Page 10 of Petrify

“Ithinkthe house is creepy.”

“Sleeping tight?” His lips pull up at the corners, his attention all on me, and I know I’ve drawn his interest. However inadvertently.

“Fine enough.”

“Some of us stay up in the kitchens, after hours,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

If he were not mycoworker, and we’d met back in the city, maybe I’d entertain him. Maybe I’d find him just charming enough to waste the night away, never to see him again in the morning. That’s the only way I’ve been able to do it—fleeting moments of connection, avoiding giving away my name, or what I do, or where they can find me after. It’s best they don’t remember me.

“You’re welcome to join us. Get drunk courtesy of the Beauchene’s wine cellar.” He’s smiling, and it’s genuine. There’s a twinkle in his eyes. “It’s good wine.”

I don’t have time for cute mistakes like him. “Yeah, maybe.”

Maybe he can see the hesitation on my face. “Don’t be a stranger. You may as well get to know us, since we’re all stuck out here together.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He lifts his shoulder again. “Offer’s always open.”

“Thanks.”

“They have you in the old heir’s wing, right?”

I start stacking papers, straightening Henri’s music books, avoiding facing Reece. “The guest wing. Ms. Byrne just told me I’d be a bit separate from everyone else. For the quiet.”

“No, you’re in Arnie’s old wing.”

I freeze. “What do you mean?”

“Ms. Byrne must be mistaken.”

“It was late when I arrived,” I admit. “But she said theguestwing. And that there are no other guests, so I’d be alone.”

“On the east end of the house, yeah? Second floor? That’s where Arnie stayed. That’s the heir’s wing. Has been since the family moved in, eons ago.”

Ms. Byrne had told me not to wander into the Beauchene’s personal wing, right above where I was staying. Of course their son, theirheir, wouldn’t be far.

Reece is still talking as he returns to his work, kneeling once more on the hardwood floor. “We were all pretty surprised they roomed you there. Not my business.” He raises his hands. “They’ve kept it as good as sealed all these years. Must be moving on finally.”

“Must be.” I realize I’m hugging the folder of sheet music to my chest. A tinny ringing has started in my ears. “I’ll see you around.”

“If it gives you the creeps, I’m sure we can find you a room in the staff wing,” he calls.

I roll my eyes, throwing him another scathing look over my shoulder. But he’s undeterred, a smirk exposing a dimple at his left cheek.

“Mallary?”

I stop with my hand on the door. Refuse to look at him, the blush scalding red on my cheeks.

“I heard the ghost likes cute girls. Might want to keep your eyes open.”

Though I’ve not seen his face in over a year, it still haunts me at night. His strong brow, deep brown eyes; his honey-colored hair, and the way it’d shine blonde in the summer from the sun. Those summers, he tanned so easily, while I could not step into the sun without turning pink.

He called me his vampire. He made fun of my need for shade, how easily I burned and bruised. He poked at my canine teeth with a finger, claiming they were long—acting like it pricked his finger, insisting that now I must suck the blood from his thumb—and I’d do it, making sure to lock eyes with him while I sucked dutifully. The pad of his finger was rough from years of plastic keys and sheets of music. After some time, I memorized the feeling of his hand as if it were my own, the sweet taste of his skin. How hard I could bite before he’d hiss through his teeth.

He liked me biting. He liked me hungry and wanting.

Often I felt like a creature in a cage, crying for its caretaker, day in and out; desperate for attention, for the sustenance he would allow me.