Lie to me {Rewriting}

Chapter 8; To the Mall

"Shouldn't we get that other boy to?" I asked, resting a hand on Evan's head as the five of us stood in the paint-chipped dusty corridor.

"Yeah, probably." Brienna said absent-mindedly, scrutinizing her nails with a fierce glare.

Ethan cast a sideways glare at her before walking off down to the right of the hallway, he disappeared behind a thick red doorway and re-appeared with the frail thin boy I had seen in the field of oozing flowers. He had midnight black skin, with chocolate brown eyes and black hair that was cut to close to his head. He wore a thin black tee-shirt that had the words 'I swear to drunk, im not God," stitched on the front in goofy white lettering. The hem of the tee-shirt hung down to his thighs, where he had rolled up to big jeans. Ethan must have lent him some of his clothes.

"This is Otis," Ethan said, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Otis attempted a smile, but it ended up in a sad grimace. I smiled encouragingly and Evan waved, using his other hand to cover his mouth while he yawned loudly, Otis seemed to lighten up a bit at that. Layna smiled and Brienna just stared.

"Ok well.... Wait, Ethan you led me through here perfectly last night, you do know where the kitchen is, don't you?" I asked, narrowing my eyes as I glared at him.

He stared, his face expressionless, than said, "We never went in through the kitchen, and if we did, I don't remember."

"Riiight, just like you didn't remember where the Emerald Mansion was." Brienna said, shooting a glare at him from underneath her lashes.

I sighed, "come on, lets just try and find it." With that our little group set off, we decided to try downstairs first. Walking along the chipping frayed corridors and hallways, portraits of Lady's and men from Medieval times to Old England times stood up on the Mansion's red colored walls. The house did look from the Victorian times. "Who are these people?" I asked as we passed a particular pretty lady with a solemn stare with the faintest hint of a smile gracing her lips, wearing an emerald green silk dress. "People who have all used this Safe house. Paintings of us will show up around here sooner or later to if we stay long enough." Ethan replied, looking at a black haired English man in a traditional morning suit with gloves and a cane. "How?" I asked, staying behind with Ethan as the kids and Brienna walked on ahead.

"I guess whoever built the house put a recording spell on it, to make paintings of all the people who have used it so others can look up its history. Its probably got a library around here to, but it would be back upstairs."

"Who do you think built it?" I asked, reaching out my hand to trail my fingers along the rough edges of the paint.

"It could have been anyone, The Shadow Lord, The Vampire King, Alpha of the Werewolves, anyone. They usually leave a mark in the library's books so that way if anyone comes to check the history they'll see who built it."

My fingers left the painting at once, as if I had been burned.

"Aren't we supposed to be running away from The Shadow Lord? Not hiding out at one of his Safe houses?" I asked incredously, looking up at him.

"Yes, but it might not even be built by him, and if it is we'll just move somewhere else before our paintings get set up." He looked down at me and saw my worried expression, my eyes slightly watering. I was reaching my point of endurance, if this house was built by The Shadow Lord I wanted to leave it now, I didn't want to think about what would happen if we were caught by him. The very thought was horrifying.

Slowly, tentatively, Ethan reached out his hand. his finger tips brushing across my cheek, slow and hesitant, as if he might break me. I didn't object, I only leaned my head further into his carress, reveling in the warmth. At how the calm and reassurance seemed to wash over me in a gentle wave as he stroked his thumb across my cheekbone. The stress and worry melting away at his touch. "I won't let anyone get you," he murmured. "I promise." I looked up, into the deep blacks of his eyes no longer expressionless, but soft and gentle. Caring.