Page 7 of Petrify

“Then we should at least see you in the mornings and evenings.” She leans closer to lower her voice. “Though if you’re not feeling it, we can always send something up to your room.”

“I should be alright. Thank you, though.” It’s probably best to make an effort to befriend them, and they don’t immediately strike me as standoffish.

I expect them to begin interrogating me about how I came to get this job. The response is always the same when I tell someone that I am a professional musician: a nod and, “Oh, that’s nice.” A few questions about my schooling, feigned interest to seem polite.

But the conversation doesn’t get that far before another strange figure walks into the room. Light brown hair, a set to his jaw, dressed in expensive-looking slacks, his sleeves rolled up his forearms. He scans the room, the movement clearly automatic, because he’s moving straight for the dinner rolls and snagging one.

The chatter hardly stalls. But there’s something about him that tells me he doesn’t belong down here. He’s not family, but he’s also not cleaning staff.

His eyes skip over mine. Purposefully ignoring me?

I catch his smirk as he turns to leave.

Julia has an answer for me before I can even open my mouth to speak. “Desmond is his name. He’s Mr. Beauchene’s… assistant. Though I’m not sure that’s the best word for it.”

“What does he do?”

Em shrugs. “Hmm. No one really knows.”

Hours later while Henri is still with Ms. Wilder, I wander the house, which is much bigger than I realized. Hundreds of rooms, more than any one family feasibly needs.

It’s the type of extravagance only available to legacy families who are so intrinsically bound into the history of the land, thattheir name is plastered everywhere in the nearby cities, if not the whole region.

The Beauchene family came from France sometime in the eighteenth century, already wealthy. Within a couple generations the family amassed an industrial empire in the state. There was enough money now behind the name that the next dozen generations of Beauchenes wouldn’t have to lift a finger.

Leo Beauchene is the youngest of his three brothers, but not much else was detailed on the internet, I found, other than his few philanthropic efforts, and his marriage to Mariane, who didnotcome from a background quite this wealthy. Mariane Beauchene was a Senator of Connecticut for two terms, before announcing she would not run for reelection, instead turning her attention and influence to nonprofits in the arts and sciences. They’ve both taken a step back from the public eye in recent years, especially after Henri came along. To “protect their privacy” and “focus on family.”

Henri’s timid nature tells me everything I need to know.

When we reunite for the afternoon, I am all smiles, hoping that in my time here, I can at least give him something to look forward to. A distraction, a motivator,something.

The angels on my wall watch my every move as I undress for bed. Fleshy cheeks, feathered wings, pink smiles. An ominous, heavy weight tracking me back and forth across the room.

I stare back as I unclasp my bra. My breasts peak in the cool air, goosebumps spreading across my skin, as I shuck off my pants, left in only my thong. A thin, strappy thing I should’ve gotten rid of years ago.

Jason brought me to the lingerie boutique in the mall, once. Not long after we began—finally— officially dating. Handfuls of lacy bits of fabric, each one I’d held up for his approval:Yes, yes, no, not sexy enough, hell yes.

Sliding the straps down my thighs, I toss them to the pile of my discarded clothing, my laundry now a problem for the morning. I wrap one of the plush towels around my middle.

An hour later, showered and moisturized with my favorite almond-scented lotion, I crawl into bed.

When I switch off the lamp, bathing the room in shadow, the cherubic voyeurs’ stare still pierces through me, as though unmoored souls are trapped in the room with me, and I am now their keeper.

The bed swallows me whole. For a second, I wish it was some monstrous thing, with unhinging jaws that would snatch me up and make me disappear, brutal and efficient, until there’s nothing of me left behind. Only then could I rest.

Chapter 4

The Ghost

She sleeps so soundly.A soft whispering of breath at her parted lips, her intoxicatingly sweet smell tainting the room.

She doesn’t know she’s been welcomed tomybed. My room, once upon a time.

Vulnerable, lying there, an arm tossed to the side. The blanket only reaches her hips. She doesn’t stir much at first.

But then, hours later—she gasps. She writhes. She whimpers.

Each sound, pathetic and needy, yet she’s unconscious, dreaming. A nightmare, maybe.