Page 57 of The Curse of Redwood

“Can you unlock the door for me, William?” I squinted at the glass, wondering what kind of game Z was playing.

“I can, but don’t think I should, sir. Mr. Warren’s in a foul mood. He’ll hang ya by your breeches from the staircase if you get on his bad side, yes he will.”

“Why is he in a bad mood?”

William shrugged before grabbing onto my arm. “Can we play hide and seek again?”

I knelt to his level. “Open the door for me, and I’ll play with you after I’ve talked to Z, er, Mr. Warren.”

He moved his face closer and narrowed his eyes in an untrusting way. “Promise? Grownups lie too often.”

“I promise,” I said, holding up a pinky.

He scrutinized it before linking our pinkies and letting go. “All right. I’ll let ya in. But don’t forget about me!” After disappearing and unlocking the door from inside, he pushed it open and looked up at me, adjusting his round hat as he said, “Mr. Warren’s in the parlor.”

“Thanks.” I entered the house and instantly heard it.

Music.

Someone was playing the piano. I followed the sound. The winding corridors still disoriented me sometimes, but I had learned my way around some areas of the mansion. Z had taken me to the parlor many times, and so I turned the corners accordingly on my trek there. The music flowed through the corridor in a haunting melody. Other spirits appeared around me as I walked, though none felt threatening. Maybe the music comforted them.

Eventually, I found myself outside the parlor.

The song slowed in tempo, becoming sadder as it focused mainly on minor keys. I entered the room and saw Z at the piano. He faced away from me. Silvery-blond hair touched the middle of his back, and he wore the same suit as always. Yet, something about him was different. I sensed it more than felt it.

“Do you always impose yourself on those who wish to be left alone?” he asked, his hands still moving along the keys.

“Did I do something to piss you off?”

The music stopped as his shoulders hunched forward a bit. Something was definitely wrong. Then, he straightened his spine and started playing again.

“Z.” I stepped toward the piano.

He ignored me.

“Look at me.”

He didn’t.

“Dammit, Z. Stop this crap and say something.”

But he kept playing.

“Ezekiel James Warren, I said look at me.”

Thatgot his attention. In an instant, he was off the piano bench and directly in front of me. His beautiful face that normally reflected such soft features and tenderness now radiated with anger.

“Why must you be such a pest, Carter?” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Leave me be.”

“No. Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

His body faded until I could only faintly see him. If I reached out to touch him, I knew my hand would pass right through. His concentration to hold his form had slipped.

“What reason did you have to bring him here?” Z asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Do not play at innocence,” he growled, and the small table beside him shook just as the curtains on the window swished outward. “The dark-haired boy you brought to my home.”