Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Declan
Morning light cuts across the kitchen floor, pale and cold, catching on the edge of the counter.
Emery claimed one of the stools and seems to like watching me while I cook breakfast for us every morning.
Her bare feet dangling, toes brushing the bottom rung.
This morning, she’s wearing one of my old flannel shirts—sleeves rolled up, buttons half-done—and not much else. A beautiful sight.
Even though we’ve only done this for the last three mornings, it feels natural.
Like we’ve done this together hundreds of mornings.
The home I rarely spend time in feels different with her here.
Fuller. Brighter. I shouldn’t enjoy it so damn much.
Whatever this is, one way or another, it has an expiration date.
I slide a mug of coffee toward her, then lean on the counter with my own cup. “Morning fuel.”
She glances up from her phone, an appreciative smile tugging at her lips. “You’re awfully good at this domestic thing.” She takes a cautious sip, then sighs. “And your coffee-making skills are A-plus.”
A slow grin spreads over my face, and I step closer until my legs bump into her knees. “You seem to hand out high marks in a lot of categories for me.”
She grips a handful of my T-shirt and yanks me closer. “That’s because you’re talented in so many areas.” Her lips meet mine in a soft kiss.
For a few seconds, the kitchen’s quiet except for the low hum of my ancient fridge and the slow slide of our lips.
Her stomach growls and she backs away, an embarrassed laugh spilling from her lips. “Sorry.”
I place one last lingering kiss on her cheek, inhaling her cinnamon scent. “Let me start breakfast.”
“Okay.”
I crack several eggs into a bowl, stealing quick glances at her the whole time. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like the dead.” She winces without looking up from her phone. “Which probably isn’t reassuring.”
A corner of my mouth lifts.
I whisk the eggs. “Plans for today?”
“More library time.” She hesitates, a slight frown wrinkling her brow. “Although—no offense to Crowsbridge Hollow and the lovely Mr. Baxter—I’m starting to think I should visit a larger library for some outside research.”
Dread coils in my stomach. I should encourage her to leave, explore elsewhere. But my throat closes tight even as I consider how to line up the words. “Like what?”
“More…I don’t know. Esoteric?”
“Why?”
She slides off the stool and approaches me, setting her coffee on the counter, then hugging me from behind. Careful not to dislodge her arms, I pour the eggs into the pan.
“I…” She squeezes me tighter.
Not liking the hesitation in her voice, I slowly turn to face her. “What?”
She releases me and steps back. Worry pulls her lips into a wobbly line. “Nothing.”
I grip her hips and lift her onto the counter. “Tell me.”
“I’d rather kiss you.” She swoops in, crashing her lips into mine.
A groan of approval slips out of me. Without breaking the kiss, I lean over and flip the burner off. Eggs can wait. Kissing Emery can’t.
Emery gasps. Her whole body shuddering.
“Em?” I pull back.
Her eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted.
“What’s wrong?”
Her eyelids fly open and she stares at me, confusion morphing into embarrassment or fear, I can’t tell. She presses her hand over her heart. “I…wow. That hasn’t happened—”
“What hasn’t happened?”
She rests her hand on my chest and glances down, her expression turning sheepish.
“I should’ve told you this before. Sometimes…
when we’re in the middle…no, when I’m about to…
come, I see…things.” Her eyebrows pinch together and she stares at her arm.
Although the mark hasn’t gone past her shoulder, the green is bright and shimmery this morning.
Dread takes up residence in my gut. “What things?”
“I don’t know.” She folds her hands together in her lap as if this is a thoughtful, academic discussion. “Visions? I guess that’s what I’d call them.”
“Visions of what?” I stare at her mouth, willing different words to come out.
“I don’t know. They’re only fragments. A cemetery, I think. A woman’s tears.” She tugs at the key pendant around her neck. “An iron key. Water. A door closing. That one is really vivid.” She lifts her shoulders slightly. “Sorry, it’s not much more than that.”
My breath snags in my throat. What she’s describing doesn’t line up. Why she’s seeing it is even more unnerving. Is the Rider coming for her, or was she marked for a different reason? And if so, what?
This is a stupid question—one I already know the answer to—but I ask anyway. “And you’ve never had visions before?”
She snorts, then shakes her head. “No, Declan.”
“But it just happened now? When we kissed?”
She nods quickly.
“What’d you see this time?”
“A montage of images but the clearest was a black horse galloping through fog.”
“And? Was someone riding the horse?” I clear my throat. “Or some thing?”
She frowns and squeezes her eyes shut as if she’s trying to replay the scene in her mind. “I don’t think so? It had a black, glossy coat and seemed very…strong. Sorry, I don’t know a lot about horses.”
Horses or her lack of knowledge about them isn’t the problem. “That’s okay.” But it’s not okay. None of what she’s sharing is okay.
“I’ve never heard of that happening before.”
She tilts her head in a way that suggests she doesn’t want to be the bearer of bad news. “How many victims of the curse have you actually spoken to? And is that kind of detail something they would’ve shared with you?” she asks gently.
The last person taken by the Rider was my sister, so no, that’s not something she would’ve told her little brother.
My jaw locks. I run through everything I’ve ever been told. Everything I assumed. The oath. The rules. The warnings. Things I never questioned because no one in my family bothered to fill in the details before it was too late.
She reaches for the pendant at her throat, twisting the iron between her fingers. “I’m still wearing this every day.”
My eyes lock on it. Before, I just liked seeing her wearing something I made against her skin. Now it feels essential she keep it close. “That should help.” At least I think it will.
Silence stretches between us as I try to slot this new information into what I thought I knew.
I reach for the stove and twist the burner back on. The pan slowly sizzles back to life.
“Well,” I say, keeping my voice even, “I’m glad you finally told me. Let’s keep an eye on it.”
She watches me closely, then nods. “That’s what I was thinking.”
Normal. Practical. Emery in her element.
She hops down from the counter and leans against my side, peering into the pan. “So,” she says lightly, “are you going to tell me more about this Slayride you’re narrating tonight? I love the name, by the way. Cute.”
I flick my gaze to the ceiling but can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Harper, our waitress the other night, she came up with it at one of the planning meetings.”
“Really?” Emery raises her eyebrows in earnest admiration. “Clever woman. Maybe she can help me market my channel better.”
“You don’t have…people for that?”
She shakes her head. “Not really. Just Wren and me. Sometimes, I hire out stuff or try to collaborate with other YouTube channels. But there are a lot of men in the paranormal space already.” She shrugs. “And most of them are dicks.”
I choke on a laugh. “Doesn’t surprise me one bit. You should see how many assholes want a ‘consultation’ with Lucy to see if they can get her to handle their junk.”
“Ewww.” Emery wrinkles her nose.
“That’s why I don’t let her schedule male clients when she’s there alone. Most of them are good customers—”
“But you never know which one will be the creep?”
“Exactly.”
“And they wouldn’t dare try that if you’re there standing guard.” She slants a look at me. “None of your clients try to ‘handle’ you, do they?”
Laughter rumbles out of me. “Fuck no. I’ve had a few ask me out and once had a client,” I pause and clear my throat. “Uh, orgasm during a session—but it was an involuntary reaction. I think it was embarrassing for both of us. But I just stayed professional and assured her it happens.”
“Really? Wow.” She bites her lip. “I’d probably melt into the floor from embarrassment.”
“Nah, it happens. I’ll take that over some of the weird shit Lucy’s dealt with.”
“Even with you in the shop, making your scary face and grunt-growling at them?” She grabs toast from the toaster, butters the pieces, stacks them on a small plate and sets them on the table.
I chuckle and scrape the eggs out of the pan onto two plates. “Yeah, I think they expect me to high-five them or something. I usually double the fee as an asshole tax.”
Emery nods slowly. “Lucy’s lucky she works with you.”
“I’m lucky to have her. She’s really good with clients. All her antics usually put them at ease. I usually send the first timers to her.”
“She does tattoos too?”
“Simpler pieces.” I side-eye her. “Don’t get any ideas. If you ever want some ink, I’m the one doing it.”
“Yes, sir.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me, then grabs her plate and saunters to the table.
Fuck me, I can’t get through breakfast without wanting to ravage this woman.
I drop into the chair across from her and dig into my eggs.
“Sorry I interrupted you about the Slayride,” Emery says, setting down her fork and picking up her coffee mug. “Tell me more.”
“The town hasn’t been doing it long, but it’s gotten more elaborate each year. You ever done one of those Halloween hayride things?”
“Where they go through the woods and have all sorts of spooky attractions and actors jumping out from behind trees to scare you? Heck, yes. I love those. Wren and I have been to a bunch of them up and down the East Coast.”
“Which one was your favorite?” I ask.
She wrinkles her nose, thoughtful. “It’s actually an hour north of here, I think. But we have a few in Mass that are really good too.”
“Well, besides the haunted hayride we have a ‘lights in the park’ event with Santa and all that stuff for kids.”
“But the crap-your-pants scary events are adults only?”
“I don’t know if they’re that scary. But they try. Haunted houses, evil elves, rabid reindeer, ice-skating with zombies.”
“All the appropriate holiday horror genres, nice.” She nods with teasing approval. “I’d love to hear more about your part in all this merry mayhem.”
“I narrate the ‘hayride’ tour. They dress the hayride up like a spooky black sleigh and I share all the scary town folklore with the tourists.”
She raises her eyebrows. “All of it?”
“No.” I snort. “No talk of the Rider. I won’t give him that kind of audience or power.” I set my fork down and lean back in my chair. “This year, it’s a tale of the patients who escaped the haunted asylum up on the hill.”
“There’s a haunted asylum in Crowsbridge Hollow?” Emery’s eyes widen with excitement, and she picks up her phone.
“Slow down, Nancy Drew.”
“Joke’s on you, Nancy Drew books were my favorite when I was a kid.” Her expression melts into something wistful. “When I had book fair money, that’s always where I spent it.”
A faint smile ghosts her lips as she says it, but it’s fast. Like good fortune didn’t come often.
“That absolutely tracks,” I say. “You have a certain vibe.”
“What, curious girl with a notebook and bad timing?” she teases.
“Exactly that.”
She laughs and reaches for the plate in the middle of the table, snagging a piece of toast. “So. What’s the costume situation? Do people go all out?”
“The actors do. They’re putting on an entire performance and really get into character. Some of the tourists do too but it’s usually too cold to be wearing thin, plastic costumes from Halloween Barn.”
“Please.” Emery snorts. “I don’t buy costumes. Wren and I make our own.”
“Of course you do.”
“Well, I’m almost out of clean clothes and I want to get a feel for the situation before I plan a costume, so maybe next year I’ll come up with a more creative outfit. I’ll wear something warm and practical this year.”
Next year. I really like the sound of that.
“Solid plan.” I glance toward the laundry room. “You can do your laundry here, if you want, or I can take you shopping.”
“There’s a washer and dryer at the inn.” She stretches, reaching her hand to my side of the table and tickling her fingers over my sleeve. “But I haven’t been spending enough time there to use them.”
One hundred percent my fault and not a lick of guilt about it. “I’d apologize, but…”
“You’re not sorry?”
“About having you in my bed the last few nights? Absolutely not. Having you waste money on a room you’re not using, yeah.
” In fact, I should tell Mrs. Applewood to give me Emery’s bill when she’s ready to leave.
Something tells me Emery’s the type of woman to say no if I offer to pay her room tab.
But since I’ve monopolized her nights here, it seems like the right thing to do. Not like I can’t afford it.
Fuck the money. I don’t want her to leave. At all.