Page 84 of A Heart So Haunted
Hadrian leaned forward, mimicking my position. Our shoes—my open-toed sandals versus his shined, tied black loafers—sat an inch apart. Like two children hiding in a closet, readying to tell each other secrets.
“I think you misunderstand.” His eyes grew heavy, knowing. “I was angry. For many, many years. You wouldn’t believe the things I did while I was in there.”
“Over one hundred?”
A nod. “And at least sixty were spent in hatred.” His mouth closed. Lips pursed. “I still am angry with him. Anger means I care. But left too long, that anger will rot. Here.” He tapped a spot over his chest. “Who was it that said, ‘I sat with my anger long enough until she told me her real name was grief’?”
I searched his cheeks, his neck, the collar of his shirt, but not his eyes. “C.S. Lewis, I believe.” The quote had been one of Aunt Cadence’s favorites.
His voice wavered, barely there. But when he caught my eyes, they were earnest. Tender. “Anger is a prerequisite to a lot of things. Think of it like a train station. You can head north, west, east—wherever you wish. All you need to remember is that there is another stop after that first one. And each will be different. You decide where you go.” His fingers found the back of my hand—the only sounds the catch of my breath and the rustle of his shirt. “You can ride it untilthe ends of the earth. But then you will have to live with the consequences of never leaving that train. And every opportunity you could have had will already be gone.”
The words spread like balm over me.
“What if I don’t want to leave the anger behind?” I murmured.
His jaw feathered. His fingers tapped on the top of my hand. “But what if you did?”
Hadrian was right: The anger meant I cared. I cared what people thought of me, I cared how they saw me. I cared that my younger self saw justice.
But how long could I hold onto it before it hurt me?
Could I really forgive myself for staying in situations that killed me from the inside out?
The sunroom bloomed in morning light by now. Long, welcoming shadows stretched over the walls, the floors, through the door to the sunroom.
“You’ll find your own way, Landry,” he said. A hint of the creature laced his voice. When my gaze met his, both eyes were yellow. The sun dripped over his cheeks like honey. “And we will figure things out together.”
I nodded. Without asking, I knew I was losing time with him right now. I explained the scouring of the office, the attic, the library, to no avail. “So what do you think I should start looking for?”
“You, ah …” Two creases appeared between his brows. “Your aunt kept old things, did she not? I saw boxes in the attic but did not—” He stopped himself.Did not go up there, was what he didn’t say.
“She did.”
“Where did she get them from?”
“Meredith said antique shows, I think. Why?”
“All the items were from shows?” he pressed.
I stared and my hand slipped from his. “Hadrian, don’t play with me.”
Hadrian gave a dry chuckle. “You have a knack for donating things. How much did you remove before I came into the house?”
My eyes grew round. “Are you saying there might have been something in those boxes I took to Meredith? Why didn’t you say anything sooner! You’ve been here long enough!” I smacked his shoulder. “I’ve been taking junk to her for months!”
He snatched my hand. “Breathe. It was a thought, nothing more.”
The back of my head started to tingle. I feigned shaking him. He only snatched my other wrist.
“You said you don’t even know what we’re looking for!” I said, blustery.
“I don’t,” he countered. “I am simply making a suggestion. Think—ritualistic things.”
“Like candles and salt rings and … dark magic.”
“Like curses.”
I could strangle him. If only I could wrap my hands around his thick neck, shake some sense into him. My hands balled into fists instead. He drew my wrists in, pulling me closer, close enough that I caught the smell of open water and something distinctly masculine. Flutters erupted in my stomach when his words brushed my cheeks.
