The Uninvited. Heather Graham

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      But she walked in and dug out her phone before tossing her purse on the sofa and sitting down next to it. She had to start returning calls.

      But even as she decided that she had to call her mother first and then the board and her coworkers, the silence in the house seemed to weigh down on her. She got up and turned on the television. A news station was playing, with a reporter standing in front of the hospital. Mr. Dixon’s strange fall into a coma was being added to the tragic news about musician and tour guide Julian Mitchell.

      She changed the channel. The speculation on the “evil” within the house on news stations struck her as overkill.

      With a comedy repeat keeping her company, she looked at all the calls she’d ignored while she was with Tyler Montague. She called her parents, who’d gone to their home in Arizona for a few weeks, and made a point of being calm and sad and completely in control. As much as she adored her mom and dad, she didn’t want them coming back here because they were worried about her.

      They’d met Julian a few times and offered their condolences, but when they questioned her safety, she made it sound as if the media were going wild—which they were—and described what had happened as a tragic accident. She assured her mother that as a Revolution-era woman or even as Lucy Tarleton, she didn’t carry a musket with a bayonet.

      Next she spoke to Nathan Pierson. She told him she was fine, and he promised he’d be there for anything she needed with the police or the house. He’d talk to the rest of the board, too. She didn’t have to call anyone else, he said; she should just relax.

      Nathan was the easiest member of board to deal with. He was a good-looking man who had never married. She wasn’t close enough to ask him if there was a long-lost love for whom he pined, but if so, it didn’t seem to affect his dating life. At various functions, she’d seen him with different women, all of them beautiful and elegant. He was unfailingly polite and courteous to her. Sometimes he teased her, claiming that he was waiting for her to notice him and ignore the age discrepancy; he teased a lot of people, though, and he had a way of making his words sound like a compliment rather than licentious.

      He was the solid rock of the board, in Allison’s opinion. Ethan Oxford was like a distant grandfather, Sarah was like the family old-maid aunt—even though she’d been married. She was high-strung. And Cherry was…Cherry. She always considered herself a cut above the rest of the world.

      Allison was grateful that Nathan was going to speak with the other board members, but she did have to call Jason Lawrence and Annette Fanning.

      Jason still seemed stunned by the whole thing. She told him about the attic but said they were keeping that information from the media.

      He, too, wanted to make sure she was okay.

      After that she called Annette.

      Annette was smart and fun and usually logical, so Allison was shocked by the tremor in her friend’s voice and the view she seemed to be taking of the situation.

      “It’s not surprising, is it? Oh, Allison, I thank God for that root canal, and I never thought I’d say that. I wonder what happened. Did Julian freak out? One toke too many? But he’s never been out of it at work. That’s just the heavy-metal image he likes to portray. It’s the house, Allison. It terrifies me! I can always feel it when I’m there, like…like the house itself is breathing. I mean, when you’re out on the street, the windows seem like eyes, watching you. Maybe so much evil did happen there and it continues, on and on. Like something malevolent that waits and—”

      “Annette! No! The house is a pile of brick and wood and stone. It’s a house. Horrible things take place everywhere. We go through life grateful when they don’t happen to us, and either sad or broken when they do.”

      “Well, I for one am glad they’re closing it down. No, wait—do we get unemployment or anything? I’m out of a job! I don’t think they’ll be able to pay us—there won’t be any money coming into the house without the tours.”

      “We’re not out of work, Annette. They’re closing it temporarily for an investigation. I’m sure they’ll provide us with some kind of compensation.”

      “The house needs an exorcism!”

      “No, Annette, it doesn’t. The house isn’t possessed. Or evil. And if the house could feel anything, it would be grateful to us for keeping it alive. Annette—”

      “Ohhhhh,” Annette broke in. “You have another job. I don’t. In fact, you have a cool job, a real job. You’re a professor.”

      “Annette, you do have a real job. The house will open again. It’ll just be closed for a few weeks. They’ll shore up the alarm system, and we’ll be bombarded when we reopen because people are ghoulish and they’ll want to stare at the place where Julian died. Besides, you work at the tavern as a singing waitress sometimes.”

      “Yeah, thank God! I was there last night. I went for a drink after my root canal and to hang with some of my friends. I can ask for a few more nights.”

      “The house won’t be closed that long.”

      “Are you alone? Oh! You’re not still at the police station, are you?”

      “No.”

      “I saw some government guy on the news—not an interview, just a shot of him talking to the police. The U.S. government is in on this, Allison. It’s scary, scary. But, hey, have you met him? My God, he’s gorgeous! Whoops, excuse me, Barrie heard that. Barrie, he’s not as gorgeous as you, just, um, pretty gorgeous!”

      “Annette, pay attention. Those guys are here because of Adam Harrison. You know, the nice elderly gentleman who’s been to a few functions at the house.”

      “I remember him. Maybe there is going to be an exorcism! I heard that his people look into strange stuff. Like paranormal events.”

      “Annette, if Barrie’s there and has the day off, please go and spend some time with him.”

      “What kind of friend do you think I am? I’ll be right there—”

      “No, no, please! I’m fine by myself. I’m going to try to get some rest. Okay?”

      Annette was silent. “I’m not sure you should be alone.”

      “Annette, I’m fine. I promise. I’m going to curl up on the couch and try to doze off.”

      “Call if you need me, Ally. I can be there in five minutes.”

      “I will,” Allison said. “Thanks.”

      She was able to hang up at last. Setting the phone down, she rose and headed into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She really hoped she could doze off for a while, and hot tea and an inane comedy on TV should help her quell some of the thoughts and images racing through her mind.

      She loved her new pod machine; a cup of English Breakfast tea brewed as swiftly as a cup of coffee. Mug in hand, she left the kitchen and came around the counter—and froze.

      She wasn’t alone in the house. There was someone sitting in the chair by the sofa.

      A dark-haired young man in Colonial dress.

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