Page 39 of Monsters' Manor

Margot nods. “Yeah, it’s just down that way, if you want me to show you?”

“That would be great,” I tell her, relieved I don’t have to confess I don’t know my way around our family’s generational home.

Margot leads me down a long hallway that branches off into several other corridors. We take a couple of corners, keep walking, and it suddenly strikes me that this whole place is big, really big, not just bigger than I remember when I was a kid, but bigger than it possibly could be given how it looks from the outside.

“Is the manor spelled?” I ask her as we continue on. “To be bigger inside than it is outside?”

Margot laughs a little at my revelation. “Yes, one of Odelia’s finer bits of magick. The expansion charms she cast meld perfectly with the confounding enchantments on the grounds so that none of the guests will question it, either.”

My mind reels for a moment at the complexity of that kind of spellwork, and just how powerful a witch it would take to cast and maintain spells so intricate.

We continue on down the corridor, and I peer into a few of the open rooms as we pass by.

The full manor experience is made up of individual scenes. The tableaus played out in each of the opulent rooms are designed to capture guests’ imaginations and provide a unique thrill with each new chamber explored.

In one, two vampires argue over an empty coffin, trying to decide whether the lighting should be blood red or draped in black silk.

In another, a werewolf prowls the perimeter, making sure the curtains are pulled back to display an illusion of the full moon.

The sets are intricate, and from the passionate discussions I’ve overheard from the cast, they take great pride in making each scene bigger, bolder, more terrifying and immersive than the last.

“Here we are.” Margot stops and gestures to the door in front of us. “Renwick should be inside.”

I’m just reaching for the handle when she speaks again.

“Rosemary?”

“Yeah?” I ask, turning to face her.

“Odelia told me about your training. And I just wanted to say I’m glad. It’s good to see another Bramwell witch around the Acres.”

She gives me a small, encouraging smile and I return it, even if the words make my chest tighten a little.

Another Bramwell witch. One of the many who have walked these halls, played their part and contributed to all the work happening here. A legacy of generations, one I still haven’t decided whether I’m going to accept my place within.

When she turns and leaves, I reach for the door handle again, and that pulse of uncertainty grows even tighter.

But I know I owe Renwick an apology for what happened yesterday, and probably my thanks as well for covering my ass after I freaked out on him, so I take a deep breath and ease it open.

The parlor looks like something out of a Gothic dream. Darkly upholstered chairs and sofas, black paneling on the walls, blood red carpet on the floor. Not a single window to let in even a sliver of daylight. Sconces on the walls burning with black flames, casting the room in shifting, sinister shadows.

And a demon crouched in the far corner, fiddling with something near the wall.

“Renwick.”

His head whips around immediately, and a flash of surprise crosses his face when he sees me standing there.

“Hi Rosemary,” he says, slowly unfurling that broad, tall frame of his.

He’s wearing his signature black leather pants again today, along with a loose white tunic top unbuttoned to show a deep vee of sculpted maroon chest. His tail swishes idly behind him as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

He seems… uncertain. Hesitant. And it doesn’t hit me until a few seconds later what he called me.

Rosemary.

Not Rose. Not Rosie.

There’s no teasing in his eyes today, either, none of that playful, irritating, devilish provocation I’ve come to know.

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