Silver Spirit Inn

8 - Out of the Woods

The worst thing about being ensorcelled is that I can't tell anyone about what I just saw. You can't imagine the utter agony it is to keep such a wonderful place a secret. I'm not a snitch by nature, but when you are led around an oval room with a heated pool in the middle, the air filled with soft music that may or may not be Enya, and see half a dozen ghosts being massaged by sprites, well ... you want to share the experience.

Alas, this isn't in my cards. By the time Phillipe has finished showing me the pool room, I can't keep myself from yawning. I reluctantly ask the kitsune, as I learned he's called, to fetch my doom and gloom partner and wait for her by the door of the inn. Balthazar is still sitting at his desk and bids me good night.

Ariadne floats down from the second floor, her expression one of stony silence. I'm not sure who peed in her Cheerios, since she's the one who told me she hated change. Now she doesn't want to leave?

I attempt to stifle another yawn and fail utterly.

"I can see your fillings," she remarks flatly.

"Good for you," I mumble, rubbing at my left eye like a sleepy toddler. I don't know if it's the late hour, the fact that I've been up since 7 AM, or the strain of keeping my grave sight up. Perhaps it's all three.

We exit the inn to the chorus of frogs in the pond and crickets in the grass. I follow the stone path back to the door embedded in the cliff face and take out the brass key. A faint blue glow outlines the doors and an invisible hand draws the key close to the lock. I insert the key and twist the twin iron handles.

The real world sits outside the door in its grey and sepia glory. I remove the key and step through, pulling the doors shut behind me. With Ariadne watching me in silent judgment, I lock the door and drop my grave sight. Color returns to the world, albeit muted by nightfall. I stumble to the bottom of the stairs and plunk myself down, pulling out my phone to text my mother.

She doesn't text me back, rather she calls. "Jesus!" she exclaims. "I was going to come over there and see if you'd been eaten by sharks or something."

I chuckle wryly. Sharks are the least of my problems.

But they're still dangerous and I won't swim in the ocean.

"Well, you can come and get me now," I say, the words muffled by another large yawn.

"Wait for me outside. I'll be there soon."

We end the call and I put my phone back in my purse. Sighing, I push a few errant strands of hair behind my ear and try to decide if I should wait here or tempt fate by stumbling to the porch like a drunkard. In my addled state, I choose to tempt fate. Pushing off the railing, I get to my feet, and sway, slightly off-balance.

Whoa.

"You look like a drunk sailor," Ariadne quips.

I tilt my head up to see her floating on the landing by the door to Great-Aunt Louise's apartment. "Go haunt a pool hall or something," I retort, waving a hand at her.

"Ooh," she counters, fake-shuddering. "I'm wounded to the quick."

"Bah." I flip her the bird and shuffle to the gate, Ariadne's mocking laughter fading into the distance.

The older couple from this morning is sitting on the porch in two rocking chairs, glasses of wine on the small table between them.

"Oh, dear," the wife exclaims. "You look positively exhausted."

"You could say that." I take a seat on the top step, finger-combing my hair into some semblance of order.

"Syliva told us that you're the new owner of this place?"