Page 7 of Spooked
The storm continues to rage outside, rain pounding against leaded glass windows like desperate fingers seeking entry.
At the bottom of the stairs, my phone buzzes with a text. It’s from Willa.
Where are you?? Dash says the roads are terrible.
I’m stuck at Marsden Manor because the access bridge is damaged. I won't make it to you tonight. I have to stay with the Beast.
OMG! Now I’m really worried.
Don’t be. The Beast is…kinda hot.
Oh, geez.You are definitely telling me EVERYTHING tomorrow. And I mean EVERYTHING!
Bet!
I chuckle, sliding my phone into my pocket as I reach the dining room.
The space could be straight out of a Gothic novel: a gigantic oak table that seats about twenty, ornate candelabras flickering light across dark wood paneling, and a chandelier that looks like it's been waiting a lifetime to fall on some unsuspecting guest's head.
It’s as if Dracula decided to host a kitschy dinner party. Ridiculous and awe-inspiring at the same time.
I count six place settings crowding one end of the huge table.
"Ah, our captive has arrived," says a wiry man with wild ginger hair as I enter. He wears an outfit patterned with little glow-in-the-dark-skeletons as he fiddles with a small mechanical device. "I'm Howie. Special effects wizard." He gives an exaggerated bow that nearly topples him into a suit of armor standing guard in the corner.
"Careful," Ghost says, materializing from the shadows so suddenly I nearly jump. "That's authentic sixteenth century."
"Totally overrated," Howie deadpans.
“Great to meet you, Howie,” I say, eyeing the table.
Devin enters carrying a bottle of wine. "Ash, I hope you're settling in alright, despite the circumstances."
"The blue room is beautiful," I say, accepting the glass of blood red wine they pour for me. Fitting. "Though I had a brief power outage."
"Old house, old wiring," Devin nods.
"Wolfe came to my rescue," I say.
Ghost and Devin exchange a look I can't quite interpret, but before I can probe further, a weathered man with silvery hair and a beard enters from what I assume is the kitchen, carrying a steaming tureen.
"Lee Novak," he introduces himself with a nod. "Groundskeeper and damn good cook. Hope you like venison stew."
"Never had it, but I'm game," I say, then wink.
Lee cracks a smile. "I like her already."
The stew smells wonderful, rich and hearty. My stomach rumbles embarrassingly loud, reminding me I haven't eaten since this morning.
"Where's our gracious host?" I ask, trying to sound casual.
"Probably brooding in front of a mirror practicing his scowl," Howie says, earning him an elbow from Devin.
"I'm right here."
Wolfe's voice comes from behind me. I turn to find him filling the entryway, still masked but having changed into a dark gray knit sweater that stretches across his sinfully broad chest. The sleeve on his right arm is pushed up to the elbow, revealing a corded forearm, while his left arm remains covered. I’m guessing he has scars there too.
It just seems to add to his sex appeal. He’s like some modern Nordic battle-scarred god.
