After a quick stop at the little grocery store for staples, I looked for Poa on the bench she’d chosen for her nap. There was no sign of her, but that didn’t worry me. She could more than take care of herself.
I drove back to the boathouse alone. Thankfully, Rafe wasn’t there as I hurried up to my flat and stashed my new goodies. I changed into the trousers and shirt I’d bought, ate a quick sandwich, then headed up to the house to see what I was working with.
Chapter
Seven
Isobel
Anticipation danced through me as I climbed the steep, rocky hill toward Lavender House. I could have gone around via the road, which wasn’t much farther, but I was so anxious to see what I was up against that I cut straight across the uneven ground toward the ramshackle gray structure.
There was a small cottage about a hundred meters to the east, sitting a bit higher on the hillside. I hadn’t noticed it last night, but from the look of the neatly trimmed garden, it was inhabited. I’d have to make a point to meet my neighbor eventually.
As I neared the big house, I realized that the stone it had been built from was actually very pretty. The rest of the house, however…
Rafe had been right—it was in terrible condition. The roof looked like it was on its last legs, and several of the windows had been boarded up, presumably after the glass had been broken. Had my grandmother done that? I couldn’t imagine her climbing up there to put the boards in place, but I was grateful to whomever had done it. The chances of water damage inside would be substantially less.
The wind blew my hair in my face as I inspected the suggestion of a front garden. If there had ever been one, it was long gone, supplanted by a path cutting through the rocky hillside that dropped sharply down to the boathouse and sea. The view was gorgeous, but right now, the landscaping looked very neglected. One day, I could put pretty flowers alongside the path, but that was a ways off.
I turned my attention back to the house. I needed to get inside if I was going to figure out how much work really awaited me.
Apprehensive, I pulled the key from my pocket as I approached the door. There was a strangely unwelcoming feeling as I slipped the key into the lock, and a tiny shock raced down my arm.
“Ouch!” I yanked my hand back and shook it, glaring at the door. “You’d better stop that. I’m not going anywhere. And I’m here to help, actually.”
The house seemed to groan, and I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination or a real noise. I shook my head. So peculiar.
The key was still sticking out of the lock, and I gently tapped it with one finger. It didn’t shock me again, so I gripped it and turned. It was a stubborn lock, more due to old age than the house’s anger. I wasn’t sure how I could tell, but probably because the house didn’t shock me again. It took a bit of force to get it to click, but it finally did, and I swung the door open. It made the most awful creaking noise as it did, and I grinned. “You’re laying it on a little thick, you know?”
I’d never been one for talking out loud, especially not to inanimate objects. But Lavender House was different. There was a presence here.
The house responded with a godawful stench—rot and mildew and old socks. I covered my mouth with my sleeve and stepped inside, letting my eyes adjust to the gloom. The first thing I noticed was the beautiful staircase that led upstairs. Then I clocked the horrific wallpaper and carpeting, along with the thick layer of dust. Broken glass glittered dully on the ground underneath the window near the door, and a giant spider skittered through a crack in the baseboard.
I blew out a breath, a weight seeming to descend onto my shoulders.
This was a lot. There was just so much wrong with this place, and I was only in the front room.
“Snap out of it,” I muttered to myself.
I wasn’t a quitter. I couldn’t be—I had to make this work since I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Anyway, my trip to the village this morning made me want to live in Charming Cove. I’d felt more at home during my few hours on Foxglove Lane than I ever had in London. And no matter how bad this house looked now, it was my home.
I could feel it.
Problem was, the house didn’t agree.
“Are you a ghost?” I asked the empty space around me.
There was no response, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a ghost. Maybe it was playing a more subtle game. Didn’t matter—I would beat them at it.
I headed toward the door at the far end of the room, entering an old kitchen that looked like it had been built sometime at the beginning of the last century. It was going to need to be completely redone, no question. Through the back windows, I could see the remains of what had once been a glorious garden. It was in seriously bad shape, of course, choked by weeds bigger than I was.
The bathrooms weren’t any better, and I didn’t find a single room that wasn’t horrible. Some of them might have been fine, but the stench was enough to make my eyes water and colored my opinion of everything.
“You don’t feel very well, do you?” I asked the house. “Is there a ghost bothering you? A curse?”
Beneath my feet, the floorboard popped up underneath the rug. I tumbled to my butt, landing hard on the gross old carpet. A cloud of dust poofed up, and I coughed. Behind me, a bathroom door slammed, the noise so loud it made my head hurt.
“All right, all right!” I wasn’t afraid, exactly, but I also wasn’t stupid. Whatever was in here wanted me gone, and I didn’t want to get on its bad side. “I’m leaving. But I want you to know that I’m coming back, and I’m here to help.”
The house seemed to groan again, almost in frustration. Like it wanted to be left alone. Well, it was out of luck.
I climbed to my feet and brushed off the seat of my trousers, then headed to the front door. The floor beneath me shifted, ejecting me through the entryway. I stumbled, nearly losing my footing, then whirled around to glare at the house. “I get it, okay? You’re grumpy. But I’m going to fix that.”
The door slammed in my face.
“Rude.” I turned and headed down the hill. I needed to find a way to fix that house’s mood, stat. It wouldn’t be safe to work there until I got a better handle on what was happening inside.
Poa waited for me at the door to the boathouse, lounging in a patch of sunlight. Her orange, white, and black fur gleamed beautifully, and she squinted up at me through the bright light, her gaze going to my shortened hair. That’s a new look.
“Do you like it?”
Yes. You look less Little House on the Prairie.
“Um, thanks.”
How did it go at our new house?
“Fantastic,” I said wryly, looking back up at the place, which seemed to glower at me. “You didn’t want to see for yourself?
She gave a wheezy laugh, which I supposed was the best a cat could do. No. I knew it would be a nightmare.
“More like a ghost.”
Do you think?
“I don’t know. But I’ve got no skill with the dead. I know where to find someone who might, though.”
Who?
“There was a coven in town. I saw the sign on my way to the salon. They should be able to help me.” Covens weren’t the whimsical groups of forest witches that human fiction depicted them to be. Rather, they were businesses formed by groups of witches to help others solve their problems. There were plenty of supernaturals who couldn’t do magic, like werewolves and vampires and witches who had ignored their own skills for too long.