by Mara McQueen
Whatever, Olivia would make the best of it. Even in the middle of crummy, decaying nowhere, she had to take care of business. And without a constant line of communication with her office, that business didn’t exist.
“Oh, fuck.” Her less than shiny smartphone lay cold in her hand, with no signal. Jumping around and standing up on the sturdiest looking chair didn’t help. Her line to civilization had been cut.
Maybe if she yelled loud enough, Kieran would swoop back into view from whatever dark corner he'd secluded himself in and help her out. He looked her age, surely he hadn’t shunned technology.
A little searching and hesitant touches uncovered a good old-fashioned phone, nestled on a table between a replica of a fertility statue and a framed picture of a steam train. Quirking her eyebrow as much as the professional in her would allow when faced with her clients’ questionable decor choices, Olivia picked up the phone and struggled to push the dusty buttons.
“Heatherton and Associates. How may we help you?”
“It’s me, Janice,” Olivia said, trying to keep the dusty phone as far away from her ear as possible. “I have some bad news.”
“Olly?” Janice’s high-pitched voice sounded scratchy. “Missed you at lunch. Maria finally sold that chateau in France and bought macarons for everyone. I can save you some for tomorrow.”
Olivia’s stomach grumbled. The last thing she’d eaten had been a free protein bar from the office kitchen. If her coworkers got wind most of her “meals” came from there…
There was a reason Olivia was so behind everyone else in her life, even while working at a posh firm and with all the strings she tried to pull to get herself back on track. Actually two reasons—loans and placing her trust in people she shouldn’t have. Her teenage dream had become her adult nightmare and it was sapping every dime she made.
“Listen, there’s been a misunderstanding. Milo and I have to stay a few more days at Bolton Manor to secure the sale through our company.”
“Why on Earth would you do that? They have a spa over there, don’t they? I knew it. Old money always has a spa just lying around.”
“A little less luxurious spa, a little more cramped and crooked. It’s a bit complicated, the owner's insisting we stay a full week. Can I talk to Maria?”
“Boss lady’s out. A meeting with some hotshot investor who wants to buy all of Britain, from the sound of her constant invoices. But I can give her a message.”
Olivia pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled. “Okay, fine. My phone's acting up again so just tell her to call me on this number—”
“Yeah, I can’t do that,” Janice said. “Where the hell are you calling from?”
“Bolton Manor. Milo and I have to—”
“No, but like, seriously. How are you doing this? Milo put you up to it, didn’t he? I knew you had some fun in you after all. Figures you’d show it when you’re a million miles away—”
“Janice, remember how we talked about staying on topic?”
“Well, I don’t know what or where this manor is, but the number’s restricted. Not even restricted, I just get a line where all the numbers are supposed to be. Weeeeeird,” Janice said, shuffling some papers and typing in the background. “Yeah, so, Milo’s there with you?”
“Sort of.” Olivia glanced through the doorway. She was still alone even though the laughter outside had died. “He’s busy talking to some old lady.”
Soft clicks on the floor startled Olivia into turning around, only to find herself face to face with a wide-eyed Emma staring at her forehead.
“I gotta go. I’ll call again soon.” Olivia placed the phone back onto the table, Janice’s parting words echoing in the stuffed space. “Hi. Emma, right? I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Olivia Abbate.”
Olivia extended her open palm slowly. The girl’s large eyes widened even more; she looked like a spooked deer. Emma grasped Olivia’s hand, tentatively at first, and then clutched on tightly.
“I know,” she said in a steady voice and shook Olivia’s hand a few times too many.
Olivia struggled against the instinct to yank her hand back. Emma’s skin was so cold. As she was about to offer a polite excuse and try not to be weirded out too much—at least Emma wasn’t leering down her cleavage, as some other clients had unsuccessfully tried to—a door shut close down the dark hall.
“What’re ye doing, ye sluggish imp?” Bertha croaked, limping toward them.
Emma froze, freeing Olivia’s arm immediately, her chin caving into her chest as she clutched the flower medallion on her necklace again.
“Mrs. Bolton asked me to take Ms. Abbate to her room,” she said slowly, cocking her head to the side.
Bertha coughed, a little spit landing on her chin. “Well snap to it, and then bring Mrs. Bolton some water. Ye know how parched she gets after her tea. Those damn sugar cubes will be the death of her, I tell ye. Ye shouldn’t give them to her anymore.”
Emma looked up, a small fire behind her dark narrowed eyes. Olivia thought she looked like a mildly upset cat. “I know what Mrs. Bolton wants and needs. I am the trained caretaker here, not you.”
Bertha grimaced and wobbled out of view, mumbling under her breath.
"I went through three months of interviews and background checks before I was even allowed in the same room as Mrs. Bolton, and nobody bothered to mention this job meant I'd have to deal with that cranky fossil." Emma shook her head, long blonde hair swaying across her gaunt shoulders. She went for Olivia’s bag. “Let me help you with that.”
As if Olivia would let someone two-thirds of her carry her luggage. “Thanks, but you can just tell me where I can find my room.”
“It’s a bit tricky. This house is like one big labyrinth, but easy to navigate once you get the hang of it.”
Carry-on in hand and all of her patience in tow, Olivia followed Emma down the main hall, her labored breath the only sound in the stifling hot space.
The fraying carpet engulfed her heels and tripped her every few steps, while the baroque portraits on the walls stared her down with their black beady eyes. Five smaller and gloomier corridors extended awkwardly on both sides, like a large, dimly lit maze, but Olivia was too tired and ticked off to explore them right now.
She’d get rid of her luggage, lie down for ten minutes and then tackle Bolton Manor in all of its creepy and long-gone glory. Some of the windows in the back were bolted shut, for heaven’s sake.
But there was nothing ridiculous about the amazing staircase, flanked on both sides by tall, twisted wooden beams, encased in the stone wall. Small oval windows let some of the sunset’s light filter in, giving the wooden stairs an eerie glow. The large structure extended to the top level.
Olivia's breath caught. The faded ceiling gave way to a gorgeous glass dome, creating a column of light from above. Now that was a great selling point. Buyers went wild for glass anything. “This is amazing.”
“Yeah,” Emma said in a small voice. “I like to stare at it, too, sometimes. But taking care of Mrs. Bolton takes up so much time…”
“How long have you been employed here?”
“We moved here about four months ago, but I took care of her in the hospice since she first got there, back in London.”
Olivia finally tore her eyes away from the glass dome. Either Emma was being paid handsomely for uprooting her city life for the middle of nowhere or she’d made the same mistake Olivia had years ago—she’d let her emotions get the best of her, and now had to pay for it, with interest. “You must really care for Mrs. Bolton.”
“I do.” Emma tilted her chin down, smiling. “She’s always been nice to me. If it wasn’t for her, I would’ve left a long time ago.”
“I guess living under the same roof as Bertha gets real tiring real fast.”
“Between her and Kie—I mean...Mr. Bolton—” Emma bit her bottom lip, eyes darting to the side.
Olivia’s ears instantly perked up. “What about him?”
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“I shouldn’t speak ill of my employers. But he spends so much time in his study. I hear him yelling on his phone, in different languages, and he leaves the house at the most unusual times. I’ve known him for almost a year, and I still don’t know what he does for a living.” Emma shook her head as if coming out of a dream. “But I’ve never had a harsh word from him in my life, which is a nice change from the hospice. He’s so calm. Eerily calm.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Olivia muttered under her breath.
But Emma seemed to have supernatural hearing. “He gets a bit intense when it comes to Mrs. Bolton. She’s the last family he has. At least the last person he actually considers family.”
A door opened on the right and a mountain of a man stepped out, his frown contorting his squished face. In fact, his shaved head seemed a bit too small compared with the juiced-up muscles he sported underneath his T-shirt.
“Hello,” Olivia said when he didn’t move—or even seemed to breathe.
He just kept on staring at the two women, and finally grunted in response. His wide, bulging shoulders concealed most of the doorway. A faint odor came from the large sack he gripped in his right hand. If it wasn’t for his vacant stare, Olivia might’ve been slightly intimidated. For like a second or two.
“Oh, now, you don’t sound too familiar,” a crystalline voice with a cold edge resounded from behind the brooding man. “Who is it, Darryl?”
The Darryl fellow grunted again and moved to the side, the contents of his sack clinking. A beautiful young woman with dark hair that matched Kieran's slinked into view from behind him, coming unnervingly close.
Olivia’s first instinct was to move far away, but she stood her ground. She’d played these high school intimidation games before.
“Strangers don’t come to Bolton Manor.” The woman tilted her head from side to side, as she inched unnervingly closer. She raised her button nose in the air and sniffed, her lips set into a weird grin.
Olivia's brows furrowed. “Yeah, this is making me uncomfortable. So if you’d just—”
“Your mama didn’t love you, did she?” the woman said, watching Olivia with the same piercing gaze.
Olivia’s heart gave a painful tug. “What—what did you just say?”
Misstep
The deranged woman snorted, face contorting with pure smugness. “Oh my God, you should’ve seen your face.”
“Excuse me?” Olivia remained completely motionless, her muscles still tense.
"Don't take this the wrong way, sweetheart. Everyone has issues with their parents, and they always get this little wrinkle right between their eyes." The woman raised her hand slowly, aiming for Olivia’s forehead.
Olivia snatched her hand away, lowering it in a vice grip. “We’re not on sweetheart terms. And don’t come any closer, or I’ll show you exactly how crazy my supposed maternal neglect made me.”
Was Olivia on some reality show gone horribly, horribly wrong? Did Bolton Manor house a psychotic coven she needed to know about?
"You are no fun." The woman yanked her hand back, trying to wave off the redness. “Don’t take this the wrong way...”
“Olivia.”
“Yeah, great to meet you. I’m the cousin,” the woman said, her voice gaining a bit of gruffness. She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder, a few strands getting caught on the kitschy embellishments on her long nails. “Name’s Addie. You wouldn’t happen to have a cig on you, would you?”
Olivia clenched her jaw. “No.”
Addie shrugged and turned to Darryl. “Just add that to the grocery list Emma gave you, baby.”
Darryl nodded, but remained motionless otherwise, gaze fixed on a spot on the wall next to Emma's shoulder.
“You know.” Addie placed one hand on her shapely hips, the gaudy chain on her neck dangling above her ripped top. “Not that I’m super interested, but what’re you doing here?”
Olivia distantly wondered how fast she’d be arrested for wringing a stranger’s neck on one of her firm’s potential listings. “I’m the estate agent.”
“Really?” Addie flipped her hair again, a greedy glint in her eyes. “Now it’s really nice to meet you. So how much is this place worth? It’s gotta be more than ten million quid, right? I mean, hello, it’s huge.”
Olivia took a deep breath and plastered her patented smile on, careful to add just enough edge to it. “I’m sorry, you’re not privy to that information.”
She turned around, careful to keep her back as straight as possible, and her head high. Emma, who’d been silent during the entire exchange, scurried up the stairs after her.
“See, baby,” Addie said loudly, “told you Kieran would sell the house right from under us.”
Olivia’s stride never faltered as she walked away with a vengeance. She wasn’t about to risk her promotion for a couple of lunatics.
“Don’t mind her,” Emma said quickly. “She’s rude to everyone.”
“Anybody else living here I should know about?” Olivia tried to keep her voice in check, she really did, but the anger bubbled on the tip of her tongue.
“Two other guests, but they spend most of their time outside.”
If they were anything like the other Bolton Manor dwellers, Olivia was in for a rough week.
She stepped carefully onto the steps, cringing a bit when they creaked, hand gliding on the worn-out banister.
Some small carvings adorned the lower part of a few slanting beams; probably the work of an over-excited child. That added character to the whole manor—maybe they were even from the Victorian period. Another selling point. Or a reason to transform the whole thing into a house of horrors, Olivia hadn’t decided yet.
The historian in her rejoiced though, even as she struggled to catch her breath once she reached the second floor.
She really should’ve started working out in the spring, like she told herself every year. Maybe try one of those yoga classes Janice kept trying to drag her to.
But the top floor gave her a better view of the glass dome. This is what she was going to base her entire sales pitch on it. From the seven glass panels flowing into a sharp point in the center to the sturdy metal beams holding up the entire massive structure. Her breath caught. Were they embellished with floral motifs?
Olivia stepped closer, leaning on the banister.
Emma raised her arm. “Careful, it’s not—”
The wood gave way with a sickening crunch. One second, Olivia’s heels were firmly planted on the fraying carpet. The next, she was falling.
Scream
Olivia's insides turned as gravity claimed her body.
She flailed her arms, a guttural scream ripping from her throat.
She was going to die. On the job. How pathetic.
At the last moment, she twisted in the air, arms grappling desperately for something, anything, to keep her alive.
Her fingers dug into the ledge, jolting her to a stop.
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” Emma kneeled at the edge, hands tugging at Olivia’s arms.
But it was like being tickled with a feather. Emma didn’t have enough strength to even keep Olivia hanging on, let alone hoist her back up.
Olivia’s throat seized. Her legs flailed, desperately searching for a hold. Her arms hurt.
She couldn’t die. She refused to.
But the dust on the floor mixed with her sweat, turning slick. Her palms began slipping.
“Help!” she croaked out, adrenaline stifling her voice.
Her hands slipped again. This was it. The end of her life.
But she wouldn’t disappear without a fight.
Olivia dug into the wood until her nails bent to the point of cracking.
It wasn't enough.
Her stomach dropped. Her fingers slipped.
Olivia's last breath in this world rushed out just as a powerful hand grabbed her right arm, yanking her to a stop.
Her eyes flew open only to find herself staring at
Kieran.
“I got you."
Lord, Olivia had never been more glad to hear a voice in her life. Kieran took her other arm into his and slowly raised her up.
Adrenaline coursing through her, all Olivia could do was force her muscles to stop spasming.
She was okay. She was okay. She was okay.
As the ledge reached her torso, Kieran tugged her up as if she weighed nothing, catching her in his steel arms.
Olivia planted her feet on the ground, sinking into his forceful embrace. She drew haggard breath after haggard breath.
She couldn’t stop trembling.
Everything hurt. Her fingers, from holding onto dear life. Her muscles. Her clenched jaw. Her heart, trying to beat itself out of her ribcage.
“Thank you,” she whispered, voice hoarse and throat hurting. She sunk deeper into his arms. The only thing keeping her upright was his chest, and his calm heartbeat, trying to quiet hers. “Thank you so much."
“I should be thanking you, in a weird way.” Kieran stepped back slowly as Olivia adjusted to standing again. She missed the weight and heat of his arms against her waist instantly. “I sometimes lean against that banister, and there wouldn’t have been anyone around to drag me up.”
“I’m so sorry.” Emma whimpered, looking up at Olivia with wide, scared eyes. Her pupils had widened so much, they almost took over the whites of her eyes. “I tried to pull you up, I really did.”
“Don't worry.” Olivia placed a hand over her heart, avoiding to look at the splintered wood she’d fallen through. “I'm okay."
Maybe if she repeated it enough times, she'd start believing it.
“You need to be careful. Bolton Manor is dangerous.” Kieran ducked his head, trying to catch Olivia’s gaze. “Are you sure you’re alright?”