Page 66 of This Haunted Heart

The geese were testy this morning. They hissed and flapped their wings when we got too close. There were so many of them, it was difficult to avoid them entirely.

We gathered a few fistfuls of morels, then I took her to the weeping willow viewable from her bedroom window, and we laid the basket amongst the roots. I pulled out a book I’d tucked inside the lapel of my gray blazer before leaving the house, my copy ofTreasure Island.

“What’s that for?” she asked me. “Do the witches like to read?”

“I used to bring them things that I thought they wanted: fabric, bread, supplies for their looms, yarn, knitting needles, tools made of bone, beautiful flowers—things of that sort. But over time I learned they like it best when I leave them something that’s of importance to me,” I explained, adding the book to the bottom of the basket, careful not to crush the mushrooms.

She chewed on her lip for a long moment. A breeze stirred her onyx curls, loosening a few strands from the scarf in her braided hair. “Hold on. I want to add one, too,” she said.

She returned several minutes later with an old copy ofHansel and Gretel. Her favorite fairytale. It was the story I’d used to teach her to read. She added it to the small wicker basket beside my book.

“You don’t think they’ll be offended by the foul way they’re represented in that fairytale, do you?” she asked me.

I chortled. “I think as long as it’s important to you, they won’t mind, but we’ll find out soon enough.”

The wind picked up, rustling the willow’s drooping branches around us. Darkening clouds threatened rain overhead.

“What do we do now?” She brushed her hair out of her face.

“Usually, I talk at them for a bit, then I come back in the morning to see if they accepted my offering.”

“Oh.” She went sheepish then, feet shuffling under her skirt. “Could I talk to them . . . alone?”

It made me nervous leaving her outside. Being away from her at all put a pinch in my chest, right between my ribs.

“All right,” I told her, because denying her anything was becoming increasingly difficult, day by day. “I’ll see you inside.”

As I sauntered away, her lovely voice carried on the wind.

“Don’t be too harsh with Loch,” she told the willow tree and the witches who listened. “Last night we had a bit of a misunderstanding. And if anyone deserves to show that man some wrath after all we’ve been through together, it’s me and only me. I wouldn’t appreciate it if you tried to take that from me with geese.”

A laugh rumbled out of my chest. Her words were relatable. I felt the exact same way about her.

* **

I awoke bright and early the next morning to the sound of the bell tied to Rynn’s door tinkling. I rolled out of bed and pulled on a housecoat. Out in the hall, I caught her descending the stairs, and I hurried after her. She usually walked in her sleep early in the night, but I followed just in case. I didn’t want her to fall.

Weak daylight filtered in through the windows, the sun struggling to rise. I found Rynn in one of my nightshirts, standing in front of the ebonized parlor door, staring at the locks. It pleased me that she still wore my clothing even though she had hers back.

“Rynn?” I called gently.

“I’m awake,” she said, her back to me as she studied the parlor door.

“What are we doing down here?”

“I keep dreaming about this stupid door and that horrid house in Light Lily. I was having dreams about the baron’s angry voice, but then you told me he was gone for good, and I stopped hearing him.” She took a steadying breath. “I think I need to have a peek inside to make the dreams about this door go away. Just a quick look, and maybe my mind will let it go like it did your father’s voice.”

“No, Rynn.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Hm.” I hated to leave her in this state: curious and anxious and looking hopeless. “Come on,” I told her. When I extended my hand, she took it.

“Where are we going?”

“I have an idea.” I removed my housecoat and tossed it overher shoulders, then I guided her through the kitchen and out the back door. We rounded the manor, barefoot, in grass that was dewy. The flocks of snow geese were gone, but they’d left their feathers everywhere. It coated the lawn like a dusting of snow.

It was a cool spring morning. She hugged herself as we made our way to the parlor windows.

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