Page 96 of The Devil and His Ghost

Kendyll snapped back to attention as the fragile bubble of vulnerability popped to let the rest of the world back in. She leaned forward and out of my hold to grab the handheld radio to respond to the team in the other room.

I slumped in my chair and rested my chin in my hand while Kendyll worked. Disappointment and trepidation tangled inside of me like a knotted fishing line. I couldn’t help but feel like I’d been so close. I’d seen the thread of light when the door suddenly shut in my face all over again.

But it was fine. I’d stand in the cold on the other side and wait for it to open for me.

When filming ended, the moon and stars were still high in the sky. Alex and Kendyll loaded up the production van while Bethelma sat in the luxury car and slept soundly. Alex left, acting as chauffeur for the star, while Kendyll remained behind to do a final sweep of the manor for their gear and to bid the ghostly occupants farewell.

I didn’t want to get in her way, so I wandered through the moon drenched garden out back. Stones wove around different bushes, flowers, and marble statues. The springtime breeze made the sleeping flowers sway gently, and I stopped my trek by a lush collection of red roses. The crimson petals almost glowed under the white moonlight, beckoning me to reach out and stroke the velvet soft petals.

“There you are.”

I turned at the sound of Kendyll’s voice. She walked down the stone path toward me and glanced at the many flowers around us.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked.

Smiling, I ignored her question. “I’m surprised you came looking for me instead of just fleeing to get rid of me.”

She crossed her arms and scoffed. “Don’t worry. I had every intention of doing that, but Jonathan wanted me to make sure ‘the demon’ left.”

“Ah. That makes sense. Guess you haven’t had a change of heart, yet.”

“And I’m not going to. Look, last night was fun. But that’s all it was. Fun. A means to pass the time. A final farewell if you want to call it that. There is nothing here, Xander. There’s nothing to stick around for.”

“There’s you,” I replied calmly with my smile still firmly in place. “You’re here. You’re why I’ll stick around.”

Her lips parted in either shock or in preparation for a response. I wasn’t sure which. Still, she said nothing, searching my face as her brow furrowed and frown deepened.

Clasping my hands behind my back, I started toward the manor. “Come on. You hungry? I know it’s almost three in the morning, but I bet we could find an all-night place to get a bite to eat. Maybe some pancakes and—”

“Why?”

I stopped with my back to her. Looking over my shoulder, I found she hadn’t moved from where she lingered by the rose bushes. “You’re really fond of that word these days.”

My grin fell the longer I stared at her. Her equally grave and earnest expression never broke. I turned to face her but kept the many feet of distance between us.

“I know that you know I’m being hateful on purpose,” Kendyll gritted out with an almost desperate edge to her breathy words. “So why? Why when I’m being an obvious bitch to you do you still want to stay close to me?”

Pursing my lips, I looked down at my dark shoes. I toed the stone beneath my feet and searched for a way to explain the answer. I met her pleading gaze again and casually walked closer while dragging the tips of my fingers over the countless roses.

“Do you blame the roses for their thorns?”

She tilted her head slightly in confusion with a sideways glance at the flower in question. “Um, I’ve never thought about it. I guess not, no.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged as I stopped in front of her. “Roses have thorns for a reason. They protect the flower.”

I nodded and broke a rose from the bush. The thorns in the stem pierced the flesh of my fingers. My eyes remained fixed on the vibrant red rose in my hands as I began breaking off the thorns one by one.

“Exactly,” I conceded. “I know why the thorns exist. These little barbs protect the flower from anything that might want to cause it harm. Do they hurt? Sure, of course they do. But I don’t mind. After all, when I reach for the flower, I know I’m likely to get pricked.”

The soft snap of the final thorn filled the space between us. I twirled the thornless stem between my slightly bloody thumb and forefinger to make sure I got them all before meeting Kendyll’s gaze with a soft smile.

“But I’m not afraid of getting hurt by the thorns, not when the alternative is never feeling, seeing, or inhaling the rose. Those thorns?” I reached out to tuck the flower behind her ear, seating it with her glasses. When I pulled back, my hand lingered by her jaw. Unable to stop myself, I gently traced my thumb along her cheek while my eyes softened on their own accord. “The pain of the thorns is worth experiencing the rose.”

Something tight and akin to pain seemed to flash across her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off with a chuckle. “Are you about to ask your favorite question of the night again?”

She snapped her lips closed and looked away while her face flushed pink. My hand was still on her jaw, so when she turned her head slightly, her face leaned into my palm. Instead of pulling away, though, her eyelashes fluttered slightly, and she pressed her face into my hand.