Page 136 of The Unfinished Line

“Dillon, come on. Please.” I didn’t move. I would have given anything to take the question back. I couldn’t stand the idea that I’d ruined the outing. “Forget I said anything.”

“Impossible.” She paused, looking over her shoulder. “I remember everything you say. And even the things you don’t say.” The ghost of a smile graced her lips. “Now come on, Kam-Kameryn.”

I hesitated. “Where are we going?”

“I’m going to take you on a proper hike.” She resumed her trek toward the main road. “After all, it’s tradition.”

The twelfth-century castle cast an ominous shadow across the acres of parkland as the sun settled behind the ruin of its western walls. I’d seen the crumbling stone structure plenty oftimes from a distance. It was impossible to miss, sitting atop its hill less than a mile from the heart of the village, but this was the first time I’d had the opportunity to see the landmark up close.

I would have found it charming. I never grew tired of the way ancient fortresses seemingly popped up from nowhere across Great Britain. But today we’d come in through the back side of town, which meant we’d spent the last ten minutes weaving through the massive Swansea cemetery.

It had been my mistake, mentioning to Dillon how the centuries-old tombstones and obliquely protruding grave patches gave me the creeps.

Especially at dusk.

Suddenly, despite having led the entire way at a pace I’d nearly had to jog to keep up with, Dillon became a hobbling invalid, limping along through the most tenebrous sections, taking time to tell me about Lady Alina, the mistress of Oystermouth. Dead these last seven hundred years, her spirit was said to haunt the castle grounds.

“Especially at night.”

“And why exactly would we want to come here, then?” I asked as her swiftness returned up the final grass hill leading to the castle entrance. My cowardly soul found a moment of triumph when I saw the thick chain wrapped around the iron gates. “Oh, what a shame. It’s closed.”

She never gave the entry a second glance, instead continuing around the side of the towering walls, further into shadow.

“Dillon?” I followed for no reason other than I refused to be left alone with a mysterious ghost in the quickly burgeoning darkness.

Coming to a stop beneath a narrow slot vaguely resembling a window, Dillon turned to face me. “Want to go in?”

I glanced at the window in question. It was less than a foot wide and at least ten feet above us—and, to my relief, had a barrunning down the middle to keep idiots out who might be stupid enough to trespass.

“I’m assuming this question is rhetorical.”

I was rewarded with a lopsided smile. “Are you afraid?” She glanced higher. Another dozen feet above the first window was a second—this one without a bar.

“You thinkI’mclimbing that?” I laughed, relieved, because I knew there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that was ever going to happen. “You thinkyou’reclimbing that?” I gave a pointed glance toward her non-weight-bearing leg. “You’re a regular comedian.”

“You think I can’t get inside these walls?” There was something in the timbre of her voice that made me wish I hadn’t challenged her. “Tell me, what do I get if I prove you wrong?”

“The satisfaction of being right.” I was still doubtful, but I knew better than to put anything past her. “As well as the opportunity to spend a lonely night inside a haunted castle.”

“Who said anything about being lonely?” She gave me an arch glance before sweeping aside the knee-high grass with her crutch, prodding for something along the stone. “I’ll have Lady Alina to keep me company.”

Her crutch clanked against something that sounded hollow. With a smug smile, she smoothly dropped to the ground—despite her straight-locked knee—and a second later her legs disappeared into the wall.

A drainage pipe, I realized. One that was too dark. Too narrow. And—with little doubt—too full of spiders.

“Enjoy your transcendental tryst.” I stepped back. “I’m sure you’ll give Ol’ Alina a thrill.” The last glacier in Antarctica was going to melt before she convinced me to crawl into that hole.

“I’m calling your bluff, Kam-Kameryn. You’d get jealous.” Her body vanished up to her shoulders.

“I’d be more jealous of catching the flu.”

“Suit yourself.” Her dimples creased as the last glow of sunset turned her hair to amber. “I would have made it worth your while.”

Then she was gone, crutches and all.

I stood alone in the unfolding blackness.

I absolutely was not going. I didn’t care if she’d smiled at me in a way she hadn’t smiled at me in months. I didn’t care if the thought of being locked alone with her behind two-foot solid stone walls ignited a blaze in every fiber of my body. I refused to be the substantiating proof that even the highest form of intelligence could be undermined by corporeal desires.

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