The Face in the House

36

Malcolm spent the night in the basement. Poole's bedroom was isolated from the macabre mess of the laboratory, which helped, but it was still dark and damp and cold. Still, he'd hardly noticed. For the first time since he'd set foot in Thornewood House, Malcolm had slept peacefully, his mind, for once, was miraculously spared from nightmares.

They woke late. Not that it mattered. They all worked the night shift.

There were no mirrors in the laboratory, so Malcolm turned to Poole as he buttoned up the coat of his butler uniform.

"How's this?" he asked.

Poole studied him, his forehead creasing like it always did when he worked in the lab. He approached Malcolm and brushed an invisible piece of lint from his sleeve. An exhilarating shiver ran up Malcolm's spine at the touch.

"You look marvelous," Poole said, grinning. "Though I must say, I rather prefer the rainbow underpants."

Malcolm laughed, and his face burned with a healthy dose of embarrassment. He really should have planned ahead when he had decided to sneak off to the basement, he thought. He supposed he liked to think the rendezvous wasn't premeditated, that he hadn't planned on sharing a bed with Poole, but really, he knew what he was doing.

Today, however, he was far too happy to let a little thing like that get the best of him. Today, he felt like he could breathe a little bit deeper than yesterday. He had awoken next to Poole that morning with a ticklish ball of energy in the pit of his stomach. It was that feeling that something had changed—irreversibly. It felt like he had done something risky, had crossed a line, like he just discovered he'd jumped out of the helicopter without checking if he had a parachute first. There was no going back, no second guessing—and it was absolutely thrilling.

Malcolm had never been with a man before. His sexuality had always felt like something of a mystery. To him, anything that felt uncertain, or ambiguous, or flexible in his mind was something to be stored away, pushed aside, buried under things that were more concrete. Sleeping with Poole hadn't brought on some great epiphany. He didn't wake up that morning with all the answers . . . but he had woken up feeling as if, maybe, having questions wasn't such a bad thing.

He looked at Poole and returned his smile. Though neither of them had any wish to leave the cellar, they made their way upstairs to prepare for the seance.

Malcolm was nervous. He always got jitters before the guests arrived. Although by now it was a routine performance, and he played quite a minor role at that, it was perpetually out of his comfort zone. When they reached the landing before entering the kitchen, Poole squeezed his hand, as if he could sense Malcolm's mounting nerves. His heart flooded with warmth, and all the jitters he had for the seance were replaced with jitters of a more welcoming variety.

Teddy and Owen were already in the kitchen when they came in. Malcolm tried to avoid Owen's gaze, expecting his brother to raise an eyebrow at him, as if to say, What were you two doing down there? But his brother didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. Owen greeted them, but his focus was on Teddy, Malcolm noticed. She was dressed in something gaudily gothic, as was her habit during these performances. Tonight's ensemble was a deep maroon silk dress, cut dangerously low on the chest. She covered her shoulders in a sheer black shawl, lined with black feathers and rhinestones.

The doorbell chimed. The night's guests had arrived.

With an unusual confidence, Malcolm slipped through the velvet curtain into the seance room, then opened the door. There were just three guests on the schedule that night, a smaller group than they liked to have, but not unusual for a Tuesday night. Three girls stood on the front porch, huddling together in the cold night air. They looked like they frequented music festivals and read Tarot cards to each other. They were likely college students, Malcolm guessed, but they could've even been high schoolers. Regardless, he was happy. These were the type of guests that wanted to believe. It was going to be a fun show.