Page 6 of Bonds and Beasts

Mrs. Portidge has been busying herself around the tent. Careful not to meet our eyes. After a tense moment she huffs and turns to us. "It's really not my business to say."

"Well, Mrs. Portidge," I start, leaning in so that I can smell the faint scent of her tea and buttered biscuits perfume, "since we're staying there, it would be kind of you to let us know what we're getting ourselves into in terms of town lore." Her eyes widen and I can see her faintly inhale my scent of smoke and evergreen.

"Well, and mind you this is a rumor," she chastises, but goes on, "they say that a craze infested the house. I can only remember that I felt very confused and then the party was over. After that, Mr. Clocks said the daughter, Adison," she shot Maury a scathing look, "went away to a specialist at a hospital."

"She went mad," Maury says flatly. "And then she died."

"She did not die!" Mrs. Portidge nearly shrieks. "Mr. Clocks insists she's still at the hospital."

"All these months later?" Maury asks skeptically. "You mark my words, that girl passed. That's why no one hears anything about her and she's never come back. Well, not in body anyways."

Easton, ever the lover of facts and science, rolls his eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Means the poor soul passed on at that hospital but her spirit has come back to haunt the place. People have reported hearing screams and growls and whines, even though no lights are on and no one should be in Rosevale Manor."

"Nonsense," Mrs. Portidge mutters.

"T'ain't nonsense. I myself was passing by the manor and I swear I saw the ghost of the lost omega in the window staring down at me. Gave me quite a fright I tell ya. When I looked back, there was no one."

There's a long pause when they're done with their story before Dean breaks it.

"Fuck that, I'm sleeping in the car."

Adison

The wind whips around my hair, making me laugh softly to myself. This isn't something I'm supposed to be doing. Mr. Clocks doesn't know, and neither does my doctor. If they did, they'd say I'm taking unnecessary risks. That I'm a harm to those around me.

But I'm so very careful. I wait until Mrs. Portidge is gone and the guests have left for wherever they go during the day. Absolutely no one should be inside or outside the manor. Nobody is supposed to see me. No one should know I'm here. On soft feet, I sneak down a forgotten servants' passage in the west wing and along the inner wall until I come to a heavy wooden door. When I first started coming out here, it made such a horribly loud sound that I was sure someone would investigate and I'd be locked up tighter than I already am.

But I've been doing this for over a year now. I've learned the exact way to grasp the handle. How to push in the door so that it only makes a soft whistle as I open it just enough to allow me to step through.

It is worth it. Every single time.

Autumn has always been my favorite season, the chilly air justifying a warm flannel scarf and a cup of hot cider. The sound of crisp fallen leaves dragged by the wind over the lawn. Everything smells faintly of smoke from campfires and ozone from an oncoming rain.

It's close to nightfall. Rosevale Manor sits at the top of a hill with sight lines for miles in each direction. Stars Harbor sprawls below me, the edge hugging the blackening water in the dying light. I stand for a long time, staring. As I do, the stars slowly become visible overhead, mirroring the lights turning on in the houses one by one below, each one warm and inviting.

I've heard people say that looking at the stars makes them sad. That the vastness of the universe makes them feel small or insignificant. But it's staring down at the lights of the homes below that makes me feel hollow inside.

Once upon a time, the manor shone like that. With warmth and love and safe comfort. Looking up at it now, though, it's nothing but a tomb. Nothing but a deep black sepulchre with only me buried at its center.

Dean

Pulling up to the manor is like pulling up to some great, hulking, dormant beast. None of the lights are on. The sun is setting over the lake, casting a malicious red gleam against the window panes. As the car stops, my eyes catch on something around the back near a few of the clustered trees. It looks like the silhouette of a person—maybe a woman.

But the shadows make it hard to be certain. I look away for a moment to acknowledge something Bello said about the production and when I look back, the shape is gone.

The foyer is coffin-dark, the only light an overhead lamp with a too-dim bulb.

"Fuck this." I prowl into the kitchen and rifle around. Sure enough there's a junk drawer, and in it I find a deck of cards. I wave them at the other two. Easton unbuttons his collared shirt, half smirking, and nods. Bello sits heavily at the little servants' table in the kitchen. We get out the dinners left for us by Mrs. Portidge, raid a bottle of wine from the cupboard, and deal. Poker has always been our go-to when we need a break from the world and to recenter as a pack. Sometimes talking, sometimes not. Doesn't really matter.

"Lumi seems to be taking the whole retirement news better," Easton says.

Apparently tonight we're talking.

Bello side-eyes Easton and then meets my gaze across the table. "That's what I'm worried about."

"Yeah, have you ever known Lumi to take anything that disrupts her cash flow well?" I ask. Easton taps his cards, his constant tell. He has a bad hand and likely doesn't know how to respond to what I said. Because no, Lumi hasn't. She's relentless.