Page 19 of Eternal Devotion

“Possibly.” Ensley hit me with a wide grin. We’d made it to the Jeep and got in. He continued his story as he drove.

“Peter didn’t marry or have children, but I couldn’t find mention of secret visitors, either. The Branson family estate was never reclaimed by relatives after that and ended up in the hands of the bank.”

“Unfortunate.” I thought of my family and the abrupt uprooting of our family tree.

“It was. Uncared for, the house fell apart and was condemned in 1991. Foundation issues or something to that effect. A failing development company bought it in 2001, hoping to turn a profit. They managed to finish the structural repairs before filing for bankruptcy eight months after purchasing it. It ended up in the hands of the bank again. It’s sat empty for over twenty years, and now, my new friend, Branvilla Estate and all her ghosts belong to you.”

“Fascinating.”

I thought of the quiet village where I’d once lived. Chasing my siblings through the boggy swamp. The smell of juniper in my nose. The stone house my grandfather built with his bare hands, and the ramshackle barn where I worked alongside Father.

Nothing remained except memories, and even those were time-faded and full of holes. Deteriorated, like the mansion.

Ensley parked on the side of the road and killed the engine, jarring me from my musing. While listening to him recount the mansion’s history, I hadn’t taken note of our surroundings. He was a natural storyteller with a warm tone and engaging cadence. It was rare for me to be directly involved in conversations and not eavesdropping in the background. The pleasure was so enjoyable, I never wanted it to end, even when my contribution was minimal.

“We’re here,” he announced, jumping down from the Jeep and slamming the door.

I followed, scanning and trying to orient myself. It was a part of the city I didn’t recognize.

The storefronts along the street in this part of Owen Sound sported richly ornamented, two-story Victorian facades with large display windows and intricate gingerbread trim—an elegant hat-tip to the city’s history. We faced one store in particular with an overhead sign that was no longer illuminated.

KC’s Comics, it read.

Brow furrowed, I turned to Ensley. “Where is here? I thought you were going to show me where you lived?”

“I am.” He gestured to the tall, double-hung windows that lined the second level above the shop. “I live upstairs. Loft apartment. I rent from KC himself. His name’s Kansas, actually. Kansas Corrington. Quirky fella. You’d like him. He could give you all the spooky details about your house.”

“For your information, I have yet to see a ghost.”

“Don’t say that too loud to the locals. They will fight you tooth and nail.” Ensley laughed. “To be honest, I don’t believe the ghost stories, either. Maybe if I grew up here. Everyone I know swears they exist.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

We shared a chuckle, and Ensley bumped my shoulder. “I like you, Mordecai.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I stayed silent, absorbing the companionship and savoring the lightheartedness.

“Anyhow,” Ensley continued, “KC’s cool. I met him at a Comic Con in London nine years ago. Not your London. We have a London too. We got to chatting, and he told me he had a place to rent. I wanted to escape my small town—I grew up in a place called Strathroy, about three hours south of here—so I took him up on the offer.

“It’s a good deal. Cheap rent. I run a DnD night every Wednesday. He advertises it to his customers, but mostly it’s a core group of four. Do you play?”

Ensley winced. “And yes, I realize how incredibly nerdy that sounds, but it’s fun. Trust me. My buddies and I are pretty hardcore. We’re always looking for new people.”

I glanced from Ensley to the dark storefront window where countless strange figurines were on display. Miniature warriors and creatures battling with blades and axes no bigger than a toothpick. Board games with names like HeroQuest and Dungeon Mayhem were stacked in the corner.

A familiar weight of longing sat heavy on my chest. Nerdy or not, Ensley had a life, an existence, far better than the one I’d been cursed to live for an eternity, and I envied him.

“I don’t know what DnD is, I’m afraid.”

“Dungeons and Dragons? Really? They don’t have that in your neck of the woods? Come on. Yes they do. You’re pulling my leg.”

When I continued to look baffled, he explained. “It’s what’s considered a tabletop role-playing game. Dark fantasy storytelling and questing combined. You run campaigns and strategize to defeat all sorts of creatures. We play in the Forgotten Realm, run by ancient deities and a thousand-year-long history with dragons, elves, and magic.”

It sounded like nonsense, and I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

Ensley stuffed his hands into his pockets and cut his gaze to the store. His cheeks took on a hint of color.

“Never mind. It’s ridiculous.”