out?”
Esther rolled her eyes. “You really are a prickly little thing, aren’t you?”
“ Sometimes. Maybe.” Flynn swallowed. “Can you blame me? You’re really creeping me out.”
Esther sighed. “I can see how you’re Elizabeth’s granddaughter. Same contentious nature.”
“ Gee, I wonder if I’d be less contentious on a full night’s sleep. Let’s try it, shall we?”
Whoosh.
Suddenly Flynn wasn’t in her bed anymore. She was in the corner of the Rose Banquet Room, watching herself staring down at Tucker from behind the podium. Tucker was standing in the aisle, smirking up at her with that smirky little smirk. After throwing her up there like a piece of raw meat in front of a pack of wolves, he had the nerve to stand in that aisle and come to her defense with that smirk?
Whatever.
“So it’s safe to say you’re impressed, right?” His words were soft and fuzzy, echoing through her memory.
She watched her own face, looking stricken and confused and very much not like she owned the place. “Yes.”
Tucker was still locking eyes with Flynn ’s podium self, and this time, she saw something she hadn’t seen in the moment, when her whole being had been focused on the fantasy visual of throttling his neck.
This time, she saw what might possibly be a hint of regret.
“Well,” he said, “considering you haven’t even been here for twenty-four hours yet, I think that’s pretty much all we can ask.”
Then his eyes drifted over to the corner, connecting with Flynn’s dream self. The rest of the room faded, but Tucker stayed still, watching her from where he stood.
“ I’m sorry,” he said, his lips not moving.
Another whoosh, and Flynn shot up in her bed. The room was dark and empty. No fuzziness. No orange glow. No dead aunt.
Well. That was a good start.
Flynn leaned forward and put her face in her hands. This whole thing was a big mistake. Obviously, her mental state was taking serious hits from coming here, and she wasn’t even doing a good job. Her lunch date had been poisoned, she’d completely hosed the staff meeting, and the one person she’d trusted had betrayed her. After her public humiliation, she’d retreated back to the cottage, unpacked the boxes from Freya (exactly how many clothes did Freya think she’d need, anyway?), and curled up on the bed like a scared little girl.
Add to all that the fact that her subconscious was torturing her in the form of a dead aunt she ’d never met, and Flynn felt secure in her assessment that things were not going well.
She tossed her legs over the side of the bed, grabbed her jeans up off the floor, and stuck her feet in. Camisole, sweater, sneakers, and she was ready to get out of that creepy cottage. She wished she ’d had the presence of mind to ask Annabelle for a room, but in her rush to escape, she’d forgotten.
Tomorrow, she was getting a room. Maybe her subconscious would settle down in a different environment. Maybe she ’d dream about being haunted by George Washington, or Eleanor Roosevelt.
Pretty much anyone would be an improvement on Esther.
She stepped outside, and the chilled air woke her up immediately. The moon was full, and a light mist lay over the ground. The faint scent of roses hit her, and she turned toward the back of the courtyard. Pebbles crunched under her feet as she followed the path, the dappled moonlight giving her just enough illumination to keep her from tripping over the three stone steps that led through an archway covered with roses, and then…
“ Oh, wow ,” she breathed as she took it all in.
It was beautiful. The garden was laid out in a circle, with pebbled paths cutting through the rosebushes like spokes on a wheel, all leading to the gazebo in the center. Flynn wandered down the first spoke, sniffing the roses as she went. She didn ’t know anything about roses, but she could tell that each bush had a different variety. Some were red, some pink, some yellow. Some blossoms were
Esther rolled her eyes. “You really are a prickly little thing, aren’t you?”
“ Sometimes. Maybe.” Flynn swallowed. “Can you blame me? You’re really creeping me out.”
Esther sighed. “I can see how you’re Elizabeth’s granddaughter. Same contentious nature.”
“ Gee, I wonder if I’d be less contentious on a full night’s sleep. Let’s try it, shall we?”
Whoosh.
Suddenly Flynn wasn’t in her bed anymore. She was in the corner of the Rose Banquet Room, watching herself staring down at Tucker from behind the podium. Tucker was standing in the aisle, smirking up at her with that smirky little smirk. After throwing her up there like a piece of raw meat in front of a pack of wolves, he had the nerve to stand in that aisle and come to her defense with that smirk?
Whatever.
“So it’s safe to say you’re impressed, right?” His words were soft and fuzzy, echoing through her memory.
She watched her own face, looking stricken and confused and very much not like she owned the place. “Yes.”
Tucker was still locking eyes with Flynn ’s podium self, and this time, she saw something she hadn’t seen in the moment, when her whole being had been focused on the fantasy visual of throttling his neck.
This time, she saw what might possibly be a hint of regret.
“Well,” he said, “considering you haven’t even been here for twenty-four hours yet, I think that’s pretty much all we can ask.”
Then his eyes drifted over to the corner, connecting with Flynn’s dream self. The rest of the room faded, but Tucker stayed still, watching her from where he stood.
“ I’m sorry,” he said, his lips not moving.
Another whoosh, and Flynn shot up in her bed. The room was dark and empty. No fuzziness. No orange glow. No dead aunt.
Well. That was a good start.
Flynn leaned forward and put her face in her hands. This whole thing was a big mistake. Obviously, her mental state was taking serious hits from coming here, and she wasn’t even doing a good job. Her lunch date had been poisoned, she’d completely hosed the staff meeting, and the one person she’d trusted had betrayed her. After her public humiliation, she’d retreated back to the cottage, unpacked the boxes from Freya (exactly how many clothes did Freya think she’d need, anyway?), and curled up on the bed like a scared little girl.
Add to all that the fact that her subconscious was torturing her in the form of a dead aunt she ’d never met, and Flynn felt secure in her assessment that things were not going well.
She tossed her legs over the side of the bed, grabbed her jeans up off the floor, and stuck her feet in. Camisole, sweater, sneakers, and she was ready to get out of that creepy cottage. She wished she ’d had the presence of mind to ask Annabelle for a room, but in her rush to escape, she’d forgotten.
Tomorrow, she was getting a room. Maybe her subconscious would settle down in a different environment. Maybe she ’d dream about being haunted by George Washington, or Eleanor Roosevelt.
Pretty much anyone would be an improvement on Esther.
She stepped outside, and the chilled air woke her up immediately. The moon was full, and a light mist lay over the ground. The faint scent of roses hit her, and she turned toward the back of the courtyard. Pebbles crunched under her feet as she followed the path, the dappled moonlight giving her just enough illumination to keep her from tripping over the three stone steps that led through an archway covered with roses, and then…
“ Oh, wow ,” she breathed as she took it all in.
It was beautiful. The garden was laid out in a circle, with pebbled paths cutting through the rosebushes like spokes on a wheel, all leading to the gazebo in the center. Flynn wandered down the first spoke, sniffing the roses as she went. She didn ’t know anything about roses, but she could tell that each bush had a different variety. Some were red, some pink, some yellow. Some blossoms were
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