Chapter 9 #2
“We know enough. You’re a good boy who treats us with respect.” She purses her lips. “I’m not quite sure why you’re determined to be single, though. You should be nicer to Ewan. Flirt with him. He’s a good catch. A blacksmith can always find work.”
“He’s not a catch. We’re colleagues. I’m perfectly nice to him. I’m not going to flirt!” My face is hot, and I avoid looking at Carter. The last thing I need right now is for him to mention that Ewan and I have already hooked up.
Maisie claps her hands. “Do you have a crush on Ewan? Oh, this is wonderful! We can have an estate romance! Like in that movie—only not in an office.”
My eyelid begins twitching. “No, I don’t have a crush. And there will be no romance. What movie?” I can’t help adding the last bit. I’m a sucker for a good rom-com.
Maisie waves her hand. “I don’t remember names. It’s that one with the boss who’s an asshole and the assistant he can’t live without. And they go to a conference? I don’t know. Are you sure you don’t have a crush on Ewan? That would be soooooo perfect.”
“I’m sure,” I insist.
“Why are we talking about this?” Joe asks nobody in particular.
“Excellent point, Joe. There are other things to discuss right now.”
Hattie backs me up. “True. We can talk about why Josh and Ewan would be good together another time. What I was saying before is, you might’ve only been here a few weeks, but you’ve been very respectful to us.
You told us honestly what your boundaries are and then gave us the chance to adhere to them.
That’s important. Some mediums don’t ask; they just assume we won’t respect their wishes. ”
“We’re people too, you know.” Carter sniffs. “We might be dead now, but we still have feelings.”
“Some of them tell Kieran he should do more to monetize our presence here,” Joe adds with a glower. “As though we’re circus performers!”
“Most of them don’t stay long enough for us to be comfortable with them.” Hattie takes back the reins. “There was one who might have been okay, but Maisie didn’t like her hair.”
I blink, then turn my gaze on Maisie. “Her hair?”
“Hair is very important. How can we trust someone with our souls and all of humankind if she doesn’t have a good hair care routine? At least put it in a ponytail if you don’t want to waste time on it.”
I give that comment a wide berth—and somehow manage to resist the urge to smooth down my hair.
“Fine. So you weren’t comfortable with any of the random mediums who have visited.
But why didn’t you tell Kieran? You trust him, don’t you?
” Please say you do. There’s no way I can make this work if we have to sneak behind Kieran’s back.
Not that I think I can make this work at all.
“Of course we trust Kieran!” Freddie declares, looking affronted that I’d even suggest otherwise. “And Skye, and Arissa.”
“And Daniel and Ewan,” Johnny adds. “All the senior staff are proper good. We made sure of it.”
That seems like something else I don’t want to ask about.
“So why am I hearing about this from you instead of him? He might not be a medium—which, remember, I’m not either—but he could invite some mediums for you to check out. Or do some research.”
“And if none of that worked out? He’d be just as worried as we are. We didn’t want to inflict that on him unless we had some hope.”
No pressure or anything. I rub my hand over my face.
“Let’s go down to the basement,” I say abruptly.
Hattie’s face lights up. “Really?”
“I just want to look,” I clarify. “I can’t check out the vortex tonight because there’s a guest in that room”—oh my god, the liability—“but let’s see how the basement feels.” I take the time to grab some ibuprofen for my headache, and then I lead the way down three floors to the main storage room.
The fluorescent light bounces off the shelves of pantry goods and stacks of folding chairs and boxes. It feels different at night—I don’t know why. It’s not like there’s even a window in here.
“It’s this way,” Freddie says authoritatively, heading toward the back of the room.
“I know.” It’s not like I’d forget. With each step I take closer to the basement door, the feeling of wrongness increases.
It’s an itch in the middle of my back—ever-present and annoying.
“Is it locked?” I say as we reach it, half hoping it is.
Although that wouldn’t make a difference, since I have keys to every room in this house.
I doubt Kieran would have left the basement off the list.
Joe rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Of course it’s locked. We want to keep people out.”
My keys are still in my hand, the lanyard I keep them on trailing, and I lift them.
“Which one is it?” Most places in the house are accessible by fob.
My apartment has a separate key, as does the main door.
I also have keys for the outbuildings that require them, and for the key cabinet in the museum, where the keys to the locked cases are. But there isn’t anything extra.
“This one,” Joe says, pointing to the key that unlocks the front door. “It’s the same lock. Only you and Kieran have this key.”
That makes sense, since one or both of us are always on site, and the rest of the staff can gain access via the staff door. Pushing down the strong sense of foreboding, I stick the key in the lock and turn it.
The click seems obscenely loud.
The room beyond the door is invisible behind its cloak of darkness, the light from the storage room only illuminating the first few steps.
“Wait… how unfinished is this basement? Are there lights?” No fucking way am I walking into a dark basement that contains a soul-eating spirit. I might not be the smartest guy alive, but I’m smarter than that.
“No lights,” Freddie reports. “You need to use a flashlight.”
“There’s one over here,” Hattie says, much to my disappointment. Damn Kieran for having a stock of heavy-duty flashlights to pass out in case of power outage. I grab one, check it works—and nearly blind myself—then sigh and muster up my courage.
The flashlight’s bright beam leads the way down the steps. I was worried they’d be rickety, but they seem secure enough. I guess they don’t get enough use to be worn out. Is that how it works?
Who cares? I’m just trying to distract myself from the fact that I might be descending to my doom. What kind of idiot knowingly walks into a room with a demon?
Dark spirit, I remind myself. It sounds less imminent-deathy than demon.
When I get to the bottom and both feet are safely on solid ground, I shine the light around the room.
It’s pretty big for a basement dug out before modern machinery, and cold as balls down here.
I can see why it would have been ideal for cold storage.
There are a few bits and pieces of garbage left strewn around—some old, half-rusted tools, a broken chair, what looks like a rat carcass—but it’s otherwise empty.
Interestingly, the overall vibe here isn’t any worse than it was upstairs in front of the door.
It’s not fun, but it’s definitely not a swamp of bad things, like I was worried it would be.
The nearest wall looks to be made of bricks, with crumbling mortar between them, but when Joe steps out in front, he walks toward the wall directly ahead, about twenty feet away, which is bare, uneven rock.
Except for a square of neatly fitted-together stones, approximately a foot high and wide.
Even if I didn’t know what was behind it, I’d know it was wrong.
Here, I can feel the darkness. It beats against me, furious and hungry, desperate to be freed, and the taint of it, the utter foulness, makes me want to flee.
But I don’t. The ghosts have withstood this for fifty years. The least I can do is take a look.