1
Soulless
ELOISE
My attorney's nail polish is the same color as her hair, a shiny black called Soulless made by Skull and Thistle, a beauty brand that caters to a woman's inner goth. I know this because Maeve Gowdie, Esq. is also my best friend, and I saw the bottle of polish the night I was curled in the fetal position on her floor. At the time, I'd thought things couldn't get any worse than having to move in with my grandmother to escape my abusive husband.
I was wrong.
“Can you repeat that?” I heard her well enough but don't want to believe what she’s saying.
“Tony wants the house, Eloise.Yourhouse. Harcourt Manor.”
My eyelashes flutter like dying butterflies against my cheeks, and a tiny muscle below my right eye starts to twitch. Has all the air left the room? My necklace is suffocating me. With trembling fingers, I slide the drop pearl back and forth along its chain, making room between it andmy throat. “Thatcan'tbe right. That house belongs to my grams.”
“Not legally, it doesn't.” From her leather chair behind an enormous walnut desk, Maeve retrieves some paperwork, the skeleton mermaid tattoo on her arm swimming with her movement. She turns a page toward me. “When your parents were killed, you were named beneficiary of the property, but you were under eighteen, so your grandmother took ownership as your legal guardian. The title reverted to you on your eighteenth birthday, even though your grams continued living there and you did not. Ordinarily, under Virginia law, inherited property isn't considered marital property, but Tony made substantial renovations.”
“But— but he insisted!” I protest. “A freak sinkhole threatened the foundation. Our neighbor's house was condemned because of it. I didn't even ask Tony for help— I wasn’t even living with Grams at the time to understand the extent of it. He just had it fixed. The workers had to bring in heavy machinery to make it safe again.”
“Well, that heavy machinery was expensive, and because Tony substantially contributed to the property's value, he can now claim it as marital property. The bastard wants it, El. And one of his lawyers told me he's willing to go the distance. This is going to court unless you can buy out his share of the property.”
“Which is?”
“Five hundred thousand.”
A strangled squeak escapes my throat. It’s like I've reached the end of a rollercoaster, rattled and nauseated, only to find the lap bar is stuck, and the attendant says I'll have to ride again. I grip the armrests of my chair until my knuckles turn white and send apleading glance across the desk to Maeve. “How is that possible?”
“Property values have increased considerably since your great-grandparents settled in Echo Mills, especially on the river.”
I clear my throat. “I don't have that kind of money.”
From behind the thick rim of her glasses, Maeve's dark gaze flicks to the corner of her office. Her voice is soft as she says, “I know.”
She understands better than anyone. I’m broke. Tony is loaded, and we'd shared an account when we were married, but I no longer have access to a dime of that money thanks to an ironclad prenuptial agreement he insisted on. I can’t even afford Maeve. She’s representing me pro bono. I’m also unemployed, thanks to Tony. He'd made me quit my job as an art teacher six months into our marriage to “focus on managing the household.” What a joke. We had no children. We didn't even have a dog. But I’d quit in an attempt to be someone he could love. Turns out nothing could fix what was broken between us.
It’s been a week since I left and moved in with Grams. Harcourt Manor is the only reason I’m not sleeping on the street. Now he wants to take that too.
My heart thumps faster. This is happening. Tony— cheated-with-his-secretary Tony, struck-me-twiceTony, dominated-the-last-two-years-of-my-life Tony— is rearing his reptile fangs and attempting to snatch my ancestral home right out from under me.
I scoot to the edge of my chair and rest my wrists on her desk. My hands are trembling so violently, I have to couple them like I’m about to pray. Honestly, that’s exactly what I should be doing. “Ican'tmovemy grandmother. It's not an option.”
Maeve sets down her pen and leans across the desk to cradle my fingers in hers. “I know this is awful, El. Your grams has lived in that house her entire life. I remember her stories about giving birth to your father in one of the guest rooms.”
“I was the first child born in a hospital.”
She licks her bottom lip. “This isn't fair. But if Tony wins the property, he has to payyoufor your portion. You and Grams could get a nice place for 500K.”
“It's not just that.” Denial is a comfort I can no longer afford, and I spill the news I haven’t been able to bring myself to tell her yet. “Grams is dying. The cancer is back, and it's in her bones. She started in-home hospice this week.”
Maeve's already pale complexion turns ashen. “Oh, Eloise...”
Tears well and spill over my lower lashes, even though I hold my breath in an attempt to control them. Frantically, Maeve tugs tissues from the box on her desk and hands me the wad. I bury my face in them. When I speak again, I have to force the words past the massive lump in my throat. “If it was just me, I'd leave. I love the place, and it would kill me to lose that connection to my parents, but I'd survive. Grams… she wants to die there. She wants to be buried next to my parents in the family cemetery. I won't let him take that from her. Please tell me there's a way to stop him.”
Maeve’s expression shifts into the determined, more than a little intimidating one I've come to love over the years we've been friends. She's scary as hell when she wants to be and not just because she looks like the spawn of Wednesday Addams and Machine Gun Kelly. Her normally chocolate-colored eyes turn as dark as her nails with heranger. I cast a glance toward the window. A storm has moved in. I hug myself against a sudden chill.
It's always this way with Maeve.
“Answer me honestly.” She glares at me. “Does Tony know your grams is sick?”
