Page 23 of We Live Here Now

“Oh, he’s in London for work, but he’ll be back tomorrow. They’re transferring him to the Exeter branch, which will be great, but he’s got a few days more to do before that.” He’d texted earlier to say he’d be home tomorrow night; I wish it were tonight, but at least it’s only one more night alone here.

“You guys should come to lunch this weekend. I love to cook. Or at least throw dishes together. I call it Mediterranean but it’s really just a melee of flavors.” She smiles again. Everything about her iseasy, and I wish I could be like that. Relaxed and happy. “And Joe loves meeting new people.”

“Sounds great.”

“So.” She pauses and studies me. “You really think there’s a ghost at Larkin Lodge?”

“Oh, you know how it is.” I sip my wine, hiding behind the glass. “Old house and everything. It was just a silly moment.” I’m embarrassed, but I add, “I mean, you lived here, didn’t you? And you weren’t haunted.”

“It was so long ago. We were only just together. I barely remember it. But there’s no such thing as ghosts, Emily.” She puts her glass down. “When you’re dead, you’re dead. All that energy vanishes.” She gets to her feet. “And I should leave. I feel like I’ve got a migraine coming on. Need to get home before it hits. Can I use the loo before I go?”

“Of course. Migraines are awful. Will you be okay?”

“Yes, it’s only five minutes. And you look exhausted yourself.”

She’s right, I am exhausted, emotionally and physically, after last night and today.

I take the glasses and bottle to the kitchen and swallow some painkillers with the last of my wine, my leg throbbing after being still for a while. When I go out to the hall to see her off, she’s leaning on the door to the study, slightly wistful. “You’ve made it lovely in here. Cozy den.”

“I love books. Freddie not so much. Figure this’ll be my reading room.”

“Very posh.” Her smile falls as she looks puzzled. “Odd selection to have out.”

She’s looking at the four books on the table, the ones that flew off the shelf. “Just haven’t finished putting them away.”

“Creepy though.”

“What do you mean?” It’s my turn to be puzzled.

“Don’t you see it? Look.” Sally points. “Read the first word in each title downward through the stack.”

I do, and as she laughs, my blood chills. I read down the stack again.Youby Caroline Kepnes,Will You Love Meby Mhairi Atkinson,Die or Dietby Dr. Ella Jones, andHere Come the Clownsby Armond Ellory. The first words are perfectly lined up.

YOU WILL DIE HERE.

You

30

The rooftop is better than nestling in a barren tree in the freezing night, but the raven wishes the man would come back. There were more fires when the man was here, and the extra heat in the tiles would make him feel less uncomfortable about being on top of the house.

He puffs out his feathers and settles down, pressing his head into the dry husk of his mate. She is closest to the bricks, and as her feathers warm slightly from the heat it’s almost like she’s alive again, except for the fragile hollowness of her frame. He can’t press his head too hard for fear he’ll break her.

His mate is dead. He knows this.

He drifts into sleep for a while, only the lights of the car leaving and the movement of the woman within the walls waking him, but when the house falls silent and dark, and with his talons clinging to the roof, he dreams of the day his mate flew inside. Her frantic caws and the angry sweep of her wings as she became trapped in the flue. His own drive for sunlight, wings close to his body, propelling upward, leaving her behind, not wanting to get trapped himself. He never liked the house. She never listened.

Even as he perches beside her, his beak lost in her dryness, he’s not sure how much he ever liked his mate. Not fully. Not after that first summer. She was quick to anger. Quick to rage. She pecked him.Peck peck peckat his face and the underside of his wings where the skin was thinner, sharp stabs of annoyance if her mood wasn’t good, if the twigs of the nest weren’t pliable enough. If he hadn’t hunted well enough.

What is it that keeps him with her, he wonders, as he wakes in the stretch of the long night, when the woman within the walls turns a light on below, a glow of yellow startling him awake. Is it love or guilt?

As he presses himself closer to her, his dead lover doesn’t answer.

31

Emily

I can’t sleep, my head a whirlpool of dread dragging me down. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to calm my thoughts, but I can’t. All I can see is that stack of books, a message from whatever—whoever—is haunting this house.

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