4
Salem
Bear Season
F or the next two weeks, I would be living with a woman who had tongue-fucked me in a bar bathroom stall. A woman who had so thoroughly corrupted my soul that even two days later, thinking about what we’d done together made my knees go weak.
“Rayne,” I whispered her name aloud as I lay in bed that morning. I wanted to test it out, to see how the syllables felt when I spoke like a lover, or moaned like a whore.
God, this was bad. I was the worst in awkward situations.
The moment I saw her face, I was so flustered my filter disappeared and I started babbling nonsense.
Considering her stoicism, she probably thought I was too loud and annoying.
Which was totally fair. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d scared someone off with my lack of social skills.
It didn’t mean anything. Sex was just sex, and I was raised not to be ashamed of my ethical slut activities.
Yet as I walked to the dining room, there was a tickle of excitement in my stomach. Would Rayne eat with the guests? I wanted to see her again, but I had no idea what I wanted to say. It was that giddy, bubbly feeling of a crush—a sensation I didn’t think I was capable of experiencing anymore.
But it still meant nothing.
The dining room was spacious. The ceiling was crisscrossed with timber beams, and a great chandelier hung over the tables, of which there were a dozen scattered throughout the space.
Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out upon an ornamental garden at the back of the house, the yard so thick with flora it was like gazing into a jungle.
Several other guests were already seated.
The savory smell of eggs and bacon hung in the air, and my stomach snarled for food.
I was able to get a glimpse through a swinging door into the kitchen, where staff bustled around a steaming stove and pulled fresh bread out of the oven.
A tall, bald man with a thick French accent, who introduced himself as Albert, appeared to take my breakfast order.
He was graciously patient as I gasped with excitement over the food choices.
While I waited for my meal to be cooked, I served myself coffee and orange juice before choosing a small table for one next to the windows.
The sky was clear, pale blue. Birds bathed in puddles on the lawn, fluffing their feathers as they sang. Beyond a tall hedge, I could barely see the steep glass roof of a greenhouse. A stone stairway covered in moss led beyond the hedges and out of my sight.
“—heard she’s been missing since last week, you’d think people would be talking about it—”
The hushed words dragged my head away from the garden, and I sipped my coffee as I surveyed the room.
It was one of a group of hikers that had spoken, but they lowered their voice again and I couldn’t make out the words.
There were a few couples and groups of three and four seated around me; I was apparently the only solo traveler here.
Two middle-aged men in large camo jackets and pants were seated at the table directly next to mine. Their plates were scraped clean, and they were both sipping mugs of coffee. The one closest to me was polishing something on his lap, and I leaned over to get a better look.
I nearly tipped backwards in my chair when I realized he was holding a rifle.
The men glanced up at the noise. The one with the rifle gave me a friendly smile.
“Well, well, a new guest, eh? Good morning!” Following my gaze, he said hurriedly, “Oh, don’t you worry, miss.
Ain’t never loaded at the table. Can’t be neglecting her though.
” He patted the butt of the rifle affectionately.
“Out there, this is the only thing between me and meeting the good Lord before my time.”
The other man shook his head. “Don’t let him scare you. I’m George. This is Martin. You just check in?”
“Yesterday,” I said. They reminded me of my uncles from Montana, and I immediately felt a liking for them. “I’m guessing you’re hunters?”
Martin nodded deeply. “Yep. Black bears.”
I almost snorted coffee out my nose. “Bears?” I squeaked. “There are bears on this island?”
But another voice interrupted, “Martin, George, stop scaring my guests.”
Every head turned as Rayne strode through the dining room. Worn leather boots were laced up to her knees, and her camo coat was unbuttoned, fluttering behind her like a cape as she walked. Loki trotted at her heels, seemingly oblivious to all the delicious food around him.
Did she realize her presence snatched the air straight from my lungs? Did she hear how much my heart quickened?
“Yes, mother,” Martin grumbled, putting the rifle down under the table.
Rayne didn’t pause. She passed me with barely a glance and poked her head into the kitchen, calling out something in French before she was answered in kind. Moments later, Albert returned with my order, along with something I didn’t expect.
A gin and tonic.
“Our apologies for the wait,” he said. I hadn’t waited long at all and was going to say so, but he disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived.
My cheesy, vegetable-stuffed omelet looked perfect, and I was about to dig in when I got the distinct feeling someone was watching me.
When I glanced over my shoulder, Rayne was standing there and my heart leapt into my throat.
“Did you have a good night?” she said. She had one hand on the back of my chair, and the other she leaned on the table, mere centimeters away from my fingers. That closeness was like an electrical current tingling through my skin.
“It was good. Really comfortable. I stayed warm too; thanks again for the fire.”
“I’m glad to hear.” Her voice was low, loud enough for me and no one else.
She reached inside her coat, frowned for a moment, then withdrew a shiny silver key and held it out to me.
“This is for the shed at the bottom of the hill. You can store your bike there as you need. I’m the only other person with a key, so no one will mess with it. ”
“Thank—you.” Before I could even finish the sentence, she’d turned away and walked off again, Loki obediently following.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Martin chuckled. “Haven’t heard that woman say more’n a sentence since we arrived. Wonder what makes you so special, little miss?”
With a shrug, I tried to drown the butterflies in my stomach with more coffee.
The third floor of the manor was off-limits to guests, but that still left me with plenty of house to explore.
The common room was farther down the hall on the first floor, the walls lined with book-covered shelves.
Comfortable chairs and couches sat on thick rugs with elaborate designs.
I would have stayed, but several other guests were already seated there and I felt awkward intruding.
While the manor’s individual rooms were comfortably warm, the hallways were freezing. As I climbed the stairway, I could see my breath clouding when I exhaled. Not even the clear skies allowed the sun’s warmth to reach us.
Emerging to the second floor, I softened my footsteps as I walked past the guest rooms. The entire place was impeccably clean.
Not a single picture frame had dust; there wasn’t a speck of dirt on the floorboards, or a smudge on a single window.
It didn’t have that classic old-house smell either.
I suspected there were scented filters in the air vents.
But as I was passing the stairway to the third floor, I got a whiff of something horrendous.
Abruptly covering my mouth with my hand, I stared up the dimly lit stairway.
A large marble statue stood on the landing above, depicting a veiled woman with clasped hands.
It was difficult to see, but the beautiful wallpaper behind the statue appeared water damaged, with strange ripples and blooming patches of black mold.
Alarmed, I narrowed my eyes and stepped closer, ascending several stairs. It must have been a trick of the light; the mold melted into the shadows, disappearing entirely by the time I laid my hand against the wall.
Confused, I brushed my fingers across the pristine wallpaper, searching for any sign of the rot. But nothing remained. Strange.
Suddenly, loud footsteps charged down the stairs toward me.
I startled, nearly stumbling as I ran back down the steps to get out of the way of whoever was coming.
Gasping, hand on my pounding heart, I reached my bedroom door in a matter of seconds.
With the key in the lock, I stared back toward the staircase to the third floor.
No one appeared.
I waited an entire minute. Then two. No footsteps ascended, and no one came down. Were they waiting on the stairs? Why? Who? I’d seen no one.
Cautiously, I approached the staircase again. I sincerely expected to find one of the guests playing a trick on me, but when I looked, only the statue was there.