Chapter 30: Deliveries
The hot shower had scoured away the grime but not the buzzing sense of unreality clinging to Elias like static. He stood in the kitchen, the cold of the checkerboard floor tiles seeping through his socks, while around him the air shimmered with barely-contained anticipation.
“Just be cool,” Carissa advised from her perch on the dusty icebox, her form flickering with a businesslike energy. “Trust me, she likes you. A lot.”
A lot.” Her voice was a low, conspiratorial whisper that seemed to vibrate off the dusty glass of the empty cupboards. “The house wants this. We all do.”
From the hallway, a low, appreciative whistle echoed. Tucker leaned against the doorframe, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “Look at you, all cleaned up. Almost like a real person.” He gave a thumbs-up that was somehow lewd. “You got this, man.”
He gave a weak wave in Tucker’s direction, his throat too dry to form a proper comeback. The pressure was a physical weight on his chest, a stark contrast to the chaotic support system swirling around him.
Then, two new forms solidified near the cold fireplace. Mary’s hands appeared first, graceful and solid, before the rest of her followed, a warm, steady presence in her simple farm dress. “Breathe, Elias,” she said, her voice like worn leather and kindness. “Just be yourself. That is more than enough.”
Reynaldo materialized beside her, adjusting the lapel of his pristine zoot suit. “She’s right, man,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Remember, cool is a state of mind.”
Before Elias could process their grounding advice, the air in the center of the kitchen split with a burst of silent jazz. Jezebel and Angelica snapped into existence, all long limbs and fringed dresses, their forms shimmering under a ghostly spotlight. They launched into a syncopated flapper dance, knees knocking, arms flying, their smiles wide and wildly anachronistic.
Jezebel caught his eye mid-shimmy, her green eyes blazing with mischief. “Consider this a tactical distraction,” she purred, her voice cutting through the silent music. “Gets the blood flowing, gets your mind out of its own way and into the game.”
Their energetic, sensual movements were so absurd and sudden that a genuine laugh burst from Elias’s tight chest. The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction as he watched their joyful, chaotic performance.
Then, from the deepest corner of the kitchen, where the shadows clung thickest, Seraphina appeared. She did not dance or speak. She simply stood, her ethereal grace a stark contrast to the flappers' frenzy, and gave Elias a single, slow, approving nod. Her hauntingly sad smile seemed to hold a century of secrets, and in that moment, it felt like a benediction.
A sharp, real knock echoed through the house, its sound solid and final. In an instant, the kitchen emptied. The flappers, Mary, Reynaldo, Tucker, Carissa—all of them dissolved back into the dust motes and shadows from which they’d come. The silent jazz cut out. The room was just a room again, cold and decaying.
But Elias could feel them. The air was thick with their attention, a silent, eager audience holding its breath. He took one last steadying breath, the ghost of a smile on his lips, and turned toward the door.
He pulled the heavy door open and the gray afternoon light framed Ashley on the porch. She wasn’t in her usual hoodie and jeans. A soft, emerald-green sweater hugged her frame and her hair was down, falling in smooth waves around her shoulders. Standing slightly behind her was Sally, her friend with the purple-streaked hair, who offered a sharp, knowing grin.
“Hey, Elias,” Ashley said, her voice a little brighter than usual. “Brought the usual… and a helper.”
“I see that,” Elias managed, his brain briefly short-circuiting. “You both look… you didn’t have to dress up for this.”
“A girl can’t look nice for a grocery run?” Sally quipped, hefting a box and brushing past him into the foyer without a second glance. Ashley followed with a shy smile, her shoulder lightly brushing his arm as she carried her own box inside. The scent of her perfume, something fresh and clean, cut through the house’s perpetual odor of dust.
They moved past him with a practiced ease that left him standing by the open door. He finally pushed it shut and trailed them into the kitchen, the floorboards groaning in a way that sounded suspiciously like amused laughter.
Ashley set her box on the massive wooden counter with a soft thud. “So, how’s the writer’s retreat going?” she asked, her eyes scanning the room with open curiosity. “Any Pulitzer-winning ideas yet?”
“More like a few horror story premises,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. The air near the icebox suddenly felt several degrees cooler. “Let’s just say the plumbing is a character all its own.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw the faucet in the deep, porcelain sink twist itself on a quarter-turn. A single, cold drop of water fell into the basin with a loud plink. Ashley didn’t seem to notice.
“This place is insane,” Sally declared, unpacking a bag of coffee with efficient movements. “I’d be getting ideas, too. Spooky ones.” She finished with the coffee and wiped her hands on her jeans, her gaze sweeping the kitchen’ shadowy corners. “So, is your… big friend around? The quiet one?”
Elias felt a collective, invisible tension snap taut in the room. “Colin?” he asked, his voice careful. “He’s around. Doesn’t say much, though.”
“I don’t need him to talk,” Sally said with a blunt, appreciative shrug. “I just like to look.” She gave Elias a wink and then, without another word, turned and walked out of the kitchen, her footsteps echoing down the hall toward the grand salon.
“Sally!” Ashley called after her, a flush creeping up her neck. She turned back to Elias, looking mortified. “I am so sorry. She has zero filter.”
“It’s fine,” Elias said, and found that he meant it. “Honest. It’s… refreshing.”
The admission hung between them, softening the awkwardness. The house itself seemed to lean in, the dusty air becoming still and expectant. A floorboard upstairs creaked, a slow, deliberate sound.
Ashley took a small step closer, playing with the edge of the cardboard box. “I was thinking… since I’m always just dropping stuff and running… maybe we could actually hang out sometime? Not with groceries.”
The temperature in the kitchen rose noticeably, a sudden, comforting warmth that felt like a collective, spectral nudge. Elias could almost hear the silent, eager shouting from the unseen audience surrounding them.
“Yeah,” he said, the word coming out easier than he’d expected. “I’d like that. How about dinner? Here? Friday night?”
“Here?” Ashley’s eyes widened, a mix of surprise and intrigue. “Like, a real dinner in the spooky mansion? I’m in.”
“It’s a date, then,” Elias said, and the simple statement sent a genuine, uncynical thrill through him.
The single bare bulb above the kitchen table flickered, then glowed with a sudden, steady, golden light. Ashley laughed, a warm, real sound. “Your wiring is so weird.”
“You have no idea,” Elias murmured, his smile finally reaching his eyes.
A sharp, distant thud from somewhere deeper in the house made them both jump. It was followed by a muffled, high-pitched squeal that was unmistakably Sally’s.
Ashley’s brow furrowed. “What was that?”
Elias listened to the ensuing silence, which felt charged and mischievous. “I have no idea,” he said slowly, a new kind of dread and anticipation settling in his stomach. “But we should probably go find your friend.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Ashley said, her eyes wide with a mixture of concern and curiosity. She followed him out of the kitchen, her gaze immediately darting around the grand foyer. “God, this woodwork is incredible. It’s a crime to let it get this dusty.”
They checked the grand salon first, its air still humming with a residual, primal energy. It was empty, the only evidence of the earlier summit being a slightly off-kilter chaise lounge. “This room has amazing bones,” Ashley murmured, running a hand over the carved marble of the fireplace. “The potential is just staggering.”
The dining room was similarly vacant, a long table shrouded in a white sheet like a sleeping giant. A massive, tarnished silver candelabra sat in the center, reflecting their movements in its distorted surface. “This is all original, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice hushed. “It feels like a museum, but one you could actually live in.”
Elias led her back into the hall, his anxiety ticking upward with each empty room. He was acutely aware of the library door, tucked under the staircase, a dark, sliver of space that seemed to suck the light from the hall. He could feel a low, plaintive murmur of trapped consciousness emanating from behind it, shadows that hadn’t yet learned to fully form.
“Please don’t be in there,” he whispered, more to himself than to Ashley.
He pushed the library door open just a crack. The room beyond was a cavern of shifting, half-substantial darkness, where forms flickered between human shape and mere suggestion. It was empty of any living presence. He pulled the door shut with a relieved sigh, the latch clicking firmly into place.
“She’s not down here,” he said, turning to Ashley. “We have to check upstairs.”
“Lead the way,” she said, following him without hesitation.
The staircase groaned under their weight, each creak a protest in the settling silence. The upstairs hallway was a tunnel of closed doors, the wallpaper peeling in long, sad tendrils. Elias’s worry was a cold stone in his gut. He didn’t know what was behind most of these doors himself.
Then he heard it. A voice, Sally’s, coming from a room at the end of the hall. It wasn't a scream of terror, but a low, conversational tone, punctuated by a soft, melodic laugh.
He moved quickly, Ashley close behind, and stopped in the doorway of a room he’d never entered. It was a study, smaller than the library, dominated by a heavy oak desk and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. And there they were.
Sally was leaning against the desk, her body angled toward Colin, who stood solid and immutable as a mountain a few feet away. He was in his rough workman’s clothes, his hands hanging at his sides, his expression typically unreadable. But his head was tilted, just slightly, listening.
“So you just, what, hang around this big old place?” Sally was saying, her voice warm and teasing. “A strong, silent type like you must have better things to do than haunt the wallpaper.”
Colin’s eyes, a pale, steady blue, were fixed on her. He didn’t smile, but the intense focus of his gaze was a response in itself. He gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.
Sally laughed again, a light, delighted sound. “I’ll take that as a ‘maybe’.” She reached out, not to touch him, but to trace the air an inch from the sleeve of his worn jacket. “It’s a good look on you. The whole… sturdy, historical vibe.”
Colin’s eyes flickered down to her finger, then back to her face. A long, slow breath seemed to fill his chest. He looked utterly, profoundly interested.
From the hallway, Elias and Ashley watched the silent, one-sided exchange. Ashley let out a soft, astonished breath. “Well,” she whispered, her shoulder pressing against Elias’s arm. “I guess she found him.”
Sally’s eyes flicked toward the doorway, catching their stunned expressions. Her face fell into a theatrical little pout, as if they’d interrupted a deeply private moment. “Guess the search party’s over,” she said, her voice laced with mock disappointment.
She turned back to Colin, her playful smile returning. “I’ll see you again, big guy.” Rising on her toes, she pressed a quick, firm kiss to his stony cheek.
The entire house responded with a deep, resonant hum that vibrated up from the floorboards through the soles of their feet. The old books on the shelves seemed to shiver in their bindings.
Sally pulled back, her eyes wide. “Whoa. What was that? Felt like a subway train passing under us.” She glanced around, utterly perplexed by the energy surge she’d just triggered.
Ashley stepped fully into the room and took Sally’s hand, her grip firm. “That’s our cue to go,” she said, gently pulling her friend toward the hall. “Let’s let these two get back to… whatever it is they do.”
As Ashley turned, the sleeve of her emerald sweater rode up slightly. On the back of her arm, just above her elbow, was a small tattoo. It was a star, but not a perfect one; its points were uneven, almost like a crude compass rose or a stylized flower. Elias stared at it, a nagging sense of familiarity tugging at the edge of his memory. He’d seen that symbol somewhere before, he was sure of it, but the context remained maddeningly out of reach.
He followed them out, his mind racing from the symbol to the hum to the upcoming date to the impossible sight now burned into his retinas. Colin, the silent, century-old ghost, was actually smiling. It wasn’t a broad grin, just a subtle, undeniable upturn at the corners of his mouth, and the look in his eyes was one of pure, unadulterated wonder.
They moved quickly through the foyer, the grand space still thrumming with the aftermath of the kiss. Sally kept looking back over her shoulder, a dazed, delighted expression on her face. Ashley reached the front door and pulled it open, the gray afternoon light flooding in.
“So, Friday,” Elias said, his voice a bit steadier than he felt.
“Friday,” Ashley confirmed, a genuine warmth in her eyes. Then, instead of a wave, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a brief, tight hug. “I’m looking forward to it, too.”
She released him just as quickly, her cheeks flushing pink, and followed a still-dazzled Sally out onto the porch. The heavy oak door swung shut with a soft, definitive click, leaving Elias alone in the sudden, echoing silence of the foyer.
The house held its breath, waiting for his next move. The silence felt like a physical pressure, thick and expectant, before it was torn apart by a burst of silent jazz and the scent of gin. Jezebel materialized leaning against the newel post, one red-stockinged leg crossed over the other, her green eyes burning with avaricious delight.
“Now that was a proper spark,” she purred, pushing off the post and slinking toward him. “The whole house felt it when that little firecracker kissed our stoic Irishman. It was like lightning in the wires.” She stopped inches from him, her form radiating a palpable heat. “I want in, writer. This plan to bring more warm bodies through the door? I can help. I am exceptionally good at making people feel welcome.”
Her gaze dropped down his body and back up, slow and appraising. “But let’s talk about us. When are you finally going to fuck me, Elias? The anticipation is becoming a physical ache.”
Elias felt a wave of sheer exhaustion so profound it made his bones ache. He looked at her, this vibrant, demanding artifact of the Roaring Twenties, and managed a weary, lopsided smile. “Jezebel, my gas tank is on absolute empty at the moment,” he said, his voice rough. “I haven’t forgotten you. I promise. But I have a historical preservation checklist to read first.”
Jezebel’s painted lips curved into a wicked smile, her eyes flashing with challenge. She reached out, and her finger, hot as a brand, traced the line of his jaw. “Read fast.”