The Haunted (Sleeping with Monsters Book 1) by Cassie Alexander Page B

the ghost to
go on with his story –
    We
HAVE to do this again, Becca typed, before logging off.
    “Please
–“ Daphne begged in real life. “Tell me the end.”
    The
sensation of heat, outside and within, began to fade.
    “No
– I’m so close – please –“
    The
screen went black, and Daphne sagged back against the chair, sitting in a pool
of her own desires and frustration.
     
    Daphne
spent the rest of the evening before dinner looking for the door. She had no
doubt that it existed – the ghost described it too perfectly for that. But how
to get there from here? That was the question. She began her inquiries on the
upper wing of the other floor.
    She
traced her hand around floorboards, underneath the massive bed left behind, and
against the back walls of closets, knocking, listening for hollow points.
    The
house was so complicated and so old though – there could be twenty hidden
passageways – the whole thing could be like an episode of Scoobie Doo, and she
wouldn’t know until she tripped into the right wall sconce.
    During
all of her searches, she knew the ghost was near. Watching her. Feeding off her
hope and her frustration, probably laughing to himself at her grasping blindly
at anything that could get her back to that table and his cock.
    “This
is epically unfair,” she complained alound, after searching the last room. She
thought she heard him chuckle from beside her – and then Arthur ring for
dinner.
     
    “Arthur
–“ she asked by the third course, “Do you know of any secret passageways? Or
rooms?”
    Arthur
seemed taken aback by the question. “No, Ma’am. Have you found one?”
    “Oh,
no.” She let her voice drift off. “I was just thinking. A big house like this has
to have two or three.”
    “They
used to put them in on purpose in the old days, so that you wouldn’t have to
see the servants scurrying about.”
    “Really?”
    “Well,
and to hide treasures. In the old days, it was also hard to count on banks.”
    Daphne
grinned at the old man with affection. “I think you’re pulling my leg.”
    “Scout’s
honor, Ma’am,” he said, grinning back, and picking up her plate. “I called Mr.
Gale. He’ll come by after work tomorrow. Seemed very pleased to get the chance
to help us with the dresser.”
    “And
I’ll be pleased to finally have it moved. Thank you Arthur.”
    “You’re
welcome. Anything else?”
    “Nothing
at all.”
    “See
you for breakfast then, Ma’am,” Arthur said, and left with a bow.
     
    Daphne
sat at the table a while longer, listening to Arthur and Mrs. Dudley leave. The
Master had been taunting her all day, and now it was his turn to be taunted,
just a little bit. He couldn’t know what it was that she’d do, not one hundred
percent – he could only hope that she’d do it.
    Daphne
took herself on a tour of the house, intoxicated by the idea of what would
happen if she let it, trying to stretch the anticipation out. Feeling regal,
she looked around each room with a future eye – how new paintings would be commissioned
and hung, new rugs rolled out, vast arrangements of flowers, the statues
displayed like the works of art they were, always keeping a feel for the pulse
of the house’s original grandeur and majesty. She would restore it to its glory
days, and it would love her for it, it would love her, and it would love her
baby.
    She
made her way up to where her nursery would be and imagined a crib with a lazy
mobile circling above it -- and then went into the green room, where she’d left
the picture of the horse-girl. Daphne stared down at it. Had she been raised
her whole life here? How lucky she had been, and how profoundly sad her ending.
    Just
as Daphne lowered the photo she thought she saw a figure behind the girl in it.
She blinked and squinted. Had it been there before? Was it there now? She
wavered, trying to bring things into focus again, and then realized it was time
to stop fighting what she wanted.
    In
less than twenty