Magical Midlife Madness (Leveling Up #1)(35)

“Ah. Yes. That unbearable woman across the street filled me in. You hope Miss Jessie doesn’t acclimate to the house, is that correct?”

I lowered my brow, anger coursing through me. He hoped I failed? Why in the world would he hope that?

“Correct,” Austin said. “I think you know why.”

“Because you enjoy being the master and chief of the town, and don’t want to step aside for someone more powerful.”

Austin shifted his weight, either angry or uncomfortable. “It’s not about power. You know as well as I do that this house calls to the wrong sort of people. This town doesn’t need that sort, plain and simple. It’d be better if—”

Irritated and a little hurt, I moved away from the orb. The sound cut off as I did so. There had to be some acoustic trick to that, or maybe these viewing areas made use of modern surveillance technology. Whatever the reason, I didn’t need to hear any more.

A sick weight had settled in the pit of my stomach. I felt disillusioned. I’d thought I’d become a better judge of character over the years, but I’d clearly read Austin wrong. He’d acted like he cared about my opinion, my perspective—hell, he’d gone out of his way to make sure I got home okay. All of that, and he was actively rooting for me to fail. Was this some messed up keep your friends close and your enemies closer situation?

And why would he see me as a threat, anyway?

I huffed out a breath, hitting a T-intersection, and straightened all the way up as the ceiling rose higher. I chose right randomly, checked out a bedroom, felt creepy, and checked out the next.

This wasn’t right. These passageways shouldn’t be looking into bedrooms.

Dread filled me at the realization that this loop likely led to my bedroom, and Mr. Tom had access to it.

The third orb I came to had a handle just below it. I grabbed the handle, turned and pulled. Nothing happened. I pulled again, giving it a few little yanks. I pushed out a little on one of those yanks, which made me realize I’d been trying to open the door the wrong way.

“Dummy,” I muttered, pushing the large door open.

No, not a door. The back of a closet.

No shoes lined the shelves and no clothes hung on the hangers. I left the passageway open behind me, intending to return as soon as I got my bearings, and pushed out through the closet door.

A murky room greeted me, the hall light spilling in through the open door. Bright moonlight streamed in through the windows, the full moon a few days away.

A shape loomed in front of me. “Good evening, miss.”

I froze. My heart thumped wildly.

Mr. Tom stood in the center of the space, his hands at his sides, facing me.

Why the hell was he in this room at the same time I emerged from the secret passageway? How’d he even get here so fast from downstairs?

Sweat broke out on my brow. “Is this where you kill me and bury me in the yard?” I asked through a suddenly hoarse throat.

“Good heavens, no. What would be the point in that?” He walked away from me (thank God) but stopped near the door.

I took a step back. He was graceful, but how fast could he move? Could I get into the passageway and out of the house before he could catch me?

The light flicked on, showering the room.

A new dread overcame me. One I doubted I’d ever be able to shake as long as I lived.





Fourteen





“What is this hell?” I asked through suddenly numb lips.

Eyes. Eyes everywhere. Painted eyes or marble eyes, some eyes uncannily tracking my movement. They stared at me from atop their human caricature bodies.

Mr. Tom spread his hands. “I present the doll room.”

I could actually feel the look of horror on my face.

Dolls sat on little chairs, their chubby plastic faces turned a tiny bit to imitate life. Others stood gathered in the corner, little girls with porcelain smiles, wrapped in their frilly dresses.

I gulped, trying to make sense of this horrific scene. “Bu-but why are there doll heads stacked on that shelf?”

“Ah yes. That is in case any of the doll heads need to be replaced. There are bins of arms and legs, as well.”

I didn’t look where he gestured. I didn’t want to add to this nightmare. “That one looks like it has two black eyes,” I said, pointing, “like it got beat up. Why not replace that head?”

“That’s the style of the doll. She has those lovely red-haired pigtails and quite the mean temper. She’s a tough one. The gingers always are.”

My gaze skittered over the little bodies covering every available surface and spewing onto the floor. “Okay, but that one has black lips, stitched Xs for eyes, and black hair with gray streaks. That isn’t right.”

“That’s the Halloween doll.”

“You have a man doll with big teeth and a huge crazy smile. What the hell, Mr. Tom? That is going too far.”

“Please, call me Tom. And I don’t see the big deal. They’re just dolls.”

“Until they come alive and toddle after you, sure.” Unease slithered along my skin.

Some people hated clowns. Some mimes.

Me? I hated dolls.

It wasn’t right that they were of a size and shape of babies, almost lifelike, but inanimate. It confused the mind. So did the ones with the little girl faces and adult dresses. It felt like they were staring at me accusingly. I couldn’t find the words to express how disturbing I found the Halloween doll that looked like a dead kid, or that horrible man face that didn’t belong anywhere.