My hair is blond with honey highlights and waves courtesy of my curling iron, but right now, it’s still damp and dark from the snow, and all the waves have been destroyed—strands are clinging to my skull and my cheeks. My lips are pale, almost blue, and my face is bone white. I grab a tube of lipstick from my purse and apply a healthy coat. There—that’s a little better. I try pinching my cheeks to bring back a bit of color to my face, but it’s just making me look blotchy so I stop.

Anyway, it’s just me and Ethan here. Yes, I want to look my best for my husband, but we’ve been married for six months now. He understands I can’t look absolutely perfect all the time. I mean, I’m sure he understands that. Even though he always looks frustratingly perfect.

When I emerge from the bathroom, I notice yet another bookcase tucked behind the stairwell. Geez, Dr. Adrienne Hale sure liked books. Most of the bookcases in the house seem to be related to psychiatry or psychology. All stuff about the human mind, anyway. But this bookcase is different. This one is filled with paperback novels—guilty pleasures.

I scan the rows of books, searching for something that might entertain me if we’re stuck here for much longer. I try to imagine the psychiatrist with the intense green eyes curled up with a Danielle Steel novel—I can’t do it. I’m not much of a romance fan either. But she has a few Stephen King novels that are more my speed. And they’re long and engaging.

I’ve already read all the Stephen King books on her shelves, but I wouldn’t mind rereading a few classics. And anyway, I won’t be here long enough to finish it, so there’s no point starting something new. First, I pick up the copy of It, but I practically sprain my wrist getting it off the shelf—this one might be a bit long if we’re only spending one night. Finally, I decide on The Shining—one of my favorites—and I tip the book out to swipe it from the shelf.

Except it doesn’t come out.

I pull harder on the book, but only the top of it comes free. The bottom seems wedged in place. And when I move the top of the book, I hear a loud click. And the bookcase shifts slightly.

What the…?

I glance over my shoulder. Ethan is nowhere in sight. He’s probably still fiddling with the heat. I peer around the side of the bookcase—it’s shifted away from the wall. I tug on the side of it, and a concealed door swings out towards me. I blink a few times, unable to believe what I’m seeing.

It’s a secret room.

Chapter 8