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“Did… did you hear that?” Blair whispered. “I can’t make out what it said, we’ll have to analyze it.”

“That wasn’t one of us,” another said, wide-eyed.

Amy’s pulse quickened painfully, as if the recorder had reached in and squeezed her heart. She grabbed for balance before she could stop herself and found her hand on Sully’s sleeve. He shifted closer unobtrusively, a solid warmth at her side.

Mason’s eyes glimmered in triumph. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he whispered for the camera, “the dead have stirred.”

The night wore on. Amy retreated a few times to her office for a seat and a drink of water when she could.

The energy slowly unspooled after the initial voice and blips on their multiple monitors. No more clear anomalies, only a jumpy cameraman and a rattling vent mistaken for moans. Mason called a wrap at two a.m., smiling wide for the outro shot.

“Tonight, we take our first steps into the mysteries of Widow’s Point,” he declared into the lens, “while the spirits acclimate to our presence.”

The crew applauded lightly.

A woman with a tight bun and a clipboard in her hand approached Amy and Sully while the crew wrapped for the night. “I’m Shannon Green, the producer for the show. I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”

She shook both Amy and Sully’s hands. Her grip was strong and professional. “I understand you’re both concerned with the crew being on an active worksite. I’d like to work with you to ensure you’re comfortable with our safety measures and reassure you that keeping the crew safe is also part of my role. We do like to keep the cameras rolling and the monitors recording after we wrap for the night. Either I or my assistant will remain on site with the equipment to ensure safety. We’ll remove everything first thing in the morning. Is it you, Mr. Sullivan, I should coordinate with?”

Sully engaged with Shannon immediately. Amy guessed he was impressed by her no-nonsense appearance. Two peas in a pod. They moved away, gesturing to the camera cables covering the floors.

Mason caught Amy’s hand briefly in farewell, preventing her from following Sully and the producer. His hand was smooth on her skin. “Tomorrow, we’ll get more footage,” he murmured where only she could hear. “This was fantastic. I’d like a chance to interview you during the daytime on camera? I’d like you to talk about the mansion and its history.”

Amy smiled politely but pulled away. “That would be fine. Let me know when, and I can be ready.”

Heeding Matt’s warning, she didn’t want to be a prominent figure in the episodes, but she had agreed to be on camera to promote the retreat and the mansion’s history to ensure it would be accurately portrayed. The contract wasn’t specific when it came to this expectation, so she would work in what she felt would be best for the business.

Mason agreed to a later afternoon time the following day and retreated to complete the wrap with the team.

Sully found her as the ghost hunting crew pulled away in one of their vans. “If you’re okay with it, you can head home. After talking with Shannon, who will be here the rest of the night, I feel comfortable leaving. She seems competent, and she won’t be wandering around the place. After they film, they just leave the cameras rolling and either stay in the command center or in their van. They can monitor everything in the event of a fire or equipment malfunction.” He shoved his hands deep into his jean pockets. The circles under his eyes were prominent, and his familiar frown was in place.

“Well, I’m happy if you’re happy. I can hear my bed calling.” Amy was truly exhausted.

“I’ll walk you home.” Sully gestured out the door.

Amy felt too tired to argue with him. It would actually be a comfort to have someone with her for the brief walk to her cottage. It was dark, late, the place had been crawling with strangers, and she’d left Ollie at home. The voice they’d heard, if it was real, was also still in the back of her mind.

And she was right; the dark walk home fed her imagination, along with every horror movie she’d ever seen.

As they walked, their shoes crunching on the gravel and both too tired for conversation, she glanced once over her shoulder at the dark mansion. Its windows winked like half-lidded eyes in the starlight.

The voice still rustled along her skin, deep as the tide’s pull.

The house was awake.

And it was calling to her.

Chapter 13

The May gardens were in riot. Tulips and daffodils flared against the trimmed borders like pennants of gold and crimson. A row of old lilac bushes, untamed and sprawling, perfumed the air so heavily that Amy nearly swayed as she walked the gravel path. Bees buzzed between blossoms. The sea beyond boomed with its endless pulse, glints of blue sliding into deeper cobalt.

It should have been a peaceful afternoon, the kind the last few years of living nearby had promised her. Instead, the back lawn was crowded with camera tripods, boom poles, tangled cords, and Mason Stark in his tailored navy blazer. His shirt was unbuttoned, and he wore no tie.

“Lovely light,” he had declared, sweeping an arm as if he alone had conjured the skies. He lingered by the fountain, hair gilt by sunshine. A producer angling for the best shot.

Amy straightened her blouse and brushed away lint that wasn’t there. She reminded herself: she would do the interviews, she would talk about the house, but she would not play a character in a carnival.

Mason’s smile flared wide as she stepped onto the lawn. “Here she is, ladies and gentlemen.” He kissed her cheek lightly, as if they were old friends. Amy froze for half a breath before composing herself, irritation pricking under the flattery. His charm was on overdrive.