Page 8 of Spooked
"We were just discussing your many charms," Devin says, raising their wine glass in salute.
A muscle ticks in his jaw, but he takes the seat at the head of the table in a throne-like chair with clawed feet. I notice the group has left a seat open for me to Wolfe’s right. Ghost sits to Wolfe's left, Devin next to me, Howie next to Devin, and Lee beside Ghost.
"Dig in before it gets cold," Lee says, breaking the tension. "Storm's not letting up, so might as well enjoy a hot meal while we can."
The stew is delicious, not too gamey with full flavors and vegetables and herbs from what Lee proudly tells me is his garden out back.
“Did you have a hand in this, too?” I ask Howie.
“Nah, Lee’s the culinary genius. I just add the”—he mimes sprinkling something—“pizzazz.”
“By which he means he drops the pepper grinder into the pot,” Devin deadpans.
Conversation flows easily among the group—at least, among everyone except Wolfe. I catch him watching me when he thinks I’m not looking, gaze as sharp as a blade. And every time our eyes meet, he scowls and stabs at the potatoes in his stew.
"So how'd you get into photography?" Howie asks through a mouthful of sourdough bread.
"I've always had a camera in my hand," I say. "But professionally, it started after college in L.A. I saw so much in the world I wanted to capture, the beauty in things we take for granted or have preconceived ideas about.” I pause. “Anyway, I built my portfolio with local events, then got a lucky break with a small magazine, and worked my way up from there."
"What made you leave L.A. for San Francisco?" Devin asks.
I feel Wolfe's gaze sharpen on me.
"Change of scenery," I say lightly, not looking up. And to get away from my controlling ex, Neil, whose idea of beauty consisted only of things you could buy with loads of money.
"And you’re friends with Willa McCafferty?" Ghost asks unexpectedly.
I blink at him. "We met in high school when she lived with her mom. Been BFFs ever since. How did you?—"
"Small town," he says simply. "Word gets around, even all the way out here.”
"Ghost is naturally suspicious," Wolfe says, speaking for the first time since sitting down. "Former military."
“So, like you," I say.
Silence falls over the table. I can feel the weight of unspoken history pressing down, heavy as the storm clouds outside.
"Yes," Wolfe says finally. "Like me."
"Howie, tell Ash about the new effects you're working on for the Crimson Chamber," Devin says, clearly changing the subject.
Howie launches enthusiastically into a technical explanation involving pneumatics, light sensors, and something called "bloodless blood" that I only half follow. What fascinates me more is watching the group dynamic—how they protect Wolfe in subtle ways. There's no pity in their interactions, just acceptance and a comfortable familiarity.
After dinner, I offer to help with dishes, but Lee waves me off. "House rule. Guests don’t help clean."
"Then I’ll explore a bit," I say.
Wolfe stiffens. "The manor is off-limits to anyone who doesn't know its quirks."
“I’ll give her a tour,” Devin offers.
“Fine,” Wolfe says, going back to glowering at the dwindling fire, while the others disperse.
Devin leads me through the beginning of the main haunted exhibit, a labyrinth of rooms Wolfe designed himself.
“He’s not usually this…broody,” Devin murmurs as we walk down a corridor. “You unsettle him.”
“Is that good or bad?”
