Beautifully Broken (6 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

“So have you invited all your friends to your birthday party yet, dollface? Anyone special coming? Like a boy?” Sitting back, Dad took a sip of beer, the age lines around his mouth and eyes muting his youth with quiet strength. We sat at the dinner table in the kitchen eating meatloaf. Lumpy and dry. Jillian wasn’t the best cook.

I rolled my eyes. “Ugh, get serious.
Not
talking boys with you.” I pushed the congealed meat
 
around on my plate, still sulking about the embarrassing ghost incident at school. I’d made a fool out of myself in English class, freaking out over a wraith and showering the room with sunshine and claiming I was on the—oh, heck, what kind of committee had I said I was on? Jeez, how lame could I get? Apparently, pretty lame.

 
“Never mind.” Dad sat back in his chair. “I’m sorry you had to put off the party for a few weeks. You’re a sweetheart to reschedule your party so your grandparents can take the time to get away from the ranch and come see you.”

“I told you, I don’t mind. Honest.” And I didn’t. If delaying my party by a few weeks meant I’d get to see my grandparents, I had no problem. I really wished Aunt Lauren could come, the way she had every year until I’d turned ten. But I knew that was too much to hope for. I’d settle for seeing my grandparents, though. When they wrapped me up in that big group, I didn’t feel so alone.

Dad grinned mischievously. “To make up for it, you may get your wish this year.”

Jillian glanced up from her plate. “Jackson.” She threw Dad a mock glare. “Don’t you dare tell her.”

“What is it? Give me a hint.
Pleeease
.”

“It’s definitely something you’ve been wanting. So wipe that sullen expression off your face, homeskillet.” Dad leaned across the table and shoveled a large bit meatloaf into his mouth. He was clad in his blue work uniform, a navy cotton shirt with his nametag pinned above his left breast pocket and dark cotton slacks. Since he was a mechanic at
Ed’s Car Repairs
on Birch Avenue, his attire gave me a good idea at what my present might be.

 
“A car?” I squealed. “Oh, please, please let it be a car.”

“Don’t you have homework to finish?” Jillian shook her head, tossing her short bob back and forth. “Really, Jackson, you’re such a tease.” In a rare display of affection, she stroked the stubble on his cheek, which made him look like that actor, Oded Fehr.

He chuckled and raised his newspaper. Jillian cleared the dishes, leaving the room and leaving my dad and me alone. Above the rim of the newspaper, Dad’s eyes met mine.

 
“Dad?”

He put the newspaper aside. “Yeah, sweetpea?”

I rested my elbows on the table. “Have you heard of the Donovans?”

 
“Um…yeah, I remember them.” He lifted the newspaper again, unfolded it, and raised it, concealing his face. “Don’t tell me, now that Maxwell and his troublemaker son have returned, the gossip is flying.”

I nodded, leaning over on my elbows. “And?”

Dad lowered the paper. “Trent’s had a hard life, I suppose, despite being privileged. Although, it’s that big house of theirs that gets the most controversy. People say a witch cursed the place in the 1800s. It used to be an institution for troubled children named Ravenhurst.” He sighed. “And I remember an increase in missing persons’ reports when Maxwell Donovan moved into the neighborhood with his wife sixteen years ago and bought the mansion. Rumor had it the disappearances were linked to the house,” he said, his face hidden behind the newspaper again.

Ohhh, not good! I like Trent. I really want the job. Trent’s house might be haunted. There’s some supernatural hit list on the teens in town. Shadow Man and the wraith start stalking me. Everything’s pointing to something big and nasty about to go down.
Complicated much?

Dad’s voice disrupted my inner babble. “Folks say Ravenhurst has a…
reputation
. That it’s evil. People here are oddly superstitious, if you ask me. The Donovans arrival coincided with Sheriff Boyd’s daughter Sarah
vanishing and has everyone murmuring about that old witch’s curse.
Such baloney.”

“I heard that…” I leaned back in my chair. “Dad, you know how I love architecture, right? I’ve told you how much I love the concept of how inanimate objects such as wood, glass, and iron can be placed together and end up making a home. A place where families are protected and sheltered…and loved.” I turned away, tears filling my eyes. In my heart I wished my own home reflected those characteristics, but it didn’t. Never would.

Dad was quiet, maybe digesting what I’d said. He cleared his throat and said, “Go on.”

“Well, at school I saw this ad for an internship program,” I continued, excitement bubbling deep inside me. The sadness that briefly touched me ebbed away in my rush to explain. “I’ll actually get to help restore a Gothic mansion in town. I recognized the guy’s name, Anthony Evans. He’s overseen most of the restoration on the Victorian homes in San Francisco and Alameda. It would be
so
epic to work with him! School’s out soon, so I figured I’d apply.”

His body tensed, his hands gripped the newspaper tightly, crumbling the edges. “Sounds like a terrific opportunity, but—”

“What?”

He glanced above the edge of his paper. “It’s Ravenhurst, isn’t it?” When I nodded, he folded the newspaper in half. Inherent sadness sketched on his expression. “That place is…how can I put this?” Dad stroked his chin. “Um, well, a construction zone is no place for a teenage girl. Too dangerous.”

 
I wanted the job more than anything. The cash would help my college fund, and I might actually be able to study architecture someday like I’d always dreamed about. I could build homes all on my own. Places where people felt warm and loved and safe.

“No, it’s
not
,” I argued. “You’re constantly telling me that girls can do anything boys can do. And you just said it’s a terrific opportunity, and it
is
.” I jerked out of my seat.

Stalking from the room, I didn’t glance back. Didn’t want him to talk me out of it. Although, I heard him mutter, “So damn stubborn,” as I left the kitchen.

My dad was always there for me. Why couldn’t he be there for me now?

I went into the living room and grabbed the phone, dialing the number on the flyer. Anthony Evans answered after the second ring. After listening to me babble about my desire to apply for the job, he asked a few more questions. I guess I must have impressed him with my answers, because he told me he’d squeeze me in for an interview late Friday.

When he hung up, I stared at the phone in my hand, butterflies bouncing in my belly. I had done it. I had decided to interview for a job in a haunted house. Either I was incredibly stupid or merely naïve. Or both.

On Friday evening,
I didn’t want to ask my parents for a ride, so I asked
Ariana to drive me to the interview instead. Ariana already had her license. Me? My driver’s test was in another two weeks once I finished Driver’s Ed.
Yay!

Ariana sped down one street after another, slowing when the mansion, surrounded by a tall spiked-iron fence, loomed ahead. She parked on Acorn Avenue, and the headlights of the Volkswagen illuminated the entrance. Ravenhurst was colossal, ancient, and ominous. Shutters were closed, half of them hanging from the windows. They looked bare, like a mouth with missing teeth. A flicker of panic coursed through me. I had the strongest urge to lock my door.

 
“You ready?” Ariana asked, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.

No. Change of plans! Drive me home.

I chewed my lip and mentally stressed about this impulsive decision. Okay, so I loved architecture. I wanted this job. Ghost stories and a wraith shouldn’t stop me. Besides, as much as I believed in paranormals...a haunted house? I mean, seriously. Architecture never killed anyone, right?

“Uh-huh.” My fingers tightened on the strap of the seatbelt.

You can do this, Shiloh.

I sat there, staring at the house. A terrible chill fingered its way down my spine.

Oh, but I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!

“Yep. I’m good. Thanks for lift,” I said, forcing myself to extract my butt from the seat. “I’ll call you when I’m done.” I waited until she backed up and drove off before I walked toward the gates.

I stood there a moment, breathing deeply. The heavy scent of jasmine filled the evening air. Winds stirred the bone-like branches against the sides of the mansion, creating scary scraping noises. An owl hooted. I shivered, glad I’d worn my wool coat over my pink blouse and black pencil skirt. My feet already ached in my new heels. Totally cute shoes, yes—comfortable, no.

“Can I help you?”

A low voice came from behind me and, startled, I swung around, ready to use my purse as a weapon. “I—I’m here for an interview.”

“But you’re a girl.” The disembodied voice resonated close to the gate. Definitely male and husky. Young. Not a shade or a wraith. Nothing to be scared of. Really.

“Duhhh. What gave me away? My skirt or heels, genius?” It came out sounding snarky. Not what I’d intended, but I felt vulnerable out in the open. Too shadowy. Completely visible. I squinted into the darkness.

“Smart ass.” His face was half-hidden in shadow, but by then I’d figured out who it was.

What Trent implied ticked me off. “Even though I’m a girl,” I said, “I believe I’d be good at the job. Even if it’s getting supplies and doing mindless duties. The experience, you know, would be worth it.”

He stepped out from under the shadows of the trees and struck a total Abercrombie pose. I weighed him with a critical squint, momentarily enthralled by his utter gorgeousness.
Please, let him be as nice as he is cute.

“Look,” I said too loudly, then swallowed to steady my voice. “I don’t have time for games.”

“Hold up!” Trent moved into the light and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the gate. “I meant no offense. Can we start again? Do a little rewind?”

I forced a smile. “Sorry. My defenses are up. Bad day.”

My eyes swept past the gates and settled on the fog. The subdued twilight cast enough illumination for me to view the estate. On either side of the misty cobblestone path leading to Ravenhurst, it was obscure. Quiet. Peculiar. Creepy. Immense, gesticulating trees with bony branches seemed to reach for me.

“Can you tell me where I can find Mr. Evans?” My tone, outwardly strong and confident. Inwardly, I shook.

His long-sleeved, untucked black shirt billowed in the breeze, which played with the strands of my waist-length hair as well. “He’s inside with my father, finishing another interview.” He chuckled, hands up in surrender. “So don’t get your claws out. I’m harmless—I swear.”

 
I doubt that.
Guys this cute were never harmless!

“I’m sure a girl could do that job just fine. We’ve got big plans for Ravenhurst. Can’t wait to start the renovations.” Trent shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and rocked on his heels. “My father and I have been living in the east wing until we have a chance to finish cleaning and airing out the lower sections. All Ravenhurst needs is a little TLC.”

“Needs more than that,” I mumbled, thinking of all the repairs the house needed.

He straightened, chest puffed out. “Excuse me?” When I looked into his eyes, his expression was intense, almost menacing.

“I, uh, thought I heard a cat.” Gee, apparently I’d hit a nerve.

Fog wafted closer, like spectral hands seeking to pull me through the gate. A familiar whooshing vibration startled me. Obsidian shapes materialized from the darkness. Scarlet eyes blinked and glowed. My nightmare foes.

Not now. My stomach churned. I blew out a long breath, laboring to steady my pulse. Unseen eyes watched from the mist. Crackling underbrush and breaking branches sounded close to the entrance. Something lurked in the twilight—something big.

“There are a few strays around. By the way, I’m—”

“Trent Donovan. Yeah, I know.”

His gave me a wolfish smile. “You asked about me?”

“Well if you aren’t Trent, then you’re trespassing…” Heat spread across my cheeks and for once I was glad it was dark. “…and I was curious about your house. Not actually about you.”

“Uh-huh.” He folded his arms across his chest. Correction—very muscular chest.

Shadows scurried closer, whispering from inside the fog. Born of matter and night, evinced in solid and shade. Little fiends, little hounds. They covered the ground like spilled ink.

Suddenly the world was draped in an eddying, weaving gray fog. Winds became sharper, colder. It numbed my face. Things within the murky haze slithered along the sides of the entrance. Faint screams of lost souls penetrated the night. Dozens of shadowy corpses surrounded us. Ashen, skeletal bodies—flickered, bones protruding in their spectral cheekbones—stared with wide, empty eyes. Fear fluttered in my chest, but I flicked my scarred hand at them in a silent warning to stay back. They whooshed off in different directions, except one.

 
“You live in Whispering Pines?” Trent asked.

He was fascinating and gorgeous. A face as flawless as a fashion model. A body tall and lean. Muscular and robust. I suddenly felt ugly and awkward standing next to such perfection.

Distracted by the shadows and the fog, I hesitated to answer. Restlessly, I swung my purse back and forth and forced my gaze to meet his. “Yes. Unfortunately.”

I wasn’t that surprised when the remaining ghost materialized. A woman with dark hair flying wildly into her translucent face. She floated toward us in her dirty dress. Her eyes fierce. Sapphire flames.

My arms were limp and weak at my sides. Trembles racked my body.

Trent tilted his head, his emerald gaze found mine. “You look kinda spooked.”

“I’m not…it’s just super dark out here.” I shuffled closer to the illumination of the ground lights lining the driveway. I stood inches from the open gate. Cautious. Nervous about passing through the opening.
What will happen if I step through it? Cross to the other side?
My gaze roved, flicking once to the wraith. Then to Trent’s face. Back to the wraith.