Page 33 of Pulled By the Tail
Standing next to her, Talen tilted his head back, sharing what she imagined. His tail swayed, lightly brushing against her. Heat radiated off him like a furnace. She wore her new thermal undershirt, a sweater, thick woolen socks, and her new boots, but she still felt the cold. She wanted to curl up next to him and soak up his warmth.
“It’s beautiful and terrifying,” she said.
“That sums up Corra.” He stepped away, suddenly aware of how close they stood. “The glass is rated for space travel, so you need not fear. It’ll hold.”
“Sounds expensive.”
“Better than replacing broken glass every other storm.”
Four guestrooms had been refurbished but remained sparsely furnished and not terribly luxurious. Georgia made notes to combine some furnishing into a luxury suite and leave the other rooms as economy options.
The private rooms, however, were less impressive. They were clean and structurally sound. As they ventured further into the house, it became apparent that the estate was falling down around their ears. Talen and Quil had no doubt poured a fortune into saving the house, but they needed another fortune and a small army of laborers to finish the job.
He peppered the tour with the history of the house. It was once the estate of an old Corravian family, the kind with a long pedigree but dwindling bank accounts. The house had been abandoned in the ecological disaster a hundred years ago. Huge portions of the population were killed by the mornclaw infestation and entire towns vanished.
Eventually, they went into the lower level of the house, which housed the heating and cooling system. She knew nothing about the mechanics of a house, utilities, pipes, and whatnot, but everything looked dated. Judging by the way her shower groaned when she turned on the hot water, it barely worked, too. So, another fortune to get all that up to snuff.
She eyed the hard-packed dirt floor in the basement. The mornclaws buried their eggs, which could lie in wait for years before they hatched.
“I’ve never seen the creatures, but the Watchtower thoroughly swept the house and grounds,” he said. “There are no mornclaws here.”
“What would it take to pour a concrete floor? Just to be on the safe side.” In case the murder bugs tunneled under the house.
“If you fill out a service request, our crew will get back to you in three to four months,” he said.
“Are you teasing me?”
“A little.” His tail swayed behind him, obviously having a good time. “A new floor will have to wait until the spring. I don’t trust all the pipes to survive the winter and I’d rather not dig up a new concrete floor to replace the plumbing.”
“Fair enough.”
With the house explored—but Georgia made a note to investigate the third floor and attic—they ventured outside to the grounds. Snow covered the lawn in a smooth blanket and softened the features of the garden.
“There are three cottages on the property that are not fit for habitation at the moment. Stables, also not fit for beast or person,” Talen said, approaching an L-shaped building with wide, rounded doors and a roof missing large sections.
“Do you plan to have horses?”
“Absolutely not. I know nothing of animals, but it seems like a waste to not utilize this building.” The door groaned loudly in protest as he pushed it open.
She blinked, adjusting to the darkness. The sun streamed in through the hole in the roof, lighting up dust motes as they drifted. The space smelled musty, like moldering hay, but not rank like mold or… Well, a hundred other very gross and disgusting things that can happen to a building when it’s been abandoned. Talen was correct; the old stables could be converted and repurposed.
“I’ll put it on the list and brainstorm.” She wanted a feel for how the house operated before she made changes. New managers who mucked things up just because they had something to prove and felt the need to leave their mark had never impressed her.
They walked through the garden. Several beds had been trimmed back for the upcoming cold season. Shrubs bent under the snow and late autumn plants had wilted in the cold. In the distance, the trees lost their leaves.
“Feels like we skipped autumn and went straight to winter,” she said. Her boots crunched on a snow-covered path. When the snow melted, the garden path would be a muddy mire. She made a note to investigate ordering gravel for the garden. Guests wouldn’t like slogging through the muck, and she didn’t want to deal with mud being tracked into the house.
“Winter comes fast and lingers,” he said. “Snow this early is typical and we can look forward to more snow for another four months.”
Was it too soon to develop cabin fever? Georgia felt the snowy walls closing in.
They walked around to a flagstone veranda tucked between the house and the conservatory. It would be perfect for outdoor entertaining if the stones weren’t buried under a layer of dirt and weeds. A broken balustrade skirted the patio, giving it a graceful outline. Arched doors opened onto the veranda, but the glass was filthy. Georgia rubbed at the glass with her gloved hands and peered through the least grungy bit but couldn’t make out the interior. She needed to figure out what room had access to the neglected veranda.
Another item added to her list.
They followed a stone walkway away from the house, past the stables. The ground sloped down, and the walkway became a series of steps. The slick stones grew treacherous, but the new boots never slipped.
A small stone building sat at the foot of the hill. The round building did not appear to have a roof.
