Page 21 of If I Stopped Haunting You

The last thing she wanted right now was to be left alone. Even if it meant being alone withhim.

Chapter 7

NEIL

In their awkward, heavy silence, Neil led her through the castle. She followed him down the long corridor, past the front foyer, and to the study. Neil had stumbled upon the room after Fanny left them in the east wing and he’d unpacked his things. He’d wandered curiously through the long, wide halls until he’d come upon the oak doors. It was as if his soul knew just what he needed.

He’d always had a knack for finding books in people’s homes. Neil was the kind of person at parties who wandered bookshelves, judging people on their selections, thumbing through collections as the others mingled about with wine and cocktails dangling from their fingers. He couldn’t help it: He was always more at home among stories than people.

Neil pushed open the double doors and motioned for Skinner. She tiptoed inside, lips parting as she took it in. She looked like a child in a candy shop. Tall walls had been gutted and filled with bookshelves, the cases crowded with a library an author could only dream of owning. He’d scanned the titles earlier, fingers brushing over leather-bound novels and encyclopedias dating back centuries.

The study was a place he’d always imagined for himself, a silent, leering friend that took up the better part of a home, dark and lit only by towering windows and firelight. But here in thisstrange study, the books had hardly been touched, only the chairs and couch well worn.

Of course, there was also the liquor cabinet.

Whoever owned the castle prior had a refined taste in alcohol, or so he guessed through the thick layers of dust coating both the doors and the bottles. The glasses and bottles were exquisite, the collection like something that belonged to a wealthy lord or other. The bottles were sealed shut with wax seals and cork, handwritten labels hidden beneath layers of dust that Neil couldn’t quite read. Some of the liquor was decades old, possibly more from the look of them, and Neil could picture the owner in a fine evening jacket, balancing a small glass full of the finest brandy before a large fire.

“Why are you being so nice?” Skinner asked as she pulled a book out from one of the shelves and leafed through its contents, purposefully not looking at him.

Neil shrugged as he leaned over one of the chairs, brow raised. “I’m not being nice, you just looked like you could use a drink and I could use a second set of eyes on this liquor cabinet.”

She slid the book back onto the shelf and turned to him, interest piqued. “Right. Liquor cabinet.”

He nodded behind him. “I haven’t been able to unlock it. You’re smart,” he started.

Skinner gasped, hand flying to her mouth. “Did the Prince of Horror justcomplimentme?”

“I hate that name.” He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but she’d heard it all the same.

Her mouth opened in surprise, and she stared up at him. “I-I’m sorry,” she apologized, voice small. “I didn’t realize it was a… Well, if you don’t mind my asking, why don’t you like it?”

Neil frowned down at her. No one had ever asked him before.

“I’m not royalty. I know I’ve done…well,but it doesn’t warrant some imaginary crown. It feels like an inside joke. Peopleuse it snidely; no one ever means anything good when they use it, especially not to my face.”

Fuck, was he oversharing?

“That’s… tough.”

Jaw working, Neil motioned to the liquor cabinet. “I don’t need your pity; I need help getting this thing open so I can have a fucking drink.”

With a coy smile, she rounded the couch toward him. The sudden approach with a glint in her gray-blue eyes made his heart thud. She was looking at him like he was a delicacy, like he imagined he’d looked back at the ruins.

“That,I can do.”

Together, Neil and Skinner searched through desk drawers and small hiding places before Neil produced a large ring of keys. Standing before the liquor cabinet, they tried key after key on the medieval-looking ring to no avail, metal clinking as they abandoned one key for another. When that didn’t work, his strange companion produced a hairpin from her hair, short, loose strands falling away in its absence.

Neil tried not to notice the way the hair framed her face, making her gray eyes larger. Or the light scent of her coconut shampoo as her braid continued to unravel. For entirely unknown and confusing reasons, he wanted to reach out and run his fingers through it, let the dark hair slide through them.

“Fuck,” she cursed as the hairpin broke.

Clearing his throat, Neil straightened. “There’s another way to go about this.”

“I’m listening.”

Neil took a stumbling step toward the entrance. After a moment of hesitation, Skinner followed him back to the kitchen. Under the sink, he riffled around in a toolbox before unearthing a rusted screwdriver.

“Ah,” she said with a nod.