Page 24 of If I Stopped Haunting You

His fingers tore off strips of newspaper as he began to carefully place the wood in the center, building a cone-shaped masterpiece. As he bent over the woodpile, Neil jumped at a soft sound coming from the back of the study, a faintcrashsomewhere in thedarkness. He straightened and squinted over his shoulder, straining to see, but everyone was still by the liquor cabinet, the rest of the massive room empty.

Strange,he thought. Frowning, Neil turned to the fireplace.

The groundskeeper had left some supplies for them by the fireplace, and his hands worked of their own accord, muscle memory kicking in. He finished stacking the firewood and filling in the bottom of his formation with kindling and newspaper before lighting a match to it.

“How do you know how to do that?” Skinner asked from behind him.

Neil whipped his head around in surprise, exhaling when he met her stormy eyes. Grabbing his glass, he stood and wiped his hands on his pants, taking another sip of the fiery drink. He smelled the smoke and saw the firelight from his periphery as he stared down at her.

“Cub Scouts… and my older brother. My dad taught us how when we built a sweat lodge in the backyard.” The memory of the smoke and the heat seemed to soothe something in him, loosening his shoulders. When was the last time he took part in a sweat? When was the last time he visited his family?

She nodded slowly, rocking back on her heels. She’d relaxed since earlier, her shoulders had slackened, and her eyes had softened. Swallowing, she held out the bottle of whiskey.

“A peace offering.”

“Peace?” Neil asked with a raised brow.

Skinner shrugged. “Or an apology. For yelling at you and the like.”

“And the like,” he said, taking the bottle and filling his glass. He noticed how she carefully avoided any mention of the Incident or the rest of their past. Two could play at that game. “You have an odd way of apologizing.”

“I’m not very good at it,” she admitted.

Clearly.

“I can tell.”

His voice came out harsher than he’d meant to, like gravel was caught in his throat. God, what was wrong with him? Even when he meant to be kind to her, anger seeped into his voice, poisoned his words. He didn’t know if he could make it a week under these conditions, with her and Laszlo and Daniela and this godforsaken castle in the snow. Would he and Skinner be spending the entire time bickering about things that couldn’t change? Couldtheychange, or was it simply too late for either of them?

“So,” Daniela started, plopping into a leather chair. Her sugary voice sliced through the uncomfortable silence. “Do we think this place is actually haunted?”

Neil forced his eyes from Skinner, focusing on the others as they made their way toward the couches and chairs. They congregated near the warmth like cats, lingering on the rug, scrutinizing the furniture like the leather held secrets.

Laszlo shrugged, cradling his drink close. “Haunted? I dunno about that. I don’t really believe in ghosts, but I’ve gotta say, this place isweird. And the groundskeeper?” He shivered. “Abandoned us to the ghost’s mercy. What did she say?”

Daniela snorted, her voice a poor mimic of the groundskeeper, “Yer on yer own.”

“Love that for us,” Laszlo said.

“Thought you didn’t believe in ghosts?” Neil countered.

Laszlo shrugged but said nothing, taking a long drink instead. Neil took the moment to search the room again. He eyed the bookshelves and the shadows dancing on the walls, breathed in the thick smoke, the hint of dust and forgetfulness lingering in the corners. How many people rented out a castle? Rather, how many people rented out ahauntedcastle? Few, he supposed.

“Reminds me a bit of that creepy show,” Neil began, his freehand sliding into his back pocket. “The one with the family who tries to fix up the manor?”

“The Haunting of Hill House,”Skinner offered.

Neil spun toward her, tilting his head in thanks. She pressed her lips into a flat line to keep from smiling before bringing her glass to her lips and sipping.

“That one gave me nightmares for weeks,” Laszlo drawled as he shuddered and settled on the arm of the couch. “I don’t reallydospooky.”

Everyone turned toward him, mixed expressions of shock, confusion, and accusation on their faces.

“This wasyouridea!” Neil yelled. “You set this up!”

“Youwritethrillers,” Skinner said slowly.

“Not horror,” Laszlo corrected. “I don’t write horror.”