Cross My Heart

by Natalie Vivien

  “I'm too wired to sleep, honestly. I mean, this is the kind of thing I've dreamed about all of my life.”

  “An evil entity who pops out of mirrors? You've dreamed of that?” I ask, narrowing my brows.

  “No, silly.” Trudy kisses me again, harder this time, her breasts against my breasts, her knee bent between my legs and applying gentle pressure. “I've dreamed of a woman who I can't stop thinking about, who fills my stomach with butterflies, who inspires me to be better, to be braver, and to...allow myself to be loved.”

  I stare at her with wide eyes. “Oh,” I whisper.

  “You have no idea how much you affect people, do you?”

  “I know how much you affect me.”

  “Tell me how much.”

  I draw my arm out from beneath the comforter to rest my hand against the side of her cheek. “So much that it scares me. God, too much, but I always want more.”

  “You'll get more, tiger. Lots more,” she promises in a low, husky voice, kissing the tip of my nose. Then she slides off of me and pauses beside the door frame. “Dream of me. I'll be back soon.”

  I roll over onto my side and close my eyes, trying to still my whirling thoughts. Trying to push away the image of those arms reaching for Elizabeth. Trying to forget the arrogant confidence of Xavier's voice when he spoke my name. Right here. In this room.

  Curling up into the fetal position, I cocoon the covers more tightly around me and draw in several deep breaths, willing sleep to come. It does, but it brings nightmares with it: again, Victoria standing on the edge of the Bridal Veil Falls—and this time, there's another figure standing beside her. A man dressed in black, with black hair and black eyes.

  Xavier glances at me wickedly. And then he pushes Victoria, sending her plummeting to her death.

  Chapter Ten

  I blink and sit up, rubbing my eyes blearily.

  “Good evening, beautiful.” Trudy is lying beside me on her stomach, a library book propped up on the pillow. She slides onto her side and smiles up at me lazily. “Feel better?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Nearly six.”

  “Six! And you've been here all alone—”

  “It's okay. Aside from some cold spots and an orb in the backyard—far away, over that pond—I haven't experienced anything too weird. Although...”

  I stare at her worriedly. “Although what?”

  “Well, I went into the bathroom to pee, and when I washed my hands—so, the sink was plugged. I didn't realize that at first. The water started to fill the bowl, and I thought I saw...” She pauses, gazing up at me uncertainly. “Do you really want me to tell you?”

  “No.” I smile, caressing her knee. She's changed out of her jumpsuit and is wearing only her panties and my NYU tank top. “But tell me, anyway.”

  “Well, I thought I saw a man's face.”

  “Oh, my God—”

  “No, don't freak out. Nothing happened. I pulled out the plug, and he whirled away, along with the water.”

  “But, Trudy, that might mean that Xavier can inhabit any reflective surface. Water. Glass. Anything shiny.”

  “It might mean that. But it also might not mean anything. My eyes could have been playing tricks on me. I haven't slept, and I'm kind of expecting to see a ghost at every turn, so... I'm not sure that I'm a reliable witness. But never mind that now. I have something more important to tell you.” She sits up beside me, bringing the book onto her lap, and her blue-violet eyes latch onto mine. “I know who Xavier is, Alex.”

  “You do? How—”

  “Look.” She swings the book toward me and points to a sentence near the top of the page:

  A private man, Godrick Patton kept a small household. According to records found in his Cascade Avenue residence, he had only two servants: a cook named Anne Ballard and a personal valet, Xavier Manderson, who often accompanied Godrick on his voyages.

  I read over the paragraph again, mentally kicking myself for forgetting the name of Godrick's valet. “I knew Xavier sounded familiar.” I sigh and lean back against the headboard. “He was mentioned in another book that I skimmed through, but his existence totally slipped my mind. Not that remembering him would have made any difference. And we still don't know how to get rid of him.”

  “No, but I read through the Team's reports and made a couple of calls. Back in Puerto Rico, Marisol dealt with something like this—a malevolent spirit. She participated in a séance to persuade the spirit to leave.”

  “And did it?”

  Trudy scoots back beside me, pressing her shoulder against mine. “No. But through the séance, they found out what the spirit wanted. Apparently it was angry that the house it had once lived in had been renovated. It wanted everything put back to the way it was before.”

  I lift a brow and laugh weakly. “Do you think that's what Xavier wants?”

  “Doubt it. This was never his house. Why would he care about the changes you've made? Though house renovation has been known to awaken dormant spirits. It's like they're in stasis until they hear the power saws and jackhammers. But listen to this—oh, wait. I have a prop.” Trudy reaches beneath the pillow behind her and draws out a pair of black-framed glasses. They have round lenses with horizontal black lines marking the fronts. Trudy puts them on and assumes a faux-serious expression. “Don't laugh. I ordered these from the back of a comic book when I was a kid, and I take them to every ghost hunt—just in case they work.”

  I stifle a smile. “So...what are they supposed to do? Give you x-ray vision?”

  “C'mon, I was born with x-ray vision.” She eyes my t-shirt-covered chest meaningfully, nodding her approval as she arches a brow. “Anyway, these glasses are called Sixth Sense Specs, and they're supposed to allow me to see into the spirit world.”

  “Ah. Handy.”

  “Yeah. Except they've never delivered on their promise. Mostly, I keep them because they help me look like a hot librarian.”

  “You are a hot librarian,” I smile at her. “But—don't get me wrong—the glasses are a nice addition. Weird...but nice.”

  “I hoped you'd like them.” She smiles lasciviously and then straddles my lap, leaning forward to trail kisses over my neck. “Mm, what was I saying?”

  I bite my lip, stroking my fingers through her hair. “Something about Xavier?”

  “Oh, right.” She sighs, straightens, and adjusts her glasses, then says, in a news anchor-esque voice: “This just in: Xavier lived in a room in the attic. Which means that some of his belongings might still be up there.”

  I inhale deeply. “And he might still be up there.”

  “True. But what if he has the locket Victoria was talking about? She said she needs that locket. Maybe it's the key to solving this mystery.” She wraps her arms around my waist and pulls herself close, so that our stomachs are pressed tightly together. “Up for some excavating, Alex the Archaeologist?” Trudy removes the pair of glasses and places one of its tips into her mouth, lifting a brow as she gazes at me. “I wouldn't mind seeing your skills in action. You've already seen me at my job. It's only fair that I get to watch you at yours.”

  I smile at her, shrugging. “I'm all for equality. Why don't you get dressed—jumpsuit, shoes; it's dangerous up there—while I give Marie a call, out of the blue, and ask her to help me arrange a séance. That's a normal question for a real estate agent, right?”

  “Nope. You're officially weird.” She thwacks my thigh. “But get to it!”

  While Trudy begins to pull on her jumpsuit, I grab my cell from the bedside table and wander out into the hallway and down the staircase. Marie answers on the second ring.

  “Ms. Dark?”

  Surprised to be addressed by name, I say, “Hi, Marie. I'm sorry to bother you—”

  “It isn't a bother! To be frank, Alex, I have been hoping you would give me a call for weeks. I've been too ashamed to call you myself.”

  “Ashamed? Of what?”

  “Well...” She pauses, and I he
ar her inhale a deep breath before she says, “I sold you a haunted house.”

  “You knew?”

  “Yes, but you'd come so far, and I didn't think you—as a scientist—would believe me, anyway, and I just felt as if the house was meant for you, so I—oh, but those are only excuses. I should have told you. I did give you some hints, but...I was dishonest, and I apologize. I'm guessing that you want to back out of the contract?”

  “What? No. Wait.” I stroll across the entryway, to the back door, and step outside; it's a brisk day. Dead leaves crunch beneath my feet. I stare at the dozens of holes Jack dug around the yard and rake a hand back through my sleep-flattened hair. “The remodel is almost done. I'm nearly ready to resell...” I trail off, because my stomach flipped at the word resell. I hadn't realized how close I was to saying good-bye to this place.

  “Has it been awful?” Marie asks in a hushed tone, as if she's speaking of a taboo subject. “The...disturbances, I mean.”

  I would hardly call Elizabeth and Victoria “disturbances,” but as for Xavier...I have a worse—and less polite—word for him. “Oh,” I sigh, “it's been memorable.”

  “Memorable in a good way?” she asks hopefully.

  I consider, crouching down to pick up my magnifying glass, encrusted with dirt, from the grass. “Hard to answer that one. But how did you find out the place was haunted?”

  “It's been unoccupied for more than a hundred years. I'm an architectural historian, and that piqued my interest. So I did some research on the former owners and explored the nooks and crannies myself. And in so doing...I believe I encountered something otherworldly.”

  “Can you describe what happened?”

  “Of course. Well...I was in Elizabeth Patton's bedroom, admiring the lovely Victorian furniture. They really don't make furniture like that anymore. My dining table is from Ikea, and it looks like something out of a spaceship. But Elizabeth's vanity...” Her voice takes on a dreamy quality. “I could almost imagine her sitting before it, brushing out her long brown hair. And then...I saw...” She pauses, and I try to wait patiently for her to continue, but after a minute, I exhale through my nose, clutching the phone tightly in my hand.

  “You saw Elizabeth's ghost?” I prompt her.

  “Elizabeth? No. No, I saw a man. In that mirror. He faded away, and a ball of light came out of the mirror and sort of...flew around the room, as if it were looking for something.”

  “Xavier,” I whisper beneath my breath.

  “There were other instances—cold spots, an eerie feeling on the stairs that made me dizzy... Anyway, Ms. Dark, if you aren't calling to challenge the contract, what can I do for you?”

  Suddenly, I don't feel quite so embarrassed about my question for Marie. With a slanted smile, I move the phone to my other ear and ask her, “Would you happen to know any mediums willing to perform a séance? I'd pay extra for an immediate appointment, and I will cover any travel expenses, too.” I remember Cordelia's haunted expression after her encounter with Xavier, adding grimly, “It's an emergency.”

  “Oh, dear. I'm sorry to hear things have gotten dire.”

  “I have some investigators helping me out. I think it's going to be okay...” I hope. “But we do need to hire a medium. And I remembered you mentioning something about a séance when we last spoke.”

  Marie sighs heavily. “Oh, dear,” she says again, and I can almost hear her shaking her head, pursing her lips.

  To be honest, I'm shocked that she knew about Xavier, but I don't bear her any ill will for selling me a haunted house. She's right: I wouldn't have believed her had she told me. And even if I had, I'm stubborn—as Cordelia and Trudy attested to last night. I would have bought the damn house, anyway, so what difference does it make?

  “I do have a medium friend who lives in Lily Dale. It's a bit of a drive, but you might be able to convince her to come to Niagara Falls, if only as a favor to me. Constance Reed is the real deal, I can promise you that.”

  “Great. Can I have her number?”

  Marie reads it off to me, and I repeat it in my head, memorizing it.

  “Alex, I truly am sorry—”

  “You aren't the one haunting my house, Marie. Besides, it's a mystery, and mysteries are kind of my thing. Granted, I've never dealt with a mystery like this before, but—”

  “I have faith that you're more than equipped for the challenge. You know, Alex, that house had been on the market for years, and not a single person expressed any interest in it. Not even when we were offering it for a dollar. No one seemed to notice it at all—until you emailed me. I think that means something. I think you were meant to buy this house. To...hmm...save it.”

  Marie's words set me off-kilter. I tip onto the ground on my bottom, dropping the magnifying glass. Sighing again, I say, “All I want to do right now is make the place feel safe again. And I'm hoping your friend will be able to help me out with that.”

  “I hope she will, too. Make sure to mention my name. I helped Constance out of a real estate pickle a couple of years back, so she might be feeling grateful. Or guilty. Either way, I'll be thinking of you, Alex.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And, again, I'm sorry for withholding information.”

  “Clear your conscience. I knew this was going to be an adventure when I signed on for it. I couldn't have predicted what kind of an adventure. But I guess that's how life goes.”

  “You're a wise woman, you know.”

  “Not sure I deserve that compliment.” Trudy steps through the back door, pink-clad, pink-cheeked, a warm smile playing over her lips as she tromps through the weeds and aims for me. “But I think I've gotten a little wiser since I came to town.” I hold out my arm, reaching for Trudy's hand. “About some things, at least.”

  “Good, good. Well, I wish you light and luck—with your ghosts and...everything afterward.”

  “I appreciate that. Bye, Marie.”

  “Goodbye, Alex.”

  Trudy kneels on the ground beside me, leaning forward to kiss my lips. “Ready to brave the deep, dark, dangerous attic?”

  “Almost. I got the number for a medium from Marie. Keep your fingers crossed that she'll agree to come to the house.”

  Trudy crosses her fingers, smiling sweetly. “I'm sure you'll be able to persuade her, tiger. But I don't want to distract you—”

  “You are very distracting.” I tug at her jumpsuit's zipper and press my mouth to a freckle on her breast.

  “Oh...” she sighs. But then she moves back from me with a sideways grin. “Let's save dessert for later. It'll give us something to look forward to. How's about I go pay a visit to your resident mice and spiders in the attic while you make that phone call?”

  I frown. “I'm not sure if there's a solid floor up there... You'll have to balance on the beams.”

  “Easy.” She scoffs. “I used to be a tightrope walker.”

  “Really?”

  “No. But thanks for believing I could have been. I would have loved circus life. The costumes, the applause—”

  “A new woman in every city,” I tease her, arching a brow.

  She pauses, and her expression shifts, grows somber. She licks her lips and reaches for my hand. “Alex, I want you to know... I haven't been with any other woman since I met you. I don't want to be with anyone else.” Her smile is soft, playful but sincere. “And even if I do become a tightrope walker and travel the world, I'll tack a photo of you on my caravan wall and kiss it every night—until I can kiss you in person again.”

  I chuckle lightly, pressing my lips to Trudy's fingers. “And I want you to know that if you ever run away and join the circus, I'll be right there by your side. Well...” I glance skyward, pondering. “My balance is laughable, so tightrope-walking is probably out. But maybe I could swallow swords? Dance with fire? Train little dogs to jump through hoops?”

  “Better yet—train ghost dogs to jump through hoops.”

  “Ah, you might be on to something there...”


  “I can see it now—The Dark and Strange Spectral Circus! Haunting small towns all across America.” She shrugs and slants a smile at me. “You know, if they shut down all of the libraries, and if that archaeology thing of yours ever falls through. Always good to have a backup plan.”

  “Yeah.”

  Huh.

  I've never made a plan—imaginary or otherwise—with any of my love interests before. And Trudy's been talking long term. I have to admit, that used to trigger my fight-or-flight response. But not anymore. Not with her. I just...can't see very far into my future right now. My intention was to sell the house and go back to work—but that would mean leaving Trudy, turning my back on what we've begun to build together.

  I'm a realist: I don't think a long-distance relationship would satisfy either of us, not for any lengthy period of time...

  So what am I going to do?

  “You'll come to the attic after your phone call?”

  “Hmm?” I shake my head, summon a smile as Trudy rises to her feet. “Yeah. Of course. Be extra careful, okay? Call out if you need my help.”

  Once Trudy goes back indoors, I reach again for the magnifying glass and am about to pick it up when my hand stills; I lean closer to peer through the lens. The magnifying glass fell over one of Jack's shallow holes. He'd been digging for treasure but came up empty-handed—though there's a sharp corner sticking out of the mud, its trim unmistakably carved. He might have missed it or mistaken it for a buried stone because it's caked in dirt, but the magnifying glass reveals it to be an old wooden box.

  Heart hammering, I tug at the corner of the box, gritting my teeth. This isn't good archaeology, but I don't have any of my tools. A solid minute of pulling loosens the dirt around the box, until finally the earth gives it up, and the square vessel hurtles into the air. I catch it against my chest and then scrape off some of the mud, revealing a metal catch with a tiny broken lock. The lid opens easily, on silent hinges.

  I expect bones. Children throughout the ages have buried the bodies of their pets in the backyard, typically in shallow graves. Maybe young Elizabeth had a bird or a mouse who died. Maybe she held a funeral for it, wrapped it in this pretty box, and dug a small hole with her own little trowel.