My brows draw together when I reopen my eyes, expecting to see the drab basement.
Except I’m back in the kitchen.
Did he…? My throat bobs, and my internal temperature drops from chilled to downright frozen when I spot the dining chair and the pile of ropes beside it.
Did he try tying me up?
Dear fucking God. He was going to torture me.
Note to self: stay as far-far-far away from my murderer as possible—which is going to prove impossible if I can’t set foot outside of the property and he keeps following me around.
Of all the places to be trapped, why the hell does it have to be here? My childhood home—an everlasting symbol of everything that’s gone wrong in my life. Case in point, this entire situation.
The man’s impatient sigh has my attention snapping up to him. I inch back, eyes watering despite willing them to stop with everything I have. I hate how weak I look—feel. Another tear trickles down my cheek, and I bat it away, hoping he doesn’t notice.
I’ve cried more in the past twenty-four hours than I have since the week Ella died. I never cried in front of people—ever.Not even at Ella’s funeral. It’sunbecomingfor an Eldrith to be emotional, and I was always the one with too much emotion.
Ella and I were both raised to sit prim and proper, speak cordially and respectfully, and, in her case, know when to go for the jugular. Emotions are a sign of weakness. It makes us seem human, and we Eldriths are more than mere mortals.
We’re the best. Above everyone else. So we need to carry ourselves in the same way.
Not exactly words to live by if they resulted in the only living members of our family behind locked bars for white-collar crimes, and my mother has been batshit crazy since the very get-go. Being an Eldrith didn’t exactly give me a sense of superiority when I was living off two-minute noodles in a shitty apartment.
But these tears feel useless and so utterly pathetic.
I fist my hands and try to stabilize my breathing. Still, my voice comes out littered with stutters and cracks. “I just want to leave. W-why can’t I leave?”
He steps forward, and I stumble back on reflex.
“That’s the questionI’maskingyou. Whatever you’ve done, undo it. Release me.”
“Release you? I—I didn’t do anything.” None of this is making sense. Why is he here? And why… why is he the only thing I’m able to touch?
He kicks a book toward me. “Show me the spell you used.”
The…huh? I blink hard. No. It’s a stupid book from Grandma, and I wasdrunkfor Christ’s sake. Magic isn’t real. The spell wasfake.
“I… It wasn’t actually going to work.” Not that I’d know.
He showed up and ruinedeverything. Ella’s spirit could’ve been on the way.
Or more likely, it was all a drunken, idiotic endeavor that’s ended with me being killed at the hands of someone illegally squatting in my manor. He probably lives here and showed upwhile I was trying to call for my sister because he was upset about the intrusion. It doesn’t explain why he can see me, or why he’s the only thing I’m able to touch, but it’s the most logical conclusion.
Plus, what does he mean byrelease him? He’s free to leave whenever he likes, while I’m trapped here because of him.
“Fix it,” he snarls.
My hackles rise at his venomous tone. “Fix it? You’re alive, and I’m—I’m…” Motioning a hand toward myself, my stomach sours.
“You’re dead,” he finishes for me. “Get over it. Figure it out or I’ll show you all the fun tricks I learned in Hell.”
What metaphorical hell is he talking about? What the fuck does he expect me to figure out? I’m a goddamn ghost—I can’t do jack shit. I can’t even stop these stupid freaking tears.
“This—this is your fault,” I snarl. I’m dead and so is Ella.Hecan get over himself andleave.
“Mine?Yousummoned me.”
Summoned?No, that can’t… The memory of burning red eyes and growing shadows flashes behind my eyes.
