“Easy: Darcy,” DJ said.
“Heathcliff forever,” Shaun said.
“Neither,” Rake said.
The triad all looked at each other in unison.
“Neither?” Shaun said to Rake, appalled.
“I’ve never seen or read either of them.”
“You’re one to talk, Shaun,” DJ said. “Heathcliff over Darcy? That’s just wrong.”
“I’ve never claimed to be someone with great taste in men,” Shaun said.
“You’resoin trouble for saying that,” DJ said. “Rake, tell him he’s in trouble.”
“You’re both in trouble,” Rake said, sighing. “Deej, you’re not allowed to decide when Shaun’s in trouble. We’ve established this.”
Before the trio’s argument could devolve further, Quin asked Kit, “So, what about you, then?”
Kit quirked his lips into a smile. “Knightley, obviously.”
“That wasn’t an option!” Shaun complained.
“I feel like our mission is getting derailed,” Rake observed.
“We’ve got time,” Quin said. “Just as long as we don’t run into any crazy exes hidden in the attic.”
“The worst part about you saying that, Quin,” Shaun said, “is that thereisa chance of that happening.”
Kit’s legs felt like liquid as he took a tentative step towards the house. His survival instinct yelled at him to turn in the other direction—to leave and never come back. Only Quin’s steady presence beside him and firm hand in his own kept Kit upright. He made it to the door and was the first to slip inside, Quin faston his heels. The fire had affected the entryway, but not so much that it seemed likely to collapse. It was bare of furniture.
Kit had expected to hear the scratches of rats or mice under the floorboards, or cooing pigeons roosting in the rafters. Instead, the eerie silence, broken only by their footsteps and Quin’s breaths, welcomed them like a cold embrace.
“Well, this is creepy as fuck,” DJ said.
“How apt for Lawrence,” Shaun said.
The crystal chandelier that had once been the pride of the hall was in a million tiny pieces, scattered down the grand staircase and across the dusty floor. Kit looked at the peeling wallpaper and cracked sconces and wondered how quickly decomposition had set in.
“Where’s the cellar?” Shaun asked. “So I know where to avoid.”
Kit pointed towards a corridor to their left. “It was under the pantry, beside the kitchen. All destroyed in the fire.”
Shaun nodded, staring at where the pantry had been, as if he wanted to confirm for himself. Kit didn’t comment on it.
“Upstairs first, then?” Quin asked Kit. “Do we think the stairs will hold us?”
“They seem solid. We should be fine.”
Still, Kit went first. He was halfway up the stairs before a sick feeling of déjà vu washed over him. He hadn’t even needed to glance down at the steps as he ascended; his feet remembered each one as well as he knew the sight of his own face. The realisation had him missing a step, tripping with his toe skimming the stair above him. He flailed, jerking back and over-correcting, which only led him to pinwheel backwards. But Quin was there behind him, strong hands holding him upright.
“I’ve got you,” Quin said. “Are you okay?”
Kit nodded, conflicting emotions keeping his words locked down tight.
“We go together,” Quin said, not letting Kit argue as he clasped their hands. The stairs creaked where Quin stepped, but they made it to the top hallway with no further incident.
