Page 66 of Some Kind of Haunted

The perplexed look in his expression doesn’t change, but he continues. “When Cleo’s mom was committed, Virginia came to live out here and help raise Cleo. Before that, she’d lived in the house you’re in now and helped your grandma raise your dad and your mom.”

All these people I never knew about. My father’s entire childhood a blank to me, and maybe even him. He knew he didn’t have a father, but I don’t know why it never occurred to us to ask about his mother. How he met Mom and how it might all connect.

Just another no-go zone. Mom. His life before New York. Because he doesn’t remember. I believe that, even if, according to Harrison, Amelia thought he did.

Maybe I can’t fully wrap my mind around it.

“Virginia was your grandmother’s sister, so obviously a Darling. If something is going on with her, it might connect to you or Amelia. That’s why I thought bringing you would help.”

Because I’m a Darling, not because he thinks I belong in a psych ward. This should not mean as much to me as it does. I clear my throat. “Got it. Well, let’s go see if Lexi Darling can help.”

Seems unlikely, but hell, this not-a-nutcase-in-Iowa is willing to try.

Chapter Nineteen

Jack leads me into the main building. It’s a kind of office. There’s a big glass case that houses odd and ends—magazines, patches, papers—that seems to act as a front desk. And there are a few rooms off this main one. The doors are open and I see desks, actual landline phones with cords, and other office paraphernalia. It smells a little damp and smokey, but it’s not altogether unpleasant.

The phone is ringing as we walk in. No one is answering it. That feels less pleasant.

But then Cleo sweeps in from a door I didn’t see before. She slides Jack a narrow look before grabbing the closest phone.

“Kirkpatrick Airfield,” she answers, eyeballing us before grabbing a pen and scribbling something down on a piece of paper. “Sure, he’ll get back to you this afternoon. Yeah, bye.” She hangs up the phone, writes something else, then turns to us.

Surly Cleo is back.

“What the hell do you want?” she demands, arms crossed over her chest. Her hard gaze moves to me. “No offense to you.” It switches back to Jack. “All to you.”

He looks undaunted. “No secrets, Cleo. I get that it’s sensitive, but—”

“This isn’t about demons. So bite me.” She flashes a smile as she says it, but it’s obviously not meant to be construed as friendly.

My being here might be keeping the yelling to a minimum, but it doesn’t actually do anything to stop them arguing. A wise person would let these people who have a whole history I have no part in do their thing without any input from my end.

But that’s not the Lexi Darling way. “Maybe it’s not about demons,” I agree. “But if we have to work together, doesn’t letting us know what’s going on help us do that?”

The way she eyes me is cool and reminds me of that first day in the knitting store when she clearly regarded me as the enemy. “You’ve been here all of a few weeks.”

She’s not wrong, but it hurts that she says it like that, because we’ve spent so many nights together now. She’s told me about her late grandfather, who built this airport out of a weird niche dream, the horrible prank on her awful math teacher that almost got her arrested in high school, and Nora and I have joined forces to try to convince her she needs to go out with the twenty-three-year-old flight student who’s halfway in love with her already.

Meanwhile, she’s heard my stories of ill-advised partying—some prompted by demon dreams and some by simple youthful indiscretion. My overzealous goth phase and the horrible social media posts that went with it.

I have come to consider Cleo and Nora friends. Real friends. And she’s throwing that a bit in my face right here. Which I might let shut me up except . . .

I’m a harbinger. I feel like that gives me some leeway, no matter how I might have misread things and how much that might hurt.

“When do I earn the right to have an opinion? When my dreams wake up the whole town and it’s bloody footprints as far as the eye can see? Or maybe when the clock tower explodes and demons come shooting out like confetti?”

Her mouth quirks like she’s finding some humor in the situation. Even if it’s dark. This is how I know we’re really cousins.

Then she sighs. “Look. I’m not hiding anything. Grandma’s in a rough spot. She’s not remembering things very well. The doctor thinks she managed to hide a lot of her issues with Amelia’s help, but now that Amelia’s gone, she’s unraveling to her actual state of dementia. Or whatever.” She shrugs jerkily, trying to show us a brave front but not quite managing it. “It’s got nothing to do with you guys, or demons, so this is all a wasted visit. Dad and I are handling it.”

I can tell this isn’t quite what Jack expected. Maybe he thought there was some deep conspiracy that was making Cleo act weird—whatever that means in demonville—but everything Cleo is saying seems to go along with the ghostly face in the window I saw the last time I was here. I don’t know a ton about dementia, but it makes sense that it could make someone unpredictable.

And might make Cleo act like we’re not friends when we are. She’s protecting herself and her grief.

The phone rings again and Cleo swears under her breath before answering. Then she isn’t swearing under her breath. She drops the phone and runs out of the office without a word to either of us.

But there was terror in her expression so it doesn’t take me but a second to follow—Jack at my heels.