Page 77 of The Darkest Chase

Well, it won’t be all on-site.

Most of it will be in the workshop, I remind myself.

And with five million bucks, even with most of it going to cover materials and labor, Grandpa has time.

That gives me a thrill as we exit the hall and step into the foyer. But that feeling vanishes when I realize we’re not alone.

I almost don’t see her at first.

She’s standing in a niche behind the huge double doors, like a statue tucked out of the way just to occupy space in an alcove.

Her severe all-black clothing doesn’t help. She’s dressed in an old-fashioned gown that covers her from neck to toe, severely fitted in the torso and loose in the skirt.

Her hair is iron grey, bound back in a prim knot.

The only pale points are her hands and her square face. She almost looks like a ghost, and as my eyes lock on hers, I nearly scream, clutching at my bag, my heart rabbiting in a panicked thump.

She stares back at me, totally expressionless.

Still, there’s something so vile, so cold, so hateful in her black eyes, and my mouth goes dry.

I’ve seen her before.

That night we went camping.

She was there, standing back and watching like a black queen on a chessboard—and the way she looks at me right now hurts.

Like she’s marking me.

Like she knows me.

But she couldn’t know I was there that night with Micah… could she?

I can’t think that.

It’s not possible, and when Xavier breezes past her to open the doors without even glancing at her, pretending she’s not there, I take my cue and look away without acknowledging her.

But I can still feel her watching as I step over the threshold.

It leaves me frozen, sweat breaking down my spine in beads.

Not even the afternoon sun feels warm enough as I venture out, down the soaring stairs. Xavier lingers in the doorway like a ghoul who can’t cross into the light.

“Until next time, Miss Grey,” he says with a strange formality.

“S-sure,” I say. “I’ll email you!”

“See that you do.”

Everything feels wrong right now. Like I’ve just stepped out of a nightmare and back into the real world, yet I don’t like it.

I breathe, shallow and swift, my lungs burning as I lunge downstairs to get away from here.

I wait until I’m on the path and in the trees before I stop, bending over and bracing my hands on my knees, just letting myself heave a little before I regain control.

Holy shit.

That was a Jacobin, wasn’t it? That woman.