Page 153 of Flirting with Darkness

“The house will look after you,” she’d said.

I worked my tongue around my dry mouth. “Is this… are you the house?”

The mirror tilted up and down, creaking, and the drawer I’d opened shuffled.

I stared at these objects movingon their own. Either it was the house or someone had put together some sort of intricate pulley system—an invisible one, at that.

Iwasin Elfhame, so… “The former it is.” Nodding, I gave a shaky laugh. “Nice to—uh—meet you? I’m Rose. Can you speak?”

The mirror swivelled side to side, the motion like a head shaking.

“Do you have a name?”

Stillness.

Did my question break some rule of faerie that I didn’t know?

Then the mirror rolled from left to right on its squeaky castors, slower. Was that uncertainty?

“Then, can I call you House?”

The up and down tilt again. That had to be a nod.

So the house had created these clothes. And did that mean it was trying to give me this tiny wisp of underwear?

Tied at the hips with satin bows, it was beautiful, but… “I’m not sure it’s the best idea for me to wear this….” I held up the sheer nightdress. “Orthis. He’s”—I glanced at the bathroom door—“well, we’re married, but… notreally.”

After a brief pause, another drawer slid open. Inside, I found a nightdress made of soft linen. A flounce of lace decorated the low neckline and hem, but it wasn’t see-through.

“Much better. Thank you.” I patted the chest of drawers.

The mirror wheeled back into place, then a clatter of crockery came from near the fireplace. On the table by the chairs had appeared a tea service, steam drifting from the teapot’s spout, and a plate full of sausage rolls and little pies.

I groaned at the savoury smell of herbs and spices and perfectly baked pastry and threw myself at the table. “Thank you, House. Did you make this yourself?” Or was there a chef hidden away in a kitchen somewhere? I had no idea of the building’s layout. I’d have to explore.

The plate slid towards me. I took that as ayes.

I put down my makeshift weapon and it was only now I took a closer look. What I’d thought were golden branches and twigs… No, I’d never seen twigs with joints like that. And branches didn’t have bulbous ends that looked like they would fit perfectly into a socket. The candlestick was made in the form of dozens of tiny bones, vines growing between them. I shivered and backed away. What an odd choice of decor.

And it was only now, as I looked a little more closely ateverythingthat I noticed the crack in the mirror’s frame, the tattiness of the curtains, the threadbare patch on the armchair.

Still, the house was bigger and more luxurious than anything I’d ever seen, and most importantly, I had food—food that smelled wonderful, at that.

Mouth watering, I picked up one of the sausage rolls, and the cheerful blaze in the fireplace stilled. The clock on the mantlepiece stopped.

It was as if the house held its breath.

Ma always did that when she invented some new cake or pastry and gave it to us to try, waiting on our verdict. It warmed my chest and ached in my heart all at once. How were they doing without me?

I raised the sausage roll in a salute to the fireplace, then took a bite. The pastry crunched, its buttery scent coating my mouth a split second before the rich meat inside hit my tongue, salty and rich with pepper, sage, parsley, and just the right amount of thyme. I couldn’t help but groan. It rivalled even Ma’s best work.

“Incredible,” I muttered before devouring the rest of the sausage roll.

The fire leapt back to flickering life, and the clock resumed its steadytick tick tick.

The food kept me occupied until the bathroom door opened again.

Faolán came through, towelling his hair, and the breath caught in my throat, nearly making me choke on my sip of tea.

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