Page 298 of Castings & Curses

I’ve extended my hand to shake hers, but apparently, she’s not interested; I swiftly take it back and fidget with my fingers instead. “Sorry, er. I’m Rowan. I... Thanks for letting me in last night.”

“I didn’t.” She focuses her attention on the table, still not moving.

“You... Erm, okay.” I follow her gaze. My cheeks burn at once. “I’m so sorry for the mess. And I’m sorry I ate half your bread. I was so hungry. And then I got super scared and—”

“No worries.”

Two-words blondie ambles towards the fridge to take another jug of orange juice. She disappears into the larder and comes back with a fresh loaf under the arm and some chocolate spread. She clears a space on the table and sits down to eat.

I rush to tidy up the rest of the table, then focus on cleaning the remaining juice on the floor.

“Leave it,” the woman says, mouth half-full. “It’ll get cleaned later.”

“But surely I can’t let someone clean up after my mess.”

“As you please, but it’ll get cleaned anyway.”

My brain strives to make sense of what’s happening, but the sheer awkwardness and surrealism of the situation just makes me sigh. I get on my knees and wipe the juice. I need an outlet to help my thoughts focus, and there’s nothing else to do. From time to time, I take a gander at Goldilocks, whose features remain hidden under the curtain of blonde hair. I only just figure her single visible eye is some shade of blue.

Once I’m done, I turn to her again as she’s getting up. “I’m really grateful for the help last night. I got lost and...” The memory of what had found me makes me shudder, but I push it away fast and swallow hard. “I know I’ve trespassed but thank you for helping me. I’ll be on my way now.” Without pause, I strut towards the door. I can tell when I’m not welcome.

“You can’t leave.”

I stop in my tracks and turn. “What? Why not?”

“There’s a monster looking for you. You’re not safe out there.”

I falter. I hold on to the doorjamb as my head spins out of control. Before I can say anything, the woman passes by me and stops just outside the kitchen, her back to me.

“You are welcome to stay here until the danger’s past. There’s enough food in the larder to splurge if that’s your thing. Find yourself a room upstairs. There’ll be clothes. And if you need to inform someone...” She turns her head just enough for me to see the sheer azure of her eyes gleam in the scarce light of the corridor. “There’s no cell reception here, so I hope they won’t worry too much.”

On that ominous note, she saunters back to the main hall, slippers clip-clopping on the marble floors, hands in the flannel pockets of her pajamas, leaving me stunned and scared at the kitchen door.

CHAPTER7

A few minutes later,I’m out the door, resolved to find my way back to civilization and leave this crazy night and place far behind. The sun, high over the canopy of trees, welcomes me with warmth and light. I inhale the fresh, mossy air. It’s not so bad out here after all. The memories of last night rapidly fade away in the view of such natural beauty.

The undergrowth shivers to my right. I calculate my position and decide that it’s the exact direction whence the monster appeared this morning. My body tenses at once and I hold my breath as I slowly turn my head towards the noise. When a doe jumps out of the bushes into the open grounds, I scream and run back inside, slamming the door shut and leaning against it, out of breath, sweat dripping from my forehead.

Okay, that’s not gonna work. I reach for my phone, remembering too late I left it at home yesterday. Great. There’s no way I’m going back out there, so what now? I peer around me at the wooded corridor leading to the marble hall and resign myself. If I’m to stay here, I’ll make the most of it.

The place looks like a designer’s nightmare—or most amazing dream if said designer could revamp it. The wood-paneled walls of the corridor could use a touch of varnish. Better yet, a complete make-over to give it a more welcoming, homey feeling—add some paintings or pictures, a few potted plants, a designer bench here, and over there an antique console table. Ideas dance in my mind to the beat of my imagination.

Then there’s the parlor I spent the night in, all dusty and gloomy. I go to open the shutters, but they’re stuck. How long have they been closed? The books are coated in grime. Gods, this place needs a good cleaning. My thoughts wander back to the amazing food in the kitchen. Surely, if there’s such a wonderful cook around, there should be a janitor too. The great hall is tidy enough, so is the corridor. The overall aspect of the place seems sanitary, but not exactly clean. Just like the statues in the hall, this room’s furniture looks dusted but not polished. The leather of the Chesterfield sofa is worn, and the coffee table lost its varnish a long time ago. But objects like the books on the shelves have not been given any attention in months, maybe years.

I frown. I’m not particularly house-proud or fussy about cleanliness, but as a future interior designer, I expect places like this manor to be well kept, with lovingly looked-after fixtures and decorations. It’s all about tender loving care, and this place cruelly lacks any of it. I’ll have to do something about that.

Across the corridor from the parlor, I find a masked door neatly concealed within the wood panels. Its knob is missing though, but I make a mental note to find out what secret could lurk behind. I enter the great hall again and make my way upstairs, stopping on the balcony to admire the hall from above. Visions of parties and balls that may have been thrown in this magnificent room cross my mind’s eye, and I imagine how the warm light of the chandelier would make the statues look alive.

A scratching sound makes my skin crawl, and I jump, turning around slowly, heart pumping in my chest like crazy. A beautiful long-haired cat, a grey Persian with sparkling blue eyes, is sprawling and clawing at the frayed rug near the windows.

A loud sigh of relief sails through my unclenched lips. “Hey kitty!”

I approach the cat to pet him, but he skitters away at my attempted touch and runs down the right aisle. He stops in front of a door and stares at me with the least interest it could muster, then meows and rubs against the doorjamb.

“You’re playing hard to get, huh? Or are you trying to get me into trouble?” I hesitate. Goldilocks downstairs told me to find a room, but there are dozens of doors on either side; I don’t feel like intruding any more. “Then again, it’s not like I have better things to do, eh?”

Obviously, I succumb to curiosity and follow the cat, opening the door to find a desolate room with broken furniture thrown around and wallpaper peeling off. I frown and look for the feline, but he’s already trotted further down the hallway, purring against another door. I close the door and go on with the game, finding a room with furniture covered in white sheets this time, a perfect picture of interior design frozen in time.

---