Page 73 of A Heart So Haunted
“You heard that?” Because of course he had.
“Well, I may have followed.” He cocked his head. “But conversations would waver in and out before if I was not near. This one, however, I heard from upstairs.”
“Before, as in before you got out of the room?”
His jaw worked side to side. “Yes, I suppose so.”
My thoughts churned. Hadrian made it sound casual, but even in his creature form, there were two lines between his eyebrows. Concern.
“Does that worry you?” I whispered. Did it worry me? I couldn’t tell. Not yet.
“I suppose not. It keeps me aware.”
I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was the expectant, sharp attention that he held on me. The way he crawled over to the dresser and sat down, leaned back, and watched me in the shadows. Back to the two floating eyes that illuminated like a cat’s with every lightening flash and thunder rumble. Or maybe it was that I knew he, of all people, might understand about this house. Because it had been his once, too.
I sighed. Licked my lips, and whispered, “The house means a lot to me. And the person that Emma brought in, I’m not fond of. I just—want it to be in good hands.”
He nodded. “All right. Tell me more, if you would like.”
And for the first time, I did.
Chapter Fifteen
With the papers tucked away neatly in my room, I spent the next few days touching up the bathroom paint and the kitchen. The heat climbed like a lethargic spider over the walls, the slick edges of my lungs, and skin of my lower back. I managed to sift through the other half of the office, but came up empty handed, just as I had in the attic and Aunt Denny’s bedroom.
Then, like a roach I couldn’t be rid of, Eleanora appeared in the middle of the front porch one late afternoon.
My clothes were speckled with paint. My legs and arms were flecked with dried greens and deep teals—feathery strands of auburn hair hung in my eyes, plastered to my temples, my forehead. I needed to take the garden hose and shove it down the front of my shirt.
Emma didn’t look any better. Our uncomfortable silence gradually teetered into small talk—I think there was an unspoken agreement to let it lie for the time being. When Eleanora had knocked on the door, we’d been in the midst of said small talk, me on the ladder, painting the accent wall in the library, with Emma as a base. It scared me so badly, my toe slipped, the paint roller slipped, my other hand slipped—everything slipped, including Emma’s grasp on the ladder legs. My leg went through the step rungs, the roller clattered againstthe wall before bouncing into my face, then fell and hit Emma in the eyes. I ended up dangling from the last ladder rung, both hands on the floor. Emma shrieked and tried to wipe the backs of her hands over her eyes.
“Oh my God,” she hissed. “It burns! Why does it burn so bad!”
I tried to pull myself up. Paint dribbled into my mouth. “Wait, wait, I’ll get a towel.”
Emma leaned against the wall closest to the hallway, cursing.
Then the doorbell rang again.
Now, we both stood, hands folded in front of us, feigning professionalism. Eleanora shuffled through her papers, making preening noises every few moments as she looked at the library. At least she hadn’t commented on the dried green paint on either of our faces.
“Yes, yes,” she cooed, like we’d done something magnificent. “Love how it’s coming along. The place looks wonderful. I see you took my suggestions to heart?”
I scratched at the corner of my mouth. It pulled, likely from the paint. “I did,” I lied.
Emma’s eyes snapped to me. Widened a bit, as if to say,Don’t placate her.
My shoulders relaxed.I’m trying to make her leave, I said with a tiny chin jerk.My eyes flitted to the door for emphasis.
I was almost 95 percent positive that the wall she’d wanted taken out was the one I had just painted, but the fact that she hadn’t mentioned it yet remained. Then again, if I were desperate for a listing, I probably wouldn’t have mentioned the wall yet, either.
Eleanora leaned through the doorway, straining to peek down the hall, as if to make sure the kitchen hadn’t evaporated in the last ten minutes. “Mm, yes, I suppose. The kitchen is amicable. A bit—cabin-esque, but it will do for now.” She tutted. “That wall, though.”
Ah. There it was.
My jaw tightened. The kitchen looked a lot better than when it had been infested with roosters, and her thoughts werecabin-esque?
Emma caught the sleeve of my shirt and gave it a tug. Gave me a look.
