Page 65 of Wolfhaven

“You’re a goose,” she murmured to herself. She wished she had a watch. With no clock, she was left to guess the hour by the moon’s traverse across the sky. After midnight, by now. She was well within her rights to awaken him for his shift.

But he needed the rest and besides, she had been thoroughly rude to him today. He had tried to give her a small gift and she had accused him of trying to buy her off with a cheap trinket. She would find a way to apologize to him in the morning. Gran, too. She’d been short and stiff with her grandmother despite the apology Gran had offered. Evaine was tired.

Worn out from trying to survive.

Exhausted from fighting with the two people she cared about more than anyone else in this world. Trying to deny her feelings for Gareth took energy she didn’t have.

She had fallen for a possible murderer.

Well done, you.

Evaine retrieved the pistol from the dresser. Aimed it at the door. Put her finger on the trigger. Would it even shoot if it had sat loaded in a desk for ten years?

It was the best weapon she had, so she sat down on the floor in between the two beds with her back against the nightstand, and set the gun next to her hip. She took Gareth’s silver-handled cane with the concealed sword and propped it on her knee.

Time continued its crawl toward morning. A yawn nearly split her jaw in two. With her hand on the cane, she drifted off.

Sometime later, Evaine startled awake. She couldn’t immediately identify the source of her alarm. Her eyes darted to the door.

The chair. It wasn’t in its place beneath the handle of the door.

Slowly, the brass knob turned.

Fear pinned her in place. She knew she’d locked it. She had checked it. The key was still in her pocket. Frozen, she could only watch helplessly as the door inched open. A figure in a red hood stood there. Her own red cloak.

It reached its arms up. The hood fell back to reveal a cracked doll’s head. Blank blue glass eyes stared at her.

Evaine tried to scream. Nothing came out. Her fingers were leaden as she reached for the pistol. The doll’s head fell, thudding to the old carpet and bouncing. Behind the doll’s head was a skull.

Horrifyingly, the ghost raised one arm and pointed at her⁠—

“Evaine.”

She lurched awake, gasping. Her hand landed on the wood-handled pistol. The cane had fallen to the floor near her feet. Her heart raced.

“You were dreaming,” Gareth said. He glanced at the other bed where Hazel continued to slumber peacefully. The light had turned pale-gray. Dawn would be here in a few hours. He lifted the blanket and beckoned. “Get in.”

Stiff, cold, and frightened, Evaine crawled into that warm hollow with a whimper. He pulled her close.

“I can feel your heart racing,” he said.

“Is the chair in front of the door?” she asked in a whisper. She couldn’t shake the terror that had gripped her. He twisted to check.

“Yes. It’s blocking the handle. No one is getting in.”

“No one mortal,” she said bitterly, breathing him in. He smelled comfortingly of warm masculinity. “I think Marina wants me dead.”

“Jealous, you think?”

Evaine shrugged, feeling the silliness of what she’d just said. Gareth was humoring her. She described the dream. “It seemed so real. I was convinced I was awake right until you shook me.”

“This house plays tricks on the mind.”

“Did it always?” she asked. “When you were growing up here, did people see things? Have disturbing visions?”

“No worse than the usual old mansion. There was the ghost of Old Lizzie, the second wife of my great-great grandfather. She died under mysterious circumstances. The servants claimed they would see her in the back stairways.”

“We never checked the servant’s quarters,” Evaine noted. Her pulse was finally slowing. “We should look there before we leave.”