by Mara McQueen
“You said he sounded cranky?”
“Not really...more like...tense? I guess? He did mumble something toward the end. About me checking if you were still at the manor and calling you back or something like that. As if I could call you in the middle of nowhere. Maybe he was mad because you got the contract.” Olivia could practically hear Janice rolling her eyes. “Or maybe he did that thing with the lotion again and it got under his—”
“Okay, okay,” Olivia said quickly. “Maybe you should tell Maria.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Janice said, sounding all serious again. “Boss lady would sack his perfect ass right away. I can’t do that.”
Olivia hated to admit it, but Maria would fire Milo for leaving without notice. Which only made his decision that much more irrational.
“If he calls again...” Olivia trailed off. What? He could send her a carrier pigeon?
“I’m gonna have a lovely little chat with him, that’s what I’ll do.”
Before Janice could go on a tirade about Milo and his abysmal dating plans, Olivia managed to hang up. Taking a deep breath, she tried to make sense of the mass of thoughts and emotions swirling in her head.
Milo always had a plan. Usually not a good one, but he never did anything without a reason. Olivia simply needed to figure out what this one was.
She really needed to see the ending of the video he'd left.
With a quick excuse to Mrs. Bolton—who was absolutely enthralled by a game of gin with Addie, who actually smiled and seemed sincere for once—Olivia bolted upstairs.
The walk to her room seemed longer than usual. A nervous hum coursed through her.
She shouldn't be worried. Really. Milo had probably left more drivel about her style choices.
Or maybe he’d flipped out, abandoned modern society, and declared war on penguins. It was a coin toss, really. But she needed to know all the same.
She clutched the phone in her hands and waited an inexcusable amount of time for it to light up. The socket still hissed in the background. Olivia hoped she wouldn’t mess up the fuses. The last thing the house needed was another maintenance problem.
The tiny icon for Milo’s video popped up on the screen. With a nod and a sharp inhale, Olivia pressed play.
One More Hasty Decision
Olivia stood motionless in the middle of the room, eyes unfocused, mind going a million miles an hour.
The silence fractured whatever calm she'd mustered. Her heart was trying to beat itself out of her chest, and her lungs couldn’t suck in air fast enough as a storm of emotion roiled inside her after watching Milo’s video.
She was confused, annoyed, hesitant, fearful, and had absolutely no clue what to do.
Maybe she had misinterpreted it.
Maybe she had misunderstood.
Maybe Milo had been drunk.
Maybe he was playing games.
Maybe something was really wrong.
She replayed the footage, starting from the point that really mattered. The portion she hadn’t had last time.
“Yeah.” Milo’s face popped up, just as he turned back to the camera. “Probably some raccoon. Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest, this manor is like a nest for vermin. Anyway, I need to check some things out. I’ll probably be back by tomorrow. Or, well, your next tomorrow. Whatever.”
“Now don’t take this the wrong way. I kinda want to tell you something...But I can’t. Not really. Because you might get the wrong idea and screw me over.” The first time she had watched it, this was the moment Olivia had thought Milo would delve into a very awkward, very unwelcome, unprofessional confession. It definitely would’ve explained his disdain for Kieran.
How wrong she had been. How she wished she hadn’t been.
“I mean, I’d do the same thing. Us agents are one and the same,” Milo said, the words sounding like cold metal over the phone. “And I guess I have some weird sort of respect for you for that. I don’t know. But that’s not important.”
Olivia held her breath once again.
Milo shook his head. “I didn’t really want to leave this video. I mean, I kept arguing with myself if I should. Didn’t want anybody finding it, first of all. And you’re too damn smart for your own good and might figure it out. I’ll take my chances though.”
A tense moment of silence followed.
“I...I found something,” he continued and his too-bright smile vanished. Olivia’s brows furrowed in tandem with his. “Don’t really know if what I found was really—you know—what I think it was –I’ve probably watched those ruddy crime shows a bit too much. I really don’t know. It’s a good thing I loitered around those tunnels, I’ll tell you that much. Which was all thanks to you, by the way. Wanted to see what you were up with that heir of yours.”
Milo shook his head again. “It’s probably nothing. But I need to make sure. Can’t sleep with a guilty conscience, now can I?”
“Just...keep an eye out. I’m not sure there’s really any danger. Not for you at least. But be on the lookout anyway. I’m not stupid enough to tell you exactly what’s going on and serve you the contract on a silver platter, though. After all, I didn’t spend my night snogging a prat. Seriously, Abbate, he’s weird.”
Said the man who had been toying with her phone. And following her.
“I’ll deal with whatever needs to be dealt with. Won’t take me long, I gather. And this might really launch my career. Maybe help me move to London, who knows?"
Olivia frowned. How could Bolton Manor help with that? Yes, selling it would bring a hefty commission that would make her bank account weep in gratitude, but the top, top agents in London? They sold manors three times as big—and renovated, too—every month. It took a lot more than Bolton Manor, rusting at the edges, to impress those top firms.
"Don’t worry. If you want to go back home...I think that’d be best,” Milo’s video went on. “But for all that’s holy in every religion in this world and outer space, don’t call the bloody police and ruin the sale.”
Olivia wanted to. But...call the cops and tell them what? That her coworker had gone bonkers and left cryptic messages about nothing in particular, except her personal life, then went on a vacation?
“This ruddy thing’s already on low battery.” Milo groaned and shook the phone. “For fuck’s sake, Abbat—”
The screen went black again, leaving Olivia’s thoughts jumbled once more.
She definitely hadn’t imagined the look of concern on Milo’s face. Or the fact that he hinted at something weird going on.
But...Olivia couldn’t completely dismiss the likelihood of it being one of Milo’s pranks. She still remembered the last April 1st memo he’d sent, announcing all the staff they'd been let go, only for Milo to pop out of the bathroom wearing a lawyer’s wig, of all things, and decreeing that everyone was safe from unemployment, for another year, at least. He’d spent the rest of the day in disciplinary hearing—that was the first and only time Olivia had heard Maria raising her voice.
If Milo had risked the very strict policy of their firm for a little midday cackle, who could say he wouldn’t try it again, this time on a much smaller scale.
He had tried to rattle Olivia before. To scare her away from the sale, as he was trying to now. When he’d recorded the video, Milo hadn’t known Kieran had already signed the contract. It made a twisted sort of sense.
Then why did Olivia’s unease grow?
Calling the cops, as Milo had so eloquently mentioned, might mean losing the sale if it turned out to be an elaborate joke. And there was nothing coherent she could report. First of all, Milo had said he was leaving, and at least one person in this house could vouch for that. He wasn’t missing, per se, he had simply wandered off to do...something. On his own. That he didn’t want Olivia, or anyone else at the firm, really to find out about.
She didn’t have enough information to even begin comprehending what he was talking about. But maybe she could gather some more.
After all, Milo had ment
ioned something about the tunnels, and there was one person in this whole manor who seemed to know a lot about them.
Maybe Kieran had the answers Olivia craved. And he could take her hand and blow her fears away in one sentence. She needed that. The certainty only he could give her right now.
She snatched up her baton and shoved it as far as it would go into her back jeans’ pocket, hidden behind her shirt. She had no use for a weapon, but after watching that video, what was one more hasty decision in a cloud of confusion?
She barely knocked on Kieran’s study before barging in unceremoniously. “Kieran, I—”
It was empty. The chair pushed against the desk made Olivia’s cheeks flush, but she had no time for those delicious memories.
She made quick work of checking his bedroom and bathroom. No sign of the wicked man.
She was beginning to really worry.
Olivia clenched her jaw with a deep, centering breath. He might’ve wandered downstairs or left for the day. Regardless, her plan still stood.
Inspect the tunnels.
Find nothing of importance because Milo was clearly delusional.
Concoct an evil plan to get back at him when he returned from his ‘vacation’.
Olivia had solved much bigger problems than this, all by herself, and hoping she could count on someone through it was the kind of danger she did not need.
The dash downstairs passed by in a blur, to the tune of a soft song playing in the background. Somebody was taking advantage of the power being back on and listening to one of the most soothing songs Olivia had ever heard. It calmed her—barely.
But the sudden enthusiastic claps coming from one of the corner rooms stopped her in her tracks.
Drawn to the noise, she peered inside the large music room she and Milo had cleared of debris a few days before.
The piano’s lid lay open, Mrs. Bolton’s fingers gliding over the keys with graceful, almost unnatural speed. With her head bowed, the woman watched the movement of her own hands with a clear intensity, a ghost of a smile pulling at her face.
Sitting beside her on the velvet chair, Kieran stared at his grandmother with soft eyes. An even softer smile graced his beautiful face.
That affection, that deep, raw love that he felt for the most important person in his life was beyond endearing. It was proof enough that he wasn’t a weirdo, as Milo had so charmingly pointed out.
In the background, every other guest and resident of the manor watched in rapture as Mrs. Bolton swayed with her amazing music.
Even Bertha and Darryl, sitting on opposite sides of the room, had small grins gracing their usually surly faces.
Martin and Sarah held hands and alternated between giving loving looks to each other and affectionate ones to Mrs. Bolton.
Addie and Emma were both in their usual spots—Darryl’s lap and Mrs. Bolton’s shadow—soaking in the music.
Olivia stood unmoving by the door, completely mesmerized, until Mrs. Bolton finished the song, bringing her hands up with a flourish. She looked around the room, gaze widening when she spotted Olivia.
“It’s nice to see an old dame like me can still draw an audience,” Mrs. Bolton said with childish curiosity.
“Come in, Olivia, come in. The more, the merrier.” Martin scooted across the small settee, leaving maybe half a hip of space between him and the edge. He almost bumped into the endless rows of dusty mirrors nestled in the back.
“Or maybe she can slink back to her room,” Addie said, clinging to her boyfriend’s neck.
Kieran’s eyes found Olivia’s. He spread his fingers oh-so-casually on the small available space on the chair, right next to him. A clear invitation, and one Olivia really, really didn’t want to refuse. But she had to.
She was a woman on a mission, and basking in Kieran’s presence would have to wait.
“It’s quite lovely,” Olivia said slowly, scared she might bring on more unpleasantness with her big mouth. “Please, don’t let me interrupt you. I just need a quick word with Kieran.”
He quirked his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. When he started rising from his seat, Mrs. Bolton clutched his hand with her much smaller one, stopping his progress.
“No, no. You can’t go. I still have three more songs,” Mrs. Bolton said. “You promised you’d stay for all three.”
A pained look crossed Kieran’s face as he took in his grandmother’s plea, all traces of the power and poise obvious mere moments ago now completely vanished. Mrs. Bolton's sudden mood swing hurt Olivia. She could only imagine what her grandson must’ve been feeling.
“I won’t go. You can play all night long if you want to. I’m here. I’m always here,” he half-whispered and sat back down again with a long, remorseful look at Olivia. Mrs. Bolton still hadn’t let go of his hand.
Olivia wasn't about to rip him from his grandmother's side for one of Milo's pranks. This could wait.
“We can talk later,” Olivia said, though she was about to panic out of her mind. “Please, Mrs. Bolton, play some more.”
Mrs. Bolton’s face erupted with joy. As she started a more up-tempo song, Olivia slid closer to Kieran, careful to not make a sound.
She bent down, her lips barely grazing the shell of his ear, a steady hand on his upper arm. He instinctively leaned into her touch.
“If I’m not back in half an hour, come look for me in the tunnels,” she murmured, barely moving her lips.
She hadn’t trusted some people in this house even before Milo’s video, and she was not about to start now.
Kieran leaned back, giving her a perplexed look. Behind his obvious bewilderment, Olivia detected a bit of worry. It made her feel all kinds of warm inside. When she made a move to leave, Kieran grabbed her hand, an unspoken question lingering in the air. His eyes dashed between her and his grandmother, his brows furrowing. Olivia batted away the selfish part of her that wanted him beside her right then and there.
“I’ll be back,” she mouthed, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze.
She managed to release her hand from his iron grip and rushed out of the room.
It didn’t matter that Kieran wasn’t there with her. That he couldn’t be there with her. She wasn’t about to stomp her foot and demand he come along on an irrational whim, even if every cell in her body wanted her to ignore common decency.
She reasoned her uneasiness away with a few internal cuss words and a small reminder of the years she had spent surviving on her own.
As she entered the deserted portrait room, Olivia unconsciously patted the baton hidden beneath her clothes.
She had all the help she needed—herself. And a foot of steel that could break bones.
Underground Incursions
If there was one thing Olivia regretted not bringing to Bolton Manor—aside from a reliable means of contacting the outside world, independent of power outages, faulty sockets, and the likes—that had to be a mask.
Not the right shoes—if she could power walk in her pumps, she could very well run from a machete-wielding nut job.
Not a chain to tie Milo securely to a stove to make sure the dumbass didn’t wander off.
Not a survival kit in case she somehow got impaled by a falling beam.
No.
The one thing she should’ve brought was a goddamn breathing mask.
The stench of Bolton Manor’s bowels had seeped into her nose for the last fucking time. Everywhere she turned, some new smell assaulted her senses, from the layer of dust that magically sprung to life whenever she walked by, to the decaying wood, to Bertha’s breath in the morning that could shame a sailor on leave.
She was done. Done.
And nothing, nothing in the house smelled as bad as the tunnels after the heavy rain. The musky scent they had given off when she’d visited this part of the manor with Kieran had been earthy. This? This was an acidic reek that would burn her nose hairs permanently.
Lit lamp in one hand, baton safely grasped in the other, she took hesitant st
eps inside the tunnel.
The small sound echoed in the silent space.
Of all the things her job description included—and she’d had to take a mandatory cooking course at one point, because, hey, nothing sells houses faster than the smell of freshly baked cookies—there was nothing in her contract about underground incursions meant to decipher a coworker’s cryptic message.
She passed the eerie murals quickly, the beady eyes of the gods and hunters glinting in the dim light. She felt like they were looking at the back of her neck.
More than once, she stopped and turned around abruptly, her traitorous brain screaming that someone was following her.
Water seeped into the walls, painting them in odd, mismatched patterns.
The smell intensified as she went farther, deeper, darker. No sign of a ruptured water pipe or some long lost treasure, so something else had piqued Milo’s bizarre interest.
That meant she had to march on, further than the spot where she and Kieran had abandoned their hesitation together.
She was hit by the same longing sensation again. She wanted Kieran beside her. Selfish, yes, but she couldn’t stop her galloping heart from wanting something she’d never, ever utter out loud. But that was insane. There was nobody in this tunnel, and she was in no danger.
But no matter how many times she told herself that, her muscles were still tense, and her breathing came out too short.
Everything in the tunnels gnawed at her insides. They had been fascinating the first time around, when the history buff inside her had reared its intellectual head, and she was safely guided through the darkness by Kieran’s powerful hands. Now, though...now everything felt cold and much too dark.
But she went on, and with each step, she cursed Milo some more.
After about ten miserable minutes, Olivia stumbled upon a bifurcation. One side of the tunnel veered right into a smaller corridor, while the main passageway was blocked by a pile of rocks and dirt, compacted into one annoying obtrusion. Tiny cracks in the block showed nothing but darkness.
Olivia was too nervous to peer inside them. Her skin felt clammy, a cold sweat pooling at the base of her neck. She adjusted her grip on her baton, which had begun to slip, and continued her journey.
