“Nothing open, but it’s definitely a cold spot. Easily ten degrees under the hallway.”
“We walked through all of this the first day, and I went through with Cleo. It wasn’t like this.”
“Nope. It is now.”
Steeling herself, Sonya started to step inside. The door slammed in her face.
And the dogs went wild.
As they barked, and Mookie leaped at the door, she grabbed the knob, turning, tugging when it refused to move. Giving up, she pounded on the door, shouting for Trey.
Inside, Trey stood as the temperature dropped enough for him to see his breath. Around him, the drapes over the furniture fluttered and snapped.
Under its white sheeting, the bed began to shake, then hammer against the floor. The drawers on the covered bureau flew open, slammed shut as wind roared down the chimney.
His hands wanted to ball into fists to fight what he couldn’t see. Instead, he tucked them into the pockets of his black trousers.
“Is this all you’ve got? A bunch of noise and cold air? Even dead you’re still a half-assed witch.”
On a shriek, the pale gold damask wallpaper split open like wounds. It bled.
“Right. I could do this all day, but the lady’s waiting.”
He walked to the door, paused to look back. “This isn’t your house. It never was your house, it’s never going to be your house. You want this room, you’ve got it. For now.”
As he put his hand on the knob, the air stilled and warmed. The walls healed.
When he opened the door, he found his arms full of Sonya, and a pair of dogs leaping and licking.
“Are you all right?” Sonya ran her hands over his face, his shoulders. “The door wouldn’t open. It slammed shut and wouldn’t open. I couldn’t hear anything.”
“You couldn’t hear anything?”
“I mean, yes. The dogs were barking and jumping at the door. I pounded on it, called you, but you didn’t answer.”
“I didn’t hear any of that.” After a last look inside, he shut the door. “That’s interesting.”
“Interesting? Interesting? I have to sit down.”
She did, on the floor in the hallway. Yoda scrambled into her lap and Mookie leaned on her shoulder.
Trey hunkered down so they were at eye level. “Let’s go on down. And it’s probably best to stay out of that room until we figure it out.”
“Oh, you think? Staying out of the evil, scary room? There’s an idea.”
“The room’s not evil, Sonya.”
“Right.” She pressed her hands to her face. “Full panic. I don’t know if I’ve ever hit full panic mode before, but now I’ll know what to expect if I ever do again.”
Dropping her hands, she reached for his again. “I didn’t know what was happening in there, to you. What happened in there?”
“Somebody put on a little show. Not all that impressive, but I think you may be right about Hester Dobbs, so let her have the room, for now. And we’ll figure it out.”
“What show? Be specific.”
Rising, he brought her up with him. Then shifted to put his arm around her shoulders to lead her away. “The room got meat-locker cold. The bed bounced some, drawers opened and slammed. The best trick was making the walls bleed.”
She stopped dead. “The walls bled?”
“She couldn’t keep it up,” he said, and nudged Sonya forward. “As soon as I touched the doorknob, it all stopped. Situation normal.”
“Your situation normal and mine don’t exist on the same planet.”
“You’re cold. Let’s go back in the library, and you can tell me about last night.”
“How are you so calm? I mean it. How?”
“Mostly calm’s my crisis mode.”
Giving in, giving up, she leaned against him as she worked to get her breath back.
“Well, Jesus. I guess that’s a good thing, even though it’s completely baffling.”
In the library, she dropped down on the couch, Trey stirred up the fire, added another log.
“They’re still bringing them in, by the way. I haven’t filled the wood rack since I’ve been here.”
“That wouldn’t be Dobbs.”
“No,” she said as he sat beside her. “And I don’t think whoever—whatever—is making up my bed, washing my teacups is the same as what’s playing music on my iPad, and the piano player’s probably something else.”
“She’s outnumbered. Hester Dobbs.”
She hadn’t thought of it that way, but now that she did, some of the knots in her shoulders loosened.
“I suppose that should inspire calm crisis mode.”
“Last night,” Trey prompted, and took her hand.
“Last night. I fell asleep reading in bed. Then I woke up—or didn’t. If it was a dream, it was incredibly detailed. I was in front of a mirror. My father dreamed of the same mirror—one with the glass full-length. Predators carved into the frame. Owls, foxes, hawks, bears—all on the hunt. But I didn’t see me, I saw a room through the glass. So clearly, and I walked through the mirror like it was a door.”
“Really?” Obviously fascinated, he kept her hand in his, and those deep blue eyes never left her face. “Where did you go?”
“It was Marianne Poole. She’d be bride number three. I think it was my bedroom, but the walls were papered, and she was in a different bed. She was birthing her twins.”
She told him, the details still fresh and clear in her mind.
“When she was dying … I’ve never seen anyone die, but I knew, I’d have known even if I hadn’t read it in the Poole book, she looked at me. She saw me, Trey. No one had seen me, but as she was dying, she did. She said she had a son and a daughter, and I came from them.”
Sonya swiped a tear away. “She’d fought so hard to bring her children into the world, and she was leaving it. I saw Hugh Poole rush in, and I watched him grieve when she died. He loved her—that was real. God, I could feel his grief. Then I saw her—Hester Dobbs. She just walked in. He didn’t see her, but I did. She took Marianne’s wedding ring.”
After a calming breath, she continued, “I said no, you can’t. You can’t do that. And she looked at me. She saw me. She said—and this is verbatim because I’ll never forget:
“‘I can. I have. I will. Do you think you can stop me? Stop what I forged in fire and blood? You’re the ghost here.’
“She put the ring on, and she already wore two others. Wedding rings, I’m sure of that. And I woke up, or came out of it, whatever the hell it was, standing in my bedroom with poor Yoda whining and shaking.”
She laughed a little. “I guess I whined and shook some, too.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“At three-something in the morning?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him, those oh-so-appealing blue eyes filled with concern.
“You actually mean that. Most people who say call anytime don’t actually mean at three-something in the morning.” She gave the hand still holding hers a quick squeeze. “Who are you?”
“I can’t claim I always say what I mean. I’m a goddamn lawyer. But if I tell you to call anytime, I mean it. You were afraid, and had a right to be. You don’t have to be alone.”
“It helps having the dog. I know that’s silly, but—”
“No, it’s not.”
“No,” she agreed, “it’s not. And it helped telling you all of it, and you believing me. Hold on.”