Chapter 34

Lucky wondered if Xander’s intuition sensed her plan brewing around him. She needed to find a way to make it worth his while again, and had the beginnings of an idea to start with. “Whew, oh gosh, it’s so hot. I should open the window or something.” She began fanning herself, wiping her brow, and visualizing how it felt to overheat.

Behind them, the top half of the Dutch door swung open. A barely there summer breeze drifted into the room and clung to her clammy skin—her dreaded anticipation sweats had begun.

Xander stared with an uneasy look in his eyes, mouth as ajar as the door. He swallowed hard, reigning himself back in. “That’s quite the development.”

“We’re connected now. Prolonged exposure strengthened our psychic bond. During the day while it’s dormant-reactive, it kindly responds to my wants, my moods. I also think the house has a sense of humor.” She’d been holding on to this discovery like a secret weapon. Good thing, too. She held up her hands to mime the motion as she spoke. “This strange buoyant pressure starts vibrating the air. Belly laughs.”

His expression morphed into a neat mix of horrified and fascinated. “What does it laugh at?”

“I’m not sure,” she said honestly. “We’re still working on effective two-way communication. It took some time to realize it doesn’t respond to words so much as images while in daytime house mode. I spoke out loud for your sake, but I was thinking about being hot. Picturing how it feels in my mind and what would help me.”

“Help you?” he asked slowly.

She nodded. “This might sound shocking, but Hennessee isn’t calm during the day because it’s dormant-reactive. It’s downright friendly. It’s kind—I can feel it wanting to be a gracious host and it costs me nothing to do it.”

Xander’s brow furrowed as he processed what she’d said. “If that’s true, and to be clear I believe you, why does its behavior shift so drastically at sunset?”

“Sunrise too. It’s truly tied to night and day. I’m missing…something. I know I am.” She bit her thumbnail, genuinely puzzled. “Even communicating at night is on the opposite end of the spectrum. Speaking to specters uses an incredible amount of energy. Did it feel that way for you?”

“Always.”

A feeling of kinship, unspoken and profound, passed between them. It linked them together as the last standing caretakers of Hennessee House.

“Stop me if you get confused,” she began. “Hennessee makes a connection with someone’s mind. It uses their memories to create a specter and gains the ability to speak, courtesy of that connection. It’s a loop. Hennessee needs access to language if it wishes to communicate verbally. Does that make sense?”

His eyes tightened, but he said, “Please continue.”

“Once the loop is established and a specter is created, it’s almost like it uses catchphrases, saying the same things over and over. If it can’t use or mimic conversations from your memory, it’ll try to speak on its own, but it can’t do it for long. It’ll slip right back into specter-character.”

Until she pushed it too far. It was still too soon to tell him about that part.

“You are”—he paused, shaking his head—“moving at an astonishing pace.”

“It’s hard, tiring work and objectively wonderful,” she said, smiling for a moment before slowly letting it fade. “It’s great. Having the time of my life.”

“At the moment it sounds like anything but.” He picked up on her tone change, falling right into her trap.

“You’re mistaken,” she said, softly miserable. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“I suspected as much.” Xander stood and retrieved two glasses and a bottle of dark brown alcohol from the cabinet. He poured and handed her one.

Lucky accepted it and asked, “You don’t eat cookies, but you drink alcohol?”

“I never said I didn’t eat cookies.”

“You snubbed Rebel’s macarons.”

“No, I didn’t. You seem to need them more than I do. I was being thoughtful.” He raised his glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” She downed the drink and almost choked to death. “What is that?” she sputtered, throat seizing up.

“You’re supposed to sip it,” he snapped.

“How was I supposed to know? You didn’t say that.” She hit her burning chest, trying in vain to work through another coughing fit. “I feel like I can breathe fire.”

Xander poured her another glass, passing it to her. “Sip,” he repeated with a stern tone.

“I’ve learned my lesson,” she said, suddenly feeling warm and spinny. “Maybe.”

“Don’t you dare,” he warned.

“I’m going to sip it.” However, doing so barely improved the drinking experience. She scrunched her face, only breathing a small puff of fire that time. “Are we bonding? Is that what this is?”

“I thought you weren’t psychic.”

She chose to ignore his sarcasm. “I’m not. I just know people. The unchanging and predictable nature of humanity, and all that. You’re a collector,” she said. “Collector’s bond.”

Xander regarded her for a moment. “I’m curious about the parameters of your ability. Is it only humans or is it any living being?”

“I can’t read the house, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I am.”

Lucky nodded before taking another sip and wincing. She needed to kick her plan into high gear before she was too tipsy to remember it.

Rebel’s inquisitive mind had once again steered Lucky in the right direction. The Caretaker was designed to focus on one person at a time. Initially, no one knew what happened if two people who shared memories stayed inside the house at night, at the same time.

The answer so far was business as usual. But what if those two people had already experienced specters individually?

Would there be a shared specter experience?

Would there be one for each of them?

Or would it be as Lucky hoped suspected?

The house might be old, but the sheer level of its desperation paired with its glaring restrictions suggested the house was inexperienced. It might not yet be strong enough to use the memories of more than one person at a time. It might not even know how.

Xander was Hennessee’s favorite by a wide purple-flower margin. Not to mention, Lucky had a history of not cooperating and challenging it, whereas he didn’t. If Hennessee had to choose between creating a specter for her or him, who would win?

Lucky asked, “When did you write your name on the wall?”

“I was seven, I think. We were here for a month in the summer, my stepmom and I. My dad refused, so he took my brother to Spain for their vacation.”

“Spain? Over Hennessee House? Unthinkable.” She’d earned a sardonic smile from him for that one.

He continued, “The house didn’t ask me to write it. I was bored, had a knife, and carved my name into a couple of places, actually. The attic wall. The orange tree. Under the dining room table.”

“That’s Gengar’s favorite tree. Interesting,” she said. “Did you see illusions or specters back then?”

He nodded. “I didn’t understand what was happening. I thought they were imaginary friends because they were almost always animals.”

Bobbi, the first caretaker, saw her guinea pig, but Hennessee used her grandfather to communicate. Why didn’t it use a person back then for Xander too? Because he was just a kid, maybe?

“Do you know if your stepmom saw them?” she asked gently.

“I don’t,” he said thoughtfully. “But I do think her connection was similar to yours. I remember her asking for things and then they would happen like magic. We had such a wonderful time. She loved it here.”

“You miss her.”

“Every day. After the second caretaker quit, production went on a brief hiatus, and I slept here. When I saw her specter, I thought she’d come back as a ghost.”

Lucky reached across the table, covering his hand with hers. She knew exactly what he needed to hear. “Ghosts are remnants of who people used to be. That I know. Who we are moves on to the next journey, whatever and wherever that may be.”

He stared at her hand long enough to make her think she made a mistake, but then he surprised her by covering it with his. Holding her there. “You called me a collector. What is that?”

“That’s who you are. You search for people and bring them in, give them somewhere to belong,” she said. “I can tell you more but we both know you knew that part.”

He smirked, laughing lightly as he looked away. “I wasn’t aware there was a term for it.”

“Because I made it up. I do that from time to time,” she said. “You’re doing just fine. As long as you continue on as you have been, healing and not shutting down, you’ll keep healing.” He nodded in acknowledgment, and she sat back in her chair, taking a deep breath. “I might have another small piece of an answer for you. You should sleep over again.”

“You’re in luck.” He grinned, before downing the rest of his drink with a completely straight face. “I plan on being too drunk to drive.”

Lucky and Xander continued day drinking until it turned into afternoon drinking, then took a break to watch the sunset from the parlor room. Brilliant orange and amber light filled the space, hitting the stained-glass lamps just right. The room began shimmering with greens, blues, and yellows until darkness descended.

They lay side by side on the floor musing about the meaning of life, ESP, and, most surprisingly, sharing what it was like having an estranged sibling.

Xander also had one—a brother named Sasha. Their dad, Alexander, was apparently as funny as he was vain.

“I’ve been thinking about calling Reggie,” Lucky said, purposefully thinking of him. “An email might be better, though.”

“You should.”

“I mean, I know why he didn’t want to talk to me before but what about now? I’m different now. I think I can actually help him now, if he wanted.”

“Now.”

“What?”

He snorted and began laughing. “Nothing.”

“Hey.” She teetered as she sat up to glare down at him. “I’m trying to be mulnerable.”

“Vulnerable,” he corrected with a snicker.

“Shut up and listen. Don’t make fun of me.” Every now and then, her words slurred into mush, and she didn’t appreciate him pointing it out. “I’m almost sober.”

“No, you’re not.”

She pointed at him. “Anyway. As I was saying. I made myself believe I was alone by choice when it was circumstance all along. I could show Reggie there’s a better way.”

Lucky was the problem, as were they—her family, her dorm mates, her nanny clique. None of them made a true effort to see and be seen in return. Doing so hurt and it could go wrong, but ultimately, it’d been so, so worth it. “I wish I didn’t have to be here alone.”

“I’m here.”

“Which is fantastic, but I don’t wanna kiss you.”

“Good. I don’t want to kiss you either.”

“We’re in agreement then.”

“Seems like it.” He closed his eyes.

Lucky sighed. “I miss Maverick.” Not thinking about him didn’t matter anymore.

“Are you complaining again?”

“You should make an exception and let me see him.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

“Don’t tease me. I’ll punch you.”

“I’m not.” But he chuckled as he said it. “How about this?” He heaved himself into a sitting position, looking her right in the eyes. “Allow me to stand in as your unofficial big brother: I give you my blessing. I hope you two are very happy together.”

“Stop that,” she said, utterly astonished because he’d meant it. His hazel eyes, tinged with a bleary drunken sheen, somehow burned with sincerity.

“And if he does anything less than make you happy, he’ll have to answer to me.”

Shit, he’d meant that too. “Cut it out! You’re going to make me cry.”

Suddenly, Xander’s gaze shifted to behind Lucky. She held her breath as she turned to look, knowing there’d be a specter but not what to expect.

A very light-skinned Black woman wearing a flowing soft pink gown sat on the chaise longue. She was absurdly beautiful—her face a picture-perfect portrait of serenity.

Xander said, “Hi, Brightly.”

Lucky almost hit him but settled on hissing, “You didn’t tell me your stepmom was Black.”

He gave her a puzzled look. “Because it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me. You know how I feel about my people and the supernatural.”

Specter-Brightly laughed, drawing their attention with its delicate sound.

“Oh god,” Xander whispered, nearly gasping with pain.

“Xander,” Specter-Brightly called. “Let’s catch up in the orchard.”

“I’m afraid I’m too drunk to walk out there safely,” he said. “Forgive me.”

In the blink of an eye, Specter-Brightly joined them on the floor, sitting close to him. “That’s all right. How are you? I’ve missed you so much.” It peered at him closely as if it needed to commit his face to memory. He couldn’t bring himself to ignore it.

Something felt suspiciously different about this scene.

Lucky observed them, noting the way Specter-Brightly’s smiles came easily and eagerly, and its clear obliviousness to Xander’s torment.

But it wasn’t being mean. It wasn’t insulting him.

For every question Xander answered, Specter-Brightly lavished him with praise—telling him how proud it was, how much it believed in him, asking him if he was happy and to visit more often. It was possible those were his memories of her, but it also could’ve been Hennessee in the hybrid state. It might be stronger when paired with Xander. Their connection was much older.

“Xander.” Lucky spoke firmly as if she had his ear. “Tell it it’s not real.”

He turned to Lucky. “What?”

“Say it. You have to say it. Tell it it’s not real.”

Xander nodded, turning back to Specter-Brightly. “You’re not real.”

“Why would you say such a thing?” Specter-Brightly’s warm gaze glossed over Lucky.

“Ask something only Brightly would know. Something you haven’t thought about in a long time, but don’t think of the answer yet.”

“That’s a lot of instructions.” His face pinched with doubt. “Did you not hear the I’m drunk part?”

Specter-Brightly asked, “Who’s your friend?”

Lucky raised an eyebrow. “Cut the shit, Hennessee. You know exactly who I am.”

Specter-Brightly blinked, face going slack but recovering quickly. “I like her. She’s cute and very funny. Where did you two meet again?”

Xander struggled to find a question before settling on, “What color nail polish were you wearing the first day we met?”

“Why would you ask me that?”

Lucky frowned. Still no insults. If anything it sounded hurt.

Xander held firm, saying, “Answer the question, please.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t hear you. Ask me again?”

Lucky coached, “You have to use repetition or it will outthink you. When you don’t play along it drops the fa?ade and you can kind of speak to the house. Ask questions, but don’t push it too hard.”

He nodded, seemingly understanding. “Why Brightly?”

“You missed me.”

“I miss her. Not you.”

“Xander,” Lucky warned.

“That is not true. You miss family. I am family.”

Lucky and Xander exchanged a look—that was the house answering. He asked, “You think you’re my family?”

“She called me Hennessee. You are Xander Hennessee.”

“Me?” Lucky asked. “Or Brightly?”

For the first time that night, Specter-Brightly turned the full weight of its blank gaze to Lucky. “You will stay.”

Lucky stopped herself from flinching. She’d said she wasn’t leaving multiple times. The house believed her, that’s all. That wasn’t a command. That wasn’t a threat.

“Hey,” Xander snapped. “You didn’t answer me. Why are you wearing Brightly’s face?”

“My name is Brightly.”

“No, it’s not.”

Lucky touched his arm, shaking her head. “Don’t do that.”

But he pressed on, “Why Brightly? Why are you doing this to me?”

“Close your eyes, hold your wish in your heart, and blow out your birthday candles,” Specter-Brightly said.

Xander’s eyes went wide. She watched as his fierce expression crumbled into sorrow. “How dare you. You’re not real. You have no right to do this to me. You’re a fucking house. You are not Brightly.”

Inky black darkness filled Specter-Brightly’s eyes like a whirlpool, save for that familiar single star.

“You should’ve listened to me,” Lucky said, bracing herself to hear the voice like she always did. “Ask the house one last question—hurry, the connection won’t last long.”

Xander swallowed hard, the most distressed she’d ever seen him. He reached for Lucky’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “Why Brightly? That’s all I want to know.” He began searching the room, a bewildered expression on his face. “Where is that voice coming from? What is that?”

But Lucky couldn’t hear it! She breathed a sigh of relief before squeezing his hand back. “It’s in your head,” she said calmly. “It’ll fade. Breathe through it.”

“No.” Xander sounded horrified as Specter-Brightly disappeared.

“What did it say?”

He blinked in disbelief, struggling to speak before managing to. “It said, ‘are you not happy, will you stay, will you run, are you not happy,’ I think. What was that?”

“The house’s true voice,” she said, rubbing his back. “You’re okay. It says something similar to me every night too. I’ve been spinning in circles trying to figure out what it means.”

“I think that scared me sober.” He laughed weakly, but it was good to hear. “You do this every night? I am not paying you enough.”

Lucky laughed, scrunching her nose at him. “At least something good came out of tonight,” she joked, patting his arm. “Welcome to my inner circle.”