Forsake

by Andrea Pearson

  With her heart racing, Nicole looked at the corners of the room, but they weren’t sharp enough to allow a hound to travel through. In fact, nothing down here was. With relief, Nicole turned her attention back to the cellar and looking for the secret museum.

  But if a hound wasn’t approaching, where had the magical pressure come from? It was dissipating now, thank goodness, and as it left, it took with it the panic it had brought.

  They followed the hall to the right, revealing more shelves of bottles. The farther they went, the more Nicole realized this was not what she was looking for. Alexander had said it would be a museum full of creepy and ancient artifacts from graves and cemeteries. Nothing inside the cellar was creepy, even with how dark it was. Where was the museum?

  The hall eventually met up with the staircase. There hadn’t been any doorways, no other passageways, and nothing to reveal an entrance to a secret museum.

  When they stopped at the staircase, Conor turned to Nicole. “So, I’m guessing you didn’t find what you needed?”

  Nicole shook her head. “This isn’t the right basement. The place we’re looking for is deep, deep down. There has to be another one.”

  Conor nodded. “I’m willing to go along with that, but wouldn’t we have found an entrance to that basement here?”

  Nicole shrugged. “Not if they wanted it hidden.”

  “Good point.” Conor glanced at Nicole. “Are you ready to tell me what you’re looking for? I mean, you know this isn’t the right place. If I knew more, I’d be able to help better.”

  Nicole bit the inside of her cheek, studying Conor in the near blackness, wondering if she could trust him. She remembered her conversation with Lizzie the night before and decided to be as vague as possible. Regardless of his motivations, she didn’t want to give him information he didn’t need.

  “It’s something for my grandpa.” Nicole didn’t know what else to say, and she hated the lies that had been building up since this whole ordeal began. “I don’t really know a whole lot. Just that that there’s an underground museum here that has something in it I need. I’m supposed to know what it is when I see it.” The lies fell smoothly from her lips, and she could tell that Conor bought them.

  “Okay then, let’s see if we can find that basement entrance somewhere else.”

  They started back up the stairs. It wasn’t until they were halfway up that Nicole realized they were both on the staircase. Not smart, but the old wood seemed to be okay. Apart from some pretty loud creaking, it held their weight.

  Conor led the way through the dark kitchen and back through the drawing room and on to the foyer. Once they were there, he turned to Nicole. “Okay, chief, where should we start searching?”

  Conor’s eyes began to twinkle. He tucked the flashlight under an arm and rubbed his hands together. “A mystery, then! Let’s keep going. How do we want to do this?”

  Nicole pointed to the room to the left of the front door. “Let’s start over there. We’ll want to search all the walls, every bookcase—anywhere that could possibly be hiding a secret passage.”

  “Do you want to search together or separately?”

  Nicole looked around the foyer, thinking through the pros and cons of both options. “Together. I don’t trust this place. There’s a weird feeling here.”

  Conor half smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. I didn’t want to sound like a wimp.”

  Nicole smacked him playfully on the arm. “So you made me sound like one instead?”

  Conor laughed. “You’re the girl—you’re supposed to be a damsel in distress so I can rescue you.”

  Nicole chuckled. “Okay, okay. You can rescue me by keeping me company.”

  Conor motioned for her to lead the way to the room on the left. As she passed him, her eyes landed on his jeans. They were completely dry.

  “Hey, the wine dried already,” she said. “That was really fast.” Especially with how damp and cool the cellar had been.

  Conor glanced down, the smile leaving his face. “Good thing, too. It was pretty uncomfortable walking around in wet jeans.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine.” Nicole frowned, wondering where the liquid had gone. Then she pushed it from her mind, realizing they needed to get going while it was still light outside.

  Chapter Twenty

  They entered a magnificent room that Conor explained was the great hall. And great it was.

  Nicole gazed up at the three-story walls, lined on one side with paintings and on the other with windows that were covered in soot and dirt. The other end of the room had four steps leading up to a large table that she supposed was where the lord and his lady sat during meals and events.

  The hall itself had a massive table that filled almost the entire place. Nicole listened as Conor explained that back in the old days, great halls were where guests and sometimes even family members would sleep.

  Behind the head table was a doorway. Nicole pointed at that, looking at Conor.

  “Shouldn’t we search the great hall first?” he asked.

  Nicole hesitated. “Probably. How are we gonna do it?”

  They started at the door, Conor searching to the right and Nicole to the left. They called out to each other as they searched—what they were finding, hints, and things that the other person might find useful.

  The work was slow and tedious. Nicole forgot the sense of despair the manor had cast over her as she searched and got her hands dirty. She pushed against the walls, doors, and picture frames, and she tugged on candle holders. Nothing gave.

  It took them an hour to search the whole room, including the floor underneath the table and the massive fireplace that was on one side of the long wall. They didn’t bother searching the windows—those obviously led outside.

  The door behind the head table led to what Conor said might be the room where the lord and lady slept—sort of like a master bedroom. It was huge and amazing.

  The bed was bigger than her parents’ California king. The frame had pillars at each corner that were at least a foot, maybe two, in diameter. Deep-blue velvet curtains hung from the frame, and the comforter was the same color.

  She pushed the dust off the floor with her sneaker, discovering marble underneath. The windows were dirty and dusty, but Nicole imagined they were just as lavish as the rest of the room. Even though her parents were wealthy, she couldn’t fathom the riches that had built this manor.

  She found herself wishing that the manor was clean and staffed with employees and that the family lived here still. She could only imagine how this room would look if the candles were lit and a fire roared in the fireplace.

  Conor and Nicole searched the room, pushing, twisting, and pulling frames, candle holders, and walls as they went, just like they had in the great hall.

  This room didn’t take nearly as long, but it still was well over half an hour before they finished. While they searched, Nicole found herself wondering about the man who lived here before. Had he been married? Did he have children? Any friends or servants? If so, what happened to them all? How long had he lived in this manor? Was he a direct descendant of the family who had built it?

  Once they finished with this part of their search, they continued searching the rest of the first floor. While searching the drawing room, Conor exclaimed in shock when one of the bookcases groaned under his hands, shifted, then rolled backward, revealing a gaping hole.

  The two of them eagerly stepped into the passageway. Instead of leading to a basement, however, it took them to what turned out to be a gentleman’s lounge. Cards were splayed out, and goblets that had probably been full of wine or some other beverage were still on the table that was in the middle of the room.

  As they searched, Nicole gradually became aware of a slight pressure again, sort of like what she’d experienced in the cellar, but even more faint this time. And unlike earlier, it didn’t fade. She hesitated, looking at Conor, wondering if she should ask him if he could feel it too. But no—the guy wasn’t
an Arete. He wouldn’t be able to sense magic.

  Even just knowing that she was feeling something that Conor couldn’t only made the hair on Nicole’s arms rise. Were they being watched? Was a hound on its way? The pressure wasn’t like what she felt before Alexander came or went, but what if the hounds all felt different?

  The hidden game room didn’t have any secrets, and neither did the rest of the first floor. Nicole was dismayed that the pressure never faded. She couldn’t figure out why it was there now and hadn’t been before. Were they being followed? Was there a presence here that was just now making itself known?

  Finally, they finished searching the first floor. She looked outside. They’d spent so much time on just this floor that she didn’t see how they’d possibly get through the whole manor before the day was over. The sun was almost setting already. She put a hand over her stomach, wishing she could put off food for even a bit longer, but knowing she needed the energy. They hadn’t eaten anything since around ten that morning.

  “Let’s eat,” Conor said. He was obviously starving too.

  They decided to have their meal outside. Conor poured water over Nicole’s hands so she could wash them off, and she did the same for him. They hadn’t brought paper towels, so their hands had to air dry.

  It felt so good to sit, to eat, to relax. They made small talk while munching on fruits and cheese and chewing the jerky. Nicole’s eyes strained in the increasing darkness.

  Nicole couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more going on. She kept looking over her shoulder, half expecting to see somebody there. But nobody ever was.

  Once they’d finished, they headed up the stairs to the second floor. A large portion of it overlooked the front entry, and there weren’t that many rooms compared to the first floor.

  The first, second, and third wings were empty. The moment they entered the fourth wing, they could tell that this was the part of the manor lived in most recently—at least, while the man had been here.

  They entered an office. It had a typewriter on top of a large steel desk, and an antique filing cabinet tucked in a corner. Nicole barely paid attention to those things, though. The moment they entered the room, she knew they were no longer alone.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Who was watching them? Was it a friend or foe? Should she talk to it?

  With a shudder, Nicole forced herself to ignore the presence. She hoped that by not letting it become aware of the fact that she knew it was there, it wouldn’t turn hostile.

  At the back of the office was another door. Nicole and Conor hesitated. Light seeped underneath that door. There was no way the light came from the sun—it had already set. Nicole reached out and grabbed Conor’s hand, and they looked at each other. Neither seemed willing to break the heavy silence.

  Conor pushed the door open.

  A fire roared in the fireplace opposite the door. Nicole’s jaw dropped as she stared at it. Was the spirit following them a poltergeist? Or did a squatter live in the manor?

  They stepped inside, still hesitating, then looked at each other. In front of the fire was a large leather couch. They stepped around it, and Nicole shrieked, hands flying to her mouth. On the rug in front of the fireplace was a skeleton with patches of skin and hair still attached to its bones.

  Just then, something brushed against Nicole. She gasped, whirling, releasing Conor’s hand, but nothing was there. She shivered, scooting closer to Conor, who was still staring at the skeleton. Had he not noticed their visitor?

  But then Nicole became aware of something else. The pressure she’d been feeling for a while, the one that felt like magic, really was magic. It was pulsing much stronger here. Was it coming from the spirit? She looked at Conor, about to ask him if he felt it too, then stopped, realizing something.

  The pulses were coming from him. They were growing in strength and his frame trembled as he tried to control himself, obviously freaking out about the fire and the skeleton.

  Nicole forgot about all of that. She stared at her boyfriend, unable to force herself to look away to acknowledge that they were in a room with a dead body and a spirit that might be malicious. Conor had magic! He was an Arete! Why hadn’t he told her? Why had he lied to her? Had everything been a show? He’d broken up with her over her Restart, for crying out loud!

  And then Nicole realized something else. She gave a little shriek, her trembling hands covering her mouth as she forced herself to turn and stare at the fire instead of at him. If Conor had lied to her about being an Arete, it meant he was hiding other things—worse things. Lizzie’s arguments flashed through her mind. What was he hiding?

  Nicole could no longer feel her feet—it was as if she was floating. Her lips started tingling, and her hands went numb.

  Conor must’ve taken her freaked-out state for surprise at seeing the skeleton because he gave her a weak smile. He was freaked out too. He put a hand on Nicole’s arm and she flinched, doing her best not to pull away.

  “Hey, it’s just a dead body. I think it’s the one who committed suicide. Look, he’s still holding the revolver.”

  Nicole glanced down. Sure enough, one of the skeletal fingers was still wrapped around the trigger. The gun wasn’t pointing toward the head, but if the man had been standing when he shot himself, it was easy to see from the way he’d fallen and where the hand and gun were, the gun had been pointed at his head at one point.

  The dark brown stains of the man’s blood were still visible on the tightly woven rug. Nicole still couldn’t focus very well on these details. She tried to calm herself, tried to push her wild fear aside.

  “Why is the fire still burning?” Conor asked.

  Nicole could only shake her head. The presence that was following them around—the one that hadn’t yet let her know whether it was evil or a friend—had probably started the fire. Was it a servant? Was it the spirit of the body that lay on the floor? The amount of dust still covering most surfaces told her a hobo wasn’t camping out here—the dust would have been more disturbed.

  They quickly searched the room, not finding anything. Nicole wouldn’t admit it to Conor, but she was way too distracted, and there was a large chance that she missed what they were searching for. At that point, she no longer cared. She wanted to get as far away from Conor as possible.

  She couldn’t stop sneaking glances at her “boyfriend.” Who was he? Why was he dating her? Was he really a high school student? He had access to a lot of money, a private jet, and for all she knew, the ID he’d used hadn’t been a fake one.

  Nicole closed her eyes, forcing herself to stop speculating. Just because he was an Arete didn’t mean he was lying to her about other things, right? And he probably was a high school student, right? He looked like a high school student.

  Nicole knew that looks could be deceiving, though. Then she gasped again, her hands flying to her mouth. He’d showed up at the ball . . . and so had a woman, someone who had come to warn Nicole. And that woman had been killed by an Arete.

  Nicole spun around, feeling ill. Conor reached for her with a concerned expression.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She shook her head, cursing the fact that he was such a good actor. Alexander had wanted her not to be alone to keep her safe from the hounds, and here she was, with a murderer!

  Her eyes widened. Conor had canceled their date the same night Alexander’s body had been stolen. And after she’d run out of gas, when the dog had been chasing her, he was the first person she’d called, and he hadn’t answered his phone. He was a hound. He had to be.

  She thought back on all of their interactions, and a light turned on. In hindsight, the signs were impossible to ignore. Conor wasn’t comfortable talking and driving at the same time. He said things older people usually said, and for crying out loud, he set her best friend up with a forty-year-old!

  Not only that, but the evil hound that always came after her had never shifted into a human in front of her. Was it because it w
as Conor, and he didn’t want to blow his cover? What did he want from her?

  “Seriously, Nicole, you’re freaking me out.”

  Nicole swallowed. He was a good actor, and she needed to be one too. Her life depended on it. Lizzie’s life depended on it. She squeezed her eyes shut, wondering if her best friend was safe—how did Conor not realize the prophecy was about Lizzie? Or had he forgotten what the prophecy said, as Alexander had mentioned? As a hound, Conor knew the prophecy said someone would kill all evil hounds, but he wouldn’t know the particulars. If he did, he would have destroyed Lizzie already—there was no way he wouldn’t have.

  “I’m feeling awful,” Nicole said. She slumped to the floor, doing her best to look nauseated. It wasn’t hard—she still felt like puking. “Going without food and then that room back there—so horrible,” she said, finishing in a whisper.

  Conor crouched in front of her. “It was awful, wasn’t it?” He put his finger under her chin, raising her face. “Hey—hey. Don’t cry, Nicole. I’m here—I’ll take care of you.”

  Nicole wiped the tears from her face. The sense of betrayal she felt was nearly as strong as her fear. She fisted her hand, struggling to control the urge to punch him. Instead of letting him know she suspected him, she allowed him to pull her to her feet, then she slumped against him, resting, trying to figure out what to do now.

  “Hey, I’m going to finish searching this room, then we can make plans, okay?”

  Not waiting for an answer, Conor helped Nicole onto an overstuffed armchair in the last room on that floor, then began pushing and prodding the walls and bookcases.

  He hadn’t gone very far when one of the bookcases swung inward, revealing a gaping hole. He poked his head in, looking up, then down. “A staircase going both ways.”

  “Really?” Nicole got to her feet, joining him. “Does it lead outside? If not, how’d we miss it on the first floor?”