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“You’ve been alone too fucking long, Shiloh,” I mutter to myself, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and finger. “He doesn’t want to be part of your screwed up family.”
I feel like I’m trapped in a haunted house all of my own, one where the ghosts hail from a past I’d rather forget, and the monster dressed in black is only too real. The rest of the school day passes in a blur of grading papers and lecturing to uninterested teenagers, my mind constantly drifting back to Dominic’s text and the looming specter of our meeting.
12
DOMINIC
It’s a slightly jarring feeling walkingup to Shiloh’s house knowing this time I’m actually supposed to be here, and that she'll be fully aware of my presence. But even with that, I hesitate only half a second before rapping my knuckles against the chipped paint of her front door.
I mean, now that I’ve spent some time thinking about it, I’ve made up my mind. I don’t want to sneak around anymore. My craving has…evolved.
I want to be able to look at her, breathe her in, invade her space. After reading her journal, I’m more convinced than ever she won’t push me away. Maybe at first she’ll try, but then I know she’ll give in. She has the same craving I do.
And I’ll do whatever it takes to get it out of her.
The door swings open abruptly, revealing an already-disgruntled Shiloh. Her blonde waves are piled messily atop her head, stray tendrils framing a face etched with irritation. I take in the short black skirt, paired with an oversized T-shirt. She has no idea how hard she’s making this for me.
“Where the hell were you on Saturday?” she immediately demands, wasting no time it seems.
“Hello to you too, Shy Girl,” I drawl, stepping inside without an invitation. Her scowl deepens at the nickname, though it slipped from my lips without a second thought. Clearly, I’m going to have to be a little more appeasing if we’re going to get through this without her trying to stab me.
“I had some urgent business to take care of. Besides, it didn’t sound like a task you’d struggle to get through alone.”
The words come out slightly more mocking than I’d intended, but they have the desired effect of halting her interrogation. A twinge of regret tugs at my gut seeing her face fall slightly. The Shiloh I once knew hated to be thought of as incapable.
“Let’s get this moving, shall we?” I say, making my way through to the living room. I shrug off my overcoat and drape it over the back of the couch, noting once again that Shiloh’s attention appears fixed on my gloves–just like at the coffee house. She stares at them, a little crease forming between her brows, as if they unnerve her in some way.
That will be fun to play with.
“Tell me about whatever plans you have so far. Décor ideas? Themed cocktails? I assume you’ve thought of something more compelling than just ‘spooky’ and ‘orange’.”
She rolls her eyes, snapping out of whatever trance she was in while staring at the gloves I’m now peeling off. “I’m not entirely sure where I’m going with it yet,” she mumbles, gesturing vaguely towards the papers spread across the coffee table. “I’ve been researching local legends, looking for something we might be able to incorporate into the masquerade theme. Melanie shot down my idea to celebrate Avalon’s history and lore, but I might be able to weave some of it into her stupid theme anyway.”
“Not bad,” I admit, picking up a rough sketch of what looks like masked figures dancing around a bonfire, “though I think pyrotechnics might be off the table.”
Shiloh’s shoulders visibly relax as she huffs a low chuckle, snatching the paper out of my hand. I settle myself into the nearest armchair, waiting until she sinks into the couch to continue our discussion. It doesn’t escape my notice that she chooses the end furthest away from me.
“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” I murmur, the words falling from my lips before I can stop them. I hadn’t intended to make the observation out loud, but my attention was held hostage by the dark circles marring the pale skin under her eyes.
Shiloh scoffs, shooting me a look that tells me she didn’t find my comment particularly flattering. “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.” I find myself holding my breath as she runs her hand through her disheveled hair.
Focus.
I clear my throat. “Please don’t tell me, you’ve run out of ideas to get teenagers interested in Shakespeare.”
She barely reacts, her expression unmoving. “You’re hilarious.”
“I try.” I can’t contain the smirk that lifts one corner of my mouth, this rare moment of levity being something I could get used to. “Seriously, what’s eating you? You seem…on edge. More than usual, I mean.”
I watch her carefully, half-expecting this to be the moment she accuses me of breaking in. But the next words out of her mouth catch me completely off guard.
“I think…” she starts and then trails off, chewing on her lower lip in a way that has me hungry to feel it between my own teeth. “I think one of my students might be stalking me.”
For a second, I’m certain I misheard. “The fuck are you talking about?”
Shiloh shifts uncomfortably in her seat, pointedly avoiding my gaze. “I know, I know. It sounds crazy, but weird things havebeen happening. I keep finding my stuff in places I didn’t leave them in and had to start locking my door at night. Then the other day at Fairchild Manor, during the tour you so graciously left me to do alone, someone chased me out of the house. My students think there’s some prankster dressing up in a black cloak and scaring people. Maybe the culprit is breaking into other houses too… I don’t know.”
She drops her head into her hands and rubs at her eyes, as if she might dispel the anxiety like a bad dream. I don’t respond immediately, silently outraged that some other faceless threat is occupying her thoughts. I don’t like to share.
