Wildest Dreams
“One way or another I was certain to need it, and I didn’t want to waste the batteries. In this place, the torch seemed more appropriate anyway.After all, this was a haunted house. Lethe Whistler seemed right at home here, and she wasn’t alone. She had mentioned someone else—a man who could give her what she wanted.I wondered who that man might be, but Lethe certainly wasn’t going to tell me. “I’ll see you again,” she said. “Soon.”She drifted through the stone floor, ghostly remnants of tattooed skin whirling around her shoulders like leaves made of midnight neon, and then the darkness drank her in and she was gone.I fanned the torch at arm’s length. No one waited for me in the shadows. I watched the door. Outside, the storm had diminished to a complacent drizzle. Without the wind, the bottles were silent.Just bottles again. They couldn’t howl or scream. They couldn’t share whatever secrets they might hold. They couldn’t speak a single word—with a wind, or without a wind.
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