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“You’re immortal,” Eli said, wishing that were true.
He had a lump in his throat when he imagined going through his father’s belongings, but it had been twelve years.It’s beyond time. Maybe I’ll find something that makes me feel closer to him.But the melancholy truth was, he’d lived longer without his dad. And that gap would only grow because that was how time worked. To reward himself for facing down these bad memories, he’d go for a long flight later.
“Watch your step, okay? I’ll get you a flashlight.”
“There’s one on my phone.”
She cocked her head. “Have you ever watched a horror movie? You’ll drop your phone after being startled by a cat. Or maybe a raccoon. Anyway, I’ll be right back.”
When she returned, he said, “Tell me you’re kidding. There are raccoons?”
Gamma put the sturdy flashlight in his hands, patted them, and made no promises. “Be careful. I’ll send help if you’re not back in an hour.”
CHAPTER TWO
Iris pulled into the drivewaybeside the ramshackle Victorian house she was set to inherit, if the correspondence from Digby, Davis, and Moore could be believed.
It was past one in the morning, and her body ached from the long drive. She’d paused once to fuel up, stretch her legs, and use the restroom. It was impossible not to think about her sisters in this situation. Any of them would have energy to burn, siphoning from humans they encountered along the way. That aptitude had given them an unfair advantage in pursuing higher education too.
Shrugging, she grabbed her backpack, locked the doors of her crappy Sentra, and headed toward the rickety front porch. Even in the faint glow of the streetlights, she could see the ravages of time, peeling paint and weedy front lawn. The plants were all dead, dry leaves spilling listlessly over the stone lip of the pot. She levered the one on the left up and found a rusty key.
Yes. Still here.
Thankfully, nobody had meddled with the property or Iris would be sleeping in the car. There was no money for a motel, barely enough for her gas tank. With a little coaxing, she gotthe door open and stepped inside. The first breath smelled of…loneliness—liniment that carried faint eddies of camphor and menthol—dusty books and stale air.
She flipped the light switch, but there was no power.Looks like I’ll be charging my phone in the car. Better than nothing.Using the light on her phone, she crept through the dark house to the kitchen and tested the tap.At least the water is still on.She could take a quick cold shower in the morning and arrive at the law office looking presentable.
Bless Great-Aunt Gertie, she had a whole cupboard full of emergency candles, along with books of matches from the oddest of places. Iris examined them one at a time: Minden’s Wax Doll Workshop, The Murder Room, Noise Factory (a club in Germany), and a host of other places that made Iris believe that Gertie had led a fascinating life.
She lit one candle and decided she didn’t feel up to exploring further in the dark. The house was large and creepy at this hour with narrow hallways and staircases. Rooms had generally been smaller when this house was built, and apart from adding electricity and indoor plumbing, few renovations had been made over the years. Iris found four knitted throws scattered around the living room and snuggled under them on the overstuffed sofa. Between those and the hoodie she had on, it was cozy enough, even without heat.
Possibly she ought to be nervous, alone in this big old house. But sleep claimed her immediately, and she rested better than she had in a long while, deep and dreamless. Iris awoke feeling surprisingly alert. She didn’t have an appointment, but hopefullythe attorneys could work her in if she called first thing. Her cell phone had battery life to complete the call, at least.
A professional voice answered on the second ring. “Digby, Davis, and Moore, how may I help you?”
“I received a letter about my great-aunt’s estate. Gertrude Van Doren. I was hoping to speak with the person in charge.” Iris loathed talking on the phone, and she hoped she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt.
“Just a moment, please.”
Calming yet bland music piped into her ear, and two minutes later, the woman returned to the line. “Can you come in at two? We have a cancellation. Otherwise, Mr. Davis won’t have time until next week.”
“Two is perfect. I’ll see you then.”
“Excellent. I’ll let Mr. Davis know.”
Quickly, Iris checked the time. She had over four hours until the meeting.Best to get the cold shower over with.In daytime, the house was even more dated, with pink and gray walls that had probably been painted in the nineties. Everything was dated cottage chic, echoing trends that died long before Great-Aunt Gertie. The bathroom was even older looking, harking back to the seventies. Or maybe the fifties? Iris wasn’t a professional decorator, but the lime-green tile and Pepto-pink tub, sink, and toilet truly were astonishing.
On the bright side, she was delighted to coax some warm water out of the shower. Apparently the heater ran on gas, not electricity. She could even use the stove if she lit the burner with a match.Wonder if there’s anything left to eat.
She dried her hair with a towel, combed out the tangles, and then put on clean clothes: jeans, wrinkled button-up blouse, concealed by a chunky cardigan.That’s probably good enough.It wasn’t like she’d had lots of reasons to meet with lawyers, just the times she’d ended up as a defendant, and those damn sure weren’t happy memories.
The house had five bedrooms, though several were quite small, and the closet space was terrible. Luckily, most of Iris’s stuff was in her mom’s basement while Mom waited for her to get her life together enough to send for it.
That…might never happen.
In the kitchen, in the light of day, it was simultaneously better and worse than she’d imagined. Everything was white with black accents and fairly clean, but the cupboards were ancient particleboard, and the counters were scarred-up butcher block. The room was tidy, and judging by the empty fridge, the attorneys must’ve sent someone to clean out the perishables. What a relief not to be dealing with rotten groceries on top of everything else.
In the cabinets, she found instant coffee and a kettle she could use to boil water. The cleaners had left all the staples that hadn’t expired—a bag of flour, sugar, some rice, powdered milk, sweetener, a few cans of soup, various spices, and a bottle of cooking oil. It was like a vacation rental in some ways, though all of Great-Aunt Gertie’s belongings were still here.
