The Face in the House

30

A week full of business passed, and Teddy was exhausted. They all were, but especially Teddy. Every night that week, she had put on a show for guests as if she were up for a Tony. The performance itself was draining—it required her to be on at all times, and there were always surprises that required quick creative improv—but it didn't help that she was hardly getting any sleep. She hadn't slept through the night since the night Malcolm was attacked, when they had all stayed together in the seance room.

There was something in the house that didn't belong, that was certain. She had felt it before, in Rose's room, before Malcolm and Owen arrived. Poole had mentioned it too. But now that Malcolm had felt it, had actually been hurt by it, and now that they had all witnessed what it could do, it suddenly felt very real. It changed everything. Now, going to bed alone made her uneasy. She constantly felt like she was being watched.

If it could get inside Malcolm's head, could knock him out, perhaps even push him to the floor for all she knew, then that was proof it was gaining strength. She didn't want to think about that--didn't want to even consider how the force could disrupt their lives at Thornewood House—so she worked. And worked. And worked.

By Saturday, Teddy was visibly burnt out from over-work and lack of sleep. Her skin was paler than usual, nearly translucent, with dark circles beneath her eyes. Luckily, the look worked in her favor. She was Theodora White, medium extraordinaire, liaison of the dead. She looked the part.

She acted it, too. It came to her so naturally, that despite her exhaustion, she pushed through the last seance of the week with the same energy she had every night that week.

"Thank you all for joining us tonight," Teddy said to the guests as Malcolm ushered them out the door. "We hope to see you again soon, in this life or the next!"

As soon as Malcolm shut the door, Teddy slumped into her chair.

"Nice job," Malcolm said. "That's another batch of satisfied customers. I think you scared the shit out of them."

"Thanks," Teddy managed, more of a grunt than an actual response.

"Hey, somebody get this girl a drink!" Malcolm shouted into the kitchen. "There's a girl out here in desperate need of a drink!"

Teddy smiled sleepily. She heard the record player whir to life, and soon music flowed through the room. Something old, but upbeat. Owen came in through the kitchen, dancing as he walked to hand her a glass of red wine from the cellar. She laughed at him, and the laugh energized her enough to sit up straight and accept the drink. She thanked him, and Owen danced away to the beat of some jazzy old song, presumably to get himself a glass. His energy tonight was in striking contrast to how she had originally judged him. The day they met, she had found him cold and reserved. As time passed, however, she saw another side of him—lively and charismatic. Teddy liked this side of him.

He returned with the entire bottle, followed by Poole who held three more goblets. He handed one to Malcolm. Once all goblets were filled, Owen stood.

"A toast," he said, voice theatrically loud, "To another great week of questionable business practices."

Teddy laughed, then listened as it melted like butter into the chorus of laughter around her. The sound of it warmed her stomach. Or maybe it was the wine.

"Cheers," Owen continued, lifting his goblet, "To Death and all her friends!"

They cheered. Goblets clinked as they brought them together at the center of the table. Her eyes met Owen's, and when they touched glasses, it felt more like touching skin. She took a long sip of wine.