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“I thought I saw something.”
“Someone,” Grace clarified.
“They said they saw something,” he announced.
“Someone,” Grace reiterated.
“Where?” Ciaran asked.
“Up there.” Maverick pointed.
Everyone stopped and lifted their gazes to the building’s upper windows, but they remained empty.
Ciaran looked at me, whatever he was thinking obscured behind an expressionless stare. “You sure?”
“I know what I saw. He was wearing a mask and a dark hoodie.”
“He?” Margo enunciated.
“I assume it was a guy…”
Charon gave me a quizzical look. “Isn’t that sexist?”
“Can’t call it sexist without being sexist,” Mel replied.
“He was joking,” Kyrous intoned. “And if someone’s up there, they’re more than likely staring down at all of us just standing here.”
“He’s right. Let’s keep moving,” Ciaran said.
We returned to walking at a normal pace, and I waved off Mel’s questioning gaze.
Every few seconds, I glanced back at the building, waiting for it to happen again, but it never did. I swallowed and took a small breath. There was no way I had been seeing things. Gracelyn saw him too.
Whoever it had been was obviously screwing with us, which was the last thing I needed right now. I couldn’t handle mind games.
If you started fucking with my head, I’d become a hazard to everyone. Most of all myself.
“What is it?” Ciaran asked.
I jumped, not realizing he’d fallen back to walk beside us.
“Nothing.”
He waved Gracelyn past him so that we could be side by side.
I nodded to let her know it was okay. Now in step with me, he draped an arm around my shoulders whilst continuing to look straight ahead. I probably should’ve moved away from him, but I didn’t. Being tucked against his side gave me a sense of comfort.
“You’re an extremely touchy feely kind of person,” I mumbled.
“I’m actually the complete opposite of that.”
“I’d be more inclined to believe you if you weren’t touching me right now.”
“Maybe I just like touching you, and you like it too.”
Uh? What was I supposed to do with that admittance? “I’m not sure that’s reciprocated on my end.”
“That’s twice now,” he said quietly. He dropped his arm and rolled his neck, cracking tense muscles. “Can you do me another favor?”
“Depends on what it is.”
“Don’t lie to me again.”
What the hell? When had I lied to him a first time? How did he know I was doing so now? I stared at the back of his head as he reclaimed his leadership position, leaving me with lungs full of his intoxicating scent and a loss for words.
I wanted to demand he get his ass back here and explain what he’d meant, but with one slight turn we were at the Blight House.
Despite it being the first natural sound I’d heard since walking through the city, the piano music didn’t encourage me to want to enter whatever this place was.
Of course, there wasn’t any other option. The road beyond was barricaded by concrete hedges with iron bars extending from the tops of them. This only solidified how I felt from the second we stepped through the gate that trapped us in here.
We were mindless sheep being herded to our eventual slaughter. I studied the place we were to enter, knowing it would be a waste of time for us to go backward.
The building was all brick, the words BLIGHT HOUSE spelled out above the entry doors in largely illuminated bubble letters.
“Do we just go in?” Margo asked, looking to Ciaran for instruction.
“Let’s see,” Maverick replied, walking up to the doors. He grabbed their double handles and pulled, easily opening both. A classic moonlight sonata spilled out into the night. The aroma of various foods flowed behind it.
Maverick glanced over his shoulder at us with a boyish grin. “That answers that.”
He walked inside as if he lived here, waving at us to follow. We did—slowly. The girls and me, Selena now included, cautiously trailed in after everyone else.
A large chandelier hung from right above us, showcasing a square shaped foyer. The old-world styled floor was shined and polished, and dark demask like wallpaper covered the walls.
There was a grand staircase and wide hall straight ahead. Both had been effectively blocked off with various junk and stacks of chairs. Once again, we had to go left, where the piano music was coming from a speaker system.
Slowly filing in one by one, splitting into two lines, we entered a dining room. The table was covered with white linen. There was a fancy dish and silverware in front of every high-backed chair.
A variety of entrees ran from one end of the table to the other, a ham in the center.
Heather plucked two strawberries from a silver bowl, giving each a slight squeeze before taking a bite of one. “These are fresh.”
She didn’t need to eat any of the food for us to see that, especially not knowing where it came from. Everything looked recently prepared, visually appealing and of good quality. Round golden goblets even contained what I assumed was wine.
