Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
With the papers tucked away neatly in my room, I spent the next few days touching up the bathroom paint and the kitchen.
The heat climbed like a lethargic spider over the walls, the slick edges of my lungs, and skin of my lower back.
I managed to sift through the other half of the office, but came up empty handed, just as I had in the attic and Aunt Denny’s bedroom.
Then, like a roach I couldn’t be rid of, Eleanora appeared in the middle of the front porch one late afternoon.
My clothes were speckled with paint. My legs and arms were flecked with dried greens and deep teals—feathery strands of auburn hair hung in my eyes, plastered to my temples, my forehead. I needed to take the garden hose and shove it down the front of my shirt.
Emma didn’t look any better. Our uncomfortable silence gradually teetered into small talk—I think there was an unspoken agreement to let it lie for the time being.
When Eleanora had knocked on the door, we’d been in the midst of said small talk, me on the ladder, painting the accent wall in the library, with Emma as a base.
It scared me so badly, my toe slipped, the paint roller slipped, my other hand slipped—everything slipped, including Emma’s grasp on the ladder legs.
My leg went through the step rungs, the roller clattered against the wall before bouncing into my face, then fell and hit Emma in the eyes.
I ended up dangling from the last ladder rung, both hands on the floor.
Emma shrieked and tried to wipe the backs of her hands over her eyes.
“Oh my God,” she hissed. “It burns! Why does it burn so bad!”
I tried to pull myself up. Paint dribbled into my mouth. “Wait, wait, I’ll get a towel.”
Emma leaned against the wall closest to the hallway, cursing.
Then the doorbell rang again.
Now, we both stood, hands folded in front of us, feigning professionalism. Eleanora shuffled through her papers, making preening noises every few moments as she looked at the library. At least she hadn’t commented on the dried green paint on either of our faces.
“Yes, yes,” she cooed, like we’d done something magnificent. “Love how it’s coming along. The place looks wonderful. I see you took my suggestions to heart?”
I scratched at the corner of my mouth. It pulled, likely from the paint. “I did,” I lied.
Emma’s eyes snapped to me. Widened a bit, as if to say, Don’t placate her.
My shoulders relaxed. I’m trying to make her leave, I said with a tiny chin jerk. My eyes flitted to the door for emphasis.
I was almost 95 percent positive that the wall she’d wanted taken out was the one I had just painted, but the fact that she hadn’t mentioned it yet remained. Then again, if I were desperate for a listing, I probably wouldn’t have mentioned the wall yet, either.
Eleanora leaned through the doorway, straining to peek down the hall, as if to make sure the kitchen hadn’t evaporated in the last ten minutes. “Mm, yes, I suppose. The kitchen is amicable. A bit—cabin-esque, but it will do for now.” She tutted. “That wall, though.”
Ah. There it was.
My jaw tightened. The kitchen looked a lot better than when it had been infested with roosters, and her thoughts were cabin-esque?
Emma caught the sleeve of my shirt and gave it a tug. Gave me a look.
Then, with the sweetest, thickest smile she could conjure, she turned to Eleanora.
“Eleanora. Yes, hi.”
Eleanora’s eyes slid to Emma like she was gum on the bottom of her shoe.
Emma lifted herself, as if oblivious. “Listen. The timeline is a bit tight for the list you gave us, yes? We’re—Landry is moving as fast as she can.
And there hasn’t been a chance to inform you that there is another realtor we’ve had come out to the property to take a look as well.
Everything we’re doing right now is based on the betterment of the house—not what you think will sell. ”
I stifled a cough. Emma’s eyes darted to me, but I turned briefly, covering my mouth. She really just said that.
Like an owl, Eleanora’s head swiveled. The room grew tight.
I fanned my neck, then stepped in front of Emma. “Emma is right. We’re still shooting for end of summer, but I’m afraid I’m still considering my options and what will be best for Harthwait.”
Eleanora licked her teeth. A drawn pause.
“Well, either way, I’d love to see the rest of the house,” she breathed.
A false sense of optimism. She gentled the sharp corners of her mouth, but I still saw the shark lurking below the surface.
“I do apologize, I was under the assumption that we had a, how would you say, gentleman’s agreement about the listing going under my name? ”
My eye twitched. “I never signed any paperwork, and I never agreed that the listing was yours. You came recommended by a friend, which I’ll take into consideration, but as you know, this house is a special piece of architecture. It deserves a good fit.”
For the first time, wrinkles appeared around Eleanora’s plumped mouth.
“I see.” She brushed by me, the smell of her saturated perfume following her.
“I suppose I should hurry along with the rest of the house, then. I have other listings to go to, and though I’d love to stay and negotiate, I think it would be a good idea to let you sit on it for a while. ”
I motioned for Emma to stay put as I followed Eleanora, who had already crossed the hall into Aunt Cadence’s office.
Dust particles—the lived-in kind, not the forgotten kind—floated through the air, hovered over the ornate rug and pooled sunshine.
The front lawn glowed with afternoon light, the curtains peeled back enough to hint at the treetops canvassing the property.
Eleanora stepped through the opposite door, chin high, spine tight.
I paused in the middle of the office, shut my eyes, and took a breath. Just to exist. It would be fine—things would work out. At least this gave me a bit of leverage with her and—
The office door slammed.
The momentary warmth in my blood vanished. Little hairs along my nape stood up.
The house fell eerily quiet.
I opened one eye at a time. Eleanora wouldn’t have been as petty as to slam the door on me. Sure enough, when I opened it to the sound of squeaking hinges, Eleanora stood with her hand on the banister, staring at me. Her face was white.
I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. Chuckled. “I opened the other door. A draft.”
Eleanora’s eyes didn’t leave a point behind me. As if she was looking at me, but not really. For the first time, she looked unnerved.
“The upstairs,” she said. She took the first few steps on her toes. “I understand the bedrooms will need painting and stripping, and the bathrooms are being redone as well? Have we thought anymore about opening up one of the rooms to be a den of sorts?”
Each inhale tasted sour, like my body rejected her words as soon as they were spit out. “I’m not sure a den would bring much more value, when the extra room could still—”
I saw him before she did.
The upstairs was shadowed because of the position of the sun. Not quite evening, not yet past afternoon. The hallway door, which Hadrian had come from, was cracked. Utter darkness shifted inside. Which was odd—because I hadn’t opened it.
Two yellow slitted eyes appeared, standing nearly six and a half feet tall. He angled his head sideways so his horns didn’t hit the walls.
I froze. Then my eyes widened. Why was he visible during the day?
Hadrian blinked slow, languid, as he waited. I prattled on as I followed Eleanora, rolled my lips together, and tried to keep myself from looking in his direction. Because the last thing I needed was to find out if Eleanora could see him, too.
Eleanora watched her steps until she hit the landing, likely not even listening to what I was saying. Hadrian’s eyes tracked her movement. She walked by, so close to him he could have reached out and touched her shoulder, before beelining to the closest guest room.
“—be used as a den, wall intact,” I finished. I stopped a foot from the door. The sound of her heels on the hardwood rang twice as loud, twice as heavy.
Eleanora considered this with her back to me. Her fingers drummed her chin as she moseyed, then disappeared down the left wing. A spare bedroom door clicked open.
I took my chances. I spun to Hadrian, a finger already pointed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I whispered. “It’s broad daylight.”
“Here I was, under the assumption that you would enjoy my company.” He was nothing but two eyes and a sharp smile.
I wanted to shut the door in his face. Still, I’d found myself waiting at night, hoping my closet door would open and he would come talk.
But he’d only flitted in briefly, once, before the house had gone silent.
“This woman. Who is she?” he asked.
“A realtor,” I snipped. “Is something wrong? Why are you here?” Even now, when I looked at those yellow irises, all I saw were the colorized gray ones, that perfectly coifed head of white hair, and his blank stare at the camera.
“I was lurking, as you put it, in the library. Figured I would come to see. And I saw you looking for me in the night. I am rather flattered that you scoured even the shadowed, dusty parts of the house for me.”
I swallowed against the rising heat. “Maybe I was looking for you so you could help me figure out what’s keeping you here.”
“You think I will not help you?”
I wiped my palms over my hips. I was worried I would get distracted. That I’d be more interested in talking to him in the middle of the now-silent midnights than searching for answers.
My expression grew incredulous. “I still have a house to sell.”
“So impatient.”
“It lists in September.” I crossed my arms. “I have clients waiting on me to finish this place, Hadrian. The world does not stop turning so I can look for clues. And I can’t wait around for you to show up, either, to help me.”