Page 58 of Feral Possession

“Yes, sir. Freshly cleaned and ready for your use. As are two bedrooms for you and your ward.”

“Very well. Ida, you will see to Dove.”

“I’d be happy to.” Ida bobbed her head.

With that, Marcus limped toward a hallway, leaning heavily on his cane. Dove nibbled her bottom lip, studying his departing back. It had to be difficult returning here after all these years. Hopefully, some time alone would help him sort it all out.

“Come along, dear. I’ll show you to your room and see you settled.”

“Thanks. That would be great.” Already she felt as though the shadows were watching her. Unnatural energy brushed against her skin, and she shivered. It would take more than clean sheets to see her settled in this place.

Dove sat cross-legged, sheltered beneath the rosy canopy of the massive bed. Books and papers lay scattered around her. The room Ida had prepared for her seemed frozen in time. Stuck in the early 1800s. The Victorian style was terribly opulent, with its scrolly furniture, rich fabrics, and ropey fringe. While beautiful in its own way, the space was stuffy and suffocating. Although Dove usually felt this way when she was forced to study for hours on end.

“This is pointless.” She shoved the book across the bed, rubbing her blurry eyes. No amount of research or planning would prepare her for this exorcism. Marcus demanded the impossible.

This was why she strived for ‘fair to middling’ in practically everything she did. When you were exceptional at your craft, people expected big things from you. Dove wasn’t cut out for high-stakes assignments. When others asked things of her, inevitably she disappointed them. Soon after, they turned their backs on her, taking her heart with them. If she wasn’t careful, Marcus would do the same.

Her stomach grumbled, and she checked the gold filigree clock on the dresser. Dinner was hours ago. She winced at the memory. Marcus had locked himself away in his office, so Ida attempted to seat her in a formal dining room. Alone. At a table built for twenty.

To Ida’s bemusement, Dove gathered her dishes and headed into the kitchen, plopping herself down beside Archie and Bishop. While Bishop barely said a word, shoveling food into his maw, Archie was a hoot, entertaining her with stories of his youth. Like Ida, the elderly anculus had served House Othonos for decades. She’d hoped he could tell her more about Marcus’s past. To her disappointment, he’d only shared the basics while glancing over his shoulder at Ida, who watched him with shrewd eyes. At the end of dinner, Dove was left with more questions than answers.

Yet another growl echoed from her gut. Break time. She slid off the bed and headed for the door. Her bare feet cramped against the chilly floors. The lace-trimmed robe she’d tossed over her shift failed to keep the cold from her flesh. She got the sense no matter how many fireplaces warmed the building, it would harbor a chill.

Down the steps and across the great room, she aimed for the kitchen. At least, that was the plan. Was it right, right, left? Or was it right, left, right? “This place is ridiculous,” she grumbled, trudging along yet another darkened hallway. Pain lanced her big toe. “Ouch! Stupid table.” She leaned against the wall, clutching her throbbing foot.

Where the heck was Marcus when she needed him? He’d mentioned he didn’t plan to sleep, refusing to give his demon free rein. In no uncertain terms, he’d informed her, her late-night sessions with Shadow were over. While he claimed there was no point with the upcoming exorcism, she suspected he doubted her loyalty. And yet he planned to place his life in her hands. Contradictory vampire.

“This way,” whispered a disembodied voice.

Breath lodged in Dove’s throat. “Hello?” Her ears twitched, registering little but the sound of her pounding heart.

She dropped her forgotten foot, her shoulder blades becoming one with the wall. With rounded eyes, she scanned the hallway, chanting, “Don’t be a ghost. Don’t be a ghost. Don’t be a…”

Static tingled down her glyph, goose bumps rising on her arms. She groaned. “This place just gets better and better.”

Movement drew her attention to the end of the hall. Shimmering mist wafted out of an open doorway. The air chilled, filling with the heady scent of roses.

“This way,” the voice repeated in that same delicate whisper.

Dove chewed her lip, eyeing the soft glow. The misty light faded, drifting farther away.

At this point, she had three options. One, keep stumbling around in the dark until she broke more than her big toe, leaving Archie to discover her decimated skeleton. Two, follow the creepy ghost person into the unknown. Three, scream her head off until someone came to find her, which would be totally humiliating. Also, what if it was Ida or Archie she woke? Neither were spring chickens. She could very well give them a heart attack.

Her toe throbbed, reminding her of the dangers awaiting her with option one.

She huffed an irritated breath, stomping after the fading glow. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

The apparition led her down a staircase to what appeared to be a less formal servant’s area where she vanished. Dove peered through the window of an exterior door, spotting the faint glow outside.

Following a ghost outdoors in the wee hours of the night was far from appealing. However, at this point, it seemed better than the spooky house and its endless hallways.

She stepped out into the cool evening air and narrowed her eyes. Where the heck did that ghost go? Soft moonlight illuminated the hedge-lined courtyard with its scrolly iron patio set. Beneath her bare feet was a landscaped pathway. Shimmering flower petals peppered the stones like a trail of breadcrumbs. “Roses.” She gasped. Like the ones in the painting.

Curiosity overrode her sense of preservation. She followed the walkway, tracking the petals through an arched trellis with an open gate. The sweet fragrance grew stronger, wafting in the breeze.

Once inside, Dove stopped and exhaled a soft breath. “Oh, wow,” she whispered. It was the rose garden depicted in the painting. Flowerbeds teeming with flowering bushes filled the space. At the center was a cheerful fountain. Off to the side, a glass greenhouse. Fireflies sparkled in the foliage. It was a wonderland, except for the spirit.

Near a stone bench, tending a blood-red bud, was her ghost. The apparition was more substantial here. Perhaps drawing energy from what must have been her favorite place. Now that her patrician features were more defined, the spirit’s likeness to the woman in the painting was spot-on. Like Dove, she was in her nightgown, her ruffled sleepwear trimmed in lace. Long black curls trailed down her back.

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