Page 14 of Spooked
"Ash?" I call, scanning the jungle-like space.
"Over here," comes her shaky reply from behind a massive prop Venus flytrap with human-looking teeth.
I round the installation to find her sprawled on the stone floor, surrounded by broken pottery. She looks up at me with a sheepish expression.
"I may have had a slight disagreement with a carnivorous plant," she says, attempting to brush dirt from her jeans. "The plant won."
Relief floods me, quickly followed by irritation. "What did I say about wandering around on your own?"
"Not to do it." She accepts my outstretched hand, and I pull her effortlessly to her feet. "The storm light was too gorgeous not to capture over here."
I notice her camera clutched protectively in her other hand, apparently unharmed despite her fall. “You could have broken your neck instead of a flowerpot.”
“But I didn’t,” she points out, still holding my hand. “I am sorry about the pot though.”
I wave her off. “It’s no big deal. But you shouldn't be in here. The conservatory glass isn't reinforced like the main house. If the storm gets any worse?—”
As if on cue, a tremendous gust of wind howls around the glass structure, making the panels creak ominously. Rain pounds against the roof like artillery fire.
"Point taken," she says, eyeing the ceiling nervously. "Lead the way, Beast."
I bristle at the nickname, but mostly because from her it sounds...affectionate.
Hell, I must be delirious.
We quickly make our way back to the main house. As we pass through the grand foyer, a massive thunderclap shakes the manor, and all the lights die at once.
Complete darkness envelops us.
Great, now what’s wrong with the emergency lights?
I feel Ash grab my arm, her fingers digging into my bicep. My pulse jumps.
"There are candles in the library. Stay close."
"Not a problem," she says, her voice closer to my ear than I expected.
I guide her through the darkness from memory, one hand on the wall. We reach the library without incident, and I locate the old iron tinderbox on the mantle by feel.
"My grandfather insisted on keeping these," I say as I strike the flint. "Said technology would fail you when you needed it most."
"Very wise," Ash comments as the spark catches, illuminating her face in sudden, warm light.
I light a candle, then another, placing them in heavy silver holders. The flickering flames push back the darkness, revealing the library's grandeur—two stories of books accessed by a wrought iron spiral staircase, overstuffed armchairs arranged around a massive fireplace, and mahogany tables bearing antique globes and astronomical instruments.
"Wow," Ash breathes, turning slowly to take it all in. "How fitting that the Beast has such an amazing library."
I grumble, but can’t help but smile. "It was my favorite room as a child," I admit, surprised by my own candor. "I'd hide in here for hours."
"I can see why." She runs her fingers reverently along leather-bound spines. “Are these first editions?"
"Many of them." I light the kindling already laid in the fireplace, and flames soon spread across split logs.
Ash settles into one of the chairs, looking impossibly small against its large cushions. "So...tour guide...tell me about Marsden Manor, the home."
I hesitate, then take the chair opposite her. The firelight dances across her features, highlighting the slope of her nose, the swell of her cheeks, the poutiness of her lips. For a second, I forget what she's asked.
"The manor was built in 1886," I begin, recovering. "My great-great-grandfather made his fortune in mining and decided Montana needed a proper estate to rival those in Europe."
