Page 4 of Monsters' Manor

With that, all his darkness fades into the evening around us. I’m left alone, blinking at the spot he disappeared.

Shaking my head to clear away the strangeness of this place—of Silas, of Renwick, of the faint stirrings of magick beneath my skin I'm doing my damndest to ignore—I let out a long breath and head into the booth to start my shift.

2

I manage to avoid the demon and the shade for the next couple of days.

I keep my head down and work my shifts. In the time I’m not working, I hang out in the cottage I’m staying in while I’m here. It’s in the little staff village down the hill and through the woods from the Acres where a lot of the seasonal crew stay.

Having this place is more charity I don’t want, and more of a reminder I need to be making my plan to get out of here as soon as I can.

Only, every time I open my laptop to fill out a job application and stare at the little box that asks why I left my last position, a bubble of panic rises in my throat. All I can do is lie by omission and leave it blank, and hope nobody asks about it if and when I snag any interviews.

After all, I doubt any other accounting firms want to hire an arsonist.

I’m not an arsonist, IswearI’m not, but if anyone asked my old supervisor he would swear up and down that I am. After what I’ve started mentally referring to asThe Incident, there’s no chance in hell I could use anyone from that company as a reference, and would be denied a job on the spot if any potential new employer called to check why I left.

I can’t think about that now, though. All I can do is keep applying, keep my fingers crossed, and hope I get some kind of offer before Samhain. It’s the deadline my aunt’s given me to either finish out my temp position at the Acres and get the hell out, or come on board full time and take up my place in the family business.

Which would absolutely include embracing the magick I’ve worked so hard to ignore these last fifteen years.

Guilt and worry gnaw on the bottom of my belly as I spend the morning and afternoon searching and applying for jobs. An hour before my shift starts, my eyes are glazed over from so much screen time, so I shut my laptop and slump into the worn sofa in my cottage’s front room.

Even though I close my eyes and try to relax, a shaky, anxious sort of energy creeps in with all the rest of my worries. Through my veins, over my skin, making my palms itch and an uncomfortable warmth settle into my chest.

Unable to sit still, I stand and head for the door. I’m not sure where exactly I’m going, but the crisp afternoon air feels good against my face as I step outside. I breathe it deep and let it expel some of my nerves.

A small wooded area separates the staff village from the hill leading up to the Acres, and the crunch of leaves under my boots is another satisfying distraction as I work to sort through my racing thoughts.

Just like last night, the early evening air hasn’t quite bloomed into its darker edge yet, and I get another wink from Howard when I walk through the front gates.

I give him a wave in return, and a small knot of guilt climbs up the back of my throat. Despite my reluctance to be here and my contentious relationship with my aunt, most of the Edgar’s Acres crew has been friendly and welcoming. After getting over my initial shock at being part of a workplace full of monsters, it’s been easy enough to get along with everyone.

Well. Almost everyone.

Slipping through the gates, I pass by the ticket booth and take a hard right, away from the manor and the gigantic corn maze on the other side of the grounds.

The night market is my favorite part of Edgar’s Acres. Sprawled out on the rolling hilltop, its brightly colored tents are filled with monsters and witches selling all kinds of goods and magickal services.

A few of the vendors wave or nod greetings as I pass by. A harpy works a cider press with a mouthwatering apple and cinnamon scent wafting out. A basilisk tends a stand filled with candles and soaps, though he’s in his shifted form right now and looks like any normal human, aside from eyes a brilliant shade of gold with slitted reptilian pupils.

A witch and an ogre bicker playfully over their stall filled with herbs and botanicals, interrupted when the ogre leans down to catch her mouth in a kiss steamy enough I have to look away to give them some privacy.

It’s another thing about being at the Acres that’s surprised me—how open the staff tends to be with their PDA. It gets tamped down a bit when more guests are around, but there’s a freedom and openness about relationships and sex amongst the witches and monsters who work here. An acceptance that means nobody bats an eye or seems to judge what anyone else gets up to after close of business.

Turning my attention away from the embracing couple, I wander through more of the stalls. I could get lost in this place for hours. It’s the perfect distraction from my worries, enough color and curiosities to let myself forget about everything for a little while.

I’m busy doing just that when a noise startles me out of my thoughts.

“Rosemary,” a voice calls out from one of the booths.

The stall is swathed in colorful fabrics and tapestries, with signs out front detailing a wide range of psychic services on offer. There are candles shining from within, and all the shiny baubles and talismans hung amongst the draped cloth just beg guests to wander in and take a closer look.

The witch who steps out of the booth is just as striking. With her long black hair pulled into a messy braid, and dark makeup framing bottle-green eyes, Mira has an undeniably alluring aura about her. Something still and knowing, an almost deceptive placidness on her surface that masks a hidden depth beneath.

As she steps out of the booth to greet me, the belt of metallic bead-work at her waist jangles slightly where it’s draped over layers of skirts in flowy sapphire and emerald fabric. Her black top is sleeveless, showing off arms covered in intricate tattoos.

“Hey Mira,” I say with a smile.

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