Page 55 of Mine

I surge to my feet, the book tumbling off my lap, my instincts telling me I’m in imminent danger. Just then, a tiny black bat hits the side of the dock and drops to the deck like dead weight. Writhing in pain, it flaps its wings wildly, and the shrieks coming out of it sound otherworldly.

Get the hell out of here.

I grab the blanket, the books, and turn to the house.

Astor is standing in front of a window, his dark silhouette large and ominous against the shadowed background of his office.

I freeze and stare at the silhouette, and in that moment, I can’t tell if I’m relieved or terrified.

Thirty-Three

Astor

“Pri, are you messing with Sabine?” I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the kitchen doorway.

Prishna wipes her hands on a dish towel as she turns away from the sink. She’s prepping the dinner I requested she cook tonight for Sabine and me. And based on the sulky expression on her face, she’s not happy about it.

“Define messing with, sir.”

“Sneaking pictures of Valerie into her room, along with a doll’s body from Chloe’s room. And whispering outside her door. You know, creepy-ass things.”

Prishna fists her hands on her hips. “Mr. Stone, why would I do that?”

“Because you don’t like her.”

“I don’t like a lot of people.”

I can’t argue with that.

She continues. “But that doesn’t mean I sneak into their bedrooms with,” she uses air quotes, “creepy-ass things.”

“You haven’t been yourself lately.”

“Nor have you.”

I can’t argue with that either.

“Did you ask Cillian?” she asks, placating me.

“He’s the one who told me about it. Sabine mentioned it to him.”

“Did he do it?”

I roll my eyes. “Cillian has his own demons that occupy 99% of his time.”

Prishna shrugs. “Well, if he didn’t do it, and I didn’t do it, Sabine is either lying or we have a ghost in this house.”

Ten minutes later, I find myself in my office googling—you guessed it—ghosts.

I have officially lost my mind. And I blame it all on Sabine.

But the thing is, ever since Cillian told me what Sabine said, I realized that since coming back to the manor, I’ve felt particularly unsettled too. More than usual—and not all because of Sabine’s entry into my life. I get a weird, uneasy feeling as I walk through the hallways, the library, the master bedroom. An instinct, though I can’t put my finger on what it’s trying to tell me.

My ghost search takes me all over the Internet. Apparently, there are many people who believe in the afterlife.

Eventually, I land on something called a vengeful spirit. This is the spirit of a dead person who seeks revenge for a cruel, unnatural, or unjust death. The spirit will haunt the dealer of their death for months, sometimes years, following them wherever they go.

Considering I’ve made a career of killing people, it’s safe to assume that vengeful spirits occupy a mile-wide radius of wherever I am standing. The article then goes on to say that, in certain cultures, a vengeful spirit is also defined as one who failed to receive a proper burial ceremony.

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