Page 30 of If I Stopped Haunting You

He shrugged. “Tired too.”

She was exhausted. Pen didn’t want to argue anymore tonight, and she especially didn’t want to walk through this place on her own. Chewing on her lip, she nodded.

Storm followed closely behind, and she felt that odd comfort in his presence again. The castle felt peculiar on her own, too dark, too quiet. Storm was saying something as she gripped the banister to steady herself, but she couldn’t hear him, a ringing in her ears as she ascended the stairs.

She paused on the landing, angling to the right. What had Fanny said about the west wing?

It was strictly off-limits.

Still, she felt herself pulled to it. Ignoring the call of her name, Pen stepped closer, squinting down the dark hallway. Well, she was just full of reckless ideas today. She shivered as she took another step forward. The eerie setting and the dark, looming hall reminded her of a passage fromThe Lies They Told Us.

“And in that hall, dark and long and harrowing, did I step toward the unknown. The Sounds crept toward me,”Pen whispered, taking one step and then another into the shadows stretching out before her. The wood screamed beneath her feet, protesting each step as if she did not belong there in the dark. She took a deep breath and continued forward.“And when I saw it, I knew.”

A door creaked open at the end of the corridor, and Pen froze, eyes wide as it swung outward. There was absolutely no way in hell it was air or a loose lock. That door had opened on purpose. It waited, unmoving, as if it had opened just for her. Pen swallowed hard, her throat dry as she took another step toward it. Her heart thundered, adrenaline pumping through her as a hand snaked around it, gripping the edge of the peeling wood of the door.

She knew she should go, flee from this place, but a strange feeling urged her forward, led her to wonder what might be luring her into the darkness.

“Skinner!” Storm called.

Pen jumped in surprise, whipping her head around to see him stopped at the landing, eyes wide. He felt so far away. In her haze, Pen had wandered farther down the hall than she’d thought. Breathing shakily, she turned back to the door, to the flicker of movement she’d seen moments earlier. Was it the woman in black? Was she looking for her next victim?

But the door was closed, the west wing empty but for the two of them.

“That’s not possible,” she said, searching the shadows.

“What’s not possible?” he asked, slipping his hand into hers and pulling her back to the light.

Pen opened her mouth, but what was there to tell? Maybe shewasimagining things.

“Nothing,” she said. “It was nothing.”

She let him lead her toward the east wing, enjoying the warmth of his touch far more than she was willing to admit, but she half turned, considering the door. Pen swore she’d seen a flicker of movement, a shadow, or a silhouette in the darkened corners of the abandoned corridor, but when she blinked, it was gone.

Storm pulled her silently down the hall, past the art and statue busts, until they stopped between their rooms. Pen struggled to focus on him, a breath settling between her ribs.

“Did you really see nothing?” she asked quietly, crossing her arms over her chest.

He shook his head, brows pinched together. “I’m sorry.” He laughed awkwardly. “Not that Iwantedto see something, just sorry that you’re the only one who’s…”

“The only one seeing ghosts or imagining things? Yeah, lucky me.”

Pen smiled weakly as she toed the plush carpet. She’d seen things twice in one night. A coincidence, for now. But maybe the legends Fanny spoke of were truer than she’d let on.

Clearing her throat, Pen opened her door. Leaning against the doorframe, she summoned a smirk, the merriment not quite reaching her eyes.

“Goodnight, Storm. I hope you dream about flying books and angry writers.”

He chuckled, taking a step back. “Just the one.”

Pressing her lips into a thin line to keep from truly smiling, she closed the door between them. Her bag still rested inside the door, the mismatched colors a strange contrast to the décor. The top hadbeen unzipped, but Pen couldn’t recall opening it. She nudged it with her foot, stepping farther into the room.

It was cold at night, the darkness beyond the window lit only by the white of the snow sprinkled over the grounds. The sky had that strange, purplish glow to it; more snow in the forecast, Pen suspected.

She wanted to fling open the window and breathe that familiar scent in, to dispel the thick odor of murky dampness that she couldn’t seem to shake from the cellar, but her chattering teeth and freezing hands convinced her otherwise.

Pen changed into her pajamas, her hands shaking, stumbling as she slipped off her clothes and into something warm. With her feet clad in a pair of thick wool socks and a hoodie thrown over a loose shirt, she pulled back the covers of her bed. She paused as she climbed in, her gaze going to the tapestry and the hidden door behind it.

Swallowing, she crossed the room and tugged on the handle, making sure it was closed. She locked it to be certain. Although Pen did not know what lay in wait in the castle, she was not willing to take any more chances.