20. Callum
Callum
When Winifred said she had somewhere in mind we could go, I did not think this would be it.
I’m standing in front of a house that looks like it’s actively dying.
Like it’s been in a slow, multi-decade fistfight with time and gravity, and time and gravity are winning by a landslide.
There are holes in the roof where you can see the dark sky through the gaping maw of what used to be a second story.
Shingles litter the ground around the foundation like confetti at the world’s saddest parade.
The porch—if you can even call it that—creaks when the wind blows, and the wind is blowing.
And we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere.
“Where the hell are we?” I ask.
Winifred laughs, her heels dangling from two fingers of one hand, barefoot on the gravel. She’s already walking toward the house, and even in the dark I can see the way her dress sways with each step. She looks back at me over her shoulder, a flash of white teeth in the darkness. “Just trust me.”
“Ominous.” I start walking, slowly, like I’m approaching a wild animal. “That’s ominous. You know that’s ominous, right?”
“Don’t you trust me?”
I catch up to her in three long strides and without thinking about it, I reach for her hand.
Mostly because I want to, but partly because I’m pretty sure this is a haunted house.
And when you add magic, and dark forces, and a weakened Veil, and whatever else might be lurking in the shadowy corners of Amberhollow, that’s just scary as shit.
“Yes,” I say, and my voice comes out a little shaky.
She laughs. “That’s fair. My judgment is questionable at best.”
“It’s part of your charm,” I say.
She throws her head back and laughs again, squeezing my hand. “I promise you’ll like it.”
I don’t believe her. But I follow her anyway, because apparently that’s what I do now. I follow a beautiful woman in a beautiful dress into a condemned building in the middle of nowhere because she looked at me with puppy eyes and said “trust me” and my brain apparently checked out.
The porch groans under our weight. Every step is a test of its structural integrity.
The front door is hanging off its hinges, leaning to one side like it’s had a long day and needs a nap.
Winifred pushes it open with her shoulder, and it swings inward with a long, low creak that sounds exactly like it’d be in a horror movie soundtrack somewhere.
Inside, it’s worse.
Dust coats everything—a thick, gray blanket over the remnants of what was probably once someone’s home.
There’s an old sofa in the corner, gutted, springs poking through the fabric like the skeleton of some long-dead animal.
A lamp lies on its side on the floor, shade missing, bulb shattered.
The wallpaper is peeling in long, curling strips, revealing water-stained plaster underneath.
Cobwebs hang from the ceiling like abandoned Halloween decorations.
Something scuttles in the corner. I refuse to acknowledge it.
“This place is condemned,” I say.
“Technically, yes.”
“Technically?”
“There was a sign. A few years ago.” She’s already moving through the foyer, her bare feet padding softly on the dusty floorboards. “But the county doesn’t really care about it. No one’s going to buy it, no one’s going to tear it down. It just…exists.”
“Like a ghost.”
“Exactly.” She grins at me over her shoulder. “You’re getting it.”
I follow her through the house, my boots leaving prints in the dust. There’s a staircase ahead, wooden with a banister that’s missing half its spindles. Winifred starts climbing it without hesitation, her hand still in mine, and I have no choice but to follow.
Halfway up, I’m thinking about our kiss and the way she tasted. About the way her lips parted under mine. About the little sound she made when my hand found her ass. About the feel of her body pressed against me, the way she fit into the curve of my arms.
It felt inevitable, that kiss, as if I’d been heading toward it since the moment I stumbled into Amberhollow. Like the universe had been pulling me toward her, string by string, and all I could do was let it.
I’m not in love with her. That would be insane. But there’s something there, something that feels like it could be love, if I gave it time. If I let it grow. Which is scary as fuck. Almost scarier than this haunted house.
What am I supposed to do when I finally figure out a way out of here?
Will I ever be allowed to come back? Given what Genevieve said about my bloodline, maybe Amberhollow would let me return.
But I know one thing for sure—I’d never ask Win to leave.
Even when she acts like it’s a burden, I can tell she loves this strange, magical town with everything she has.
We reach the top of the stairs. A long hallway stretches in front of us, lined with doors that are either open or hanging crooked. Winifred leads me to the third door on the left. It’s already open, just a crack.
She pushes it open with her fingertips, and the room is huge.
Bigger than I expected from the outside.
The floor is covered in the remnants of what might have been a rug, moth-eaten and faded.
The walls are bare, and an old iron bed frame sits in the corner, stripped of its mattress, rusted and skeletal.
“Look,” she whispers, pointing up.
I tilt my head back. There’s a giant hole in the roof, maybe eight feet across.
Through it, the sky opens up—dark and vast and scattered with more stars than I’ve ever seen.
There’s no light pollution out here. Just the Milky Way, a luminous smear of silver across the darkness, and thousands upon thousands of pinpricks of light.
A low breath escapes me. “Whoa.”
“Right?” Winifred says softly. She drops her heels onto the floorboards and plops herself right down on the middle of the rug, crossing her legs. “I used to come here all the time when I was in school. I’ve smoked many joints in this exact spot.”
A short chuckle escapes me. “Of course you have.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I try to hide a smile but fail. “Nothing. Just…of course you have.”
She kicks at my shin with her bare foot. “Come on. Sit.”
I drop down beside her, the cool draft from the roof brushing against my skin. And then I think, fuck it.
I grab her waist, my hands finding the curve of her hips, and I slide her onto my lap. She gasps a little, and for a second I think I’ve overstepped. But then she looks down at me over her shoulder, and a gorgeous, devilish smile spreads across her face. “Smooth, detective.”
“I try.” My hands settle on her thighs, warm through the fabric of her dress. She wraps one bare arm around the back of my neck, her hand draping over my shoulder. I love the feel of her on me, like this is where she should’ve always been. Where she should always be.
She leans back against me and her head tilts up, exposing the long line of her throat. I have to physically stop myself from kissing it. Later. I’ll do that later.
“Okay,” she says, pointing up with her free hand. “See that really bright one? Right there.”
I follow her finger. “The one that looks like it’s trying too hard?”
She laughs. “That’s Sirius. Dog star. It’s the brightest star in the night sky. Well, technically it’s a binary star system, but—” She waves her hand. “Details.”
“Binary?”
“Two stars orbiting each other. They’re connected. Even though they’re separate, they move together. Like they can’t figure out how to exist without the other.” She says it casually, like she’s not describing something that makes my chest all of a sudden feel tight.
“And over to the left, that bright cluster? That’s the Pleiades. The Seven Sisters,” she continues. She moves her arm, her shoulder brushing my jaw, pointing out Orion’s Belt and the distinct, sweeping curve of Ursa Major.
I look up at her, genuinely impressed. “Look at you, a human planetarium. How do you know all of these?”
Her gaze drifts back to the sky. “My dad taught me. When I was little, he’d take me and my brother camping all the time. We’d spend the whole night looking at constellations and planets through his really fancy telescope.”
From this angle, the starlight catches the soft slope of her nose and the glossy sheen on her lips.
Her usual sarcastic edge completely softens when she talks about the things she loves—her dad, music, Stella, Jett, Twyla.
The defensive barrier she keeps up around the rest of the world just slips away.
“It’s mind-boggling, honestly,” she murmurs, her gaze fixed on the expanse above us.
“You stare up at all of that, and you realize how tiny we are. How the light from those stars took millions of years just to reach us, right here. Magic feels a lot like that. It’s just…
time and energy trapped in a different frequency, constantly moving.
We think we’re in control of our lives, but we’re just brief blips passing through. ”
I listen to her, my thumb tracing a slow line along her thigh. “That’s true. But sometimes a brief blip is more than enough, if you spend it well.”
She turns her head slightly, looking at me out of the corner of her eye, her expression sweet and thoughtful.
“Are there any up there that are only in Amberhollow?” I ask softly. “Something a regular ol’ mortal detective from Kentucky wouldn’t know?”
Winifred’s eyes light up. “Actually, yeah.” She lifts her hand again, pointing toward a tight formation of five bright stars resting near the horizon, outlined by a faint, shimmering violet mist that only exists inside the town’s borders.
“See those five right there? They form a little arch. Like a queen’s crown. ”
“I see it,” I say, leaning my chin lightly on her shoulder to get a better angle. “What’s the story behind that one?”