Page 97 of Tempest

Ardyn

Clover screams.Or is it me?

“Run!” I shout, then bolt off the floor.

Ghosts aren’t real. I never believed in untethered souls trapped in the land of the living. So why am I stumbling blindly through a cottage I don’t know, a house filled with horrors, with the certainty that one is clipping me at the heels?

A beam of light arcs over my shoes, and I dive out of it, my manic sense of survival egging me on that this is Sarah Anderton readying to deliver evil by searing my flesh off my ankles.

“The fuck is going on?”

It takes a second to register the voice. I’ve burrowed somewhere between a chair and the bookshelves, huddling into a ball and burying my face in my knees. It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real…

“Clo, please do me the honor of telling me what the fuck I’m looking at,” the voice growls, so low it sends vibrations into the soles of my feet.

A light flicks on. The side lamp by the couch.

Through the gap between the floor and the chair, I watch the clomp of boots come out of—the bookshelf?

I’m able to study the first few steps of a descending staircase before that stupid sense of survival overtakes me again, and I slip through the gap before the hidden door is slammed shut by an angry hand.

Tempest. It was Tempest who came through this door, shouting at his sister. He can’t catch me here at the cottage. He can’t find me at all.

I’ve been humiliated by him more times than I can count. If he figures out I came to his house like an abused puppy, hoping for a glimpse of how he lives or what his bedroom looks like, I’d be mortified. He’d think me a stalker. Worse, a clinger. I’m meant to be as unaffected by our time together the same way he is.

There’s no way he’s allowed to learn I used the excuse of a Ouija sèance with his sister to break into his house to get a peek at his private life.

Just the thought of being caught under his cold scrutiny prickles my skin. I hope to all of Clover’s Wiccan goddesses that she doesn’t out me. She can handle her brother just fine. Me on the other hand…

“Tempest? What the hell are you doing here?” Clover’s muffled voice filters through.

I push my ear against the bare concrete wall. This side of the bookshelf paved smooth.

“I live here.”

“You’re supposed to be out of town—”

“And that gives you permission to break into my house and what, talk to Casper?”

“Sarah Anderton, actually.”

I can picture Clover’s stance perfectly as she faces off against her brother. Tall, chest out, arms folded defiantly. Exactly like he’ll be regarding her.

“Clo, how many times do I have to tell you, this cottage is off-limits.”

“But why? You know a place like this is like catnip to me. If anything, it’s your fault for deciding on this cottage as your home. If you were in any other dorm, you wouldn’t care that I came here to summon the dead.”

“Do you hear yourself? Really, I’d love to know.”

“Why does it matter to you so much that I want to use a Ouija board on your coffee table? You’re always so annoying, Tempest! I’m not hurting anyone.”

“Get out, Clo.”

“No. Not until I finish listening to what the Andertons have to say.”

“Do not make me force you out of here.”

“Do not make me drop-kick you in the balls if you try and touch me.”

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