Page 92 of If I Stopped Haunting You

“I just…”

And then he fell.

Chapter 27

PEN

Neil tumbled right over the stairs. Pen looked out and wondered,Could I have stopped this?But down and down he went, short, melodicthump-thumps as his body crashed into the stairs, head and arms and legs at awkward angles.

It all happened so quickly and was over just as soon. His limbs were limp when he rolled to a stop, landing with a softthumpa few stairs from the bottom of the staircase.

“Neil? Neil!” She rushed down the stairs, falling to her knees and cupping his face in her hands.

His eyes moved rapidly behind his eyelids, a low groan at the back of his throat, but he did not wake. Pen searched the area frantically, and within seconds, the others were there. Laszlo was quick to stoop down and help lift him toward the couch in the study after checking that nothing seemed broken. Daniela was not far behind.

Grunting with the effort, they dumped him on the leather. He sort of flopped onto it, moaning as Pen carefully cradled his head, slipping a pillow beneath and propping him up. She knelt beside the couch and smoothed a hand over his curls, stomach churning. They should have been more careful. They knew about the danger, and even still they’d wandered into that room without a plan or any precautions. Sighing, she stood and backed away, arms crossed tight over her chest as she glanced around the study.

She felt useless.

“What happened?” Laszlo asked, taking the ice Daniela offered and settling the cloth-wrapped bundle atop Neil’s head.

Pen’s lips parted as she fought for an answer. Should she tell them the truth? Would they even believe her? Being pushed by a ghost sounded suddenly ridiculous.

“We were in the west wing,” she started slowly. “He… sort of tripped backward and hit his head pretty hard in the hall. I was trying to help him down the stairs when he lost his balance and fell.”

“Why were you two in the west wing?” Laszlo narrowed his eyes. “Did you not listen to Fanny on the tour? The west wing is strictly off-limits for our own safety.Clearly.”

Pen flinched. She understood more than ever why Fanny had warned them against it, but it only made Pen more curious. She simply couldn’t refuse the temptation. Like the sign taunting her at the castle ruins.

“They were probably trying to do it in every room before the end of the week,” Daniela said. “Not that I blame them. I would, too, if Zoe were here.”

“The images ingrained in my brain,” Laszlo groaned.

Daniela shrugged and fished out her wallet before she slapped a bill into Laszlo’s hand. “You win this round.”

Pen opened her mouth to retort, but the fight was drained out of her. She shook her head, grinding her teeth as she motioned to Neil. “Do you think he’ll be okay? It looked really bad.”

Laszlo scratched his neck, standing. “It’s hard to know. None of us are doctors, and he tumbled down the staircase. I don’t think anything is broken, but…” He shrugged. “We won’t know until he wakes up. Maybe we should get ahold of Fanny and call it quits.” He gripped her shoulder gently as he moved past her. “In the meantime, keep an eye on him, okay?”

Pen nodded, sinking into the chair beside the couch.

With her hands in her lap, Pen watched them go. When Laszlo and Daniela had disappeared around the corner, Pen leaned forward, head in her hands. She tugged on her hair, trying to keep the tears at bay. Everything was a mess. Why they were still keeping the ghosts a secret, she couldn’t really say. They weren’t safe, and if they weren’t safe, then Laszlo and Daniela weren’t safe. Georgina could touch them,hurtthem. If there was any reason to believe they were in danger, what happened to Neil was proof enough.

And Pen needed Neil now more than ever.

Sighing, she sat up and wiped at her eyes, focusing on him. She concentrated on the way his hair had been pushed up from his forehead, exposing that silver scar across his brow. She swept her thumb over it, the skin just barely raised beneath her finger.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For not believing in you, and for refusing to understand where you were coming from sooner.” She licked her lips, blinking back more tears. “It’s kind of funny. I’m not even sure why I’m crying or why this hurts so much, but I want you to know that, for all those years, I looked up to you. I wanted to be like you and write the books that you were writing. I absolutely loathe telling you this, but… I wasjealous.”

She laughed, short and brisk. “I hated you because I would never be as good as you are, so when you wroteFor What Savages May Be,I was devastated. And I guess also relieved? This Native horror author, one of the only other recognized Indigenous authors in our genre, had sunken to do the biddings of the publishing industry. I was heartbroken and elated. For me and all the other Indigenous authors and readers around the world who looked up to you. I think part of me was also happy because I thought it meant I finally had a chance to become someone, to make something of myself.

“But I was so wrong, Neil. Everyone loved that book. They thought you were somegeniusfor it. And me? I was just a grumpy, washed-up wannabe with nothing to her name.”

It hurt to say aloud, but even if it was only to herself, it brought a bit of peace. Because it was true. She should have been supporting him, being a friend, raving about his books, quietly approaching him before he ruined his own career, but instead she’d been sulking, waiting for him to fail so she could take up the reins.

In the end, it all blew up in her face. Which she deserved. God, she was terrible. Pen made to pull away, but his hand caught hers, holding it to his cheek.

“You’re awake,” she accused. She should be happy to hear that he wasn’t in a coma or something altogether terrible, but he’d heard every word, hadn’t he? “How much did you hear?”