Page 24 of Where The Devil Kneels

“Reasonable!?” I shout, and the laugh that follows is brittle and sharp. “Was it reasonable to plot with a stranger against your own cousin? Was it reasonable to break into my library in the middle of the night to search for…what, exactly? Evidence that would justify forcing me out?”

“I was trying to protect you!” She steps forward, hands outstretched in a placating gesture that only fuels my anger. “From a town with dangerous secrets. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”

“And you do?” I fire back, stepping closer until we’re inches apart. “What else aren’t you telling me, Maeve? What exactly did Garrow promise you in exchange for delivering my property to him?”

She recoils as if slapped, colour draining from her face. “This isn’t about money.”

“Isn’t it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you sold me out to the highest bidder.” My voice rises, filling the library with an echo of my rage. “How much am I worth to you, Maeve? How much does family loyalty cost these days?”

She gathers her robe around herself like armour, her expression hardening. “You’re not thinking clearly. This place is affecting your judgment. Tomorrow, when you’ve calmed down—”

“There is no tomorrow,” I cut her off. “Not for you in this house. I want you gone at first light.”

We stare at each other across the battlefield of scattered documents, cousins turned adversaries by secrets neither fully understands. Finally, Maeve nods once, a sharp gesture of acceptance if not agreement.

“You’re making a mistake,” she says quietly. “Whatever you think this house is protecting you from, it’s not worth the risk.”

“That’s not your call to make.” I step aside, clearing her path to the door. “It never was.”

She lingers at the doorway, one hand braced against the frame. Her face softens for just a moment, something like genuine concern breaking through her professional mask. “Be careful, Elara. Whatever Garrow is hiding, whatever he’s so desperate to control, it’s dangerous enough that he’s willing to go to extreme lengths to get this property.” Her voice drops almost to a whisper. “I agreed to help because I thought I was protecting you. I’m still not convinced I was wrong.”

And then she’s gone, her footsteps fading quietly down the hall. I’m left alone in the library, surrounded by the mess of her betrayal. My hands won’t stop shaking — adrenaline, fury, and something else underneath it all. The memory of building sandcastles with her at my parents’ lake house. Borrowing her lip gloss before prom. Her voice on the phone the night Mom died. I press my palms flat on the desk and try to hold two things at once: Maeve lied to me. And Maeve might be trying to save me.

I start gathering the papers, hands shaking so badly I tear a corner off one. My breath is coming in short, ragged bursts as I shove everything back into folders. What was she looking for? What does Garrow think is hidden in these pages that would be enough to take this place from me? I slam a drawer shut hard enough to rattle the whole desk. Part of me wants to burn every last document to ash just so no one else can touch them.

Sleep is impossible after that. I pace the library until dawn breaks, questions churning like storm clouds in my mind. As first light filters through the windows, I hear Maeve moving around upstairs, the decisive sounds of packing, of departure. I don’t go to see her off. The slam of the front door an hour later tells me everything I need to know.

It’s only when I finally return to my bedroom, exhausted and emotionally drained, that I notice it, a slip of paper that wasn’t there before, its corner visible beneath my door. I crouch to retrieve it, unfolding the small square with trembling fingers.

The handwriting is unfamiliar, elegant, precise, reminiscent of the journals in the watchtower, but somehow different. The words are centred on the page, their meaning clear and chilling:

“They will come for you soon. Trust no one who fears this house.”

I clutch the note to my chest, sinking onto the edge of my bed as the full weight of the night’s revelations crashes over me. Maeve’s betrayal. Garrow’s desperation. And somewhere within these walls, a guardian who sees everything, including threats I haven’t yet recognized.

Chapter nine

Glimpses in Shadow

Thefrontdoorslams.The sound lingers in the empty house. Maeve’s gone while the whole argument sits in my chest like a bruise. I’m still in the entryway, gripping the note so tight its edge cuts my palm. “They will come for you soon.” Those words won’t leave me alone. They crowd in with everything else I’ve learned these last twenty-four hours: Maeve’s betrayal, Garrow’s scheming, and the fact that someone has been living in these walls, watching, for God knows how long.

“Well,” I announce to the foyer, my voice both defiant and ridiculous, “it’s just you and me now.”

I wait, hoping for a response—a creak, a footstep, anything to prove I’m not just talking to an empty room. The house does its usual thing — settling, sighing — but the silence feels different somehow. Loaded, almost. Or maybe that’s just what sleep deprivation does to you.

Screw it. If my silent guardian won’t come to me, I’ll create a situation he can’t ignore.

I move through the house, throwing open windows that haven’t budged in decades and leaving doors hanging open that I’d normally triple-check. “Consider this an invitation,” I say, wrestling the French doors open. Cold morning air floods in, all rain and wet earth. “No more hiding. No more watching from behind walls.”

In the kitchen, I flip open one of the watchtower journals and clear my throat. “Did you know your great-great-grandfather rewired these air ducts in 1887? Theoriginal blueprints are way simpler than what’s actually up there.” I tap the page. “Guy was seriously talented. Clearly runs in the family.”

Something creaks upstairs — either the house doing its thing, or maybe him. I smile to myself, grab Grandma’s old silver teapot, and set it dead centre on the kitchen table with the spout pointing at the window. A tiny, stupid little trap. But if it moves, I’ll know.

“I found the room in the basement,” I call out, heading toward the library. “The one with all the things people left behind. Quite the family business you’ve got going — helping people vanish.” I stop at the doorway and scan the bookshelves, looking for any sign of movement. “I think it’s pretty remarkable, honestly. Brave as hell.”

In the library, I pull three Victorian estate histories and line them up on my desk. I open the middle to a dog-eared page of hidden passages, marking the three-quarter point. Another test.

“Maeve was working with Garrow,” I say, dropping into the window seat with my journal. “They want this place badly enough to blow up a family over it. Makes you wonder what they’re actually after.” I leave the journal open to my sketches of the estate’s foundation and deliberately turn my back on it as I drift toward the window. If he’s half as curious about me as I am about him, he won’t be able to help himself.