Harley Merlin 12

loose term with a mansion full of spirits who didn’t give a damn about locked doors or “alone time.” The sickly green walls, with a thick border of mahogany, hadn’t gotten any prettier since the last time I took a break. If Sarah Winchester had been aiming for haunted vibes, she’d hit the bullseye.
“How long have you been watching me, anyway?” I jolted again as Mary’s face loomed over my shoulder. Every time she did that, she took a good ten years off my life.
“I have decided to be your sentinel during these times. One can never be too careful in a house such as this. Not all spirits herein are as amiable as myself,” Mary replied, in her clipped, old-timey British-American hybrid accent that would’ve put Cary Grant to shame.
I nodded. “I guess it’s only natural to have a few angry souls hanging around, considering the nature of this place.”
“Oh, more than a few.” Mary floated off to the far side of the room. “The majority of us have softened over the decades, with a sanctuary to call home, but there are some who, I fear, will never relinquish their grudges upon the family whose rifle stole their lives.”
“You never did tell me exactly how you ended up here,” I said. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, not unless she’d been using a dynamite skin cream before she died. She drifted to the hefty desk where I’d been working. Or the “escritoire,” as she liked to call it.
“A man hurt me, Mr. Merlin. Well, he did more than hurt me.”
Her voice sounded sad, and it made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I stared down into my lap, feeling guilty for bringing up the subject.
“Ah… Was it your husband?” I wasn’t sure why I’d jumped to that conclusion. Given the time she’d come from, I just assumed she’d have been married.
“No, the wretch robbed me of any hope of marriage. He was a jealous suitor who did not like that I cast his affections aside for another. I went out walking with the man who might have been my husband, when he shot us both in cold blood. The man with me survived, but I… well, you can see that I did not.” She hovered back and forth—the spirit version of fidgeting.
“How come you haven’t crossed over?” If that had happened to me, I’d have been off like a shot on a one-way ride to the afterlife.
She laughed softly. “I suppose I am not ready to depart this world. I had so much life left to live when I was murdered, and I cannot quite surrender this existence, even if I no longer walk in the real world. Being here is a… compromise of sorts.”
“It’s not a curse, then, to stay here?”
“Goodness, no. It is a gift,” she replied, with a faraway smile. “It is a place to appease the angrier souls, who might otherwise have turned into poltergeists. Sarah Winchester did us a great service when she built this mansion. A prime example of feminine grace and dignity. She did not have to make amends for those who died by her husband’s creation, but she did. And it gives us an echo of life, though our hearts no longer beat.”
I’d learned a lot about the Winchester Mystery House from Mary Foster. Sarah Winchester had hired a Kolduny to place a spell on the foundation of the house, and that spell held strong to this day. From what I’d gathered, the Kolduny magic in the very bones of this place acted as a vortex—though Mary had used the term “specter funnel”—drawing deceased victims of the rifle into the house if they didn’t pass on, giving them a choice as to whether they wanted sanctuary here or not. A sort of primary intervention to prevent potential poltergeists. A lot of Ps. If they stayed, the spell made the ghosts visible and able to speak to the breathing residents, as a constant reminder of the history of the Winchester name. The main part of the house was open to tourists, but an interdimensional bubble provided the secret hiding place for the ghosts and the Winchesters.
“What wonders did you discover on your latest voyage of the mind? Did it reveal that rogue you mentioned?” Mary broke me out of my thoughts.
“Davin? No.” I’d soared over Antarctica a few times now and found no sign of him. I took that as an indication that Davin was nowhere near done deciphering the map. We were still in the running.
“That is excellent news, is it not?”
I sighed. “I hope so, or Erebus will have his panties in a twist.”
“Mr. Merlin! You should not speak of undergarments in a lady’s presence!” She gaped in horror.
“Sorry. I mean, he’ll have my guts for garters.”
Mary shook her head. “Mr. Merlin, please—you will turn my cheeks quite scarlet!”
I doubt it… I didn’t say so, since I didn’t want to be mean. She was dead, after all. That required a softer touch.
“Erebus is that chaotic fellow you told me about? The one on whose behalf you are doing all of this map business?” Mary recovered from her mortification pretty quickly.
I nodded. “Yep, that’s the one.”
“You speak so very peculiarly, Mr. Merlin, if you do not mind me saying. I confess, I hardly comprehend half of what you say.”
“I wish I could say you’re the only one.” I grinned at her.
“Will you continue in your endeavors, now that you have had a moment to collect yourself?”
I stretched out my arms. “I might go talk to Melody.” I only had two more days to finish this map, but if I didn’t take a breather, my brain would splatter all over these nasty green walls, which would only add to the horror-movie aesthetic.
“Oh no, you should not do that,” Mary replied. “She is busy in the family library, poring over the many tomes within. I believe she seeks a way to relieve you of this exchange you have with