Page 25 of If I Stopped Haunting You

“Laszlo.” Daniela laughed, throwing back her head. “Why the fuck are we here?”

“You went on that haunted tour with me!” Skinner yelled, tone accusatory, with a hint of laughter curling the ends of each word. “I was the one who was scared!”

“Are you kidding?” Laszlo shook his head. “I was shitting myself the entire time, Pen. I don’t do basements or crypts.”

They all burst into laughter. As if this week couldn’t get any more ridiculous, the person who’d set up the retreat, the person who’d tricked Neil and Skinner into coming here at the same time, was terrified of this place. And, looking around at their surroundings, at the dim lighting, the dust-covered books, the cobwebs lingering in the corners, and feeling the overall sense of dread, Neil couldn’t blame his friend.

“We’ll try to keep you out of the basement,” Daniela said, sinking farther into the large armchair.

Skinner surveyed Neil before turning to join the others. Laszlo and Skinner settled onto the couch. She leaned into hisside, stretching out her legs along the leather. Neil tried to train his eyes away, attention going to the table or the bottles, or literally anything else in the dark room. But his concentration strayed to her and away again, and he forced his feet past the couch, his free hand curling into a fist, eyes going to the bookshelves that surrounded them, titles and spines lit by the glow of the fire.

Daniela cleared her throat, and Neil’s gaze slid to her over his shoulder. “Why don’t we play a game?” she suggested, tossing her legs over the arm of her plush leather chair.

Neil rolled his eyes, running his fingers along the book spines on the nearest shelf. They were soft and worn under his fingers, the spines broken, the letters fading. Some were newer, crisper, but this shelf was well loved.

“We’re not children, Daniela,” he muttered.

“And we’re not all as boring and serious as you, Neil.”

He opened his mouth to reply but paused, attention going to something at his feet. He stooped and lifted a thin red book from the floor, his eyes not quite focusing on the pages in the dim lighting as he skimmed through it one-handed, whiskey still dangling in his left hand. He didn’t catch any of the words, just saw glimpses of handwritten journal entries. Frowning, he slipped it onto one of the shelves.Must have fallen,he thought.

“What kind of game?” Skinner asked from the couch. He could hear the suspicion dripping from her words, the waver in them. Was she scared? Did she believe in ghosts and all the strange, otherworldly things they wrote about in their novels?

Neil turned to the others, brow furrowed. Daniela sat up, swinging her legs over the chair before standing. “How many times will we have the opportunity to play truth or dare in a hauntedcastle?”

Neil swallowed his sigh, taking a sip of his whiskey. It burned a path down his throat, settling into the embers of his stomach, warming him from the inside out.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Daniela,” he chided.

Daniela leaned forward on her elbows, drink swinging precariously from her fingers. “What, does Neil Storm believe in ghosts?”

His nostrils flared. He’d forgotten how annoying she could be. “No.”

She smiled, all teeth. “Then what are you afraid of, Prince of Horror?”

Neil’s glower met Skinner’s over the couch. She knew now how much he hated the nickname, but he’d be damned if he let Daniela get to him.

“Fine!” He threw up his hands and moved toward the light before settling in the other chair. He swirled his drink and surveyed their small group. Although he didn’t know them all well, he much preferred Laszlo’s calm energy to Skinner’s fiery temper and Daniela’s sharp tongue.

“I saw the groundskeeper run out of here like her life depended on it,” Daniela said, turning to Skinner. “She muttered something about secret doors and you?”

Skinner frowned as she fidgeted with her glass. “Yeah, we… it was nothing.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Just a misunderstanding.”

But it hadn’t been nothing. Fanny had looked sincerely distraught as she jogged past Neil and out the front door with the jingle of her keys trailing in her wake.

“Well, I’d much rather be down here with you three than in my room alone. Besides, being alone kind of defeats the purpose of a writer’s retreat,” Daniela said, puckering her lips.

Neil decided it was best not to point out that truth or dare defeated the purpose of a writer’s retreat.

Daniela smiled knowingly as she took a long drink of the clear liquid in her glass. Neil watched warily as she settled on the edge of her seat and leaned forward with a devilish grin. They wereplaying with fire, agreeing to Daniela’s games. She was nothing but trouble, and after having heard some of the rumors, Neil knew the aftermath of Daniela’s potential meddling.

When Laszlo had told him Daniela would be at the castle, it was nearly enough to deter him from going. But he’d thought there would be more people as a buffer. Of course, there was everything with Penelope Skinner, though that was a whole other mess. He’d work through whateverthatwas another time. Though Neil did wonder: If he’d known Skinner was coming, would he have come? She’d been haunting him for years, a shadowy figure in his rearview that wouldn’t go away no matter what he did. Perhaps he’d come to confront his own ghosts, to understand why Skinner had felt the need to tear him down so publicly.

Alas, he’d never know.

“Penelope, dear,” Daniela started, leering at the smaller woman on the couch, “you should go first, seeing as you’re the youngest.”

“I’m twenty-nine.”