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Elegant lines flowing over graceful bones. Nothing to get worked up about, and yet…
Unease kicked up. Uncertainty took hold. She let both roll a moment before obstinance hit the brakes on her overactive imagination. It was just a house —herhouse, soon to be her home, a haven in the midst of an unreliable world. No sense being afraid of it. Spookiness aside, embracing the place, instead of being afraid of it, was by far the better plan.
Forcing her feet to move, she stepped inside. The instant that she did, a strange sound rippled through the grand foyer. The breathy rush ghosted over the floor, along the walls, tunneling down the wide central hallway stretched out in front of her.
Warm air engulfed her, words forming in the drift, “Turnbolt. At last, a Turnbolt.”
She blinked and stood still, wondering — had she really heard that? Or was it nothing but the shifting of fresh air in a place closed up for too long? She listened harder. Not a rustle. No murmuring. Nothing but silence in the close clutch of darkness. Truly drew a deep breath. Just her imagination playing tricks.
It had been known to happen.
She didn’t like unfamiliar places.
In recent years, she’d gotten better at controlling her reaction. At belying her fears. At forcing the nightmares that had plagued her as a child to the back of her mind. All those monsters, ever present, always around the next corner. Even here, in a house with which she felt an immediate connection.
Now that she stood inside, the feeling became stronger. She belonged here. No rhyme or reason for the thought. Rational and logic held no place in the moment. Just truth, the kind that sank deep into her bones as she listened to the settling silence, trying to understand how she could feel so at home while her nerves jangled and pulled. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and —
The door slammed shut behind her.
With a jerk, Truly spun around and jumped back. The camera bag banged against her hip. Palm pressed to her chest, she stared at the closed door. “The wind. Just the wind. Settle down.”
A sensible conclusion. Even better advice.
Speaking it out loud, however, didn’t do what she wanted. She wasn’t settled. Standing in the shadow of the door, the unreal quality of the house increased instead. A buzzing sensation sawed along her spine, deepening her unease, trying to tell her something. Seemed like an important message for her to grasp, and yet, she couldn’t catch hold of it or decipher what instinct urged her to understand.
Tension gripping her spine, she walked deeper into the house and stopped beside the table set against the wall. Air stirred around her. Ignoring the strange rush, Truly reached toward the lamp. Her fingers found the toggle. She pulled. The chain zipped and rattled. Golden light spilled into the space, illuminating the central corridor, bouncing over wood floors to glitter off the enormous chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. Light refracted off hundreds of crystals, sending patterns over gleaming wainscoting and the sweeping flute of the staircase.
Her brows furrowed. Wainscoting and railings polished to a high shine. A clean, colorful oriental rug underfoot. She swept her fingertips over the surface of the hall table. Not a speck of dust… anywhere.
A wreck on the outside. Beautifully kept on the inside.
Not what she’d been expecting. Not what she should be seeing, given Mirador’s insistence no one had entered the house for years.For years.
Rubbing her lips together, she looked around again. Definitely odd. The spooky factor wasn’t just her imagination playing tricks. The state inside the house rounded out her suspicions. Minador had set her down in the middle of a mess. What kind, she wasn’t yet sure, but whatever it was couldn’t be good. Or avoided, given the fact she now owned the Victorian currently freaking her out.
Signed. Sealed. Delivered.
The money transferred and in her name.
No way to back out of the deal.
The thought set a shiver through her.
Shoving aside her twang of distress, she set her bag on the table and began to explore, flipping on lights, walking through rooms, studying family portraits set in ornate frames. Relatives, she guessed, but she didn’t recognize any of the people. No one seemed familiar. She couldn’t say she looked like any of them. All she could say was that the house held a rich history of a family she’d never met, but must now claim as her own.
In the master bedroom, Truly ran her fingers over the quilt folded across the end of the bed, then moved to the bedside table. She touched the fringed bottom of the lamp shade. Spotless. Everything in its place. The room fresh-smelling as though windows had been recently opened. Even the bathrooms were clean, fluffy towels folded over warming racks, linen closets in order and organized — like a hotel, neat, tidy, clean — as though the house had been waiting for someone to arrive.
On her way back downstairs, she paused on the wide landing.
A wind gust rushed along the treads.
The eerie whisper came again. “Turnbolt.”
She flattened her hand against the wall to steady herself. Her stomach dipped as heat spilled from her palm. Blue light sparked against the paneling. Her internal temperature shifted to an intense chill, sending icy shards up her arm and across her chest. Her lungs seized. She choked, struggling to breathe as the house rippled around her. Clicking noises exploded inside her head, unlocking something inside her, sending waves of awareness cresting into unexplored mental places.
Light sparked behind her eyes. Thin blue lines, one after another, appeared in the darkened recess of her mind. She followed the ravening curves until she recognized the form — doorways, dozens of them, so many she lost count. Her heart kicked, galloping against the inside of her breastbone as she tried to pull her hand from the wall. No give. No way for her retreat, or stop the tide. Instead, she watched fingers of blue flames curl around a door edge, inferno-driven claws gripping the frame, trying to wrench the portal open.
Incredulity spread, arrowing into fear as Truly tried to put out the fire. She had to keep whatever stood on the other side of the door from breaking through. She didn’t know why. Couldn’t begin to understand, but instinct screamed, telling her chaos would ensue if she gave up… if she gave way… if the dam inside her head burst and monsters broke free.
