Even an apparition can hurt you, if it scares you into falling backward down the stairs. This hallucination is out for blood, conjuring the vengeful spirit of a dead child.
Not a harmless jump-scare jinx at all.
When Connolly jerks his chin, I follow his gaze to see her at the bottom of the stairs, gazing up, empty-eyed.
“Well,” I mutter, “we can see how a simple illusion could kill someone. Or drive them mad. Imagine seeing that beside your bed every night.”
“I’d rather not,” he says. “But thank you for implanting that suggestion.”
“You’re welcome.” I gaze down at her. “Now that she can’t scare us down the stairs, I’m going to try getting a closer look. Better sit down, in case she flies at you again.”
Most guys would grip the railing tighter and say they’re fine. Connolly has the sense to take my advice.
“Careful,” he says, while staying where he is and making no move to stop me or interfere or hover over my shoulder. Trusting that it is safe enough, and I am smart enough.
Yep, he really is an awesome guy.
If only he didn’t come with those parent-shaped pieces of baggage and all the messed up wiring that comes from twenty-eight years of lugging them around.
I continue down the stairs, one at a time, my gaze fixed on the illusion. I get close enough to see the girl’s dress. There’s something about it that seems—
She flies at me, making me stumble back. A clatter behind me as Connolly leaps to his feet, but I’m only a few stairs up and I just fall onto my ass, facing the front door.
“Did she move?” he asks.
I rise and twist to face him. “She didn’t just fly right at you?”
He shakes his head. “She disappeared when I sat down.”
“Huh.” I draw in a shaky breath. “Okay, so it’s definitely a viewer-focused illusion. Also a triggered one. I got exactly the same distance away before she leaped at me. That should make it less scary, right? Knowing there’s a trigger, just like a choreographed jump scare?”
“If knowing a scare is fake eliminated the emotional response, we wouldn’t have horror movies and haunted houses.”
I smile up at him. “True enough.”
I take a deep breath and peer up at the top of the steps. The little girl is poised there.
“Yeah, we see your tricks,” I say, while pretending my voice is perfectly steady. “We need to search upstairs, and a little illusion scare isn’t going to stop us.”
Connolly rises. “Ready?”
“Yep, and I’m totally not going to close my eyes and use the railing to guide me up.”
He chuckles. “Actually, that sounds like an excellent plan. Safety first.”
After two steps up, I decide closing my eyes does make sense. It’ll keep me from the embarrassment of startling again when she jumps at me.
I grip the railing in one hand and feel my way up the stairs. I should have counted them off, so I won’t stumble at the top, but I’ve gone about ten when Connolly says, “Two more.”
“Thank you.”
I reach the top and exhale. Then I look around.
“Do you see her?” I say.
“No. We’ve spoiled her game, I think.”
“Mmm, don’t count on it. I’d be prepared for jump-scares from now on.”
We move with care along the hall. I turn toward the first open doorway and brace myself as I step through. The girl doesn’t appear. It’s a bedroom, with the remains of a bed, including a mattress that someone has laid on the floor, and I do not even want to think about why they did that.
No pictures. No bric-a-brac. Nothing curse-worthy. I still circle the room, testing the air, ready for the kid to jump from behind the bed. She doesn’t.
Connolly tenses as he steps into the hallway. Then his shoulders relax, telling me there’s no sign of her there either. I follow and see nothing but an empty hall.
At the next door, he goes through first. Another bedroom. Also devoid of both illusions and curses. I’m closer to the door, so I enter the hall first. Still nothing. The next doorway leads to the bathroom. When I catch a flicker of movement, I leap through with an “ah-ha!” only to find myself facing down at a tattered curtain, as the breeze catches it through a broken window.
I’m turning to tell Connolly when the girl appears right in front of me. I stagger back and hit the toilet. Before I can react, she whips around me, and I’m scrambling out of her way. Steadying hands clasp me, and I nearly jump out of my skin before realizing it’s Connolly.
“See?” I say. “Not scared at all. I’m totally over this illusion nonsense.”
I glare at the girl, standing right in front of me now. “Did you hear that? I called you nonsense. We have had quite enough of your pranks, missy, and—”
She shoots up into the air, mouth opening in a scream, face contorting, and I stagger back into Connolly. His arms go around me, holding me against him. I wriggle, just a little, embarrassed by my reaction, and he doesn’t restrain me, but he does keep a gentle hold, telling me it’s okay.
I take a moment to catch my breath. Then I glance back at him, and damn if my heart doesn’t pick up speed again. I want to freeze-frame this moment. Steadying arms around me. Warm chest against my back. That strong jaw, those gorgeous green eyes, tight with concern.
Even the smell of him is perfect. Exactly the right fragrance applied with such a light touch that you don’t notice it until you’re this close and even then, it barely tickles the senses, a teasing hint of “what is that?” I don’t know my sandalwood from my rosewood. I only know that I want to bury my face against his chest and drink it in. Which means I’m really kinda glad he’s behind me, or I might do exactly that.
I tilt my head to look up at him. “Still mad at you.”
“You have every right to be.”
I sigh and allow myself to lean my head back against his shoulder. “I hate when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“You’re supposed to defend yourself. Tell me that you’ve already apologized and, really, I’m overreacting. That’ll piss me off all the more, and I can be properly furious for the proper amount of time. It’s much harder to stay mad when you’re calm and reasonable about it.”
“So I am employing the correct strategy to get back on your good side?”
“Yes, damn you. Now stop it.” I pull out of his arms and peer around the room. “Do you see her?”
“No, but as you pointed out, the illusion seems focused on the individual viewer. The fact that I don’t see her doesn’t mean you won’t.”
“I wasn’t really asking. I’m just changing the subject before I stop being mad at you.”
“You are allowed to be temporarily not angry with me, for the sake of searching this house, and I will not take it as a sign that you are, in general, no longer angry with me.” He puts out his hand. “Deal?”
I shake it. “Deal. Now we have one more room to search before venturing into the dreaded basement.” I walk into the hall. “The illusion means the painting is here somewhere. We just need to—”
I stop short. Connolly hurries up behind me.