Page 4 of Never Been Gargoyled
“It was your imagination. You’re spooked, and it’s not even close to Halloween yet,” I whispered. “Screw your brain back on and look at this rationally.”
It wasn’t like anyone knew I was here. Actually, the planning board did. I’d needed approval for my renovation project, plus permits, and they’d been granted. But it wasn’t like I’d sent advanced notice of when I’d arrive.
I lifted my bag, shouldering it, and peered around at my new home.
The floor creaked ominously under my feet, but it felt solid enough. The wide planks looked original. Great Aunt Helga had mentioned restoring the place years ago, and through the dust, I could see she’d done a great job.
And man, had she adored floral wallpaper. That lifted off with lots of elbow grease, something I had plenty of.
As I moved around the front parlor, dust bloomedwith every step. My lungs didn’t thank me. But I was standing. Moving. Barely. The fall through the window hadn’t done me any favors, but no bones had been broken, and I wasn’t actively bleeding, so that counted as a win.
The inside of this place was…a lot.
Heavy curtains hung from tall windows, and drop cloths covered the furniture like a bunch of ghosts had decided to take a nap. I tugged one cloth off after another, coughing through the dust billowing around me, but with my grin growing wider.
I paused to admire a velvet chaise, deep plum with golden trim, one like you’d expect in a gothic romance. A real one, not the kind with moody billionaires. The chandelier above was sagging, but that could be fixed. Cobwebs covered it, complete with dead bug collections. Gross.
In the distance, something scurried. If there were mice in the vicinity, I hoped they still lived outside.
“This is fine,” I said, brushing off my leggings. “Totally fine. Great, even.”
The light switch by the door did absolutely nothing, but the wires could be old and cranky, and I’d known better than to expect a miracle. The electric company had said the power was back on. That meant there had to be a breaker box somewhere. Probably in the basement. Of course it would be in the basement.
Wandering through the house, I passed a living room with a fireplace full of old ashes and a mirror that reflected ghostly me standing in the hall. Theair smelled like old wood, mothballs, and history. It wrapped around me like a cloak, but cloaks were cool, right? They could be warm and snuggly.
The stairs to the basement groaned as I descended, my phone light on and the device tucked into the front of my sports bra like a very expensive and not-at-all-reliable talisman.
The basement was cold and clammy, but at least it had cement floors instead of dirt. Exposed pipes everywhere, shelves full of old canning jars, and boxes holding long-forgotten treasures or tax returns from the 1970s. The breaker box hung on the far wall, half hidden behind an old armoire.
“Come to mama,” I whispered, easing behind the armoire and flipping the front door open. Everything inside looked ancient but intact. With one deep breath and a silent prayer to the gardening fates, I flipped the main breaker. A single click. And?—
Buzz.
Flick.
Hummmm.
Lights flickered to life above me.
Victory. Sweet, glowing victory.
Next stop: water.
The laundry sink in the corner still had its knobs. Rusted, sure, but turnable. Cold water spat at me, then steadied. Hot water, slower, but it came. The big hot water heater parked in the corner clicked, and I danced in a circle, celebrating the sound.
I cranked the water off and released a whoop that probably woke the spiders.
Back on the ground floor, the air already felt warmer. Livelier. Like the house had taken its first real breath in years and was trying to remember how to live again. I made my way up the main staircase, running my hand along the sturdy banister, which had been carved with tiny flowers and vines. Someone had loved this place once, and I already adored it myself.
The second floor opened into a long hallway lined with more rooms than I could count, but one at the end called to me. Massive. The door slightly ajar. Inside, I stared up at a cathedral ceiling, sweeping my gaze across a big bay window, a real fireplace, and a four-poster bed big enough to sleep a literal army. Or just me. Well, unless I decided to find a local hook-up. I wasn’t usually the hook-up type, but I was open to checking out the prospects.
The mattress held firm when I sat, and the bedding wrapped in plastic inside the closet looked promising. A little musty, sure, but not mouse-eaten as far as I could tell. I threw open the tall windows to let in fresh air, and got to work making the bed, tossing the drop cloth into a dusty pile in the corner.
By the time I’d smoothed the last pillow into place, my muscles ached in the good kind of way. Theearned-itkind of way. Outside, stars glittered like frost. Somewhere in the house, a pipe groaned.
With the plumbing working, there was only one logical next step. A bath. A long, hot, bubble-filled bath. The attached bathroom—ensuite,a term my great aunt once used, held the bathtub of every woman’s dreams.
An enormous clawfoot tub. Black on the outside, white enamel on the inside, with iron feet that looked suspiciously like the front claws of the gargoyle playing sentinel on my roof. The water steamed from the tap. I scrubbed out the tub, then plugged the hole and poured in a few glugs of bubble bath I’d brought along for morale and watched the foam climb like me scaling a mountain. The wine I’d tucked into my bag came out next, along with my favorite book, a monster romance featuring an orc cowboy hero and the heroine, a social media influencer. A quick trip to the kitchen gave me a gorgeous, fluted wineglass.
