We were slowing down as we came up to the next driveway, preparing to turn into the property with the ivy-covered fence. “I guess I’m about to find out. I’ve got to go, we’re here.”
“You better call me with updates by tomorrow morning, Hadley,” Solstice said. “Love you.”
“Love you too. And I’ll use the aristerite every day. You know I will.”
The horse turned down the long driveway, bypassing the old iron gate hanging open by its hinges. I hadn’t tapped the rune to disconnect us yet, but the light abruptly dimmed and vanished. A sense of foreboding washed over me, as much as I tried to tell myself Solstice had likely disconnected on her end.
On either side of the bumpy, potholed dirt road were overgrown graves, with markers of all shapes and sizes that were cracked and collapsed. None of the graves had fresh flowers, unless you counted the fall-blooming dandelions and their tiny points of colour in the dull grey and green surroundings. Around the edges of the property were hedges, equally overgrown, and apple trees surrounded by fallen and rotting fruit.
Water splashed on either side of the short carriage, wheels storming through deep puddles. Away from the edge of the property, the ground level was lower. It was a swamp. Or a small, temporary lake. Drainage would take days, and would only start after this storm had passed the small town of Laford.
I’d held out hope for the house until we rolled to a stop in front of a dilapidated three story home with broken windows and shingles hanging off the edge of the roof.
Oh no.
The black wood siding was cracked and falling off the structure of the house, exposing inner bones that certainly shouldn’t be seeing the light of day. Or the elements. Some of the wood was visibly swollen from the rain. Out of control landscaping obscured more faults in the foundation, and on the left side a branch of the far-too-large pine tree was growing through a window. Broken pieces of glass littered the base of the tree.
“Are you sure this is the right address?” I asked the driver, who had pulled the horse to a halt and was sliding off of the front seat.
“It’s the address you gave me,” he said, heading around the back of the carriage with a grunt.
I stared up at the house, still in the covered passenger seat, as he grabbed my suitcases from the trunk. Each breath came faster than the last until I was hyperventilating, hands clenching the fabric of my worn pants. I shut my eyes, trying to block out the panic. I’d been focusing for no more than ten seconds when the driver opened my door. A blast of crisp air hit me, the small drenching of rain I’d been subjected to increasing substantially. “Miss, your bags are by the porch.”
He didn’t sound unkind, but I wished he’d let me have a moment longer. My entire body trembled at the prospect of getting out, of setting my leaky boots down in the puddle beneath the carriage and getting soaked to the bone by the wind. I didn’t want to touch the ground knowing dead bodies laid beneath the earth, caskets likely decayed and dissolved years ago. What a horrible place to be laid to rest.
If I were a ghost, I would be angry.
The wayward thought — I’d been trying specifically not to think about ghosts in a place where they might exist in great numbers — made me want to huddle into a ball and never leave the carriage. But my driver was looking down at me in annoyance now, so I slowly slid my body out. When I gave him his fee, I made sure to slip in a little extra for the kindness of bringing me all the way down the drive and letting me have the beginnings of a panic attack in his back seat. My trembling fingers barely grasped the cool coins long enough to pass them to him.
By the time he’d urged the horse forward and back up to the main road, the panic attack was no longer only beginning. It was in full swing.
I stumbled through the mud over to my three suitcases, second-hand fabric holding every item I cared about. One had toppled over, soaking it through on one side, and I had to hope it didn’t hold most of my clothing. Even if it did, the damage was done, so I sat down onto it and placed my head in my hands, rocking back and forth.
Stupid, stupid, stupid Hadley.
The one time I did something spur of the moment, without a carefully laid out ten step plan and risk assessment, this happened. My worst nightmare. A graveyard and a falling apart house and the pervasive risk of ghosts. Maybe Uncle Felix’s ghost. Had he left me the property in his will so he could kill me? I knew nothing about the man except that my parents had warned me about him when they were alive. He was eccentric. Believed in conspiracies. A fanatic. Fanatical over what, they’d never told me.
But I’d still uprooted my life in Asteria and taken the train out here when his lawyer contacted me. Solstice had told me it was a risky decision, and she didn’t think anything was risky. Why hadn’t I listened?
I knew the answer.
Other than Solstice, I wasn’t leaving anything worthwhile behind. My career had been forcibly ripped from me nine months ago. I’d been days away from being homeless and sleeping on her couch. The timing couldn’t have been better for an inheritance. After the call, I’d dropped to my knees and thanked the goddess Ixaris for her blessing.
Now I held my knees close to my chest, still rocking, thoughts flashing through my mind a hundred kilometres a minute. My strawberry blonde bob was soaked and frizzing, the natural wave to my hair going wild in the humidity. My plush wool sweater and the tight shirt beneath weren’t helping to keep me dry, and my skin was cooling under the damp fabrics. I should have better boots for this weather, but I could never afford them and hadn’t thought I’d need them here.
“Stupid, s-stupid, stupid Hadley,” I said aloud this time.
My voice sounded foreign, trembling, my tongue heavy in my mouth. I kept mumbling things out loud to myself. Talking helped to calm me down. Letting out some of the thoughts in my head, even if they made no sense at all, gave me more room to think.
Today all the extra room to think filled with ghosts and did nothing to calm me. Bringing my arm up to my mouth, I bit down hard on my forearm, trying to shock my system with the twinge of discomfort. Then I did it again and again until fading bite marks littered my arm and I’d stopped rocking. The trembling hadn’t subsided, but it may have more to do with being freezing cold.
“OK,” I said. “Stand up.”
I did as I’d told myself, standing on wobbly legs.
“Good! Good job, Hadley!”
If anyone walked up to me while I was praising myself like I was an obedient puppy, I would die inside. The tactic helped, though. My therapist had given me an entire list of options to improve my experience with panic attacks. Because yes, they happened often. Most of the time, they hit when things didn’t go according to plan, which is why getting on a train to take me three hours from my hometownwithouta plan was a terrible idea.
