Not bothering to wipe up the mess, I set the bowl back down and spring up.
“Hello? Who’s there?” I ask and immediately shake my head at my cliché question.
“If you want my attention, you have it.” I hold my breath and wait, still unable to sense a spiritual presence. Standing still for another thirty seconds, I let out my breath and go into the kitchen to get a towel to wipe up the spilled soup. Turning on the sink, I run the towel under the water and start wiping my pajama shirt. Then the familiar sound of a door slowly creaking open echoes through the house, making my blood run cold.
The front door.
I shut off the sink and stare ahead, eyes wide. I can’t see into the foyer, but there’s no mistaking that sound. And unless Hunter somehow came back undetected…no. It’s not him. The towel falls from my hands, and I slip forward, going into the hall that leads into the foyer. The door is closed.
And locked.
What the fuck? I know what I heard. Letting out another breath, I shake my head, telling myself to calm the fuck down again. Neither Ethan nor I drink much, but I know I have a few bottles of red wine in the basement. Cracking one open tonight might not be a bad idea. I can have a glass and relax and—
I gasp when I see the front door opening. Sprinting forward, I slam my body against it and madly reach for the deadbolt and shoot it into place.
But the door is closed, and the lock is in place.
It opened. I know it did. I saw it…didn’t I?
Letting out a slow breath, I inch away from the door. The deadbolt is locked. It’s closed.
“Okay,” I whisper to myself and stand unmoving in the foyer until my feet start to hurt. “Everything is fine.” Letting out a breath, I go back into the living room and take a bite of soup. It needs to be reheated, and when I get into the kitchen, something slaps against the window in the library. I put my soup down and spin, making sure the back door is locked as well—it is. I hold my right hand out in front of me, ready to bring forth magical fire and burn whoever is messing with me. Swallowing hard, I find my resolve and push my shoulders back as I walk to the other side of the house.
The second I step into the library, the doorbell rings. Heart racing, I whirl around. What the hell? I curl my fingers and feel the flames start to flicker around my fingers. Then it hits me, the old-fashioned sound of the doorbell isn’t the way our doorbell sounds. Ethan installed a video doorbell shortly after we moved in, and we have it set to a different chime when the doorbell is rung.
I don’t think I’m actually hearing any of this. It’s in my head, maybe? I have no idea what the hell is going on, but it has to be a ghost. Yet, I can’t sense any.
“Well,” I start, voice steady as I remind myself that I’m a strong, capable woman. “You’ve got my attention.” Fire starts to burn around my hand, hot but not able to burn me. I wait, blinking from the bright light of the fire, eyes wide as I stare at the front door. Something scurries behind me, and I hear the sound of bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors.
I stiffen, working hard on keeping calm so I don’t lose control of the fire in my hand. “You can talk to me,” I go on. “I can help.”
I force my mental shields down but again feel nothing.
No ghosts.
No lingering spirits.
What the fuck?
Adrenaline pumping through my veins, I take a tentative step forward and realize the lights are on in the parlor and the front window’s curtains aren’t drawn. If anyone is outside, they can see inside with ease.
Clenching my fist to put out the fire, I look at the light switch and muster up every ounce of energy I can to telekinetically turn the light off so no one outside can see in. The house goes dark, and a wave of dizziness comes over me.
Stupid move on my part, I know now.
Telekinesis doesn’t come easily for me, unlike pyrokinesis, and it’s like I just completed an intense workout whenever I attempt to do it. The feeling of extreme exhaustion will go away fast, but now that I’m standing here in the dark, magically depleted, I’m regretting turning the lights off.
Pulse racing, I slowly inch forward. A soft glow is coming from the porch lights, and something runs past the window. My heart skips a beat and I have no idea what to do.
I freeze, standing completely still. If I can get to my Book of Shadows, I can cast that protection spell I planned on casting before bed. My enchanted dagger is upstairs in the sitting area of our bedroom along with my book. Slowly, I move toward the main staircase. Once I get to the first step, I’m going to sprint up and—