A week. That was the longest I was able to fight myself back. My conversation with Amy about Brandon worked like battery acid in my mind, corroding any intention and determination to find a Haunter-free life.
It was Sunday afternoon, and the world outside every window was carpeted in the purest white I'd ever seen. It'd been snowing at least for a while almost every day since I'd come back from Pennhurst, and the one and only snowplow in charge of keeping Greenwich Road open was working overtime.
After the fire at the guesthouse, Mike had called the best sweepers in all Massachusetts to make sure the Manor chimneys wouldn't act out too, and now I was able to have heaters with little flames in the kitchen, the east parlor, my room and the study.
So Sunday afternoon, white as far as I could see from the couch under the window in the east parlor. I praised the last work of art Charlotte had made on her magnetic board and bid the Blotters goodnight when they left for dinner.
