Free Haunted by Lynn Carthage Page A

provided tumult. I will always preside over these stones, healthy and strong . . . years and worlds after Marie, Sabine, and the others laid their elderly necks upon a monstrous device and were beheaded. The manor and I are a perfect couple, in love endlessly.
    I’ve so much more to tell you. I have plans, ideas. You

    It just ended there. Mid-sentence.
    My mouth was dry, and I felt incredible disquiet radiating through my body. I knew I should feel some sense of relief—I had proof now—but that was the furthest thing from what I felt. Madame Arnaud had plans for me.
    She was thinking about me. Plotting about me.
    I was somehow her target just as much as Tabby was. What could she possibly want with me? I tried to control my shaking hands, to reach down and pick up the pages. I was going to gather them up in reverse order, so that the first page would be on the top of the pile, ready to hand to Mom and Steven to read. My fingers nearly touched the spidery script . . .
    . . . and all of a sudden Miles was there.
    I shrieked and stumbled up to stand, nearly stepping on the pages.
    â€œSorry!” he said, spreading his hands wide like I was about to attack him. He came farther into the room and made a sheepish face. He was wearing black jeans and a close-fitting slate-colored henley shirt with the sleeves pushed up below his elbow.
    â€œWhat are you—how did you get here?”
    â€œThere are lots of ways in,” he said. “I hadn’t seen you for a while, so I thought I’d come round.”
    â€œDid my mom let you in? She knows you’re here?”
    He shook his head, grinning. My jolting heart began a new rhythm, for a new reason.
    â€œYou scared the crap out of me!” I said.
    â€œSorry,” he said again.
    I stared at him and realized he was a daredevil, an inch away from being an asshole if he wasn’t so handsome. He was here to check up on the Madame Arnaud gossip, slipping in through a window like the mansion belonged to him. Like a common burglar. He’d told me the legend and come to see how much it had scared me.
    â€œLook at these,” I said, pointing to the array of papers on the floor.
    â€œWhat are they?”
    â€œRead them,” I said. “Read this one first.” I pointed to the one on the left, where the crescent of pages started.
    He knelt to read while I studied his face. It was a nice chance to stare without him knowing. From this vantage point, his eyelashes were lush against the sturdy planes of his face. Confirmed: he was still ridiculously handsome.
    He frowned. “You wrote this?”
    â€œNo. She did.”
    â€œMadame Arnaud?” He looked up at me like I was a leper about to wipe my ooze onto him.
    I was going to insist “Yes,” but I thought about the research I’d done with Bethany all those months ago, the sheet we’d written up with notes about schizophrenia. I paused. What was true?
    â€œI didn’t write it,” I said. But Mr. Pelkey would have loved it if you had, I thought.
    â€œWhere did you find them?”
    I swallowed, worrying I wouldn’t be able to say anything coherent. It took everything I had not to walk out of the room and huddle in my lime green retreat. He could be a friend, I told myself. You need friends. I took a few calming breaths and explained automatic writing to him.
    His eyes narrowed. “You let her take over your body? Weren’t you terrified?”
    â€œI didn’t even feel it,” I said. “But you’re not supposed to. You’re in a trance.”
    I felt like an idiot talking about this in Steven’s office. We were like two awkward actors in a badly blocked scene: no chairs available to us except the single one in front of Steven’s desk. I knelt down so I was at least on the same level with him. His eyes flicked to mine, too close. “I’m not sure,” I said.
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œAbout what happened. If