“I’m sure it’s nothing.” But as something else went bang she jumped. “I’ll wait here.”
She watched him walk out of the kitchen. As soon as he was out of the room, she made sure the outside door was locked. Then she peeked out the window, but in the dark garden she couldn’t be sure what was shrubs and shadows and what was her imagination getting the better of her. This behavior wasn’t normal for the ghost.
A few minutes later Caspian came back. “I didn’t see anyone, and I didn’t find anything broken.”
That should have been reassuring, but it wasn’t. The house was still making odd sounds that couldn’t be blamed on the approaching storm or the age of the house.
“Good.” She tried to look relieved but suspected she failed when Caspian didn’t immediately go. “I’m sure it was just the ghost acting up.”
“Yeah.” Now he didn’t look convinced.
“I might go check all the locks.”
“Did you want me to come with you?”
“You just said you didn’t see anything.” The more they talked about the strange noises the more she was sure she heard. Never had being in the house rattled her so much.
“I didn’t.”
Scuffling footsteps on the second floor made her look up. That sounded more like the ghost.
Caspian pointed to the ceiling. “I’ll go check upstairs.”
“Okay… I’ll check those locks. Call out if you see the ghost or something.” It was the or something that was making her stomach tight and her heart bounce high in her chest.
She waited a moment until he’d gone upstairs. Then she walked around and checked all the locks, making sure that the house was closed up properly. She saw nothing out of place and yet she’d never felt so uneasy. She was glad she wasn’t going to be staying here alone.
The house creaked and groaned as if complaining of an ache no one could understand. And while nothing seemed amiss, she jumped with every shudder and bump. For a moment she stood in the entrance looking up at the stairs and the landing that overlooked and then led to the bedrooms where Caspian would be. How easy would it be to just turn off the lights and join him?
She pressed her lips together and forced herself to go back to the kitchen. She would not run upstairs because she was afraid of the noises an old house made. Instead she threw herself into looking through the trunks and seeing what she could learn from the diaries.
While she was curious about Gran’s life and about the details of Callaway House, it felt wrong to be looking. But then if Gran hadn’t wanted them read why keep them? Why write them in the first place?
She skipped over the recent ones but paused at the diaries from twenty-eight years ago. Her teeth worried her lip. What had been written about her birth? She’d always been told that her mother had left soon after because she was scared of the responsibility of looking after a baby… but she’d never come back, never sent a card or a birthday present. As Lydia had gotten older she’d thought it was to escape the Callaway name. Maybe it was both.
Either way she’d stopped worrying about it years ago. If her mother didn’t want to know her, that was fine. She’d had plenty of love from Gran and her aunts. She put the diaries aside and went back a bit further to Callaway House at its peak in the fifties and sixties. Then she took a breath and opened to a random page.
A shopping trip to buy new gloves with a couple of the other women.
That wasn’t what Lydia was expecting. She flicked a few more pages, but there was just more chat about life, including that one of the women was expecting and they didn’t think the man would want her for much longer. He didn’t want a second family, just fun.
Something upstairs crashed.
Lydia jumped up and dropped the diary. Caspian?
Her heart pounded hard while the rest of her was frozen in position. She strained her ears listening for footsteps but heard nothing. And he didn’t call out. The lights flickered twice then settled. In that moment of fear she wished Caspian was down here with her. Shadows danced at the edges of her vision, but when she looked there was nothing there.
Get a grip.
But she couldn’t; panic had taken hold and was ruling her body. Something very odd was going on tonight.
On the floor above something rolled, the sound filled the house, and the hair along her arms spiked. Lydia snatched up the half-dozen books that were on the floor and shoved them back into the trunk, then she slammed the lid closed and turned the key. She grabbed her handbag off the kitchen counter and forced herself to calmly turn off the lights and walk upstairs even though she wanted to run. Her pulse pounded in her ears.
Had Caspian heard the noises? Was he not concerned?
Of course not; it was an old house, making old house noises. It might have been him dropping something. Halfway up the stairs she began to feel more than a little silly.
Then Caspian appeared on the landing. “I was coming down to check on you.”
“I was…” Coming to check on him? Running and hiding? “Just packing away.”
A rumble reverberated through the house. The storm was about to start. She heard the first few drops of rain hit, then it just became a steady drumming.
She walked up the last few stairs. “How’d you get on?”
“Good.” He gave no indication of seeing or hearing anything odd.
“You still up for sleeping in a haunted house?” She tried to make light of it, but part of her wanted to jump in her car and drive to her nice modern apartment.
He grinned. “Ghosts don’t scare me.”
“What does?”
“Fairies.”
She glanced at him, but he looked deadly serious. Okay, no weirder than people who were afraid of clowns, although probably less common. “The ghost never used to worry me, just, I don’t know. It feels strange being here.”
“We don’t have to stay.”
“You’re supposed to tell me everything is fine and to tell me you’ve picked a room.”
“Would you believe me?”
“No. You can feel it, right?” I’m not going crazy.
He nodded, then looked at her and smiled. “The room with the blue and white floral quilt,” he said as he walked past and went downstairs to pick up his overnight bag.
She turned to watch as he walked away. He had picked a room. Her lips curved. Well, what else was he going to be thinking about while going through the bedrooms? She remembered the way he’d stood with one hand on the bed, thinking. Thinking of the auction like he’d said, or thinking of something else?
The room he’d suggested wasn’t the one she’d seen him in. She turned on the light and tried to work out why he’d picked this room. The bed was just a plain wrought-iron four-post bed that didn’t even look antique. She was a little disappointed. She’d thought he’d go for the obvious antique. The big old bed that still had sheer curtains hanging from the top—it’s what she would’ve picked. For a moment she considered suggesting somewhere else, but when she turned he was in the doorway with his bag in his hand. His eyes shimmered with desire. She glanced back at the bed. Heat crept up her cheeks and down her throat. Was she really going to do this?
Yes.
Without breaking eye contact she flicked the quilt back.
Chapter 10
He would not give himself the chance to walk away. Not this time. Lydia was different; her family was just as screwed up as his. She’d understand. He was sure he was telling himself lies to cover the fact that he was lying to her by not telling her what he was. Maybe afterwards, maybe in the morning over coffee. He’d find the right time to tell her what he was. Would there ever be a right time? He knew there was a wrong time and that was now when all he wanted to do was feel human in her arms and forget about fairies.