Page 9 of Wallflower Witch

“I’m not sure,” I answer. I explain to him what she’s wearing and how she’s behaving. She stands still as a statue in the corner.

“She may have been a maid for the family. They were often told to be seen but not heard during that time,” he offers.

“Yeah, that would make sense,” I say. “But why is she still here?”

“I have no idea. Should we continue?”

I agree, and we make our way through the back doorway, entering a sprawling room that I think would have been the kitchen. Cabinets and counters line most of the room with metal pots and pans lying around. A large fireplace takes up the fourth wall. Black metal hooks are spread inside the fireplace to hang the pots.

“It’s like being in a museum,” I whisper, not wanting to disrupt the peace of the place. “This is awesome!”

Patrick snorts a laugh, opening the drawers and cabinets around the room. We find sealed jars of fruits, vegetables, and what appears to be dried meats. While interesting, none of it tells us who lived here.

We move through to a room with a large desk in the middle of the room. Empty bookshelves line two walls, and a large window lets the sunlight in, highlighting a layer of dust at least an inch thick on the desktop.

I let out a heavy breath. “If something was here, I bet it was in this room, but it seems like we are too late.” I drag the chair out from under the desk and slouch into it.

“We shouldn’t give up yet,” Patrick says, pointing to the stairs. “There’s another floor to check. We may still find something.”

I try to muster a smile but can’t shake the feeling of defeat. The feeling that I needed to be here is fading and heaviness sits on my shoulders.

“Okay, let’s go.” I push myself up, my knee knocking into the side of the desk. Something drops into my lap with a thump. “What the hell?” I lift out a book bound in black leather. I blow some of the dust off the desktop, trying to clear a spot to examine my new find. Patrick and I both sneeze several times before regaining control.

Pulling the candle closer to the cover, I see the gold etching of a skull lying on roses. Underneath in faded letters are the words O’Byrne Family Grimoire.

“I guess we know it’s the right house,” I say. “But what’s a grimoire?”

Patrick holds his hand out, hovering it over the book before pulling it back. “A grimoire is a family’s spell book. Each family had their own to pass down spells, potions, and knowledge to future generations. It is considered a terrible violation to read another family’s book if anyone from the family still exists. I wonder how it survived all this time?” His voice is filled with awe. “It looks like everything else was cleared out a while ago.”

“Besides being hidden, it almost feels warm. Like it recognizes me.” I catch Patrick’s confused gaze. “I know it sounds stupid, but it almost feels like it was waiting for me.”

Patrick places his hand on my shoulder and gives a light squeeze. “It doesn’t sound stupid, and you might be on to something. The book may have been spelled to be hidden until someone from the family came for it. That would explain how it was missed all this time.”

I nod a little, gently grabbing the edge of the cover and lifting. As the book opens, a loud shriek from deeper into the house makes me jump.

“What was that?” I whisper-scream.

“What was what?” asks Patrick.

“Someone screamed. They sounded like they were in pain. How could someone sneak into the house without us hearing them?” The words tumble out in a jumbled mess.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Patrick says, lifting his candle higher and looking into the darkness beyond this room. Glancing back at me, his face softens. “But we can go check just to be sure.”

I stand, tucking the book under my arm and pick up my candle. “Yes, whoever it is. They need our help. We have to do something.”

Patrick and I creep slowly into the hallway. Well, I creep and he kinda just walks behind me. I couldn’t tell where the scream came from, and every second feels like an hour as we wander around the first floor of the house, seeing nothing. The woman is gone from the dining room even.

“Well, that leaves the second floor and out the back,” Patrick says calmly, his steadiness helping me not freak out as much. “How about we go upstairs while we’re inside? I’ll go first.”

I shake my head, determined to not be a dead weight, and take a step towards the stairs. A tall, severe woman who looks like she belongs in an 1800s schoolhouse with a ruler in hand appears about halfway down the steps. I startle and grab the railing. She smiles, gesturing for me to come closer, her mouth opening and closing like she’s trying to talk to me, yet no sound escapes beyond a slight rasping wheeze.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you,” I tell her apologetically, shuddering when her face suddenly changes into a hollow sort of stare. I shuffle back a few steps until I can feel Patrick pressed against my back, and his warmth gives me comfort.

“What happened? Is something wrong?” Patrick whispers in my ear as his arms wrap around me, his muscles tense like he’s ready to yank me out of the way at any second, even though he has no idea what the danger is.

“There’s a woman on the stairs. She was trying to talk to me, but now…” A chill runs down my spine. “I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels like she’s no longer the one staring back at me.”

The woman floats down the stairs, getting closer to us, then beckons at me to follow her up. When I don’t move, she gestures faster, her movements turning erratic when I don’t immediately do as she wants. Her mouth drops open with a snarl and a glint comes into her hollow eyes.

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