Page 3 of Monster Daddies
"Let's see what I've gotten into," I whisper again, hugging myself.
I cross into the main hall, where light spills through tall stained-glass windows, casting soft pinks and ambers onto the floor. A grand staircase curves upward like something out of a fairytale, and thick rugs soften the steps. On either side of the hallway, open archways led to what I guessed were the parlor and library.
To my complete shock, a fire crackles cheerfully in the library hearth.
"What the heck..." I murmur, stepping toward it. There are logs stacked in a neat iron rack beside the fireplace, and a fresh set of matches lies on the mantle. Did the cleaning crew do this? Maybe they are really thorough. Or maybe someone from the firm came ahead and prepped things for me.
Whatever it is, it is kind of nice.
"Right then," I say softly, walking toward a large, comfortable-looking settee.
I lower myself carefully onto the cushions, setting the keys on the coffee table and glancing around the library. The shelves are packed—no,stuffed—with books. Old books, new books, hard covers, paperbacks, some that even look like they might possibly be first editions.
Andthere. There is definitely some smutty goodness on the shelves, too.
A picture of what I assume is a young Uncle Ichabod sits on the shelf nearest me, in a frame shaped like ivy. He has a kind, tired smile and a shock of bright-red hair that reminds me of my mom. He looks like the kind of man who wrote letters that started with ‘My Dearest Avalon’.
I reach across and touch the edge of the frame.
"Thanks for this, Uncle Ichabod," I whisper, surprising myself when my eyes prickle with tears. "I really needed this."
As if in response, the fire pops warmly and sends a swirl of heat toward me.
Just then I realize I am the worst cat momma in the entire world.
"Crud! Sparrow!"
I bolt upright and rush back toward the door, flinging it open. There he is. My cranky, one-eyed orange cat, glaring at me through the car window.
"Oh my goodness!" I cry as I run to the car, opening the door and scooping him up in my arms. "I didn't forget about you, okay? I just got a little... carried away in there."
He yowls dramatically in response, but headbutts my chin, which I take as a truce.
I carry him back inside, and as I cross the threshold again—this time with the comfort of a furry, angry companion under my arm—something shifts in my chest.
I finally, after years and years of floating aimlessly, feel like I belong somewhere.
This place is mine.
And I will do exactly what was asked of me.
I'll breathe life into the manor.
Because it has most certainly breathed some life right back into me.
Chapter Two
Jodrick
From my perch atop the eastern turret, I see her.
She steps out of the strange metal contraption humans now use to travel—tiny, delicate, yet somehow radiating something... more. Her long strawberry-blonde curls flutter in the breeze, catching what little light the gray afternoon offers. She tugs her coat around her frame—petite, but with enough curves to stir something long dormant in me. Wide eyes, the color of storm-lit skies, scan the manor with open wariness. Her cheeks are dusted pink from the cold, her mouth soft and uncertain as she chews on her plump bottom lip.
Fear clings to her, sure.
But she doesn’t run. She squares her shoulders, takes a breath, and walks forward like she is trying to prove to herself that she really belongs there.
I admire that. Strength doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it looks like trembling hands wrapped around old keys. Sometimes it’s fighting back and moving forwardthroughthe fear.
