Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
HAYAMI
PRESENT
Relieved that Fenrir has given me an excuse to leave the kitchen, I make my way to the library.
The large window frames the view outside, the towering trees that surround the house, and the tops of the mountain range opposite.
I can already imagine what this view will look like when covered in snow.
Fenrir thinks I haven’t realised the significance of snowfall—what it could mean to us up here.
No escape.
Right now, that’s exactly what I want. I don’t want there to be a reason to leave. I don’t want things to return to the way they were. That would mean returning to a life I have no control over, a life I have no say in, and a future I want nothing to do with.
There’d been a moment, in the car driving back from the store, when I considered telling Fenrir exactly what my father has planned for me.
The reason why he found me floating facedown in the pool, and why I’ve been acting so recklessly over the last six months.
But I didn’t. Because I know that if I’d told him, he would’ve taken the other road.
Of that, I’m sure. And I can only imagine what that road would have led to.
Being hunted.
Being found.
Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I see a text from Willa.
Hey, hope you’re both okay and you guys haven’t killed each other yet! All is well with Marta and the baby. I’m going to catch the next flight out and be back with you guys soon.
I type out a quick reply, telling her not to even think about leaving Marta, and that we’re both fine.
My mind floats back to the conversation with Kevin. I register the time and wonder what state my mother will be in. Will she be drunk? High? Delirious? Neurotic? Any mixture of these is possible. But I have to speak to her.
The phone rings six times before she picks up.
“Hayami.” She’s breathless, as if she’s been running.
“Hey, Mum.”
“It’s so good to hear your voice,” she says as I try to work out whether her words are slow and slurred or fast and frantic. To my surprise, they sound relatively clear for my mum. “How are you?”
“I’m okay.”
“And Willa and Fenrir? Are they both okay? Is everyone okay?” I hear it now, the panic, the desperation. She may not be drunk or drugged up, but there’s a restlessness about her, as if she’s been silent for so long and suddenly found her voice.
“Yeah, we’re all good. Are you okay?” I ask. “How’s Hanover House?”
There’s a pause, and I wonder which of my two questions she’s having to think about before she answers. “I’m fine. I’ve left Hanover House, though, and am back at the mansion. I couldn’t bear to be away, not knowing what’s happening.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I was calling because…” I swap my phone to the other hand as I think carefully about what I’m about to say.
“Willa popped out to the store today, just to stock up on supplies because it’s supposed to snow in the next few days.
She said that she got chatting to the guy who owned the store—Kevin, I think she said his name was—and he mentioned you.
Told her he knew you and was asking about you. ”
I wait. She’s still there. I can hear her breathing.
“Oh yes, Kevin. Gosh, it’s been such a long time. Kevin was always so lovely. How is he?” I try to pick up on any intonations, but her reply is mechanical, careful even.
“Willa said he was okay, real nice, and seemed eager to chat. I just wanted to let you know. It sounds like he was a friend of yours.” I try not to let this sound like a question.
“He was. He delivered to the house, and I was quite lonely up there. You’re not lonely, are you?”
“No, Mum, I’m fine. I have Fenrir and Willa, and my studies are keeping me busy. To be honest, it’s been nice to get away from things.”
Another pause.
“I understand, but I need you to be careful.” Her words are slow—not chemically induced slow, but as if she’s treading cautiously.
“Because of the Castros?” I plant the seed, wondering if anything will grow from it.
“Not just that. I just want you to be… well, I just want you to be safe.”
“I don’t think it gets much safer than being in the middle of nowhere with two bodyguards for company.”
I feel bad, lying to my mum about Willa being here, but she’s holding back on me. She knows something and isn’t telling me what it is.
“Of course, you’re right. Your father has made sure you’re safe up there.”
I tut, then hope my mum didn’t hear it. I’m under no illusion that she knows nothing of what my father has planned for me. Even if she did, she’d have about as much influence over his decision as I do.
“But there are some things your father has no control over….” Her voice trails off, and my heart sinks.
“What do you mean?”
That heavy pause again.
“I’m just talking about the things that no one has any control over, not even your father.”
I roll my eyes and am glad she can’t see me.
“Are you talking about the suspicions that this house is haunted? Because I can tell you that we haven’t experienced anything up here.
” Well, nothing that can’t be explained with rational thinking, I want to add, but I know that if I tell her about my nightmare and the light blowing in the en suite, she’ll freak out.
“I wish you were here. I wish you weren’t there in that house” is her only reply.
“I’m sure we’ll be back soon,” I tell her as Fenrir enters the room. I look up at him and nod, as if trying to tell him telepathically that I’m on the phone with my mum.
“I hope so. More than anything, I hope so. Stay safe, my baby girl. I love you. And Hayami…?” There’s a beat down the line, and I want to give her the time she obviously needs to gear herself up for whatever she’s about to say, but my impatience gets the better of me.
“Yes?”
“Don’t let the house speak to you.”
“What do you mean, Mum? Hello? Mum?” But all I hear is the drone of the dead line. I drop the phone by my side.
“Don’t let the house speak to you.” Jeez, she’s really lost it.
Fenrir is next to me, his face grave. “What did she say?”
I shake my head. “Nothing much. She was being weird.”
“Was she drunk?”
“No, that’s what makes it even weirder. This was the most sober and clear-headed I’ve heard her in a long time.”
“What did she say?” he repeats.
I glance at him, wondering what he’ll make of it. “She told me not to let the house speak to me.”
The muscles flex in his neck, his scars rippling as he remains silent. It’s not the reaction I predicted. I thought he’d have sniggered at the ravings of a madwoman—a woman who spends most of her time high on prescription medication or doused in an alcoholic stupor. But no.
Instead, he remains motionless, like this all makes sense to him, as if he knows what my mother is referring to.
Why do I feel like he’s in on the secret? Why do I feel like I’m the only one standing in the dark?