“Sure, why not. When can I start?”
Three
Saying goodbye to my parents had been easy. My dad complimented me on my quick ability to find a new job, and though my mom hugged me and said she was sad I couldn’t stay longer, I had a sneaking suspicion she was happy to get the spare bed back—a place she could retreat to when my dad was snoring.
I nearly changed my mind about this venture when I rolled through the tiny town of O’Briens, named after the founders, a couple of Irish guys who’d come over the Sierra Nevada mountains and settled in to mine for gold. Since then, wineries had sprung up like a plague, their tasting rooms dotting the itty-bitty downtown strip like chicken pox.
The wine I did not mind. At all. I was rather excited about it, to be honest.
It was the size of the town that concerned me. Or, more accurately, the lack thereof.
I grew up in a city of over a hundred thousand people. Then I moved to L.A., getting into the millions. I’d never lived in a place where I could drunkenly stagger from one end of the downtown strip to the other. And given the number of adorable boutique wineries, I’d absolutely do that in this town. I’d do it, and then all three thousand residents would soon know about it. It’d probably be printed in the town paper. With pictures. I’d never been great at following convention, even back when I was trying. Maybe especially when I was trying. It had annoyed Matt to no end.
The windy road the GPS told me to follow veered off from the downtown strip and cut through the trees, gaining a tiny bit of altitude. Dainty little houses pushed back from the road, with large porches, white pillars, and well-kept gardens. Newish cars parked in driveways, their surfaces glittering in the golden afternoon sun.
At the end of the street with no outlet rose a monstrosity of a house.
My eyes widened and I slowed before I reached it, needing to take a moment before I pulled into the driveway
Despite the sunny day and bright, electric blue sky, it seemed like there was a black cloud looming over the three-story structure. The gothic-style building rose to a point at the center, and a little glowing attic window could be seen at the top. Dark shadows draped over the front from some unseen source. The large windows curved elegantly at the top. The decorative shutters, curtains, and trim were all black.
At least it’s better than turd brown.
Now that I was here, more distant memories came flooding back. The dark rooms, the ominous feeling, the creepy exterior, and the strange feeling of belonging.
Strange, indeed. On first inspection, this place, so different than everything else on this street, was anything but welcoming. It exuded an undeniable get lost vibe, from its positioning at the dead end, pushed well back from the road, to its dark and foreboding colors. It crouched like some gigantic beast, a warning written into its wood frame. A chill given out to every visitor who might pass.
Except, even as I sat there, looking up at it, something flowered within me. My heart beat solid thumps, pushing warmth through my body. Pushing a feeling of home, of safety, of belonging. Something about this house tugged at me. Begged me to come closer and rest my weary head within its walls.
I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “I’ve cracked, that’s all there is to it. Living with my parents—even for just a couple days—has finally driven me insane.”
Still, there was plenty of oddity to go around, from the way that attic light was emitting a glow despite the bright afternoon sunshine—magic—to that strange shadow from nowhere—dark magic—to the lovely grass—diligent gardener.
My imagination was still active and this beast would feed right into it. I almost felt like a teenager again.
“This is an honest to god mansion,” I said into the heavy hush as I pulled into the driveway. “Things looked bigger to ten-year-olds, my butt. This is just plain big!”
What was it about middle age and muttering to oneself? Was that a mom thing, or an age thing? I didn’t know, but it had become a me thing, and if I didn’t watch it, I’d embarrass myself with the super-old-yet-never-seemed-to-die Great Uncle Earl.
I stepped out of the car slowly and a tingle of excitement worked through my body. A smile played with my lips, I could feel it. Something about this move felt right. The house was big, weird, and creepy, but it was exactly what I needed right now.
Struggling to contain a manic grin that would probably scare people, I stepped up to the door and found myself staring at a large gargoyle knocker. It looked silently at me with its strange brass eyes and a mouth full of metal.
“It better not talk,” I muttered, remembering the movie Labyrinth from my childhood.
But what would I do if it did?
The manic grin spread wider.
Forget scaring people, someone would probably call the cops on the deranged middle-aged lady loitering on private property.
Diana had instructed me to knock first. If no one answered, I had to report to the first house on the left to get the key.
With a quick glance behind me at the quiet street, making sure no one was gawking, I wrapped my fingers around the cool ring of metal and thumped the knocker three times. The sound reverberated through the house, bouncing along the floors and up to the various levels. I could feel it, like a tangible thing. My imagination was already in overdrive.
I took a deep breath as adrenaline coursed through me.
“You rang.”
“Oh!” I jumped and spun around, clutching my purse to my chest like some old biddy at an unexpected peep show.
A tall, gangly man with more wrinkles than hair stood in front of me, his eyes a deep midnight, his scowl possibly etched into his face from years of use, and his height topping mine by at least a foot, putting him somewhere in between six and seven feet tall. A moth-bitten suit clung to his bony shoulders and a tattered cape dusted the back of his thighs, fluttering in a breeze I couldn’t feel.
I didn’t know where he’d come from, but he’d snuck up behind me silently.
“Ha-ha,” I laughed warily. “Good one. From the Addams Family, right? Lurch?”
I pointed at him for no reason, kind of just needing something to do with my hands. His stare was unnerving.
Silence stretched between us. I lifted my eyebrows, hoping he’d pick up the conversational baton and run with it. When he didn’t, I cleared my throat.
“I’m Jess. Jacinta.” I shrugged. “Jessie. Usually.”
“Are you usually the one person or do you switch between all three?” the ancient butler said with no hint of humor.
I smiled unconvincingly and half-chuckled anyway. The guy was weird.
“So…I’m the new caretaker,” I said, trying not to sound awkward. And failing miserably. “Are you Great Uncle Earl?”
“I am not your great uncle anything, but my name is Earl, yes. You may call me Tom.”
“Tom,” I said, searching his face for a joke. If it was there, it was hidden behind the scowl.
“Mr. Tom,” he said.
I was pretty sure my eyebrows had gotten lost in my hairline. “Mr. Tom.” I squinted at him. “Are you kidding, or… I can’t tell if you’re kidding.”
“I am a butler. I never kid.”
“Right. Of course.”
“Mr. Tom.”
“Yes. Right. Mr. Tom, then.” I cleared my throat for the second time. “Mr. Tom, should I just…” I jerked my head at the door.
He stared at me. He didn’t even blink.
“Should I just…go in?” I jerked my head again, pointing at the door for emphasis this time.
“To whom am I speaking?” he asked.
Oh good, his memory didn’t work. We’d get along just fine. We could have the same conversation for days and be none the wiser.
“Jessie,” I answered, now pointing at my chest.
“Jessie, you need to report to Ms. Murphy’s house. She’s a God-awful old woman from a dreary land, but she is the holder of The Key. Visiting her cannot be helped, I’m afraid. Don’t ask me to go with you, I simply cannot stomach it.”
“Oh. Sure. Ms. Murphy—”
“Yes, Ms. Murphy’s house. She is just…” He turned in a crisp movement that spoke of agelessness and pointed at the first house on the left. This was the neighbor I’d been told to visit if no one answered the door at Ivy House.
“Great.” I glanced at the car, debating, then shifted my gaze to the deserted street. “What’s the crime rate around here? Probably pretty quiet, huh?”
“Only if we’re not raided. Or hunted. The uncrowned alpha has been all the protection we need, though I fear we are adrift. Someday he won’t be enough, and then where will we be? Dead, that’s where. Dismembered, flayed, burned alive, what have you.”
Was it just me, or was this guy completely bananas?
“Okay. I’ll just take my purse with me.” I edged around him.
“We are only safe because no one is interested in our lowly residents. But mark my words…” He let the silence stretch as his crisp gaze beat into me. I inched backward, wearing a polite smile usually reserved for the drug-addled homeless asking weird questions in the check-out line at the grocery store. “You will not want to take the sandwich. You might take the tea—she’ll force it on you—but refrain from the sandwich. It’ll keep you there all day.”