Chapter 10
SETH
I’m sitting in bed, scrolling through Redactible, when a notification pops up on my phone screen. Two of our Nove men are moving out. Because we’re a smaller outfit, we have an app that tracks our missions. This is a new operation—nothing I authorized.
I text Damiano. Buster and Fletch are on the move. What’s the mission?
Instead of texting me back like a normal person, he calls. “I just went on a date with Madison.”
“Congrats, asshole, for doing what I asked you not to do.”
“Grazie. I appreciate your blessing,” he says smoothly. “After she drove away, another car was tailing her. I asked Buster and Fletch to follow and keep an eye on her.”
“You think someone’s after Madison?” I feel strange. I don’t want to be involved in Madison’s life—our involvement ended with Kyle’s death. But I also don’t want her to be in danger.
“I’m not certain. That’s why I sent Buster and Fletch to keep watch.”
It’s good. Madison should be safe, and Dan Buster and Cassidy Fletcher are two of our best. Using company resources for her safety—I’m fine with that. We’re doing it for Kyle.
Damiano says, “Hold on, I just received a text from Fletch.”
My pulse spikes. Is Madison okay?
“The other car kept driving when she arrived at her apartment.” Damiano sounds as relieved as I feel. “I’m going to keep them on her, in case the other car returns.”
“This is overly paranoid,” I point out.
“We can afford to be paranoid.” He hangs up without waiting for my response.
Asshole.
I go back to Redactible to check on the latest Surf Rats game. My stupid phone buzzes again—this time with a text from Damiano.
I left something on your door.
Cursing under my breath, I get out of bed and stomp to my door. When I open it, something falls to the floor in front of me.
A black, lacy thong.
Motherfucker.
* * *
MADISON
Moving day. I checked with my cousin, and he’s already out of Great-Aunt Vivienne’s house. Not only that, but he’s offered to help me haul things inside.
I pull up to the driveway and feel my jaw drop.
I knew there was a gate with a keypad, because the access code is in my documents from the attorney’s office.
But this tall, wrought-iron structure lodged into a menacing rock wall looks like something out of a gothic series, like a school for wayward supernaturals.
Academy of Ghosts. Perhaps I can pause my current zombie series and do a rewatch.
Once I get through the intimidating gate, I have a good fifty yards of driveway to travel before I reach the house. Large oaks, their leaves just beginning to turn, tower over the paved drive, covering it in dappled shade.
This is insane. I can’t believe I’m here, that this is my property.
The house is a large Victorian, but according to my documents, Vivienne kept it current with its heating and air conditioning. I hope the kitchen is modern.
An older-model SUV is in the drive, and a man sits on the front porch. His flannel shirt tells me it’s Ford, before I can even see his face clearly. He stands and waves as I drive up.
I get out of the car. “Hey, Ford!”
“Hey!” He squints at my car, with the passenger and back seats full of boxes. “Is this everything?”
“Yeah. There are a couple boxes in the trunk, too.” I left my furniture behind—what little I had.
My bed at the apartment was an old twin, with a lumpy mattress I’d gotten off a freecycling site.
My dresser had been left behind by a previous tenant.
And the couch—well, I’d bought that, but after Hugo and Felix dropping mac-n-cheese noodles all over it for several months, I didn’t want it to come with me, either.
Ford brightens. “Well, this should be easy, then. And I guess you don’t really need much—the house is already furnished with Vivienne’s things.”
We start unloading the car. I take out my key to open the front door, but Ford hefts a box against his hip and turns the handle. The door swings open. “Hope you don’t mind—I unlocked when I got here. I needed to use the facilities.”
“Oh, uh, no problem at all.” I’d built up the moment of unlocking my door with my own key, as sort of a big step in my new life as a homeowner. But it’s fine—I’ll have plenty of other opportunities to unlock my own front door.
As we go in and out of the house, carrying in boxes before returning to the car for more, Ford and I don’t talk much. He gives me a commiserating smile every now and then. I find I like the quiet companionship. No forced small talk, no need for banal pleasantries.
All too soon, though, the car is empty. Everything I own is in the large, wood-floored entryway. Ford and I face each other.
“Thanks so much for your help,” I tell him.
“Of course.” He glances toward the staircase. “Do you want a hand bringing anything upstairs?”
“Oh, no, there’s absolutely no organization to this. I’ll peck away at it over the next few days.”
“You’re sure? I don’t mind. I thought I’d be here hauling beds, dressers, and coffee tables.”
“Well, I didn’t have much.” I shrug. “I really do appreciate the help, though.”
I’m ready for him to leave. Maybe it isn’t that charitable of me, after he gave me all this help, but this is my new house, and I want to explore without the awkwardness of the previous tenant hanging around.
He offers me a smile. “You’re welcome. Maybe Vivienne’s death will bring us all closer, in the end.”
I have huge doubts. “Tell that to Derick and Crane.”
“Yeah, well. I best get going.”
I walk him to the door, eager to check out my new house.
Ford pauses on the porch. “Couple of things—the faucet in the master bath has backwards hot and cold.”
“Good to know, thanks.” I force a smile. I’m so ready to be alone.
“The other thing is that the neighbors are probably coming by later. I told them you’re moving in today and they’re eager to meet you.”
“Fabulous, thanks for the heads-up.” I am intrigued, but definitely not ready for company. Hopefully the neighbors won’t expect a long visit.
Walking down the steps, Ford turns to look over his shoulder. “And don’t worry about Derick and Crane—they’ll come around. Vivienne’s will was generous to all of us.”
I’ve already thanked him a dozen times, so I give him a little wave while he gets in his SUV and drives off.
Turning, I face the house once more. Now I can explore on my own, without Ford following me around, coloring my first impression.
The ground floor boasts two sitting rooms. The one at the front is probably what people used to call a “parlor.” A place for entertaining casual guests, I think.
The one at the back is cozy. The walls are a soft gray, and there’s art on the walls in tones of lavender and blue.
There’s a half-bath, probably also for guests.
The kitchen is gorgeous—an art deco-stylized tile floor, new appliances, and a large window overlooking an expanse of green lawn dotted with flower beds.
It feels peaceful, and even though the house is large, it’s still cozy.
I pat the countertop. “I think I’m going to like it here.”
Next, I explore the two upper floors. Lots of bedrooms. I find a library full of old books. My great-aunt’s choices in literature skewed toward nonfiction and the classics.
On the second floor, I find what is probably the master bedroom. It’s a corner room and has an en-suite bathroom. Sunlight streams in through the windows, illuminating the biggest bed I’ve ever laid eyes on. How far I’ve come from the lumpy twin at my apartment.
There’s a note on top. Clean sheets. I replaced them for you. —Ford
Well, that was friendly of him. I tug down the gray bedspread, just wanting to double-check. Everything looks fresh and tidy. His brothers wouldn’t have extended the same kindness. I wonder how it was for him, growing up in a house with those two assholes.
I’m beginning to think Ford’s childhood was as depressing as mine.
Unsurprisingly, the fridge downstairs was empty. Easily remedied. I make a trip to the grocery store. When I come back, I find a bottle of wine sitting on the front step with a note. Welcome to the neighborhood! :) The Kavlans
They must be the neighbors Ford mentioned earlier.
I’ll have to figure out which house is theirs so I can send a thank-you note.
I’m also curious about how they got through the gate—do they have the code?
Then why even have the gate, if everyone can get past it?
I don’t understand the etiquette or protocols of living in a place like this.
The sun is setting behind the back yard, and my stomach rumbles with hunger after my long day.
I open the bottle of wine, grab my newly-purchased baguette and brie, and settle down in front of my laptop.
I debate my earlier idea of re-watching Academy of Ghosts.
But ultimately I choose my all-time favorite series, Flesh and Teeth.
The opening credits pan out over a sprawling monastery as the living dead, hungry for human flesh, march forward.
It’s up to a morally gray priest, who is actually an outlaw in disguise, to save first the monastery, and then the village behind it.
I love it so much. The episode continues with our outlaw instructing the monks to reinforce the walls of the monastery with wood ripped from their sacred chapel. A short, slender monk has a hard time lifting a heavy board, so the outlaw comes to the monk’s rescue.
Only then do we realize that this monk is no man, but a young woman in disguise, hiding from her abusive husband. The outlaw still doesn’t know.
I grin at the delicious drama that will ensue. I’ve seen it before, and I can’t wait to see it again. But maybe tomorrow, because my eyelids are heavy.
Belly full, mind pleasantly warm and slightly numb, I settle back into the couch and fall asleep to a symphony of flesh-hungry zombie groans.
A noise wakes me. I don’t know how much time has passed, but my laptop screen is dark and so is the living room.
Did I turn off the lamp? I can’t remember.
A thump sounds from outside. Maybe an animal.
I bet there’s more wildlife in this area, with the expansive grounds.
I take a deep breath and force myself to relax—it’s my first night and this place will take some getting used to.
But then I hear another, more sinister, sound—breaking glass.