Page 94 of If I Stopped Haunting You

“Mausoleum?” Neil winced, trying to recall the room, the word on Penelope’s lips before Georgina had forced him out. “What do you mean? We can do this together. Whatever it is, we can do it together.”

“Neil.” She sighed. “You’re hurt. You need to lie down and wait for me, okay? I have this handled. I can do this, and then I’ll be back, and everything will be okay.”

“Please, don’t do anything rash. Don’t do this alone. She can hurt you! You don’t have to do anything alone, not anymore.”

But Penelope didn’t stop. She hurried down the hall, past the kitchen where the others waited, and into the mudroom. She said nothing as she tugged on her boots and buttoned up her coat. Neil paused in the hall outside the kitchen, the hushed whispers from Laszlo and Daniela dying down when they saw him.

They stared blankly up at him, their expressions a mix of fear, confusion, and concern. He swiveled away, taking a step toward the mudroom right as the side door was flung open. The slap of cold air made Neil wrap his arms around himself, and he heard the soft crunch of the snow under her feet, until those disappeared altogether.

“Penelope! Penelope, come back!” But she didn’t. “Is no one going after her?” he demanded, pressing a hand to his head. He was seeing stars. Hell, he probably shouldn’t have stood at all, but was he supposed to let her roam alone in the snow to where a ghost had told her to go? A ghost who could apparently hurt people?

“Just give her some time,” Laszlo said softly. “You, on the other hand, need to sit down. I’m trying to get ahold of Fanny so we can take you to the hospital.”

Neither Laszlo nor Daniela seemed alarmed or worried, despite Penelope wandering off into the snow without any real explanation, leaving the door wide open behind her.

Hero.

Goddamn it, why was she running around, spouting nonsense about being a hero when she already was one? What the hell was she going to do, fight a ghost? What did she think going out there alone in the snow would do to turn her into a hero?

“She’ll be fine,” Daniela echoed with a sigh. “I’m sure Pen knows what she’s doing.”

Neil had had enough of this bullshit. Grunting, he stalkedtoward the side door, stumbling against the wall as he tugged on his boots.

“What are you doing?” Laszlo demanded. “You might have a concussion!”

“I’m going to stop Penelope from making some foolish, heroic mistake because no one should be alone right now.” Venom leaked into his tone, but Neil couldn’t help it. What was wrong with these people? They were supposed to be herfriends.

“You shouldn’t be standing,” Laszlo chided.

“Let them go off and do their thing,” Daniela said, leaning against the wall. “If they want to run out into the snow and fuck, who are we to stop them?”

“Do you even hear yourselves?” Neil yelled, turning on them. “She’s out there trying to save your goddamn lives, and you’re in here telling me to go lie down?” Neil shook his head, wincing at the stabbing pain behind his eyes.

“Savingourlives?” Daniela sputtered. “What are you talking about?”

Neil scowled. Right. Ghosts. Not like they’d believe him, anyways. Shivering, Neil pulled on his scarf and jacket before buttoning it up with trembling fingers.

“Please don’t die!” Laszlo called.

Neil clenched his teeth and closed the door behind him. He turned in place, hands balled in his pockets as he searched the snow for her. He squinted, but she was nowhere to be seen. Finally, he glanced down.

Her tracks were still fresh.

He trudged after them, teeth chattering from the cold. The low temperatures did not seem to help the head injury, but he was the only one willing to go after her, and damn it, Penelope, why did she have to go be a hero?

“Penelope!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

His calls were met with silence.

Trembling from the frigid temperatures, he wrapped his arms around his middle and trudged on, his feet dragging as the ache of his fall set in. Nothing was broken, and no serious damage was done, but he felt on the verge of collapse as he struggled through the snow. The trees were frozen solid, and icicles hung off the castle like translucent daggers.

Neil paused, spotting something in the distance. A building, perhaps, though difficult to see from here. He picked up the pace, slogging through the knee-deep snow. His hands had gone numb with the cold; his face was no better off from the exposure. He dug his hands into his coat, trying to bring back some feeling into his fingers.

He came to a stop before a rectangular stone building. From the outer design, it was a church. A simple one, likely built on the castle’s property for the tenants to attend. The heavy wooden door had been closed, and he pried it open, grunting with the effort, his unfeeling fingers fumbling.

It swung open, and with a sigh, he stepped inside, blowing warm air into his hands. He glanced around as he rubbed his hands together, eyes skimming stone and candles and wooden pews. It was practically empty, and given the disarray, it’d been unused for several decades. It was built of the same stone as the other buildings on the castle grounds, and Neil could see its age in the grime and the single large tomb in the center of the stone floor that read “Ewan Walsh, Third Duke of Walsh Castle.”

Walsh.Walsh.And then he remembered.