Wildfell by London Clarke

Author:London Clarke [Clarke, London]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Thrillers & Suspense, Gothic, Horror
Publisher: Carfax Abbey Publishing
Published: 2018-04-27T06:00:00+00:00

EMMA’S CARD WITH HER cell phone number was still in my jeans pocket. I made the call while standing in the hallway—didn’t want to set foot back in that room, lest the door somehow close and lock me in again.

I made up an excuse that I’d lost track of time. I was locked in my room, a black mist attacked me, and Bain used a crowbar to break me out was a story for another time. Maybe once all this was over.

Emma sounded out of breath. “I’m so glad you called. I tried to leave word for you at Wildfell, but the phone just rang and rang. We had to cancel the luncheon. We all have the flu.”

“Oh, no,” I said, my mind flip-flopping like a fish out of water. There goes my escape route. “That’s awful.”

“Yes. It is, actually. I feel awful. And we’re all still highly contagious.”

So much for asking if I can stay with them. “I’m so sorry. Can I do anything to help?”

“No,” she said, her voice thready. “Thanks, love, but we wouldn’t risk infecting you.”

Actually, risking the flu might have been preferable to risking another demon sighting. I cleared my throat, tried to sound cheerful. “Well, if you think of anything, let me know. I have a pretty strong immune system.”

“Maybe in a few days we won’t be so dangerous to the outside world, and then we can get together again.”

“Okay, no problem. Hope you all feel better.”

I returned the phone to Bain and searched the house for mine, finally locating my purse on the downstairs hallway settee as if I’d dropped it there earlier. My phone was inside.

Was I going crazy? Maybe the door had stuck on its own—it had acted a little temperamental before. And it was possible that I’d misplaced my purse. But I hadn’t imagined the black mist or the lump on my head ... and I hadn’t imagined Mrs. Gates’s threatening tone and ice-cold stare.

I went outside to look for Nigel and thank him for bringing the crowbar to my rescue. I also wanted to pick his brain. He knew more about this house and its inhabitants than anyone else. Surely, he had more information about Mrs. Gates.

But the shed was closed up, and there was no sign of him. He must have left for the day.

Instead of Nigel, I found Georgina sitting outside on a fold-out lawn chair. She wore sunglasses and turned her face toward the sky, as though she sunned herself on a warm June day—if only she hadn’t been bundled in a heavy black jacket.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

I forced a smile. Yeah, maybe if it were thirty degrees warmer and we had a view of more than a stone wall.

“Do you ski?” She fanned out her hair over the back of the chair.

“Ski? You mean, like, snow ski?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Oh. I love it. I’m going off to ski in France on the weekend.”

I shifted from foot to foot, eager to return to the inside. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah, some friends of mine invited me to go.

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