Spirited by Shannon Delany, Judith Graves, Heather Kenealy, et al., Kitty Keswick, Candace Havens, Linda Joy Singleton, Jill Williamson, Maria V. Snyder Page B
neck. Another steampunk fan. How curious.
Letitia might have pegged him as older if not for the clash of purple dye in his shaggy brown hair. High cheekbones drew her attention to the sparkle in his chocolate eyes.
“Welcome to Franklin Castle,” he said, and bowed. “Your dress is perfect.”
Letitia looked around, certain his words were meant for someone else, but the giant gates had already closed. She was alone with him at the threshold of the mansion.
“I designed it. I’ve been, uh, making a lot of steampunk fashion…” She bit her lip against her stammer and lowered her eyelids, certain her cheeks blushed like tea roses. Her breath hitched. “I mean, thank you.”
She leaned back on her heels and looked up toward the turret, unable to maintain the boy’s gaze. How awkward.
“Such a fascinating home,” she said. She looked away from the mansion and into the boy’s grinning face, noting the dimples on either side of his cheeks. “Though the history is somewhat vague.”
“My name is Elijah Ashmore,” he said, offering his elbow. “I’d be happy to answer any questions you may have. Few know more about the castle than I do.”
“Letitia Hawke…” She ignored the stutter of her heartbeat and looped her hand around Elijah’s muscled forearm, surprised by a jolt of familiarity. Her skin raised in tiny pinprick bumps. “Thank you for showing me inside.”
He led her into the lobby. “My pleasure, Ms. Hawke. I’ve been waiting a long time for you.”
~*~*~
The tour guide paused at the landing of the first floor, panting slightly from the exertion of climbing the steps and his tireless fact-sharing, most of which Letitia had already read. She waited at the bottom of the stairs, trying to hear above the chatter. Elijah stood next to her, close enough that their shoulders touched. His heat gave her comfort in an environment she would normally choose to avoid.
Extracurricular activities with her classmates made her itch.
“Did twenty kids really die in a fire here?” Isabella asked, a quiver in her voice.
The guide’s plump face glistened with sweat. He cleared his throat. “There have been two fires,” he said. “The first in 1999. Several bodies and bones from the past were discovered throughout the house, but the only death that could truly be attributed to the fire was that of a local man who’d entered the blaze in search of his missing daughter.”
“How sad,” Letitia whispered, tugging on Elijah’s sleeve. “Did they ever find her?”
Elijah placed his hand on her shoulder and leaned close to her ear. His deep voice churned her stomach. “She wasn’t in the house. No one was.”
“So why enter in the first place?”
“Many believe he followed the sound of children screaming,” Elijah said. “Voices have been heard in the mansion for years. Some say they belong to the souls of the dead still waiting for peace.”
A shiver crept along the back of Letitia’s neck. “That’s horrible.” She shuddered. “And that poor man…”
“The real tragedy is that his daughter turned up the next day, lost. She’d run away from home. Franklin House was abandoned at the time, so runaways and homeless children often found shelter there. Her father assumed this is where she was.”
“You said only the man died in the fire. What about the others?” Rebekka asked the guide. She clutched Chris’s hand, her knuckles white.
Why had the committee chosen a haunted house for the after-grad party when half the girls squealed at the sight of a spider?
“Death by chainsaw,” Carter shouted, causing an eruption of laughter.
“People have many theories,” the guide said, offering a tight smile. “I’m afraid chainsaw massacre isn’t among them. Come then, let’s explore the first floor.”
Letitia followed the group up the stairs and into an enormous room yet to be restored. The charred remains of a bed lay broken and dirty in the corner, the mattress soiled. A small wooden
Letitia might have pegged him as older if not for the clash of purple dye in his shaggy brown hair. High cheekbones drew her attention to the sparkle in his chocolate eyes.
“Welcome to Franklin Castle,” he said, and bowed. “Your dress is perfect.”
Letitia looked around, certain his words were meant for someone else, but the giant gates had already closed. She was alone with him at the threshold of the mansion.
“I designed it. I’ve been, uh, making a lot of steampunk fashion…” She bit her lip against her stammer and lowered her eyelids, certain her cheeks blushed like tea roses. Her breath hitched. “I mean, thank you.”
She leaned back on her heels and looked up toward the turret, unable to maintain the boy’s gaze. How awkward.
“Such a fascinating home,” she said. She looked away from the mansion and into the boy’s grinning face, noting the dimples on either side of his cheeks. “Though the history is somewhat vague.”
“My name is Elijah Ashmore,” he said, offering his elbow. “I’d be happy to answer any questions you may have. Few know more about the castle than I do.”
“Letitia Hawke…” She ignored the stutter of her heartbeat and looped her hand around Elijah’s muscled forearm, surprised by a jolt of familiarity. Her skin raised in tiny pinprick bumps. “Thank you for showing me inside.”
He led her into the lobby. “My pleasure, Ms. Hawke. I’ve been waiting a long time for you.”
~*~*~
The tour guide paused at the landing of the first floor, panting slightly from the exertion of climbing the steps and his tireless fact-sharing, most of which Letitia had already read. She waited at the bottom of the stairs, trying to hear above the chatter. Elijah stood next to her, close enough that their shoulders touched. His heat gave her comfort in an environment she would normally choose to avoid.
Extracurricular activities with her classmates made her itch.
“Did twenty kids really die in a fire here?” Isabella asked, a quiver in her voice.
The guide’s plump face glistened with sweat. He cleared his throat. “There have been two fires,” he said. “The first in 1999. Several bodies and bones from the past were discovered throughout the house, but the only death that could truly be attributed to the fire was that of a local man who’d entered the blaze in search of his missing daughter.”
“How sad,” Letitia whispered, tugging on Elijah’s sleeve. “Did they ever find her?”
Elijah placed his hand on her shoulder and leaned close to her ear. His deep voice churned her stomach. “She wasn’t in the house. No one was.”
“So why enter in the first place?”
“Many believe he followed the sound of children screaming,” Elijah said. “Voices have been heard in the mansion for years. Some say they belong to the souls of the dead still waiting for peace.”
A shiver crept along the back of Letitia’s neck. “That’s horrible.” She shuddered. “And that poor man…”
“The real tragedy is that his daughter turned up the next day, lost. She’d run away from home. Franklin House was abandoned at the time, so runaways and homeless children often found shelter there. Her father assumed this is where she was.”
“You said only the man died in the fire. What about the others?” Rebekka asked the guide. She clutched Chris’s hand, her knuckles white.
Why had the committee chosen a haunted house for the after-grad party when half the girls squealed at the sight of a spider?
“Death by chainsaw,” Carter shouted, causing an eruption of laughter.
“People have many theories,” the guide said, offering a tight smile. “I’m afraid chainsaw massacre isn’t among them. Come then, let’s explore the first floor.”
Letitia followed the group up the stairs and into an enormous room yet to be restored. The charred remains of a bed lay broken and dirty in the corner, the mattress soiled. A small wooden