Page 56 of On Edge

Turning off the torch, I put my phone down, and reluctantly, the knife, and grip the end of the shelf to pull it away from the wall. It moves slowly, scraping and heaving over the boards. When there’s enough room, I slip between it and the wall.

A prickling unease creeps over my skin as I trace over the wooden flowers carved into the paneling. The intricate design is solid and cold beneath my fingertips, flowers merging in the middle, becoming a swan, with a hole in its center.

A keyhole, actually, blended into it so it’s almost invisible.

First, I press my palm flat against it, pushing on the door, but it doesn’t open, so I put my ear to it to listen instead.

The banging is louder.

As I peer through the keyhole, all I see is total darkness, but cold air seeps through, brushing against my fluttering lashes. Until the thumping noise on the other side of the door stops suddenly. I move back, my heart pounding, knocking the shelf behind me. Boxes and tins stacked go flying, making a loud clattering sound.

Wincing, I stay completely still, heart pounding, ears pricked. There’s silence at first, and then footsteps echo behind the wall, coming fast and close.There’s barely enough time for me to fall away in a panic, flattening myself against the wall tothe side of the shelves. Whoever is on the other side of the door, their footfall stops behind it.

And then nothing.

Just the wind blowing a gale. And maybe a crack of thunder.

Go look,Nell urges.

Why would my brain make Nell say that? Why aren’t the pills working? I don’t move. After several seconds, she adds.What kind of investigator are you?

My heart is having a disco in my chest. I try to ignore it, grabbing the dinner knife from the shelf where I left it. I shuffle toward the door, psyching myself up to look through the hole.

Cautiously, my mouth dry (again), head pounding now, I bring my face close to look through.

A red eye blinks back at me.

The scream tears from my throat. I don’t remember running out of the pantry and the kitchen, but I’m at the bottom of the stairs, on my hands and knees, no less, when a rough hand circles my ankle and yanks me back down.

I struggle to get away, but my assailant has hold of me tightly. They flip me over and straddle me, grabbing and twisting the wrist of my hand holding the knife. They shove a palm over my mouth to stop me from making another sound.

“Shut the fuck up. You’ll wake the whole damn house!”

It’s Severin, looming down over me on the dark staircase, looking severely pissed off.

For once, he’s not wearing a pristine suit, but a black t-shirt and sweatpants, but he’s covered in dust and dirt, like he’s been somewhere dark and dirty. At least he smells of whatever dark place he’s been hiding in, like dust and metal, and whatever is indefinably him that makes my stomach flutter with awantI don’t understand.

His green orbs are particularly piercing tonight, even in the low light of the hallway, razing over me at the base of the stepswhere he has me pinned. I can’t speak with his hand over my mouth, so I stare at him wide-eyed, stomach in a confusion of knots. It honestly feels like my whole body is shaking so hard he must be able to feel it.

Was the eye his in the keyhole?

But the eye was red!

Was it? It’s all a blur now, and fragments of what I thought I saw don’t make sense. I really do hate my brain. I hate that memories slip through like shadows, intangible, twisting away from me when I try to keep hold too tight. It makes investigating my sister’s death really damn hard.

“I’m going to move my hand away, so don’t fucking scream.”

I nod frantically.

Slowly, he moves his hand from my face. I suck in a breath and then another.

Severin’s eyes narrow. “Now. Why the hell were you screaming like a damn banshee?”

“I was getting a drink of water, and I heard a noise. There was someone…” What do I say? There was an eye looking at me?

He cocks his head, waiting. I’m acutely aware of him sitting on top of me, the weight of him keeping me trapped beneath. The stairs are so uncomfortable, the edges pressing into my spine, but I dare not move because of the sheer material of my borrowed pajamas and the angle of his hips.

I’m suddenly feeling very hot and lightheaded, and the worst part is I don’t want him to move. My body is betraying every logical thought in my head, responding to his weight on me like I’ve been waiting for this exact moment my entire life. God, what’s wrong with me?