Page 6 of Spooked
Despite myself, I follow her gaze. The jagged lightning illuminates the mountain peaks in flashes of brilliant light, creating a dramatic silhouette against the night sky. It is spectacular.
"Delete them," I say, but with little conviction.
She studies me for a moment, then turns her camera so I can see the display. “Here, look.” The four-poster bed beside her is reflected in the screen, creating a frame within a frame for her landscape shot. "They're just landscapes, Wolfe. No secrets exposed."
Her casual use of my first name throws me. Most people who've just met me don't dare such familiarity. But when Ash says it…something inside me unfurls. I look at the images on her display and have to admit they're remarkable. She's captured the wildness of the storm, the primal beauty of lightning against the mountain.
"You have an eye for this," I concede reluctantly.
"Thank you. That's why magazines hire me," she replies, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I see things others miss."
Something about the way she says it, the way her eyes flick to my mask then away, makes my skin prickle with awareness.
"The back up lights should have come on by now," I say, changing the subject. My flashlight beam sweeps across the room.
"Maybe your haunted mansion is actually haunted," she suggests with a teasing smile. Behind her, an antique mirror reflects our figures—her small and defiant, me looming like the monster I am.
"It's the wiring. This place is over a hundred years old." I step further into the room, sweeping the flashlight across the walls to the where the fuse box is hidden behind a painting of my great-grandmother. The beam catches on crystal decanters and antique perfume bottles arranged on a vanity, sending fractured light dancing across the ceiling. "The blue room has its own circuit."
I set the flashlight on a marble-topped table and move the painting aside.
Inside the fuse box, the main switch has tripped. I flip it back, and the wall sconces flicker to life. The blue wallpaper seems to shimmer in the renewed light, its pattern of faded peacock feathers almost moving in the shadows.
"The Beast of Marsden Manor tames the spirit world and electricity?" Ash asks with exaggerated wonder.
I turn to face her, irritation and something else battling in my chest. "Don't call me that."
She tilts her head. "Isn't that what everyone calls you? The Beast of Marsden Manor: the monster behind the mask."
"What the public sees isn’t exactly reality."
"Then show me the reality," she challenges. "That's why I'm here, isn't it? To show your attraction to the world?"
“Sometimes reality can be too frightening,” I reply.
She's too close now, close enough that I can smell her…so sweet and fresh. Not fit for this old house filled with darkness. I can see the bursts of amber in her brown eyes, the light dusting of freckles across her nose. The room suddenly feels far too small, its walls closing in around us.
"You're here to take approved photographs under specific conditions," I correct her, not moving away despite every instinct telling me to maintain my distance. "Nothing more."
"Approved photographs rarely tell the truth," she says softly. A flash of lightning illuminates her face, throwing her features into sharp relief against the blue walls. "And I'm always looking for the truth, Wolfe."
The way she says my name sends an unwelcome surge of heat through my veins. I take a deliberate step back, my boot heel connecting with the solid oak floorboard that always creaks—a sound that echoes throughout the room.
"Dinner is at seven," I say curtly. "The dining room is down the stairs to your left. Be careful, if the lights go out, and try not to get lost on your way."
I turn to leave, but her voice stops me at the door.
"I'm not afraid of you, you know."
I look back at her, this woman who's invaded my home with her camera and her fearlessness. She stands framed by the storm-lashed window, small but fierce.
"You should be,” I whisper, as I take my leave.
CHAPTER 3
ASH
Following Wolfe’s instructions, I make my way to the dining room at precisely seven o'clock.
