Page 29 of Eternal Devotion

I arrived fifteen minutes early and chalked it up to eagerness. After finding my way along the winding drive and parking next to the crumbling fountain and her suffering angel, I stared at the mansion and the yawning black pits marking the various windows.

Not a single one was illuminated.

Leaning forward and squinting, I caught sight of curtains, but even then, light should have bled around their edges, right?

Was he sitting in the dark, waiting for me?

How odd. I certainly wouldn’t be sitting in that creepy house at night unless every light was on high.

Heavy low clouds hung over the city, making the shadows deeper. The woods were especially dark and gloomy. In the week since I’d been to the mansion, the trees had shed more leaves. The gnarled branches overhead clawed at the sky with only a few stragglers remaining.

When Mordecai didn’t immediately appear, I got out of the Jeep.

My shoes crunched over the thick ground cover, stirring the earthy scent of damp soil and rotting pine needles. Those hints of decomposition tangled with a trace of woodsmoke, and I craned my neck, seeking signs of a chimney above the mansion. I’d seen a fireplace. Maybe Mordecai had it lit. I couldn’t imagine the cost of heating a house of this size.

But the mansion was too high to see the roof, so I abandoned my search and approached the front door, uneasy with its illusion of vacancy. The place felt as abandoned as it had on my first visit, and my skin prickled anew.

The door swung open before I could knock. The creaking whine of hinges and tired wood sounded loud in the quiet forest. I startled, my heart lurching to my throat. A figure stood on the other side of the threshold, the looming outline of a person. Although I knew in my head it was Mordecai, I cried out in surprise.

Then, I immediately laughed at my ridiculousness and clutched my chest.

“You scared the shit out of me. It’s so freaking dark out here that it messes with my head. Fucking Mars and his stupid fucking ghost stories. I’m going to kill the bastard. Why don’t you have a light on? I almost thought no one was home.”

Mordecai stepped from the shadow, his pale skin nearly glowing, even in the depths of the woods. A smile touched the corner of his ruby mouth. “You’re not scared of ghosts, are you, Mr. Elowen? You who plays games with devilish creatures and mythical beasts. Astounding.”

“Why are you last-naming me? We had a deal, Mr. Ashenvale. And no, I’m not afraid of ghosts. I’m… jumpy.”

I earned a peek of his sharp eyetooth before he drew his upper lip tight over his teeth, as though doing his best to smooth the smile.

I scoffed. “Whatever. Be a smug bastard. You’d better hope ghosts aren’t real because if they’re going to live anywhere, it will be out here in the woods in this creepy fucking house.”

“I welcome them.”

“You would.”

The wind blew through the tops of the trees, the branches creaking and clattering together as though in agreement. I shivered and wrapped my arms around my middle. Not intending to spend time outside, I’d left my coat at home.

Mordecai seemed unaffected by the weather. He’d donned a black dress shirt that evening and paired it with black trousers and his long black coat. Shocking. His hair was impeccably styled, not a strand out of place. Always formal. Did he own jeans? Colors of any kind? Was he ever wrinkled?

An enticing image of a bed-rumpled Mordecai sent a shot of warmth through my veins. That I would like to see.

I glanced behind him into the black hole beyond the front door and wondered at the mysteries that lived inside. Although curious what he’d done with the place over the past week, I wasn’t about to invite myself in. Maybe after dinner, when I dropped him off.

If things went well.

“I have a few options for restaurants. How about we get in the Jeep where it’s warmer, and you can help me decide.”

Mordecai chose a steakhouse, which surprised me for some reason. When considering what sort of dietary restrictions he might have, I assumed he might be vegan, gluten-free, or suffer from a severe nut or seafood sensitivity. The latter often made sufferers extremely cautious about eating out due to the risk of cross-contamination.

“Do you have food allergies?” I asked once we were settled at our table. The later hour meant a quieter atmosphere, even on a Friday night.

It also meant the wait staff was efficient, and our server showed up with menus before he could answer, rhyming off a slew of specials and taking our drink orders.

Mordecai agreed to a bottle of wine, but the moment we were alone, instead of answering my question, he opened his menu and asked, “Have you eaten here before?”

The man had a knack for dodging. I let it go. It wasn’t that important.

“Not for a while, but they do a mean steak.”