The Curse of Redwood (Ivy Grove #2) - Jaclyn Osborn Page 0,24
the owner, after all, a member of the original family.
“So, you never finished telling me how you got the Stephen King book,” I said, spotting it on the floor and picking it up.
“On Halloween, I always pay a visit to the local bookshop to add to my collection,” he answered. “I feel as though I know so much about the outside world, about your time, from the modern stories I read. But I will never be a part of your world, no matter how badly I wish for it to be so.”
“When were you born?” I casually asked.
“During the Civil War,” he answered, surprising me. “At the end of it, anyway.”
“Wow. So, you’re, like, Abraham Lincoln old.” It fit the information Ben and I had found about Ezekiel. “How old were you when you died?”
The humor fled from his eyes. “I will not discuss it, and I suggest you do not ask again.” His body appeared more transparent as he flashed over to the door and opened it. The control over his emotions was slipping. But which emotion? Anger? Sadness? “You should leave, Carter.”
My eyes felt heavy, so it was probably a good idea. I was brave enough to step inside Redwood Manor, but the thought of sleeping there creeped me out too much.
“Can I come back again tomorrow?” I asked, approaching the doorway where he waited for me.
Z’s shoulders tensed. “Even if I say no, you’ll still come here, will you not?”
“Probably.”
“I thought so.” He grabbed the candle off the table and stepped out into the hall, leaving the library in darkness as the light was taken from the room.
I hurried after him. A few turns later, we stepped into the open space of the entrance hall. I craned my neck as I looked up at the domed ceiling.
“Hey, that didn’t take us nearly as long as before,” I said, regarding him suspiciously.
The mischievous bastard smirked. “I took a shortcut.”
“Let me guess. You wanted me to take the scenic route earlier? Do you like confusing me?”
“What can I say? It amuses me.” That amusement reflected on his face, if only for a moment, then he grew serious again. “I warned you to stay away from Redwood, yet you’ve shown your inability to do so. Your curiosity will only bring you trouble, Carter. There have been other curious minds like yours over the years. They’ve come and gone, but all left with a piece of Redwood. This place seeps into you. Never lets you go.”
Could he be referring to Charlie Michaels, the man who’d researched the mansion and wrote records of all who’d resided there?
“I’m too involved now,” I said, my voice shaking a little. “This place already has a hold on me.”
Because you’re here.
“That’s what worries me.” Z touched my neck, his eyes searching mine.
“Is Redwood really cursed?”
His thumb smoothed across my jaw as a shadow passed over his face. “I think you know the answer to that question.”
I did. All of my research had pointed me in that direction, but I didn’t want to believe it. Because if the mansion was cursed, that meant Z was too.
“Why is it cursed?”
His hand fell away, and he put a small distance between us. “Goodnight, Carter.”
“Why won’t you answer—”
“Go home,” he snapped, then his voice softened. “Please.”
A clock sounded from the other room, the haunting melody traveling throughout the mansion.
“You need to leave. Now.” Z grabbed my arm and led me toward the door.
Then, the bells began to chime. As each bong reached my ears, I started to see them—the ghosts. William, the boy who liked to play games, appeared on the bottom step of the stairs. A little girl with dark curls stood beside him.
They both raised a finger to their lips. “Shh.”
The two of them then turned to run up the stairs.
I stared in horror as others materialized. Children ran into the entrance hall, their bodies see-thru as they spun each other around in circles. I didn’t hear their steps, but I heard their voices. Their laughs.
Then… I heard their screams.
“Father, no!” one girl screamed, throwing her hands up to cover her face. Her head flew from her body, hitting the bottom of the stairwell with a heavy thump.
Shaking with fear, I couldn’t move. A woman in a vintage cocktail dress then drifted past me. Blond hair fell into her face, and black eyeliner ran down her wet cheeks. Her feet dragged along the floor as she wept. Her anguished moans echoed all around me, sounding distorted.