37

The public library in town was quiet, but that didn’t settle my nerves any more than being busy would. Clay sat with his face in his laptop and his hand scribbling in one of his many notebooks beside him on the desk. I had gone to get us food. The only place in town open was a small cafe that served more grease than food. The burger looked amazing but Clay turned up his nose at it and stuck to the french fries.

He hadn’t spoken to me most of the way into town, a fifteen-minute drive down the winding forest. The town was still shaken by the death of three police officers and there was a heavy law enforcement presence. I did my best to seem inconspicuous but it was hard when you were a stranger in a small town where everyone knew everyone.

Luckily, Clay was a people person.

He rose from the table and padded toward the reception desk on light feet. A curvy, eccentric-looking young woman sat huddled behind it with her bright, rainbow-colored glasses on the brim of her nose, and her fiery red hair spun in funny little curls around her sweet round face. She wore a flattering dark green tartan dress and her matching pink heels stuck under the desk. Her eyes fluttered up to Clay as he approached, a bright smile forming on her face when he leaned over and pointed to something in his notes.

She laughed at him, her cheeks turning pink, and she rose from her chair. Clay followed her back through a row of books with a flirty smile on his face, only for her. Leaning against the bookcase with his hand in his pocket, he flirted with her like she was the only woman in the building, throwing her a polite nod and thanking her for finding the book he needed.

“You’re full of shite.” I shook my head as Clay sat back down and handed me the book.

The book was so massive and full that the papers seemed to spill out of it.

“What is this?” I flipped it open to a page of newspaper clippings.

“The library is too small of an operation to have any newspapers scanned before 1910. We have to search by hand to find any news about the Manor,” he said, not looking up from his laptop.

“And what are you going to do?” I snapped, briefly scanning the amount of clippings I was about to search through.

“Becca is going to show me the archives,” he said, winking at her as she leaned over the desk, filing more papers away.

“What will your monster girlfriend say when it finds out you’re using your subpar looks to flirt with other librarians,” I growled, flipping through the book.

“Hey, you called her a girl.” Clay wiggled an eyebrow at me, popped the top button of his dress shirt, and tossed his glasses on the table before wandering off to find the pretty redhead.

I spent another hour flipping through newspapers before I saw its face.

It looked exactly the same as it had earlier today. Not a new line on its face to be seen.

The gray ink almost made it appear soft. The man beside it was grubby, to say the least. His round jaw and beady eyes were swallowed by the plumpness of his cheeks. His sausage hands wrapped around its waist, and they were both dressed in formal wear. It might have been a wedding photo but it was in the eulogy section, an announcement from just after it was supposedly trapped inside the Manor.

CABOT, Lady Florence Catherine, July 19th, 1823 - September 2nd, 1852. It is with overwhelming sadness that we announce the passing of Florence Cabot. She is survived by her loving husband, Lord Matthew Cabot. She died in their estate, surrounded by her loved ones, and will be deeply missed.

“Got you.” I looked around before pulling the clipping from the book and folding it in my pocket. I scribbled a small note for Clay, telling him to return the truck to the Manor. I would meet him there.

It would be enough time to beat him there before he even realized I was gone.

I needed to talk to our monster.

The Manor was eerily silent when I snuck in the front door. I had swiped my pistol from the tool bed in the back of the truck and shoved it into my jeans before climbing the hill. It had been fifteen minutes into town but over forty-five minutes back. The fresh air was good for my thoughts and by the time I climbed the stairs to the Manor, I had a straight idea of what needed to be done.

Koen was passed out in one of the living room armchairs, his hand pressed to his ribcage and a peaceful, sleepy expression on his face. I couldn’t help but stop and throw a blanket over him. Mad at myself for being mad at him, it felt stupid but, most of the time, I wasn’t sure how to keep him safe. Clay’s words rang in my ears. I knew he wasn’t a child but, to me, he was still that little boy my parents brought home from a hunt. He was who I made him. Confident, loud, intelligent, and strong.

It was trusting my training that I was stumbling over.

The only thing I couldn’t train out of him, or Clay, was their undeniable need to love.

I knew the day would come for them when our lifestyle would bear on their shoulders and they would turn to companionship. I just figured it would continue to be quick, dirty relationships in shitty motels and with people they never expected to see again. But this was different.

Whatever grip this monster had on them was toxic.

Its claws were covered in poison and sank deep into their skin.

They just couldn’t see it for what it was.

“Where are you?” I turned around, knowing how easy it was to get lost around the Manor. I could have sworn that the walls moved independently in the night, changing shape and layout. Clay was certain he had mapped out the basics but every morning at the table, he was erasing lines and adding new ones, charcoal from his pencil covering the ball of his hand as he worked.

I wandered around the main floor until I wrapped down a long hallway and found myself back in the kitchen, but it was there—moving around without a care.

“You snuck up on me once. It won’t happen again,” it said, stopping what it was doing at the counter.

“I was looking for you this time,” I snapped, my hand on my gun. “What do you want from us?” I demanded.

“What I’ve been saying from the start!” It had the gall to sound exasperated. “I want you to leave my home.” It moved and I flinched, fingers finding the smooth handle of my gun.

“Yeah, you’ve said that, but I don’t believe it because I’ve never seen Koen or Clay so headstrong about staying somewhere.” I shook my head. “You’ve done something to them.”

“I don’t control their thoughts.” It looked at me with its lips pressed tightly together. “I don’t want to be here anymore than you do.”

It seemed to keep a distance from me, even as I moved further into the kitchen. It checked over its shoulder more than once, its eyes running the length of the walls like it was searching for something, waiting for it. I liked that it was as uncomfortable with my presence as I was with it.

Stunning emerald eyes focused back on me. “Perhaps they just see something you refuse to.”

I swallowed tightly to keep my voice from breaking and stared at it. “If you aren’t trying to kill us, what do you want?” I was getting frustrated now.

It pinned its shoulders back and whispered. “To be free.”

“Tell me where your body is buried and I can finish this. You’ll be free and I can take my brothers away from here,” I offered and lowered my voice.

It looked at me again, jaw clenched tightly as it moved across the kitchen to the sink.

“I’m not dead,” It said with more conviction than I had heard it use before.

“That’s a lie.” Its eyes watched my every move as I pulled the paper from my jacket pocket and threw it on the island.

It dried its slender fingers on a towel before unfolding the paper and reading it with a scrunched expression. “This is a lie.” It set the paper down and went back to whatever it had been doing.

Was it making bread?...

“It’s not a lie, it’s in the damn paper. Your husband wrote that,” I raised my voice.

“My husband,” it scoffed and went on ignoring me.

“You died in your bed at home, surrounded by your family. How did you wind up here?” I asked.

I was met with more silence.

“What was it? A plague, childbirth?” I inched closer when it didn’t answer. “I think it was a mean husband,” I snipped, only a foot from its back. “He got too rough one night and accidentally hurt you when you spoke back. Now, you trap men in this Manor and kill them because it makes you feel better for a second. We’ve dealt with spirits like you; vengeful, mean. It takes years to twist who you used to be into what you are now. All that time alone to tangle your thoughts into irrational actions. You’re just a rage-filled shell of whatever you used to be. It happens to all spirits.”

It moved away, feeling me so close.

“You can’t have me or my brothers.”

It stopped moving and I watched as it slowed its breathing before turning around.

My breath caught in my throat at the sight of its tears.

“Crying won’t save you,” I managed to say through the sudden pang of guilt before it took off running from the kitchen.