Page 7 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

“Well, I won’t keep you,” she said. “I’m sure you have… things to do. Just remember, selling the house would be in your best interest.”

Click.

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

I stared at the wall of Tudor-style windows in front of me—the kind with all the diamonds. The outside world was warped… kind of how I felt after talking to her.

I rubbed the back of my hand along my jaw. Mmph. That’s sore. Didn’t realize I’d been clenching through the whole call. At least I didn’t spiral—no full replay of every insult she’d ever thrown at me. Just a highlights this time.

I blew out a breath, shook it off, and moved on. That was what I did. That’s what I’d always done.Feelings later.

I shoved my phone into my purse and shifted my weight, eyeing the heavy six-paneled pocket door at the far end of the dining room.

The wood was dark, cool beneath my palm as I slid it open—until it stopped, barely six inches in.

I tugged. I shoved. Nothing. Just a deeper jam.

“Come on. Open, you little bitch.” I peered into the gap and spotted the problem—a small, wedge-shaped stone stuck between the door and wall.

A few sharp knocks and some creative swearing later, it popped free and clattered to the floor by my feet.

I knew that stone.

Milky white with mossy green dendrites branching through it. Moss Agate. My favorite. I had several in my collection already. Once I gave it a proper cleanse, it’d fit right in.

With the stone out of the way, the door slid open smoothly, tucking into the wall and revealing a study.

Soft light filtered through the leaded windows, casting a gray wash over the room. Mahogany bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling—mostly bare, with just a few scattered tomes and dusty trinkets left behind.

At the center, a stone fireplace anchored the space. Above it hung a massive painting of a man I only recognized from the obituary the lawyer sent—Uncle Silas, staring out across the room like it was his kingdom.

His eyes followed me like he regretted giving me his home.

And he looked like a man you didn’t piss off—ever.

The curled white mustache, the immaculate black suit, the snake-head cane securely gripped in his left hand—part of me didn’t want to take my eyes off of it in case he decided to reach out and smack me.

I swore it looked shinier than the rest of the painting.

Like it’d been freshly polished… or used recently.

I stepped further into the study but kept glancing back, his painted eyes tracking me like I’d walked mud across his grave.

I hated how easy it was to believe he still cared what happened in this house. What’s worse was that I hated how much I wanted his approval. He was dead. But he chose me to be his heir. I was still waiting for him to tell me I belonged.

I snapped a photo of the portrait and sent it to Annie.

[photo]

Portrait or portal to hell? You decide.

Her reply came fast.

Annie:

Burn it.

I glanced up at the painting.

No way.

Do you want me to die in my sleep tonight?

Child, what in heaven’s name are you going on about?

Nevermind. Chester needs food, and I forgot to pack some. Just letting you know we made it.

Thanks sugar, enjoy your first night.

I turned to leave and immediately stepped on something soft and squishy.

“Reeeooooww!”

Chester screeched, launching out from under my foot and tore through the dining room.

“Sorry, buddy! I didn’t see you!”

I jogged after him, but he spotted me and took off again—through the foyer, into a room I hadn’t explored yet, then another, then bolted up the stairs like he was being chased by a demon.

“I swear, if you get lost up there, you’re on your own.”

Seven rooms on this floor alone—and that wasn’t even counting the pantry or whatever the hell that tiny, wallpapered nightmare of a bathroom by the stairs was supposed to be.

Coming from a one-bedroom apartment where I could reach the fridge from the couch, this place felt like a damn castle. A haunted, high-maintenance castle.

“I’m going to see if I can find a store and get you some food, buddy!” I yelled up the stairs. “Behave—I love you!”

“ Ugh.” I sighed at the broken window pane. I’m going to need a piece of cardboard for that until I can get it fixed. I grabbed the keys and pulled the door shut behind me.

At this rate, my savings would be gone in a week.

I pulled my sweater tighter and headed to the garage. The lawyer said there was an old hatchback in there that might still run. Fingers crossed. Who knows the last time Uncle Silas took it for a spin.

The broken sidewalk crunched under my sandals as I hugged the curve of the house. I watched every step this time—it wasn’t taking me out twice in one day. At least I didn’t have to wrestle with that fucking gate again.

Small victories.

Chester was probably already plotting on how to eat the plaster if I didn’t get him fed soon. Or worse—start snacking on lead paint chips like they were gourmet. I’m not paying that vet bill.

The garage sat tucked up against the concrete privacy wall, the black paint on the door peeling like a bad sunburn.

God, another worn handle, I grabbed it and pulled. The door groaned open—one of those old sandbag counterweight ones. Ancient, but still smooth. One thing I didn’t have to replace.

And… it wasn’t even locked. Of course. Uncle Silas, what the hell?

Inside, a car sat under a dusty white sheet. I pulled it back and immediately cringed.

Pea-soup green. Putrid, regret-colored green.

I wrinkled my nose.

This was going to take some getting used to.

Running my fingers along the body, I traced down the front fender and froze. A tiny silver emblem with pointy ears grinned back at me.

No. Freaking. Way.

I should have realized.

A Gremlin.

Just like in that one episode of Supernatural. Except this one looked like it had been cursed by Shrek.

I opened the creaky driver-side door and tossed my purse onto the cracked vinyl seat. Relief washed over me when I spotted only two pedals. Thank god. I was not in the mood to stall my way through Port Grey in a stick shift.

I slid the key in and turned.

To my shock, the engine came to life without a stutter. Smooth, loud and eager.

Well… that was easy.

Easing onto Primrose Avenue, I couldn’t help but notice the shift in the neighborhood’s energy. Curtains twitched. Heads turned. Necks craned over fences like they were expecting me to set something on fire.

“Geez, come say ‘Hi’ if you’re that curious.”

I gave a friendly wave.

No one waved back.