But that wasn’t what made me freeze. It was the woman watching me. She stood beside the open window, her hair moving in the breeze, though her body stayed eerily still. Her eyes were locked on mine. Wide. Urgent. She didn’t speak, she just kept shaking her head.
My brows knit. “What?” I whispered, but she didn’t react.
Like she couldn’t hear me either.
I sighed and turned back to the fireplace. The ghost appeared out of thin air, her face so close to mine it was like her dread was being sewn into my skin. I stumbled back, my heart jumping intomy throat. Her presence gloomed over the room, her head still shaking.
“I don’t know what you want,” I said in frustration.
Suddenly she froze and turned her head toward the fireplace. Then she looked back at me, her eyes wide. I swallowed.
“You don’t want me to go into the passages?” I asked, and she nodded, tiredly. I bit down onto my bottom lip, staring through her into the hole. “Why?” I asked, careful to keep my distance. I didn’t want to feel her bone aching cold on my skin.
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t, or wouldn’t. I didn’t know. I slid past her, holding the candle into the void, before poking my head inside. There was no one on the other side. I listened to my anxiety-crept heartbeat, the rational part of my mind screaming at me to go back to bed, pleading that I should let it be. That I should listen to the ghost and block the hole with my dresser. But my curiosity, relentless and insatiable, overpowered my reasoning. I climbed inside, and when I glanced back, the ghost was already gone.
Alright, I turned back around, sizing the passageway. It looked the same as it did weeks ago, except for the dank stairwell that led deeper into the pitch-black.
Without further hesitation, I crept down the damp steps, watching the shadows dance over the stone walls surrounding me. My breathing was sharp and shallow, misting in the frigid air as I walked further into the dark. The stairs led me to an intersection. I raised the candle higher above my head to have a better look at the three tunnels and the wooden doors carved into the stone walls. Oaks. According to my mum’s book, oak barks could be used to heal wounds and such, but these doors seemed anything but nurturing. I shifted closer to one of them and twisted the forged doorknob, but it refused to budge.
A large moth landed beside my hand, with a skull-like marking on its thorax. Its dark velvety wings buzzed—deep andmelodic—then just as quickly as it came, it flew away. I turned after it, watching it disappear into the thick nothingness of the tunnel, before I carried on, moving deeper between the stone walls.
I chose the passage on my left, opposite from where the moth had flown. The silence was deafening, broken only by the drumming of my pulse. The walls seemed to narrow the deeper I went, and I was about to turn around when I heard a noise that didn’t belong to me.
My body stiffened, my eyes landing on the shadow beside mine in the candlelight. My heart jumped into my throat as my fingers gripped the knife harder. Filling my lungs with calming air, I whirled around and pushed the person against the wall, pressing the knife firmly to their warm skin.
The candle fell out of my hand, the flame barely flickering on the stone floor. My chest heaved against theirs as I used my whole weight to pin them in place.
“It’s lovely to see you too, poison,” Preston drawled, his lips curling into a smile too calm with a blade at his throat. “Taking an evening stroll, are we?” He plucked the knife from between my fingers like it was a bothersome rose thorn and brushed his shirt collar straight. “Haven’t you heard the saying? Only fools and the cursed wander into old passageways alone.”
He looked far too pleased with himself for someone who’d just been nearly stabbed, his blonde hair gleaming like tarnished gold in the shimmering light.
I scowled. “So which one are you?”
He leaned in, his voice low and lazy. “Who said I was alone?”
Something fluttered in my stomach. Could he have been meeting with someone? A girl, probably. I raised my chin higher, taking a step back. “Were you the one lurking on the other side of my bedroom wall?”
His expression shifted, his brows tugging together, subtle but visible as his smirk dimmed.
“What?”
“You heard me,” I said. “Were you the one creeping around behind the wall of my room?”
“Always the hunted, never the hunter, are you, poison?” His voice dripped with amusement. “So, you followed a strange noise into the bowels of the house, armed with nothing but a penknife and a pretty grudge. You really do like tempting fate, don’t you?”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and I hated how warm my face felt.
I narrowed my eyes, plucking the knife from his hand. “And you? I suspect you’ve a perfectly good reason to be roaming the passages like a Victorian ghost?”
“Please,” he huffed, as unbothered as always. “If I wanted to haunt you, I’d be far more creative about it.”
Wind howled through the passageway, raising gooseflesh along my skin.
“Alright then.” I nodded, still unsure if I believed him or not. “I suggest we both go our separate ways.” I grabbed the fallen candle and glared around the black tinted corridor.
Preston moved after me, placing a finger under my chin. My chest tightened, my stomach filling with small buzzing moths. I shifted away from his touch, just as his other hand curled around me, holding me in place. He forced my eyes up to the moulding ceiling.
“Take a deep breath,” he whispered, his breath kissing my cheek, turning my limbs numb.
