They ambled up to the first floor, dimly lit by table lamps. The air was thick up here, still and quiet. Either end of the hall were two large windows, framed with dark aubergine drapes long enough to sweep the floor. Luke threw an arm around her shoulders and turned her to face down the dark corridor.
“Okay nosey,” he said. “Some wayfinding. That room there is mine.” He pointed to the room with a closed-door the furthest along the left wall. “Don’t go in…unless you want to see something you’ll regret, like my dirty laundry.”
Win threw him a wry grin. “I’ll try to remember.”
He whirled her a quarter turn to the right. “That is Spencer’s old room. Don’t go in it.”
Win shuddered. “I won’t.”
“This one here is where my grandpa sleeps.” He twisted her to the room they were standing opposite, but she already remembered. The horrifying meeting was burned into her memory.
“Let me guess, don’t go in. Don’t worry. I’m already on board. What’s there?” She pointed to a long door, with a passing glance, looked like no more than a cupboard.
Luke grinned and cracked it open to reveal a yawning, dark corridor. “That’s the secret passage…to the east wing.”
Win’s eyes lit up. “Oh, exciting.”
He chuckled, closing the door hard. “It’s absolutely off-limits. The entire wing was for my dad and whoever he happened to be dating at the time. It has his office, bedroom, a living room. I wouldn’t go down there unless you want to run into some ghosts of girlfriends past.”
“He had his own wing?” she was baffled. “So he kept you guys all up this end, out of the way?”
Luke rolled his eyes. “I know, right? Almost, like he couldn’t stand to be near his children. Such a warm, loving childhood.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her along the corridor, past his and Spencer’s old room. Win flinched as she walked by. The thought of him being out in the world was terrifying. Win wondered if he had tried to make contact with Rowan, which terrified her even more. They came to a narrow door with a gold metal knob. Luke twisted it, and dust misted the air.
“This is the attic door. As you can see, we’ve not been up there in a while,” he said over his shoulder. “Judy has a room downstairs off the kitchen. It’s the old servant’s quarters.”
Win’s brows flew skyward. “Servant’s quarters?”
“Yeah, of course.” He put a foot on the dusty bottom step, his large foot making an imprint. “This house was built in the 18th century. They had servants.”
“You mean slaves?” she tested him, knowing his family had been one of the last in the area to relinquish the old ways. Win had done a lot of reading about the town this summer, disappointed her own family weren’t exactly the innocent English immigrants she had pictured. “Why is it called Mercy anyway?”
Luke sniffed, puzzled. “The man who built it was a Reverend,” he offered. “But my dad told me one time it had been named after the Reverend’s wife — Olivia Mercy Brown.”
It struck Win as oddly romantic for a family with a sketchy, murderous history. After the bonfire, Callum Fraser’s bones had finally been dug up from the tunnels, wrapped in cloth, and were now being held in a box in the local church until they could decide what should be done with them.
Luke swung the door open, it creaked noisily from lack of use. They had to turn slightly sideways to fit through the narrow door, steps barely wide enough to fit their feet. Luke spluttered as dust fell from the rafters. At the top was another door. Win had a flash of panic, remembering the locked door from her dream, but this one was wooden and had no padlock. Luke gave it a nudge with his shoulder, and finally, it groaned and flew open.
Win sensed the cold before she felt it. It whispered down the stairs toward her like an invisible wraith. It was enough to push her against the wall in fright. The color drained from her face as she watched Luke step through into the dark space. He turned and stared down at her.
“You coming, Adler?”
She shook the feeling away, carefully following his large prints, squeezing through the narrow door, the vastness of the attic opening up before her. Her breath caught. The smell. She swallowed thickly, trying not to gag. Maybe Luke couldn’t smell it? It was decay. Death. Old death. The sensation was overwhelming. Win could feel panic crawling up her chest; it was the same sensation she’d had in the tunnels.
The attic sprawled across the entire top floor, lit at one end by a small circular porthole window. There was a metal-framed bed pushed into a corner, piled high with sheets and blankets. A dark wood writing desk stood under the window. Boxes erupting with papers littered the room. Old lamps, boxes of toys, a rocking horse, and a baby’s crib were thrown into corners, garnering huge, swathing cobwebs.
The cold. It was so strong. Win breathed in, tasting it in her throat, nausea swept her head to foot. She couldn’t push away a sense of entrapment. Loneliness. Sorrow. Despair.
A flash of a woman clawing at the walls filled her head, Win gasped and stepped back, treading on Luke’s feet, who had stepped up behind her. She whirled about, and he took her elbows gently. “Whoa, what’s wrong? Win?”
Win choked back a sob. “Can’t you feel it?”
“Feel what? It’s a dusty old attic.”
“No, no,” she said, shaking her head, not realizing he’d taken her by the shoulders. “It’s the cold. Luke…someone died in this room.”
Four
LUKE STARED AT her and burst out laughing. “Okay,” he drawled. Infuriated, she punched his shoulder.
“I’m serious,” she wailed. “I can smell….”
“Dirt?” he suggested, his thick dark brows rising in amusement. “Mothballs?”
“Stop, I’m serious, Luke.” Frustration peaked in her voice. Luke pulled away from her, ducking into the shadows and throwing a light switch. A few seconds later, an overhead fluorescent light sparkled to life, illuminating all the nooks and crannies. Win had to admit it did make things marginally better, but still, an eerie, heavy sensation lingered.
There was no way she could ever explain it in a way he would understand. No way could she describe it without her sounding like a crazy person. But it reminded her of the tunnels. Old death. Forgotten and buried. Win squeezed her hands into balled fists, so tightly her nails dug into her palms.
Luke wandered the room, lifting up old sheeting, wafting dust particles into the air; they danced and glinted in a stream of sunlight piercing through the porthole. He revealed several old chests; they looked more like traveling trunks. He bent and lifted the lid, a moth fluttering into the air. He jumped back in alarm but then laughed.
“Now you’re creeping me out.” He beckoned her with a wave. “Get over here and stop being a coward.”
Boards groaned underfoot as she joined him, arms tightly folded across her chest.
“What’s that?” She peered around his shoulder. He leaned back, linking an arm around her waist and pushing her forward.
“This is the entirety of the Fraser family paperwork,” he said. “It’s a mess.”
“It’s two trunks worth.” She gritted her teeth, assessing the array of papers.
“This is what I need you to do.” He bent, raking up a handful of paperwork as several pages drifted to the floor. “Can you sort them into some sort of order? Bank letters from the last ten years, birth certificates, anything looks important, pop it one pile. The rest can go in the shredder.”
“Which is?”
“In the office downstairs. Can you do that for me?” He cocked his head and gave her an adorable smile. “Please?”
Win hauled the pile out of his arms, coughing up dust particles. “I mean sure. It shouldn’t take long. When do we start?”
“Well, you can start right now if you like? Me — I’ve got to go to my shift.”
Win groaned, putting a hand to her forehead. She should have known. “Oh, Luke. You can’t leave me up here
by myself.”
“Win, I’ve lived here my entire life. I used to play up here when I was a kid. Check out all the boxes of Ninja Turtles if you don’t believe me. There is nothing up here but cobwebs.”
“I don’t want to be here on my own…it doesn’t seem fair you should duck out….”
Luke threw his hands in the air, a groan erupting from his throat like a growl. “Winifred, I don’t think you’ve grasped the severity of my situation.” He took her shoulders, his steel-blue eyes boring into hers. “My asshole father has run the family fortune into the crapper, which is why he is selling this house from under our feet. I need to remove myself from this situation. If I don’t go to my job, I don’t get paid. I really, really need to get paid!”
“Okay!” Win sulked, shoving his hands away. “I’m sorry. I’ll help you. Of course, I will. But I swear to god, if you find my dead body up here, I’ll be haunting you for the rest of your life!”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else from a Hickory,” he said, grinning, giving her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Look, Judy is downstairs. If you get tired, have a break, look around. I gotta take this shift Win, the festival is coming up, and it's double pay.”
“No, of course, I understand,” she said, plastering on a fake smile. “You go, I’ll be fine.” She looked around gingerly, strings of cobwebs dangling from rafters above. Luke waved, saying goodbye, and left her alone in the attic.
Giving herself a mental shake, Win steeled herself and knelt on the dusty wooden floor. She threw open the chest, coughing and waving away wafts of dust. She spent the next hour, head down, flicking through reams of paper. Most of it was junk, reminder letters, old catalogs, things you shove in a draw and forget about for years. When a substantial pile had amassed, Win got to her feet, her knees sore, and hauled it back down the narrow set of stairs. It was like stepping back into reality when she reached the first-floor landing. Scurrying past Spencer’s locked room and averting her eyes from old Robert Fraser’s door, she took the stairs two at a time. There was a faint noise of a radio playing somewhere in the house.
Win had never been this far inside Luke’s home. It had once been a grand house. There were subtle nods to history everywhere, from the ornate decor, the opulent wall lamps, and rich tapestry rugs. Win wandered past the staircase into what appeared to be a dark blue drawing-room. Judy was ironing, the radio playing next to her. She jumped when she saw Win lurking in the doorway.
“Honey, you scared me. Can I help you?” she asked, replacing the steaming iron face up.
Win wondered who she was ironing for. Piles of white shirts, starched and crisp, were not something Luke would ever wear. She thought they must be for Robert, or perhaps even Luke’s father.
“I need the shredder.” Win smiled, and Judy pointed to the door across the room.
“Go through the parlor. You’ll see the office,” she said. “Make sure you get yourself something to drink while you’re down. It’s stuffy up there.”
“Thank you.” Win staggered under the weight of the pile. She wandered through a thick heavy door and found herself in one of the most ornate rooms she’d ever seen. Frozen in time, the décor looked like it hadn’t been touched since the revolutionary war. Huge, red velvet drapes hung from the walls, and a large archway stood at the end of the room, leading out into a Victorian orangery. The room was littered with high-back French chairs, writing desks, and long floor lamps. A dresser held a metal tea set and glass tumblers, a whiskey decanter ready for guests. Win wondered if the family had even bothered to use this room. She crossed it quickly and spied the side door which led to the office. Finally, something from the present day. It was a welcome sight to see the desktop and printer set up.
The shredder was on the floor, and Win spent ten minutes feeding it old documents, watching in fascination as hundreds of shredded flakes of paper emerged from the other end. When it was done, she wandered back through the parlor, a large gilded painting catching her eye on one of the far walls. She stepped a little closer, her curiosity getting the better of her. It was an oil painting of a man, a younger man with thick black hair. His eyes were furrowed and deep brown, gazing sadly from within the painting. Win rubbed her arms, not needing to read the inscription below to know who it was.
Callum Fraser. Her eyes widened. It was an odd sensation, knowing she was looking upon the face of a man whose bones she’d stepped on in the tunnels a few months ago. She backed away, a feeling of dread creeping up her spine. Judy met her in the hallway with a glass of juice.
“I thought I’d get this for you. This place is massive, and you don’t want to get lost.” She smiled, placing it in Win’s hand. Win necked it greedily, her mouth hot and dry. “How’s it going up there?”
“It’s a lot of junk mostly,” Win replied. The older woman eyed her carefully, and Win had a feeling she was being measured, but it was hardly surprising after her ‘trespassing’ the last time she met. “How long have you worked here?”
“I’ve been with Mister Robert for twelve years. I was hired right after Luke’s Mom left them all,” she explained. “Had to pick up the pieces after she up and left.”
Because of Spencer, she thought, having the impression Judy might have a cloudy view on the whole subject. Win made an excuse to leave, feeling the nurse’s eyes hot on her back as she darted upstairs. Once more, she faced the tireless silence of the attic, pushing away the feeling of dread as she stepped back across the slatted floorboards. Win plowed through papers, her eyes growing sore from peering at faint lettering all morning. At last, she came across something which looked like it needed sorting and started a neat pile to her left. A dull ache radiated in her back, and when it became too irritating to ignore, she stood and stretched, a part of her wishing she was able to leave and go and find her grandpa. She still needed to talk to him.
Her eyes darted around the room, her rational head repeating it was all boxes and shapes she wasn’t used to. There was nothing lurking in the shadows waiting to jump out at her. Win ambled across the room, careful of where she stood. She headed for the porthole window, squinting through foggy glass and standing on tiptoe. She looked down into the courtyard, the very one she and Ella had run through during the game of chase. Immaculate hedging trailed the borders of the courtyard, and a fountain spewing jets of water stood proudly in the center. In the distance, the meadow, where the party had been held, was still charred from the massive fire which had torn across the grounds only months ago.
A scent wafted past her nose, heady and thick. She blinked, rocking back on her heels. Brow furrowed, she took a long, strong sniff, her eyes roaming around her feet. Lifting her chin, she followed the scent as it coiled within her nostrils. There was an old worn sofa with a pile of old bedsheets stacked upon it. Win climbed across boxes, following the scent. She ducked into a squat, closing her eyes and letting the scent find her. This was something she had been learning with Rowan. Rowan had assured her this was a more gentle way of going through her calling so when the time eventually came, her body would adapt more fluidly. It wouldn’t be the aggressive change her predecessors had experienced.
On all fours, Win closed her eyes and followed the trail. Mold and death. Decay filled her senses, and although she gagged, she ducked and peered around boxes, shoving them aside. It was getting stronger. She was close. Like a dog digging up ground, she threw aside bedsheets, pulling them out and spluttering over mothballs. Where had it gone? She had been so close. She got closer to the ground and closed her eyes, letting the scent guide her. Win opened her eyes only to come face to face with a spider crawling on the arm of a chair.
Win flew backward and shrieked. She waited for it to crawl away before starting again.
I’m close, so close, she thought. There was something here. She could feel it. Finally, once she had tossed aside all the bedsheets, she heaved the armchair aside. The smell of decay was so strong she could taste it in the back of her throat.
Where are you? Win stared in dismay at the empty space behind the chair, only cobwebs and dust bunnies.
“Win, what are you doing?”
Win jerked in fright. She whirled about to see Ella standing in the doorway of the attic.
Win sat back on her heels. “I thought I saw a mouse.”
“I think you need a break,” Ella muttered.
They walked in the garden outside, and Win was grateful to take in gulps of fresh air, happy to be out of the tight attic space.
“I know this sounds insane,” Win admitted as they perched by the fountain. “But I smelled something up there. Like death.”
“I don’t know what death smells like.” Ella paled under the warm sun. “But I don’t like that house, Win. It’s full of…I can’t describe it. Bad feelings.”
“Luke grew up in there,” Win mused, their shoulders bumping as they sat on stone cobbles under the fountain, content to have the cool spray misting her skin. The sun shone above them, a blazing star intent on searing their fragile bodies.
“It explains a few things,” Ella laughed. “It’s as creepy as hell. When you think about everything…like Callum’s murder, Spencer’s mom dying, and Luke’s mom leaving…”
Win’s shoulders shook. She grinned sideways at her friend. “Thanks for agreeing with me. Luke told me I was crazy.”
“What are you even doing up there?” Ella asked. “Luke called me and said you needed a hand with some stuff, so I came.”
Win narrowed her eyes. Luke hadn’t told her. “Spencer got out on bail,” she said, and Ella sucked in air. “It’s okay. He isn’t coming anywhere near us. But Luke’s dad is selling the house. Luke needs to sort out some finances.”
Win explained Luke’s dilemma as best she could, realizing Ella already knew some of it. When the time came to gently drop Rosene into the conversation, she did so as carefully as she could. Ella was going to find out eventually, and Win would rather it came from her. She especially didn’t want Ella to accidentally bump into them, which would be terrible.
Wild Spirit: Huntress Page 5