24

A fter more than a little bitching from Wes, we had all managed to agree to lay low in the Manor for a few weeks. At the very least it would give us enough time to take a break and regroup. Clay could heal and research to his heart's content, while Wes followed up on the rogue ghoul. And I could let my curiosity run rampant in the form of exploring the spooky place with its extremely tantalizing built-in tour guide.

The first major hang up to the plan was that the mansion itself was ancient. No electricity, no outlets, no indoor plumbing . Electricity was an issue that was easy enough to remedy as we always had our generator and the gadgets that Clay insisted on keeping at the ready at all times. ‘You never know when you’ll need to look something up.’

He was absolutely the biggest nerd of the three of us and I was almost certain it was a point of pride. On long road trips, Wes and I would take turns asking inane questions to see which of us could get him monologuing the longest. It was an unspoken agreement that whoever won got to choose dinner. It wasn’t the most exciting road game but, begrudgingly, I had to admit it was informative.

The plumbing issue was where we almost lost Wes again.

“ The fuck do you mean you want to stay in this shithole? It’s bad enough that it's basically one gust of wind from falling down on top of us. Clay, you can barely stomach roughing it without bathrooms on the rare occasions we camp. You , of all people. want to stay in a place that only has chamber pots?” In Wes’s defense he had a point, but Clay had cracked back saying that a chamber pot was much more sanitary and easy to manage one arm down than digging a hole to shit in in the woods. So we stayed.

I grinned at the memory of Florence’s face during the plumbing discussion. Her pale skin could do nothing to hide the rosy blush on her cheeks, and her eyes had twinkled ruefully with laughter. She was taking the intrusion of three loud idiots with an admirable amount of humor and grace. I was impressed, and completely captivated by her.

“It’s sad that someone so pretty is trapped in such a trashed place,” I said to her, while we watched Clay and Wes lobby arguments back and forth at each other in the parlor room, like a pathetic game of ping-pong. She had looked at me quizzically, her head cocked to the side and eyebrow raised delicately.

“What do you mean? Trashed ?” She seemed genuinely confused.

“Like–destroyed? In bad repair? Falling apart?” I explained, gesturing around us to the room pointing out molding baseboards and cracked furniture and crumbling stone.

“Oh, I see ,” She breathed out in a whisper. “The Manor has always provided for me, as long as I…” She paused briefly, seeming to search for the correct words. “ …as long as I have been here… Perhaps you only see what it wants you to see, while I see it for what it truly is, ” she responded. “This place is as grand and beautiful as the day I first stepped foot in it.” There was an unexplainable look of pain behind her eyes, yet at the same time, an undeniable fondness. Her hand patted the fabric of the couch's arm absently, as if stroking a beloved pet.

I contemplated for a moment. “Hmm. So what you're saying is… it likes you better?”

She laughed, a mirthful giggle bubbling out of her plump lips. I fought with every part of what little willpower I had not to imagine what that pink pout would taste like… It was a slippery slope from there. Her eyes glittered mischievously.

“ Yes. That is exactly what I am saying.” She snorted softly and, honestly, it was the most adorable thing I’d ever heard.

It caught Clay’s attention and he looked over at us. “What’s funny?”

“Apparently this place isn’t as gross and abandoned as it appears,” I said, relaxing back into the uncomfortable couch with a little more force than I had before; when I had thought it was about to break apart from underneath me. It held strong and I started to think Florence may be on to something.

“What do you mean?” He asked, pushing his glasses up to rest in their proper place at the bridge of his nose.

“Well, Florence here.” I nodded my head in her direction, mostly for Wes’s benefit. I knew it would piss him off if I used her name, just as much as it pissed me off when he didn’t. “Says that the Manor is in fine repair, grand even.” I winked at her as I used the word, exaggerating it in her accent. She smirked and her eyes rolled skyward. “And that maybe it’s just putting on a show of looking all crusty and dilapidated so we don’t stick around too long.” That last part I put together myself, but based on Florence’s response to it, I didn’t think I was far off.

“ A magic mansion.” I heard Wes scoff under his breath grouchily. “ Next it will be a magic school bus.” He kicked his foot at the leg of a rickety-looking table and we were all surprised by the fact it remained standing steadily. There was a hissed intake of breath from Wes and I tried not to snicker at the sight of him shaking out his toes.

Clay’s attention was fully on Florence now. “When did you first come here?” He asked the question that had been at the forefront of my mind since finding her like Sleeping Beauty in the greenhouse.

“Eighteen Fifty-Two.”

Oh holy shite.

Her hands tidied her skirt busily, brushing away imaginary lint, and she seemed almost embarrassed as she returned his gaze and asked.

“What year is it now?”

Clay glanced towards me, eyes wide, and I knew he was thinking the same thing I did. Though he had probably come to the math faster than I had. 1852 means…

“It’s the year Two thousand and Twenty-Four,” he said gently. “You’ve been here almost one hundred and seventy two years. ”

“Oh.” The smallest sound escaped as all the air seemed to leave her body.

I could see that her hands were trembling, and she extended her fingers briefly before clutching them into tight fists that she then balled into her lap. A shaky breath inhaled through her teeth and I had to hold myself back from moving to her– to take her hands in mine, or rub her back, to hold her in any way she might allow. The urge to comfort her was overwhelming.

Her eyes were wet with unshed tears when she finally looked back up at us. “I hadn’t realized it had been quite that long,” she admitted.

She stood abruptly and straightened her skirts. “Please–please excuse me,” she whispered, before darting from the room and down a hallway that I was not sure had noticed before. Disappearing from sight quickly, like the phantom Wes was so sure she was.

I stood to go after her but Clay's hand gripped my shoulder gently. “Let her go, Ko. I think she needs a minute.”

I nodded, but it took a moment for me to be able to sit back down again. I felt an insane pull to go after her–and while yes I did have a habit of getting attached easily to beautiful people– earning me the nickname lover boy on more than one occasion, I had never felt anything this strong so fast. It wasn’t just sexual attraction or general curiosity either, though admittedly there was plenty of both. There was something more.

“Oh no. Hell no. ” Wes’s voice pulled me from my thoughts before his hulking frame blocked the hallway my eyes had found following Florence’s retreat. “I know that look, Koen!” He scolded me like a child.

“ What look?” I said defensively, pushing him away from me gently and flopping back on the couch. I kicked my feet up over one arm and rested my back against the other. I threw my hands up in an exaggerated show of misunderstanding.

His scowl deepened and he pointed his finger in my face and I swiped it away.

“Like a lost puppy who will follow any pretty little thing without a thought, no matter what danger might be waiting!” He said in exasperation. “We have no idea what this place is or what that thing is. We do know it's been here for over a century and it looks like it hasn’t aged a day over Twenty Five–”

“We also know she heals quickly from gunshot wounds,” Clay offered nonchalantly as he settled into the chair across from me, pulling his laptop from his bag. “ And that the Manor is a significant part of this whole mystery.” He rolled his shoulders before opening the computer and beginning to type.

“I’m surrounded by morons,” Wes groaned to the ceiling.

“I think you mean outnumbered by morons.” I grinned up at him as he turned on his heel and left out of the front door, slamming it heavily behind him.

“Was that necessary?” Clay asked me, a grin in his eyes that he tried to keep from his mouth. He tried not to play favorites between us but, despite Wes being his best friend, he tended to enjoy it when I pestered him for being bitchy.

“Absolutely.”