A Dark and Stormy Night by Anne Stuart

Author:Anne Stuart [Stuart, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Impeccably Demure Press

Chapter Nine

Someone had been in her room. Katie knew it with a passionate certainty, just as she knew it was no friendly specter. Whoever had come in while she was gone had left no trace, no sign of their trespass, and yet she knew. Someone had touched the bed where she lay, someone had run their all-too-human hands along her discarded clothing. Someone had been watching her.

It was absurd, she reminded herself. She’d imagined eyes following her from the moment she even neared this place. She’d seen the seal watching her, the faded eyes of ghosts that she didn’t even believe in. Why should the sense that she was being spied on feel like anything new and disturbing?

Night had fallen, a thick dark blanket smothering the deep-set windows, and the sound of the rain was like a muffled thunder. Katie didn’t even bother to try to look out. There would be nothing to see, just darkness, and maybe a ghostly face staring back at her.

She sat cross-legged on the bed, shivering in the cool dampness of the room. O’Neal was right, uncannily so. The ghosts and apparitions didn’t frighten her in the least. It was something else, something cold and dark and evil that lived in the heart of this house, that unnerved her.

Did it live in O’Neal? It couldn’t be Mrs. Marvel—her cozy warmth and welcome ruled out any unfriendly intent. Willie was another matter, an excruciatingly uncomfortable one. Katie had always accepted those around her without passing judgment, and Willie’s limited abilities should have only made him pitiable.

But he frightened her. And why should she assume he was as devoid of evil as he was devoid of intellect?

She glanced through the murky light to the huge dresser. A pile of faded clothing lay folded neatly, and Katie breathed a sigh of relief. It had been Mrs. Marvel, bringing her fresh clothes. Not some evil intruder after all.

She changed, hurriedly, knowing she was being absurdly superstitious. No one could see her as she pulled off the damp clothes Mrs. Marvel had lent her, replacing them with an equally faded, loose dress that came down to her ankles. No one would want to see her. And yet she found herself looking over her shoulder, nervous, edgy. Looking for a human intruder, not a ghostly one.

There were fresh toiletries in the bathroom—a comb, toothbrush, and toothpaste, and she did her best to make herself demure and presentable. It was little wonder O’Neal thought she was some sort of harpy, with her flyaway hair and her pale face. She pinched her cheeks to bring some color into them, then stared back. Demure was probably too much of a stretch, but at least she looked relatively ladylike if she was going to be forced to have dinner with O’Neal.

She couldn’t imagine why he really wanted her company. He’d made it more than clear that she was an imposition, one he wanted gone. Maybe he was afraid she’d start exploring, again. Maybe he didn’t want her to see any more ghosts.

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