They both slept in Saige’s room that evening—Saige in her bed and Jasper on the chaise lounge. He’d refused to go back to his own room, and eventually Saige had given in. She’d tossed and turned all night. Whenever she stole a glance at Jasper, he was awake and staring at her. As frightened as she was, she was comforted that he was there… and by one thought in particular.
I’m not insane. Neither was my mother. Jasper saw the ghost. These things are not hallucinations. They’re real.
Which meant there had to be truth in Harriette’s theory.
It wasn’t until the first glimpse of daylight peeked under the curtain that Saige finally drifted off to sleep. Hours later, some coherent part of her realised she’d overslept. She sat upright, feeling smothered by the covers. She checked the clock. 9:20 a.m.
Shit! I have to meet Harriette in forty minutes.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and went to rouse Jasper. He lay sprawled on the chaise lounge, his cheek pressed into a cushion and his mouth open, his long leg and arm draped over the edge. He looked peaceful, even boyish. Saige had a split second of regret at the thought of what had ended between them.
No. He left me. I will not give in to stupid, reminiscent feelings.
She slapped his cheek. “Jasper, get up.”
His eyes popped open in a sleepy daze. “Huh?”
“Get up. I need you out of my room.”
“Did you just slap me?”
“I need you out. I have somewhere to be.”
Saige ran into the bathroom. She splashed cool water on her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her hair hung in long tangles around her face.
This won’t do. I’m sick of always looking like crap.
Saige showered in a hurry, applied minimal make-up, and tossed her hair into a messy, effortless ponytail. Besides last night, it was the first time in a long while that she looked at the mirror and wasn’t ashamed by the person on the other side.
Ghosts haunt Wolvercraft Manor, but at least I’m looking better.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so fixated on her appearance, but she wanted to wear something nice. Back in her room, she found a pair of skinny jeans in her suitcase, a button-down blue blouse, and a black jacket. Jasper had fallen asleep again, but she didn’t fancy getting changed in front of him regardless. She ducked back into the bathroom.
Five minutes later, she was ready. She checked the clock: 9:40 a.m.
Saige took out her phone. Ashvall Island hadn’t reached the twenty-first century with Uber, but it did have a small cab service. She organised a ride and focused her attention on Jasper.
He was awake. He sat up, his pillow-styled hair poking out in haphazard angles. His voice was muffled by a yawn. “Are we going to talk about last night?”
“No. You’re going to get out of my room.”
She forced him onto his feet and pushed him toward the door.
He stretched his arms and rotated them in circles, releasing tension in his shoulders. “You hate this island. Where could you possibly need to be?”
Saige rolled her eyes.
Honestly, a zombie would move faster than him.
She opened the door. “Quit stalling, Jasper. Get out.”
He looked at her, at what she was wearing. His face shifted into a frown. “You look nice. Wait, are you meeting someone?”
“Dr Reynolds, if you must know.”
“Who’s he?”
Saige made her voice sound carelessly polite. “A hunky guy I met last night.”
“What?’
She squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Dr Reynolds is a curator and historian. She knows about the house’s history. I want to talk to her about some of its more unusual aspects.”
Jasper leaned on the architrave. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh. Now get out.”
In the hallway, the door opposite opened, and a pristine fiftysomething woman in a pink dress suit stepped out. A wolfish smile expanded across the lady’s exceptionally pink lips. Saige didn’t know who she was, but anyone sleeping in this house had a close connection to either Zoe, Xav, or her father. The last thing Saige needed were reports of a “walk of shame” exiting from her bedroom. The woman’s eyes locked on to Jasper’s very naked and sculpted chest. It didn’t help that Jasper happened to look like a Calvin Klein model. She winked at Saige. “I’m glad to see someone had a good evening.”
She sashayed down the hallway before Saige could correct her.
A hint of a smile tugged on Jasper’s lips. “It was certainly a wild one.”
Saige elbowed him in the stomach.
* * *
Saige waited in the driveway for the cab to arrive. Cold wind blasted her in the face, but the crisp air did a lot to revive her. Grey clouds coasted over the sky, threatening rain. She kept checking the time on her phone in anticipation. She wanted out of here. Wolvercraft Manor seemed to loom over her, the windows its eyes, staring with malevolence. The large front doors had been left open, and Saige could see right through the foyer to the house’s magnificent fireplace. Someone had lit it. Flickering light was thrown onto the carved marble reliefs that sat above the mantel—fairies with wings, gargoyles with razor teeth, and witches wearing grave robes. She shivered and looked away.
The fireplace is its heart… the only thing that fuels this abysmal house.
Saige didn’t know why she’d thought it, but a part of her knew it was true.
Wolvercraft Manor isn’t just a house. It’s a living, breathing monster.
Branches clawed at the stone like fingers, and she had the eerie impression that the house was restless behind its opulent façade.
The cab arrived. She jumped in, gave instructions to head for the Ashvall Library, and buckled her seatbelt. The thought of escaping the manor for a while calmed her pumping heart, but before the cab could pull away, someone else climbed in.
Saige squirmed, now cold for an entirely different reason. “Jasper, what are you doing?”
Somehow, since the time she’d kicked him out of her bedroom, he’d managed to dress in black slacks, a red-and-black chequered shirt, and denim jacket. He’d smoothed his hair back, purposely ruffled at the tips, his beard clean and styled. He looked amazing.
Jasper’s expression hinted at both amusement and curiosity. “After last night, Saige, I’m fully in.”
The cab driver cleared his throat. Saige saw his slightly raised eyebrows in the rear-view mirror.
God knows what he thinks that just meant.
“Fine,” Saige snapped to no one in particular. “Just drive, please.”
* * *
Even through the cab, the world outside smelt sharp and earthy. Trees crowded against the road, so thick and cluttered that sunlight failed to reach through the canopies. The darkness between the trees appeared endless. Saige imagined haunted spirits staring back at her. She remembered the stories Xav had told her when they were children. One evening, he and his friend Quinton slipped out of the house and ventured through the Hauteville Woods. They hadn’t advanced far when Saige’s father and an entire search party of maids and servants had found the pair. But still, Xav couldn’t resist telling his little sister the eerie things he saw. A graveyard in the middle of the woods, with crumbling monuments and overgrown vegetation. Rocks and stones had been meticulously placed around the graves. Xav’s eyes had been wide and wild while he stage-whispered the story. “Witches’ circles,” he’d revealed. Saige hadn’t been able to sleep for weeks, and her father eventually told her the truth about the cemetery in the woods. “It’s where our ancestors are buried. It’s nothing to be afraid of, Saige. Many great houses have family cemeteries. Ours is just a little overgrown. As for the stones, well… there are still superstitious people on this island. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Saige?”
Jasper’s voice pulled her out of her reverie.
“What?”
Concern danced across his face. “I just wanted to know what you were thinking about.”
“Nothing.” She turned back to the window.
Jasper stretched his long legs. He leaned forward, crossing his arms loosely on the back of the driver’s seat. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Archer.” The cab driver offered a polite wave but didn’t glance around.
“Do you know many folktales about the island? Any ghost stories?”
Saige passed Jasper a stern glare, her eyes screaming at him to shut up.
Archer choked on a laugh. “Which one do you want to hear? The island is full of stories about the supernatural. It’s great for tourism, of course.”
Jasper casually shrugged. “Ever seen a ghost?”
Saige gripped her seat, but what she really wanted to do was reach over and tear his head off.
Archer’s hands went stiff on the wheel. “Not me personally, but I have friends who swear they’ve seen unusual things.”
“Like what?”
“Well, one of my mates, he went fishing at Pearl Beach late one night and said he saw a dead woman in white wash up on the shore. She was all mangled and fish-eaten. He was about to call the police, but then her arms and legs twisted, and she started moving. My mate, he said it was like watching a mechanical device click back into place. She crawled into a cave… though crawl isn’t the right word to describe it.”
Jasper, intrigued, chewed on his thumb. “What do you mean?”
“Well… my mate said she kind of crawled like a spider, legs bent at weird angles. Or maybe it was an alligator. You know how those things move on land and through water. Gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
Saige had always feared deep, dark water. She swallowed, trying to clear the image from her mind.
Jasper maintained a curious smile, but his eyes appeared nervous. “What happened after she disappeared into the cave?”
Archer scratched his unshaven jaw. “He didn’t dare go in there, if that’s what you’re asking. No. He ran back to town and didn’t return to the beach. He never fishes there anymore.”
“He was that frightened?”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
Jasper remained silent.
Saige turned back to the window. They’d left the Hauteville Woods for green pastures and farmlands. They whizzed by houses, which started to fringe closer together until the cab finally pulled into the seafront at St Albert Port. Saige checked her phone: 10:10 a.m.
Great. Harriette must think I’m not coming. She’s probably left.
Archer drove the cab through narrow, winding streets. Sometimes the roads rose to high elevation, giving clear views of the rugged coastline, while other times they dropped in such steep declines that Saige was forced to check her seatbelt. The buildings were old but charming. Art galleries, cosy coffee shops, and boutique stores lined the cobbled roads. Each building had high and steeply pitched roofs, decorative façades, flared rafter tails, and stucco finishes. It really was like stepping into a French fairy tale.
Archer dropped them off at the Ashvall Library. Modelled straight off the Opera Garnier, the building had huge Corinthian columns that held a pediment of distinguished figures above the large front doors. Saige guessed they must have been sculptures of scientists, philosophers, and statesmen. The building was finished with an incredible dome capped with a dove. It reminded Saige of the White House and the Parthenon combined, but with a French twist. It wasn’t anywhere near as big as Wolvercraft Manor, but it still dwarfed Saige and Jasper as they climbed the stairs toward the threshold.
Jasper grabbed her shoulder. His eyes were wide in elation. “This is just like Ghostbusters II, when Sigourney Weaver climbs the stairs to the Manhattan Museum of Art in search of her baby.”
Saige broke into disbelieving laughter. Over the past eight hours, Jasper’s first—and hopefully only—encounter with a ghost had spun him through the stages of grief. He’d been shocked at first, then in denial. He’d bargained for understanding, then gone through an hour of feeling guilt-ridden and angered before dropping into a storm of depression. By morning, he’d accepted ghosts were real, but now this very strange and unexpected additional stage had occurred.
Is Jasper actually excited to learn about ghosts?
He’d certainly been clingy, like an excitable puppy determined to stick by Saige’s side.
They entered the library. Natural light spilled through the windows lining the hall, illuminating the ornate ceiling frescoes and gold spiral pillars. Saige didn’t know the exact history, but she was aware that Ashvall Island’s original founders had been French. Wanting to compete with the mainland and prove the island’s worth, many of Ashvall’s buildings had been designed with lavishness. The library was no exception.
Saige scanned the great hall. A feeling like a buzzing of insects soared through her stomach when her eyes rested on Harriette, who was reading in the occult section. The woman waved. Saige held her breath. She’d hoped Harriette would be patient enough to wait, but a small part of her wouldn’t have minded if she’d left. Saige wasn’t sure which was better: remaining ignorant or learning the truth about Wolvercraft’s ghosts.