A cold sensation sweeps over my skin, springing goosebumps. I step around the piano to get a better look at what I’m certain is someone beyond the doorway. “Rand, is that you?”
Fine tendrils tickle the back of my neck, and I rub a hand across my nape over the creeping prickle.
It’s broad daylight, Isa. Relax.
The feeling of being watched has my eyes scanning the room. “Hello?”
“Miss Quinn!”
A scream flies out of my throat, and I stumble backward, setting a hand to my chest.
Rand peers in from the doorway. “I didn’t mean to startle you. And my apologies for the delay. Shall we?”
Eyes fluttering shut, I exhale a breath, and nodding, I follow him out of the room and down the hallway toward a set of silver doors, which appear to be an elevator. Of course, the place has an elevator. Why wouldn’t it?
“Only two rooms can be accessed from this elevator. Mrs. Blackthorne’s chambers, and the Master’s personal office. I’d caution you against snooping around the third level, as Master Blackthorne is very particular.”
“About his privacy,” I finish for him. “I understand.”
“Good.” He presses the button on the wall, and the panel overhead shows the third floor lit up, then the second. “You’re free to roam all other rooms, aside from the Master’s bedroom and the catacombs, of course.” At a ding, the silver doors slide open, and with a wave of his hand, Rand ushers me inside.
“Catacombs?” I ask.
“The bottommost level in the castle. It’s where the Blackthorne mausoleum, or ossuary, rather, is located.”
That cold sensation sweeps over me again. “Mausoleum? As in … human remains? In this house?”
“Yes. The Blackthornes have obtained special documentation that has permitted them to bury their ancestors right here on the property. However, the catacombs are off limits to you.”
“Of course.” Why the hell would I care to go snooping around for dead bodies, anyway?
“You’d be surprised what lengths some will go to, to see what’s off limits. I’d advise you don’t. One other small thing I want to mention. Should, by chance, you run into Master Blackthorne, I’d advise you not to make eye contact for long. Makes him a little … edgy.”
Guy must be sensitive about his scars. I get it. “Sure. He doesn’t wander about much, I take it.”
“Aside from his office and the gym, not much, no.”
“There’s a gym here?”
“And a pool, as well as an indoor track. The Master was quite an athlete in his youth. You’re welcome to use them, if you wish.”
Jesus, it must take a crew just to keep up the daily cleaning here. I’d’ve hated getting assigned this place back when I worked for the cleaning company.
The elevator comes to a stop on floor number two and opens directly into what appears to be a parlor, with an antique-looking settee upholstered in a black satiny material that has my palms itching to touch. The entire wall to the left is one giant glass curio cabinet filled with what I’m guessing are porcelain dolls. Hundreds of them. In the light through the window ahead, I can see their beady eyes staring forward through the glass, where each appears to be propped on some kind of stand.
Creepy.
As I step into the room, another cold rush of air dances over my skin, and the abandonment of this place becomes palpable.
“Mrs. Blackthorne has one of the most expensive and coveted porcelain and bisque doll collections in the world.”
“She’s been collecting them for a while, then?”
“Since she was a little girl. Please have a seat on the couch. I’ll fetch her.” With his parting words, he wanders off through a doorway, and I don’t yet bother to sit. I’ll do nothing but fidget, which will only bring my wracked-out nerves to my attention.
Eyes scanning over the lifeless faces, I take in the variety of dolls in her collection--some I bet came from different countries. Some with cracked faces, others smooth and flawless. I never grew up with dolls to appreciate them much. My mother always called them pointless, and by the time I went to live with my aunt, I was too old for them.
“She’ll be out in a moment.” Rand starts toward the elevator doors, and I spin around.
“Wait. You’re leaving?”
Pausing, he turns to face me, a smile widening his lips. “The fewer triggers, the better. Besides, she tends to do much better in a one-on-one situation. Her nurse is flitting about somewhere, so you’re not entirely alone. If you need anything, there’s an intercom on the