Page 19 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

“Pfft. I run into burning buildings for a living and before that, I battled wildfires. I can handle this.”

“It’s not haunted.” She says with a smile as if to imply the opposite.

Except that some of the choices I’ve made in my life linger like ghosts, and I wonder if Honey has a few specters of the past who occasionally show themselves. I’m not rethinking my decision to take on this town but am reconsidering my tactics. Above all, I wish I’d never gotten involved with Emberly.

“You say it’s not haunted like you’re reverse trying to convince me not to go in.”

“That’s like calling a pancake a flapjack.”

I grunt. “So you’re not scared?”

“Nothing scares me, Maddock.” The way she says my name suggests the opposite. Like she’s trying to be brave. Not because she’s afraid of me but of what would happen if she let down her guard.

“This will be an adventure.” My gaze holds hers for one lingering moment before I get out of the truck.

Honey exits before I can open the door for her. Breezing past me, she strides toward the chateau. The falling sunlight makes the stained glass window on the north side of the house glow like a beacon.

Honey picks up a peacock feather and twists it in her hand. During wildfires out west, birds are always in need of new homes. After the last months of settling the divorce, I feel like I’m trying to outrun a fire and find someplace to land. The stone steps are slick with slimy moss, but even in the wedge sandals, Honey’s steps are sure.

I say, “I take it you’ve been here before.”

“Many times.”

“Was it a high school dare to come here at night or something?”

“No, that was to sleep in the graveyard.”

“Which you did?”

“Of course.”

Honey gestures for me to open the big wooden door. I take out the key.

She says, “You won’t need that.”

“It’s unlocked, meaning anyone can come in and rob the place.”

Her smile suggests that I should know the answer. “Generally speaking, yes.”

I shoot her a quizzical look but stick close to her as we enter a cavernous rotunda-style entryway with a chandelier overhead. It’s barely hanging on as if someone once literally swung from it.

I say, “Looks like a fun party.”

“Depends on your definition of fun.”

Everything is damp. Wallpaper peels in long sheets from the plaster. Moldering leaves carpet the floor and the actual carpet squelches underfoot. Nature and a pack of wild boars hardly spared a single item, fixed or decorative. Why would Emberly let a place like this fall to ruin?

Honey juts her hip like she’s bored and would rather be anywhere but here. Yet, in her gaze, I see sadness as if memories filter back, but instead of saving them in a scrapbook, it’s like she’d rather toss them in a fire.

“What happened?”

Her expression falters. “To me?” she asks as if that’s none of my business.

I’ll bookmark that for later. “To this place.”

She answers with a question as if running a background check. “What are you really doing here?”

“A revenge plot.”

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