"Welcome to the McAllison House. I'm the realtor, Faye Derne, and—" Her gaze lands on the chihuahuas and her smile cracks. "You can't bring those dogs in here."
"These are two of the McAllison orphans," Asher says cheerfully. "They wanted to say goodbye to their home. You know, closure isn't just for divorcees and self-help podcasts."
The realtor's jaw tightens. "That's unconventional."
"Yet here we are." I step forward, keeping my tone light. "We'll be quick. Five minutes, tops."
In truth, I have no idea how long this might take, but five minutes is an easier sell.
Faye hesitates, glancing back toward the open door. Something flickers behind her eyes. It could be fear… or maybe exhaustion. "The market history on this property may seem a little complicated, but the location is excellent. Keep in mind that old places sometimes have a character all their own.”
That’s one way to put it.
I meet her gaze and smile. “And what kind of character does this place have?”
“We've noticed a few… plumbing issues."
Rowan chuckles. "Right. Well, plumbing can be tricky."
The realtor straightens, forcing brightness back into her expression. "Five minutes. And please keep your dogs out of trouble."
Inside, everything seems normal enough at first glance, but it doesn't feel normal. It also doesn't smell normal. But even with the Febreze efforts, the scented candles, and no doubt the apple pie pot-pourri simmering in the kitchen, the place still has a distinct 'ode de canine'.
The air doesn't just smell—it's dense. The last of the day's light filters through the windows but seems to be struggling to reach the floor. Shadows pool in corners, thick and unmoving.
I glance at Rowan to see if there's anything in the shadows we should be wary of, but other than her wrinkling her nose, she doesn't seem affected by anything.
A creak from the grand staircase has us all glancing over, but there's no one there. At least no one we can see.
Somebuddy growls, but her little butt is waggling.
"Yeah, baby girl. We feel it too. You're good." Asher crouches, scratching behind the chihuahua's ears.
Orion's gaze is narrowed and scanning. "It's chilly in here, don’t you think?"
The realtor wraps her arms around herself. "Yes, the furnace is a little temperamental. We have someone coming to look at it."
Another group arrives on the porch, and the realtor looks conflicted.
“Don’t let us keep you.” I wave away her look of concern, giving her the out to leave us.
She passes an unflattering glance over our group and seems to consider her options. If she’s hoping to offload this place, we are definitely not her target buyers. "Let me know if I can answer any questions. Please excuse me."
She struts off, heels clacking double-time toward the exit.
Orion moves toward the parlor, silent as smoke. He's sniffing the air, his shoulders rigid.
Rowan follows, spinning her silver rings.
I scan the foyer, tracking the wrongness that prickles along my spine. "Okay, puppers, find Mommy."
We wind through the maze of corridors and connected rooms, letting the pups lead the way. When they scratch at a door at the end of the hall, Asher opens the way and we climb a set of servant stairs to the second floor.
Upstairs, it's even colder. We follow the pups to the end of the hall, and as we approach an open door, it slams shut.
Then opens again.
Slowly.
