Page 79 of Love at First Fright

Oh my god, he’s so cute I want to eat him.

No, Bat. Bad Bat. Bad, bad Bat.

Charlie continued to stare at her, unblinking. “So… Lady Grimthorne, as in like, the Grimthornes who built this place back in seventeen forty-seven?”

“My husband and I built this manor, yes.” She sniffed. “Though not with our own hands, obviously.” The words dripped with dry aristocratic disdain. “We owned the entirety of the town.”

“The little town you drive through to get here?”

“Grimthorne town, yes. It was all ours.”

I cleared my throat. “That was more normal back in Georgian times, I guess.”

Charlie scratched his head. “Normal… right…”

Lady Grimthorne suddenly straightened in her chair, fixing me with a sharp look. “Speaking of normal behaviour, Bartholomew, that dreadful Judy has stolen Flowers in the Attic again.”

I sighed. Rolled my eyes so hard they practically fell out of my skull. “Stolen, or borrowed?”

“If a book isn’t returned within two weeks, I consider it stolen.” Her voice could have frozen hell over.

“That book is trash anyway. Just let Judy keep it.”

Lady Grimthorne’s expression turned scandalized. She clutched her copy of Dracula protectively to her chest as if I’d suggested burning the entire library.

Then she turned to Charlie with renewed interest. “I don’t suppose you’ve brought any books with you? Preferably something with dashing heroes and proper romance. None of this modern drivel about vampires sparkling in sunlight.”

Charlie looked genuinely apologetic. “Sorry, I haven’t brought any books with me.”

“And what about the other gentleman?”

Charlie laughed—a bright, musical sound that made something warm unfurl in my ice-cold chest. “I’ll be sure to ask him.”

I would bet Brad hadn’t read a book since the last decade. I glanced around the library, taking in the floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with volumes. Me, on the other hand—I’d read each of these at least twice. Turns out, eternity was bloody long.

“Right, let’s go,” I said, already heading toward the door.

“Where?”

“To meet the other ghosts, of course.”

* * *

The piano room had seen better days. Much better days. The grand piano sat in the corner, its black lacquer dulled and keys yellowed with age. Heavy curtains hung in tatters at the tall windows, and it was behind these that Rosemary and Henry lurked; their little Victorian shoes poked out beneath the fabric.

“Come on, you two. Stop hiding.”

Rustling. Giggling. Then two pale faces peered around the curtain’s edge.

Charlie tensed beside me, but to his credit, he didn’t run, only glanced between me and the curtains.

Rosemary stepped out fully, her dark pigtails swinging, followed by Henry. Charlie gasped.

“Charlie, meet our twins, Rosemary and Henry.”

They offered him little waves with far too big smiles, probably sizing him up to be easy prey.

“Rosemary,” I said sternly, “what do you have to say to Charlie?”