Page 77 of Eldritch

The lights.

She flipped the switch. Still not working. Heaving a sigh, she halted. She turned on the flashlight on her phone. Headed downstairs. Carefully. Step by step. When she reached the bottom, she caught something out of the corner of her eye. She jerked. Swept the light across the area.

Nothing. Those ridiculous lizard-like tracks were gone. Obviously, one of her crew had cleaned them up without mentioning it.

She moved forward again.

What are you doing?

She’d wanted to look at that box again in the back of the cellar. No. Now wasn’t the time.

She needed to call Clarice about getting an electrician out here. That was more important than staring at a box.

She headed upstairs more quickly than she’d come down, closed the door and locked it.

The door knocker banged.

Another moment, she heard the door opening and voices.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Letisha’s voice echoed all the way into the Great Hall.

A second later, another voice, this one far deeper. “Hey there Letisha. Haven’t seen you in forever.”

Sybil identified the deep voice with the twang. The good ole boy tone. The don’t worry your head about it little lady inflection she’d ignored to her peril.

Taggert.

Raw annoyance and apprehension hit her.

“Shit,” she whispered.

She came to a dead stop before anyone in the octagon room could see her.

“What are you doing here?” Letisha said again.

“Is Sybil here?” The man’s voice held that charm that had worked on Sybil at the beginning of their relationship.

“No,” Letisha said.

“Oh, come on.”

“How did you even know we were here?”

“I’ve got my ways.”

“This is private property.”

“So, what are you doing on it?” His Texas charm disappeared, replaced with a hardness that sliced to the bone.

Letisha didn’t have time to answer, because Sybil stepped into the Octagon and met eyes with Taggert.

“Hello, Taggert,” Sybil said. “I’ve got this, Letisha.”

Letisha backed away from the door, and that’s when Sybil noticed the swirl of snow in the wind. The promised winter storm had arrived.

“Hey,” he said with renewed cheerfulness as he stepped inside the front door. “Girl, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”

He’d always owned an old-fashioned way of speaking, especially for a young man, and she almost pulled a face.

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