Page 89 of If I Stopped Haunting You

He tried not to think about how he’d written approximately one sentence since he’d come to the castle. The whole point of the retreat was to work on his book, and instead he’d stumbled into a ghost story with the most unlikely of companions.

Nodding, Laszlo disappeared down the hall, leaving Penelope and Neil alone.

“I haven’t written anything,” he admitted as soon as Laszlo was gone. “I came here to write my book, and instead we’re chasing after ghosts and kissing—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, have I beendistractingyou?”

“I’m not saying I don’t like the kisses and theotherthings, only…” He tugged on his hair, teeth grinding. He was fucking this up already. “This isn’t what we should be doing.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t come to this retreat to be haunted by murdery ghosts either. But writing a book is kind of the last of our worries. What if these ghosts can hurt us, Neil? What if this is just the beginning?”

Neil frowned, brushing off his pants as he straightened. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do,” he admitted.

The closer they got to the truth, to who the ghosts were, and why they were here, the more dangerous it became. He didn’t want to put his friends in harm’s way, put Penelope in harm’s way. But the more they delved into the past, the closer the woman in white seemed to inch toward the east wing. Neil didn’t mind the idea of ghosts, didn’t mind the mystery they were unraveling, but put the two of them together?

No, thank you.

“We need to finish this,” Penelope said quietly.

“How do you propose we do that?”

She didn’t look at him as she muttered, “You’re not going to like it.”

Chapter 26

PEN

Pen and Neil stopped on the landing, and Pen pointed shakily down the hall to the door.

The door.

Her hand trembled as she dropped it to her side. She curled her fingers into a fist, trying to slow her pulse as Neil sidled up beside her, waiting.

“I have been drawn to this hall, to Georgina’s room in particular, and unless we go in there, we’re not going to know the truth. Every time you stopped me, every time you pulled me out of that trancelike state, I was about to open the door.”

“Even on the first night?”

“Even on the first night,” she agreed. “I could have sworn I’d seen a hand there.”

“And you wanted to open the door?”

“I wish I could explain it, but there’s this pull, like a string is attached to the middle of my chest and is propelling me toward it, toward her. This sounds ridiculous, but it feels like the solution to all my problems is in that room.”

He reached out and squeezed her hand. “It’s not ridiculous.”

Pen leaned back on her heels. “I didn’t really think the rest of this through. Are we just going to barge in there and demand answers?”

“What do you propose we do?”

She chewed on her lip as she glanced around at the darkened hall. Taking a deep breath, she tightened her hold on him as she stepped forward, dragging Neil with her.

“Before you came here,” she started slowly, “did you believe in ghosts?”

“No, I never had reason to.”

“That’s the problem with us writers. We’re artists. We craft these wild stories and characters and worlds, but when it comes to things like ghosts, we think of them in terms of logic. Does it make sense that ghosts exist? How would it even be possible? How can you believe in ghosts if you don’t believe in God?”

“You’re trying to distract me.”