. “I haven’t seen any specters. I found the cat I emailed you about, though.” She pointed beside him where Gengar quietly sat. As if on cue, he jumped onto the couch and sat directly between them, his back to Lucky as if to protect her. “I named him Gengar.”

“What an atrocious name.”

“Thanks.” She snorted. “Pretty sure he was abandoned.”

Xander frowned. “He needs a haircut. I do not want him shedding on the furniture. I’ll find a groomer who accepts cats and make an appointment.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Thank you.”

“He should visit a vet as well. I will email you the details by tomorrow.”

Lucky laughed. He reminded her of one of those I don’t want no dog dads who ended up falling in love harder than anyone else in the family. “Welcome to the good life, Gengar. Prepare to be spoiled for the rest of your life.”

Xander frowned at her. “I’m assuming you will be taking the cat with you upon your departure.”

“I’m not leaving,” she said. “Speaking of, can I have access to the previous caretaker files now? I’d like to hear the firsthand accounts of their specters in case I’m missing something. Maybe I’m overlooking mine somehow.”

Xander considered it. “Sure.”

“Can I have one more favor? Do you think you could cover for me? I’m going to sneak upstairs to go lie down for a bit.”

“Of course,” he said immediately. “Get all the rest you need.”

Lucky retired back to her suite like a true Southern belle in a Gothic house. Her delicate disposition required some time to recover. An email from Xander pinged when she was halfway up the stairs. That man was prompt—he’d given her a link to access the footage.

Settled on her bed with Gengar, she opened her laptop only to snap it closed a moment later when someone knocked on the door.

“Yes?”

Maverick poked his head inside. “Hey.”

“Not you, visiting my sickbed,” she joked.

She smelled his delicious food before she saw it—a buttery croissant breakfast sandwich and hash browns with a generous side of ketchup, a small jar of honey, sliced sweet peaches and tart apples from the orchard, and a glass of water, all on a little breakfast tray.

He set it down on her nightstand. “I noticed you’re an avid ketchup person.”

“It’s true. I am,” she said. “But I hate tomatoes.”

“May I?” He gestured to her face.

“Yes?”

She watched his face as he felt her forehead and cheeks with the back of his hand. “Tylenol is working—you don’t feel as warm. Eating will also help.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“And the teasing continues.” He sighed. “Are you trying to convince me you’re feeling better?”

“Is it working?”

“No, but I think that’s a me problem.” He hesitated, worrying at his palms. “You forgot your glasses on the desk. I had them in my hand when I heard you scream.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry.” She crawled closer to him, sitting on her knees. “It shouldn’t have been like that. I don’t know what happened. It hasn’t hurt like that in a long time. I’m fine. I promise.”

“You really don’t know what happened?”

She shook her head. “I used to routinely test my limits. One time, I was in class and spontaneously decided to read everyone. Made it to like twenty in a row before I had to stop.” She made jazz hands, but he didn’t laugh. “Anyway, I spent three days feeling like my brain was leaking out of my ears, but that was twenty. Two shouldn’t have done that to me. It’s like my tolerance reset to zero or something. That’s what it was like when I was a kid.”

“Maybe the house had something to do with it.”

“I doubt it.”

“Why? You looked upset when you ran out of the room. Maybe it was hijacking you again.”

Lucky frowned. She’d felt in control—leaving the room had been her choice. Hennessee might’ve been trying to hijack her, but then her ability kicked in around the same time to read Xander and Stephen. That must’ve been too much activity at once for her brain and everything short-circuited.

“If it was trying to, what happened was an accident,” she said. “I don’t think the house wants to hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.” He continued staring at his hands, head down. Lucky balled her hands into fists to keep them to herself. She didn’t think they were familiar enough with each other to touch so casually.

Were they?

That first day when she touched his hand to distract him felt like a million years ago. Now there was so much of everything between them. If she were to touch him again, it wouldn’t have the same meaning.

Maverick looked at her, unable to hide the flinch from seeing the state of her eyes again. Lucky wasn’t ready. Not yet.

“I’m sorry I ran out of the room like that. That was me.” She gnawed at her lip. “I got overwhelmed and I—”

“You don’t have to apologize to me. That’s not why I’m here.”

Lucky didn’t dare move as he reached for her hands, uncurling them, holding them, rubbing the backs of them with his thumbs. He touched his forehead to hers. “Feel better, okay? Call me if you need anything?” he whispered.

She closed her eyes. “Okay.”