Page 42 of Your Coffin or Mine
“Hilda, would you be so kind as to clean the caskets this week? And keep out of sight,” I bite out, my tone disallowing any argument.
Hilda is so old and decrepit that she can no longer speak, but somehow when she wants, she can communicate. Although she rarely speaks to Doyle. The poor dear only wants to clean and watch soap operas.
He frowns and nods. “Any guest sees your face and there will be widespread panic—no offense, Hilda.”
Her bones fold over themselves as she bows. “Annngnnn”
“Yes, I know. But we have guests now and you cannot be seen in the study. Just go clean something.”
She grumbles, but obeys, and Doyle and I share a look. We won’t be able to keep this up if she is seen.You can explain away many things, but a walking corpse of bones would be impossible.
Doyle eyes me skeptically, his expression full of suspicion. “So you,” he says, jabbing a finger at my person, “who hasn’t slept for longer than an hour or two for years now—years—are all the sudden falling asleep beside a human you’ve known for the span of two days?” He opens his palm in emphasis of how illogical it sounds.
“She thought I was dead.”
Doyle pales and starts pacing. “That is unfortunate.”
“Sit down. It’s fine. I forced my heart to beat long enough to satisfy her. I can handle Aubrey. Tell me about these pesky guests.”
He grins and the smile on his face crinkles the corners of his eyes. It’s cheeky and I don’t trust it. “I really do love her cosplay idea.”
That doesn’t bode well. “What did you donow?”
He sits down and rubs his hands together in excitement. “It’s going to be brilliant. There are thousands of people who are interested in an immersive Dracula experience. The feedback is substantial. My phone has been popping off all night, but I figured as it was, we should only allow a couple of guests. Sort of a trial run.”
“Atrial run? Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Doyle nods. “It’s perfect, really. All you have to do is act surly and arrogant, and they will adore you.”
“Piss off.”
He waves toward me flamboyantly. “See? You’re a natural.”
I detest the entire idea with all my being, but I can’t argue the truth of it. He’s right.
I rub my temples, frustration welling up within me.
“It was your lover’s idea, after all, and I’m sure she will be excited. If we can sell this, it will be plain sailing. We still need the cooks, maids, gardeners... and yeah, an army of staff, basically. I’ve already interviewed someone I like for the hotel manager’s position. You know, we could check in the village and see if?—”
“Please, for the love of god, stop talking. I can literally feel myself losing the will to live.”
Doyle chuckles, knowing if he had his way about it, we would have gotten a housekeeper—a living one, at least—long ago. But I’d wanted nothing and no one to interrupt my solitude.
“For that, you’d have to be alive first. Besides, the place could use a little life in it. We need housemaids and you know it. Hilda hardly counts, since she can’t leave the catacombs.”
“I don’t want anyone else in the castle. But I suppose you have a point.”
He shakes his head. “Why don’t you listen? I usually have points, and several of them.”
“You have three months to convince me. That was the deal, and not a moment longer. The thought of more guests is making my skin crawl already, and I refuse to play a part in this farce. You’re on your own.”
He gets up and walks to the door with a spring in his step. “Is this you talking? Or the stick in your ass?”
“Very funny.”
“By the way, Casanova, the cook will be here sometime late tonight, and the guests should be arriving tomorrow morning. The agency said that is as quick as they are able to get someone here.”
“I suppose that’ll be fine. I plan on showing Aubrey around today. We’ll have a picnic indoors or something, maybe eat in the village.”
