Page 5 of Speak No Claim

My brows pinched together as I wrestled with the irrational thought. It didn’t make sense, yet I couldn’t ignore the certainty settling deep in my bones of how familiar this place felt to me. I’d always been an intuitive person.

My mother constantly reminded me that there were places in the world that carried memories, that the earth remembered everyone who had ever walked upon it. It was part of the circle of life and where we’re meant to be.

“El alma llama.”

“The soul beckons,” she’d say.

I wasn’t sure if that translated correctly into English. Sometimes phrases and words lose their depth when translated from one language to another. I’d been dealing with that my entire life, trying to find meaning in different languages.

Sitting there, I couldn’t shake the feeling that these grounds remembered me. As if they’d recognized me the moment I crossed onto the property, as I’d unknowingly followed an invisible thread, leading me to a place that had been waiting for me long before I ever knew it existed.

What the hell?

Alfred signaled toward the large doors of what appeared to be a 16th-century Gothic-style manor. The high pointed peaks formed a steepled roof, ascending toward the evening sky. Windows upon windows took over the front exterior, reaching three or four stories high.

You couldn’t see where the estate started or ended, and the old-century architecture didn’t help calm my nerves, since it was designed to give off an eerie vibe. The whole point of this place was to scare you off or, at the very least, intimidate you enough to want to leave and never return.

I swallowed hard, my heart speeding up.

I normally wouldn’t walk into a situation or house that every bone in my body warned me against. My family had taught me to respect the evil eye and the energy people and places carried.

Some homes welcomed you with open arms.

This one shoved you right out the door before you could even step inside.

Some would say I was being superstitious. I called it listening to my intuition.

“Are you alright?” Alfred interrupted my thoughts.

Our eyes connected through the rearview mirror.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he remarked.

I ignored his observation, blurting, “This isn’t Tío’s house, is it?”

His eyes glazed over for a moment before he announced, “No, miss, he lives next door.”

“Hmm,” I hummed, trying to reel in my emotions. “So he lives next door to darkness itself? The Graves Academy must pay exceptionally well, huh?”

If my response fazed him, he didn’t show it. “Your uncle is a very important member of society in Connecticut, Miss Belladonna. He plays a prominent role at the Academy as well. Your family would be very proud.”

“Director of international studies?” I baited, smiling. “It doesn’t exactly sound like the kind of position that buys you a mansion next door to one of the most prestigious private universities in the country.”

He didn’t hesitate to continue his spiel. “The Graves Academy was established in 1662, miss. It’s more than just a private university. It’s a legacy. One that reaches far beyond the campus gates, especially for those who are fortunate enough to be a part of it. For nearly four centuries, presidents, judges, billionaires, scholars, and influential families have all passed through those gates. People don’t come to Graves hoping for success. They come here because success is expected of them.”

I scoffed. “You rehearse, Alfred? You sound like a brochure. Are they paying you to say all that? Does that mean your mansion is right next door too?”

He bit back a grin. “We’ll see if you still feel that way by the end of the semester.”

“Is that a threat or a warning?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Some people would argue there isn’t much of a difference, miss.”

I countered, “Are you some people, Alfred?”

He knowingly smiled. “No, I’m just your driver.”

I shook my head. “I don’t need a babysitter.”