Page 41 of This Haunted Heart

“You got away from me, you mean.” His lips quirked.

“Yes, and you’ve gone and ruined it now. As is your habit,” I bit out.

His lashes lowered and he shuffled his feet, looking as close to rueful as I’d ever seen him. “I came to show you to your room.”

I pointed at the peculiar door behind us. “Show me that room.”

“Absolutely not,” he said darkly. “No one goes in that room. Not even I do.”

“Why?” My eyes were pulled toward it once more. Everything about it captivated me, from the swirling pattern in the grain of the blackened wood to the salty scent of ironthat tinged the air from the heavy locks, the crisp smell of rose petals, the stark contrast of crimson against the ebonized wood.

Though others found it peculiar of me, I had always believed that houses had feelings. This home longed to be filled with something other than melancholy and loneliness. I was sensitive to it like I often was to the emotions of others, carrying them around on my back, picking up on feelings before the people around me did.

The temperature dropped suddenly. I hugged my lantern, absorbing the warmth through the glass.

Finley sighed, and his breath fogged. “Hear me, Rynn. It’s only natural for the living to be curious about the dead. I’m not surprised you wandered over here, that’s how I found you so quickly. I knew you’d feel the pull. I knew you’d come. You’ll feel it again, but you mustn’t ever try to open those locks. Stay out of that room.”

I glanced between him and the door. A petal dropped from one of the roses, floating delicately toward the ground.

“The dead?” As his words sunk in, I scoffed at him. “Are you trying to tell me there areghostsin there?”

“There are ghosts all over this house,” he said, lowering his lantern, illuminating his strong jaw and casting the top of his face into foreboding shadow. “What’s in there isn’t to be trifled with. Stay out of that room, Rynn. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

I didn’t believe in ghosts—especially not ghosts who apparently could be thwarted by a lock and key. Who’d ever heard of a spirit who couldn’t pass through walls? His expression had turned so severe, I didn’t doubt thathebelieved in them. It wasn’t the metaphorical sort we were talking about here.

Then again, why should I take him at his word? What if he stored the household safe in that room, and he wanted to keep me away with more trickery? Perhaps that was where he planned to hold my fortune.

“My interest in that door isn’t preternatural,” I said, letting out a humorless laugh that misted in the unseasonably cooler air. “You’ve got it covered in locks. Anyone with a predisposition like mine would be curious.”

“You mean anyone with an inclination to steal?” He raised a brow at me archly.

“Or an inclination to retrieve what they’re owed by any means necessary,” I bit out. “I was attempting to retire from theft. It’s not my fault you’ve sent me back to it with your poor treatment.”

He stepped up to me, squaring his shoulders. “You think my treatment of you is poor? Which part? The part where I made you scream while you came on my tongue? Or is it all the luxury you’re being treated to now that’s so egregiously unfair?”

“You know fucking well what you’ve done!” My shouted words bounced off the walls. “You stole from me, you’ve made me a prisoner here, and every word out of your mouth is coercion!” I squeezed my lantern so tightly between my fingers that the globe of glass rattled against the metal base.

A muscle in his cheek jumped. “And your words aren’t coercion? Isn’t that exactly what your trades and transactions are? Just pretty tricks.”

“At least my trades are fair! I give you a say in them. What say have you ever granted me?”

Melancholy shaded his tawny eyes even more heavily than the shadows. “You only pretend to care, pretend you wantthings you actually don’t, just to leave me guessing. You pretend it’s not a trap with your pretty words and a tempting smile, but that’s exactly what it is. At least I leave no doubt about my intentions.”

“What in hell are you talking about?” I glared up at him, as angry as I was confounded. “Ididcare about you. I cared about you and your stupid sadness the moment I met you. It’s you that went and ruined things between us with trickery. Not me.”

He snatched the lantern from me, and when I tried to take it back, he raised it over his head, out of my reach. I grabbed for it once, then gave up, refusing to allow him the satisfaction of another fight I’d lose.

“Come on then,” he grumbled. “Let’s go see this horrid prison I’ve readied for you to sleep in, shall we?” He marched off down the hall, taking the illumination with him.

The corridor dimmed and the shadows pressed in around me, and I had no choice but to follow him, casting one last long look at the mystery door.

This was a house that wanted to be lived in. I felt it in every groaning floorboard and creak of wood. Could sense it in each lonely room I entered. Smelled it in the cool citrus scent of the flowers. I didn’t believe there were ghosts here, but I was certain that at the end of that hall was a door covered in locks longing to be opened.

* * *

Finley took me up the back staircase and past the small library with the dull books. The bedroom he showed me was brightly lit by candles, and a lantern glowed warmly beside a beddressed in billowy duvets and pillows. Another bouquet—this one full of pink carnations—sat on the fireplace mantel, letting off a green, earthy scent.

I repressed all the delighted sounds my mouth wanted to make. The decorations reminded me of a secret garden. A padded window seat was strewn with pillows embroidered with bright flowers, the scrollwork around the fireplace resembled ivy crawling up a trellis, and the books on the bookcase looked very promising. The colorful cloth covers begged to be opened to reveal what was hidden within.

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