Page 13 of Accidentally Vacationed with an Incubus

“Those are, uh... lovely shutters you’re rattling.”

The rattling stopped instantly. One single shutter creaked open, slow and suspicious, like it was assessing whether my compliment was genuine.

Was I actually going to flirt with the ghost?

I sighed and doubled down. I needed to peddle my charm if I was going to have a roof over my head for the night. “Are they... original?”

The single shutter trembled excitedly.

Alright. This was happening.

“And the windows—positively sparkling.” I gestured vaguely. “Did you... recently have them washed? You shouldn’t hide such pretty windows behind shutters.”

The shutters quivered in delight. Then, all of them swung open at once, revealing the gleaming glass beneath, catching the moonlight as the house preened at the compliment.

I caught a glimpse of something above the door: a dust-covered security camera, barely visible beneath a layer of cobwebs. For a brief moment, I wondered if the owner of this haunted house was sitting somewhere with popcorn, watching as one monster after another fled in terror, collecting footage of the chaos for their own amusement. Well, they wouldn’t be getting a show from me.

Steeling my nerves, I stepped onto the porch, running a finger over the wooden pillar. Intricate carvings wound their way up the column—a delicate crisscross of brambles, twisting and curling around the grain. I exhaled softly, brushing my thumb over the design.

“This is beautiful,” I said, and—surprisingly—I meant it.

The front door swung open with a dramatic creak, and light exploded from within, candle flames bursting to life on every available surface. A warm breeze curled around my legs, not threatening, but urging me inside. I hesitated, sucking in a deep breath before stepping over the threshold, and found myself exhaling with a whistle.

The interior wasbreathtaking.

If I’d had the imagination for it, this was exactly what my home would look like in the Shadow Realm. In fact, I was already mentally mapping every detail, committing it to memory. Because once I figured out how the hell to get back to my realm, I was going to conjure a replica of this cabin down to the very last carved detail.

A cast iron woodstove crackled merrily in the stone hearth, its glow spilling warmth into the room. Above it, sprigs of dried herbs hung from the mantle, the heat teasing out their scent, filling the space with the comforting aroma of rosemary, thyme, and something faintly floral.

A couch—draped in what could only be described as an unholy number of blankets and throws—faced the fire, and I felt an almost overwhelming urge to collapse onto it, curl up in front of the flames, and alternate between sleeping and reading a smutty romance for the next century.

The coffee table looked hand carved, its angles slightly askew, as if someone had poured their love into the craftsmanship but not necessarily their measuring skills. Stacks of board games and jigsaw puzzles filled its bottom shelf, adding to the feeling that this wasn’t just a house, but a home.

I tried to shove aside the unsettling bit of information the old basilisk had hinted at—the tragic fate of the previous owners and their daughter.

A sudden whistling from the next room made me start, and I turned toward the sound. The kitchen was just as big as the living room, all rustic charm and warmth, worn in the best way. Aside from an old gas stove, where a kettle merrily boiled, there were no obvious appliances. If there were any, they must have been cleverly hidden inside the cabinets.

It was perfect.

Right down to the handmade table, its carved brambles twisting elegantly up the legs.

The moment the whistling quieted, a softclinkechoed through the kitchen. A cup appeared on the counter, just as one of the cupboard doors swung open to reveal an array of jars, each brimming with herbs. My mouth watered as I spied a chamomile blend.

I hesitated, glancing around the very empty room before clearing my throat. “Uh... is that cup for me?” I asked, feeling ridiculous for talking to empty space. A soft swishing sound filled the air, and out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a billowing bedsheet vanishing behind the doorframe.

Okay. So not quite alone. And, so far, not in any immediate danger.

My fingers clasped around the jar of chamomile tea. I tipped a generous amount into the strainer and poured the boiling water over it, inhaling the familiar, soothing scent. If nothing else, this tea would at least help me sleep in a house with a ghost.

“This is wonderful,” I said, directing my voice toward the space where the ghost had been. “May I see upstairs?”

Instantly, candles flared to life in the far corner of the living room, casting warm golden light over the stairway. As I made my way to the stairs, I caught sight of the ghost peeking over the headrest of the wooden-framed armchair, watching me carefully as I explored its home.

The steps creaked beneath me, the weight of the ghost’s gaze lingering on my back.

The small landing at the top had four doors. I placed a hand on the first, pushing it open. Inside, the bathroom was rustic and inviting, dominated by a freestanding cast iron tub that looked so comfortable, I nearly abandoned my exploration on the spot. If I survived the night, I was definitely going to have a long soak in it. A climbing plant had claimed one wall, its vines creeping onto the ceiling, weaving between the wooden beams. Candlesin ornate wall sconces cast flickering shadows across a large bathroom mirror, which sat above a deep ceramic sink.

I caught a flash of movement in the mirror, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end as I made eye contact with the ghost watching me from the landing. I exhaled, shook off the unease, and when I glanced back in the mirror, the ghost was gone.

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