Page 109 of If I Stopped Haunting You

“I need an Archie to my Georgina.” Pen held out the journal and the letters, taking another step closer to Neil. “I would never ask anyone else. I don’t trust anyone else, but I do trust you. Neil Storm, will you write a book with me?”

Excerpt fromThe Lies They Told Usby Penelope Skinner

The house was moving, writhing, and reaching for me. It had always been a living, breathing thing, but it was showing its true colors now, and I had nowhere to run. Once, I might have called this place home, but it had shackled me to its heart, and I had no key.

Tricked, I’d been tricked.

I could hear them rippling down the hallway toward me as I fought through the fog of my mind. Soft footsteps, the clink of airy, inhuman laughter wrapping around me, yanking me back. I struggled, swaying as sweat beaded my brow.

“Where are you going, Winter?”

There he was, coalescing from the darkness. He stood at a wrong angle, his dark eyes growing blacker by the second, ink-stained pupils tracking my movements. I felt the scrape of his glower over my skin like fresh wounds, and the more I tried to back away, the more I felt the house holding me in place.

I tore at the rope, the friction digging into my ankles as I screamed. I needed to get free. I needed to stop him. Crying out, I kicked against him, but he did not mind. He did not budge. He stood his ground, solid and much too real.

He bent before me, lifting my chin and forcing my gaze.

“You were always mine, Winter.”

But he was wrong. I had always been my own person. This house that was left to me. The things that haunted its walls did not define me, just as I did not define it. My hands scrabbled hastily over the floor until my fingers brushed the feather of my grandfather’s quill.It heated in my hand, the metal burning me and searing my skin as I angled my hand and pressed the tip of it into my skin.

The razor-sharp edge bit into me.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“What I should have done long ago,” I spat.

I pressed down hard, clamping my lips tight together against a scream as the point sliced even farther, white-hot pain sending a fresh volley of tears down my cheeks as I wrote “I will speak only truth” into my own skin.

Despite everything my grandfather did to prepare me for this moment, I was only ever here because it had been a gift. That night, I had been handed the key to this haunted place like God herself had gifted me entry to heaven. As I swooped the last of the H, slicing the quill through my skin with finesse, I glanced up at him with a sharp smile.

“I hope you had a plan B.”

Epilogue

NEIL

FIFTEEN MONTHS LATER

It took everything in Neil to drag his pants on. His gaze traveled over the room and past Penelope’s cat, Apawllo, curled at the edge of the bed toher. Nearby, Penelope sashayed into a tight blue dress. Its fabric clung perfectly to her curves as she struggled for the zipper, reaching awkwardly around her.

“Could you?” she asked, glancing at him over her shoulder.

Smiling, Neil crossed the room. His fingers danced over her back, trailing down her shoulder, over her bra, and to the zipper.

“No funny business,” she ordered.

Neil bent to press a kiss to her spine, and she shivered under his touch.

“It’s not funny business,” he said against her shoulder.

He spun her toward him as one of his hands tangled in her hair, tugging her close. Her palms pressed against his chest, her nails digging in as she stood in her heels and kissed him.

He moaned into her mouth and she shoved him toward the bed, making the cat leap off and disappear down the hall. Penelope climbed into his lap, heels and all, her dress inching up her thighs. Neil bunched the fabric in his hands, his fingers dragging closer to the warm space between her legs.

“This color reminds me of the dress you wore to the Shelly Awards.”

“We’re going to be late,” she said as he bent to nibble at her neck.