Page 5 of Waltzing With Witches

Heat pools between my thighs, my panties growing wet as my clit throbs. I lick my lips, desperate to ease that ache. Pressure builds in my core when his gaze travels a slow path down my body. Pale lips curl into a satisfied-looking smile as he drags his focus back up.

The pressure builds and builds, my cheeks flaming. Am I even breathing? Can he hear the furious pound of my heart?

An iron fist grips my throat, forcing the air from my lungs.

Crimson eyes narrow. How the hell did he cross the distance between us so damn fast? I didn’t even see him move.

I can’t fucking breathe.

I jerk awake with a scream, throwing my hand to my chest. My heart pounds furiously against my ribcage, so hard it feels like it’ll burst out like a damn alien.

My mermaid-themed room at the Annabelle is dark, the faintest hint of light coming in from the stars outside.

A sudden creak has me tensing. I look up. My room’s ceiling shimmers and shakes, the painted wooden slats almost seeming to ripple like waves. I scrunch my brows together and hop out of bed, tripping over a bag on the floor.

I look down in confusion. What’s a bag doing beside my bed?

Wait.

Not just any bag.

My luggage. The luggage I brought to Ever a month ago. The bag is full to the brim and zipped up with the handles neatly folded against the faded floral fabric.

I look around, my thoughts spinning as my brain attempts to catch up to whatever’s happening. Something’s not adding up. How did this get here? The Annabelle has her tricks, and she’s been weird with me lately, but…she couldn’t have done this.

Could she?

Almost as if my thought spurred her into motion, the ceiling lets out another ominous groan. The sound of wood splintering follows it, with cracks appearing along the line where the ceiling meets the walls. Horror lifts the hair on my forearms as the ceiling splits entirely from the walls.

When it begins to descend, inch by inch, I leap into action.

“Annabelle?” I cross my arms and stare up. “What is this?”

She doesn’t answer, of course, but a horrible shrieking sound has me slapping my hands over my ears.

“Annabelle, stop!” I shout. When the ceiling continues to descend, I debate running for the door to get Catherine to come put a stop to whatever this behavior is. But it’s the middle of the damn night; it’s still pitch-black outside.

I slap my hands to my hips and glare up at the ceiling. “Stop it this instant! It’s late, and I’m tired. Annabelle!”

If the house hears me, she gives no indication. The ceiling’s low enough now that it hits the tips of the bedposts. They crack and give under the weight, splintering into jagged shards. Still the ceiling descends with slow, measured movements.

“I don’t understand,” I softly press. “What’s wrong? Why are you so upset with me lately? You tripped me yesterday; you snapped the wallpaper at my eyeball, and now this thing with the ceiling? Please, Annabelle.” I keep my tone even, despite the ceiling’s continued downward trajectory.

Creak. Crack. The ceiling descends another six inches.

I turn and reach for the door, shouting for Catherine. When I grip the handle and yank, the knob doesn’t turn. Apprehension spears through me as the ceiling crushes the bedposts to splinters. The fucking ceiling is still coming down.

“Stop!” I shout. “Catherine!” I try banging on the walls, but when the ceiling touches my head, I lose it, yanking and scratching on the doorknob. It’s locked, and I’m trapped. Oh fuckety fuck fuck!

I sprint across the room toward the windows, but they don’t move either when I try to open them. Heat flushes my cheeks as I whirl in place, looking for something to break the window with. How does nobody hear this going on?

Suddenly, the floor shifts under my feet, rippling. The planks roll like waves and knock me on my ass, carrying me toward the door. The section of floor under my bag snaps up, tossing the bag at me. I catch it as the door swings open. The rippling floor carries me out into the hall and left toward the stairs as I claw at the walls and gasp for breath. The staircase rises up to form a slide, which Annabelle deposits me right onto.

I clutch at my bag as I fly down the slippery tube toward the lobby. The moment I hit the carpeted lobby floor, it rips up, staples flying everywhere. The carpet wraps me and my bag into a heavy, dusty tube and moves.

“Annabelle! Catherine!” I shout as I pound against the interior of the carpet, choking against the who-knows-how-old brocade carpet. It gives a huge heave and tumbles me head over heels. When I finally slide to a halt, I’m on my back in the front yard, staring up at the same peaceful stars I gaze at every night. Brisk air wafts over my flushed face as my chest heaves in shock.

I dropped my luggage somewhere in the melee. With a thump, it flies through the air and lands next to me, the zipper flying open to reveal my clothes.

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