Page 100 of A Heart So Haunted
The tug materialized as soon as I opened my bedroom door, like an urge that whispered,Once Harthwait grows dark, the monsters become real.
The tughummed, the floorboards warmed against the bottoms of my feet, almost as if in invitation, excitement, as I stepped into the hall. A need—the same need I’d felt when I’d heard Hadrian crying that first night—teased up my throat, around my neck, and into my chest.
A shaky breath fell from my lips. The doorway—had it changed, too?
I paused at the edge, right where the frame had been pulled up. I didn’t know what I sensed on the other side, but the air felt alive, writhing and ready, when the latch released.
Without a second thought, I stepped through.
The room tasted different. Sharp and heavy, like a boot pressing on my esophagus.
Mingled, slurring voices tangled through the open windows of Harthwait House. Furniture christened, what I could only suspect was a parlor now, but in my time was the living room. Wallpaper hugged the ceiling. Wingback chairs faced a writing desk, while a separate seating area curled around a hearth to my right.
Outside, darkness encroached onto the property. Wagons rattled down what sounded to be a gravel drive. I leaned to look out the window—sure enough, hands flapped in farewell.
Out the other window, men and women sifted on the lawn like a school of fish, all bright colors and happy, ruddy faces and lifted glasses. It felt like I was in a bowl, observing the outside world through a twisted lens that made the trees too green, too fluffy, the sky too bright. Even the grass swayed in unison, despite being ankle height.
I had the strongest urge to step back, to press myself into the farthest corner away from the window, to revel in the protection of this room. What was it that Hadrian had said? If I came back next time, maybe the room would be different? More to my liking?
He was wrong. I wasn’t so sure I liked this.
A woman with inky hair, beautiful porcelain skin, and a rounded face nodded to a couple near a garden bench, her hands knotted delicately in front of her. She wore a gown, closer to ivory or light beige than white, with ruffles along the bodice and rouching that waterfalled down the front of her skirt, giving it the illusion of layers, like peeling the skin from an apple. It cinched at the waist, likely from a corset, and fanned out above the hips.
She was beautiful.
I knew a wedding gown when I saw one—even from many decades ago.
Hadrian had been right. The roomcouldshow me. This was what I’d wanted to see, was it not? The reason I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about this truth he’d kept from me?
A jagged twinge of jealousy turned at the back of my lungs. After tonight, did I have the right to feel this way? Gradually, I smothered it.
I pulled my eyes from her and scanned the room, left to right, and I saw him.
Sitting in one of the wingback chairs, though I could have sworn he wasn’t there a moment ago, was Hadrian. His face wasn’t as sharp,but his frame was just as wide, his elbows firmly planted on the chair arms. A button-up shirt hung open around the neck, his hair was slicked back, a tie loose at his collar. A wayward groom.
He watched the crinoline and voluminous skirts and parasols float about the lawn like leaves down a river.
I tried to touch the back of the couch. My hands slipped right through the wood frame. Nothing but a chill raced up my arms. I was an invisible bystander and nothing more.
“Mr. Hadrian,” a voice started, burly and cushioned. I jerked to the voice. An older gentleman stood by the door to the foyer. Sparse hair lay combed over his bald spot, brow sweaty, mouth perpetually flat.
Hadrian straightened his cufflinks. How had no one missed the groom on his wedding day?
“Does it grow tiresome having to wipe the perspiration from around your neck so often, Bertie?” Hadrian asked, giving a cufflink a final tug. Then he stood and plunked a wayward wine glass from the writing desk.
Bertie blinked. Two stout caterpillar brows shot to the middle of his forehead. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Hadrian?”
Hadrian threw back the remnants of his glass. The stark scent of moonshine wafted to me. Sparkled in the air like dust. Everything amplified, as if the house was telling me,See? See? This is what you wanted, right? Here is all of it. Take everything.
I didn’t miss the tremble in Hadrian’s wrist.
“I am sure there are many more important things you could be accomplishing right now than simply gawking at me, yes?” he asked. He straightened to his full height. He dwarfed Bertie. But the set to the old man’s shoulders told me it had been reversed for a long while.
Bertie blinked and glanced to the floor. He pulled at his lapels. “My apologies, sir. Your father was merely requesting your attendance for a moment. I had trouble finding you, as I realized you were within the house instead of outside with your guests.”
Hadrian stared until the old man met his gaze. “Is that so.”
Bertie’s jowls wobbled. Face reddened. “Yes, young man. Now, if you will excuse—”
