Chapter 6
Chapter Six
KENNEDY
Adoor appears in front of me.
It’s warped from decades of moisture, the peeling paint a robin’s egg blue.
It doesn’t look familiar, but something tells me I’m meant to be here, as if I’m being pulled toward it.
Following my intuition, I move slowly forward as solid ground begins to form beneath my feet.
A porch takes shape around me, one plank of weathered wood at a time, then a railing and spindles create a roof.
Voices seep through the crack beneath the door, but I don’t recognize them. Trying my best to filter through them, one eventually sticks out. It’s Simone.
“Kennedy. Kennedy Chesterfield.”
She’s calling my name. I want to respond, but something stops me. Logically, in the back of my mind, I know this must be a seance. It’s precisely what I asked of them, yet my hand freezes on the door handle.
I take a deep breath and reach for the door handle, but I feel another presence make itself known.
It’s not like the voices on the other side of the door.
Suddenly, the temperature drops, and goosebumps crawl up my arms. I can’t tell if this new entity is friend or foe, but it’s definitely foreign. I don’t trust it.
Yet, as I open my mind, widening my subconscious like a net to capture whatever might be lurking in the shadows, I sense a shift. The sudden cold dissipates, and I feel the presence, whatever it is, start to pull back.
As if it’s afraid.
“Wait,” I call out, spinning around and searching wildly, but there’s nothing there.
Still, I can feel that it’s stopped its retreat.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” I search the porch for any sign of another person—another ghost. “Are you like me?” I ask. Then it occurs to me, “Is this your house?”
I catch a subtle shimmer to my left, and then there’s a man leaning casually against the banister.
His jet-black hair appears tousled and tangled, partly covering his eyes.
He’s wearing a dark gray peacoat, and beneath is a set of dress-slacks with suspenders over a white shirt.
His outfit hails from a different time, but his relaxed demeanor and stone-faced expression are so familiar, not unlike the young men I encountered at the social club my family frequented.
“You’re a ghost, too.” I don’t ask this time, because I know it to be true.
He nods and crosses his arms.
“What’s your name?”
As he lifts his chin, I finally get a clear view of his eyes, and I’m blown away by the color. Sky blue, so light they are almost clear when they catch the sun. He blinks and the corner of his mouth turns up as he says, “Theodore Vanderbilt, ma’am.”
A subtle southern accent slips out with the last word. He’s almost unbearably charming. So much so that I feel my cheeks begin to flush, and I have to look away.
I’m startled as he shifts from the railing, but he walks past me and stops in front of the door. He locks his eyes on me, extending his hand for me to take. The voices have quieted, and I can’t be sure if it’s because they’ve gone silent, or because I’ve stopped listening.
“A lot of people are here to see you,” he says. “You must be important.”
My chest caves as I curl an arm around my middle. “I’m not.”
His hand lingers in the air between us, waiting for me to accept the invitation. He inclines his head and leans closer. “You are to someone.”
I don’t have the heart to tell him how wrong he is. Still, those witches don’t owe me anything, yet they followed through on their promise to help me. I at least owe them my gratitude.
My hand trembles as I take his, and the moment we touch, I’m flooded with warmth.
I haven’t felt anything this real since my memories of being alive.
I instinctively curl my fingers tighter around his, seeking to further capture the heat that feels like a warm blanket on a cold night.
His eyes meet mine with an awed expression, and I know he feels it too.
I hold on tight to Theodore’s hand as he turns the knob and opens the door. Holding my breath, I take one step forward into the blinding light.