Page 70 of Possessed Silverfox

I do as I’m told.

When I open my eyes, Dante’s brow is wrinkled.

“So, whatever’s in the house is attached to you, but not in a way where it’s leeching energy off of you; it’s a fondness, almost. This is quite peculiar. Usually, the energy is harmful with dark entities, meaning that all the entity wants to do is cause harm and destruction. With you, there’s this undercurrent of tenderness. It’s telling me, ‘I watched him grow up. I watched him turn into a man.’ But then, it turns dark and says, ‘Still, he is borne of the flesh of Martin. He will devour all that he holds dear, just as Martin took everything, even death itself. He must pay.’”

My posture stiffens involuntarily as I recall the first story my mother ever told me: Idylewylde men are doomed from the start.

Still, the logical side of my brain reminds me that this isn’t some sort of storybook bullshit. I’m not doomed! There’s no ancient prophecy plotting my demise! But then, I think of the house and the nightmares. I think of Beatrix’s decaying claw holding my face; how my cheek fit in her palm perfectly, as if it were inevitable.

Dante turns to Eleanor, “You need to be careful,” he says immediately before he even takes her hand.

Eleanor holds out her palm anyway, and Dante clasps it.

“Whatever is in that house does not like you one bit. It thinks you’re not good enough for Joseph, first of all. But it also thinks you are sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. It’s telling me, ‘She’s dredging up the past to bring ruin.’ It sees you as a disruptive force, and as such, it’s been working hard to get you to leave, but you’re not budging, causing frustration.”

"But I'm trying to help her!" Eleanor insists.

Dante shakes his head, "It doesn't want your help. It wants your babies."

“Why?” Eleanor whispers.

Dante’s frown intensifies.

“It wants them for itself. I’m going to be real with you; that’s why you’re still alive right now.”

“What?!” I bark.

“It says, ‘And yet she’s giving me the final heirs, so I must keep her.”

“That’s insane!” I bellow.

I look over at Eleanor, placing a protective arm around the back of her chair.

“It makes sense. I knew it. I-” she glances at Dante.

“You’re psychic, you know,” Dante adds.

“Really?”

“Yes, you’re extremely sensitive to forces beyond the veil, which is why this house has given you hell. You’re gifted. The house knows this, and so does Beatrix. That’s why you’ve been able to communicate with her so clearly. Do you have a history of sleepwalking?”

“Um, yes.”

“That’s not sleepwalking. That’s you connecting with the beyond.”

I can’t help it. A scoff escapes the back of my throat.

Dante quirks up an eyebrow. “Do you have something to add?”

“You can’t possibly think that because someone pops open a container of ice cream at night or walks downstairs, they have an all-access pass beyond the grave. If that were true, everyone who sleepwalks when taking sleeping aids would be psychic!” I slam my hands down onto the table. The scarf sitting on top of the table scrunches beneath my hand, knocking a decorative statue off the side. It hits the ground with a THUD.

Dante inhales through his nose. "I'm going to get a broom and clean that up, and then you're going to sit here and actually listen."

Dante sweeps the shards of glass into a dustpan before continuing, “Eleanor has a true gift.”

He dumps the shards into a nearby trashcan before turning to Eleanor. “When did you first see Beatrix?”

“The first night I got here.”