Hosts to Ghosts Box Set

by Lynne Connolly

  We made a mistake. We should never have married. You probably know that for yourself by now. I met someone here in Paris, and I intend to stay with her.

  I’m going to file for divorce. I want you to take Hosts to Ghosts as my way of saying I’m sorry. You won’t want to do it, but I’m going to gift it to you if you won’t take it in the divorce settlement, so you can give it away, or keep it, or do what the hell you want with it.

  I won’t be coming back home, so you needn’t worry that I’ll interfere. You can do what you want with the company. You’re a great business person, and a first rate investigator. I can only get out of your way and wish you all the best in the future.

  I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Please don’t try to get in touch with me. I’m fine, I’m not insane, and I mean what I say.

  Love,

  Jordan.

  It was that last “love” that always made her cry, so she’d stopped reading it past the last sentence. Even now she had to blink away her unshed tears. She loved him so much. She didn’t seem to be able to help herself.

  “Any luck finding him?” Bernard asked softly.

  Karey shook her head. “He checked out of his hotel the day after his interview, and nobody’s seen him since. I know he says he doesn’t want me to look for him, but I can’t help worrying. The man Jordan went to interview claimed to be a vampire. It took Jordan six months to set up the interview. I think the man he went to see wanted to get rid of him for some reason.”

  Bernard had taken the seat opposite her at the small, round table still littered with the remains of her dinner. His smile froze in place and a new, sharper expression filled his eyes. “A vampire?” He blinked, and his customary easy friendliness returned as though the previous expression had never existed.

  Karey forced a laugh. “Yes. Silly, isn’t it?”

  “You don’t believe in vampires? I thought you people were open to everything.”

  Karey grimaced. “We are, but we don’t have to believe it all. Jordan went to investigate the claims, not to worship at his feet. I was so scared, and I still am. I think the man was some kind of lunatic, and he’s killed Jordan.” Not an email, not a text, but an honest-to-goodness letter. That meant he wanted it to be legally binding, an indication of his intent. Once sent he couldn’t delete it, couldn’t take it back, and she had his handwriting as proof, too.

  Bernard put his hand gently over hers where it lay on the linen tablecloth. “You said Jordan checked out the day after the interview. He wrote you the letter. That means he survived, doesn’t it?”

  Karey shook her head wearily. “Cornell could have enticed Jordan into the country, anything. When he didn’t come home, I wanted to go after him, and then I got this letter. Shortly after, the divorce papers arrived.”

  “Aren’t you divorced now? Shouldn’t you just let things be?”

  She reached for the wine and poured it out, watching the red liquid fill the plain glasses as though her life depended upon it. Concentrating on something else helped to chase away the blues sometimes. “No, we’re not divorced, so I don’t know if I’m a wife or a widow. We need to find Jordan before we can proceed. He signed the company over to me, but forgot a few details, so I need to find him. One way or the other.” Her hand shook when she picked up her glass.

  Bernard removed his hand from hers and lifted his wine, cradling the glass in his long fingers. “I thought you were psychic. Can’t you sense him?”

  Karey shot him a cynical glance. “I’m psychic, not omnipotent. I can sense the presence of ghosts and psychic phenomena. It doesn’t act like radar.”

  “You’ll find him.” He looked up at her, regarding her with a grave concentration she wasn’t used to seeing in him. “Do you think he could have found a vampire? For real?”

  Karey shook her head again. “No. We’ve never found any evidence for their existence, although the legends fascinated Jordan. We research extensively, and all we’ve ever found are nuts who think they’re vampires. People who play at the lifestyle, or the lifestyle they imagined. It’s been a kind of Holy Grail for him, but it’s more like a hobby. At Hosts to Ghosts we tend to concentrate on other phenomena, particularly hauntings.”

  Bernard grinned. “Ghostbusters.”

  The gentle teasing brought her out of her miserable mood and she grinned back at him. “Yessir, that’s me. A ghostbuster of the first order. I even have the badge to prove it.” Several, in fact. Bernard wasn’t the only person to have made the connection with the old film; many people had made the same joke. Jordan hated it, but Karey thought it was funny, and had been known to play up to the image. Somewhere back in her apartment in New York she had the outfit of boiler suit and backpack, worn for a long ago fancy dress party.

  She could remember Jordan’s response to her teasing, and his way of stopping her laughing. It had been worth it, then. She wasn’t so sure now. Karey wasn’t used to doubting her behavior, having long ago decided people had to take her as she was, but now she wondered if her jokes had driven him away. Jordan had always been so serious. He’d needed some lightening up. Perhaps she’d gone too far.

  No! She rejected the thought forcefully. None of this was her fault, she would not blame herself for this. Initially Jordan had wanted to marry her, not the other way around. He’d seen more of the inner Karey than she usually allowed anyone to witness. Now he’d betrayed her in the worst possible way, and she didn’t intend to let the vulnerable child inside her get free again. Ever.

  “I’m not even sure the signatures on the company transfer papers I have are real. I want to know for sure before I close the door and move on.”

  Bernard drank his wine in one gulp and replaced his glass on the table. “Just as well you’re here, then. You have too much to do here to brood over your problems.” A smile flickered across his well-sculpted lips. “So have I. When you’ve cleared this place of all its ghostly influences we’re having a grand re-opening. I’m working on a group of ladies from Iowa. They want a holiday resort where they can all stay. That’ll help us fill the place. They don’t care about ghosts; they just want a good time.”

  Karey frowned. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  Bernard shrugged. “You have to after you’ve been here for a while. I’ve seen a few things, heard a few things. There’s something, no doubt about that.”

  “We’re going to create a complete haunted suite, but we’ve had some enquiries from honeymoon couples. It seems they want to combine love and ghost-hunting. Do you think Cupid haunts the house?”

  Karey laughed. “Hardly, when you consider the character of the original owner, Thomas Sharman. He bullied his servants and his wife, drove her to madness, some say. From what I’ve read, he treated everyone very harshly. This wasn’t a plantation where the slaves were well cared for and happy, and unlike many owners, Sharman didn’t see it as just a way of making his crops more profitable. He enjoyed violence.”

  “How can you tell?” Bernard crooked a black eyebrow in skeptical query.

  Karey drank the rest of her wine. “I don’t jump to conclusions, Bernard. I read his letters. He positively salivates when he describes a slave whipping, and sometimes he did the deed himself. He’s as atypical as the O’Hara’s of Tara, but both kinds of master did exist.”

  “Most of them fell between the two.”

  Karey shot a look at Bernard, noting again his dark good looks. If it weren’t for her half-married, half-divorced situation she would be tempted to let him help her to repair her self-esteem, which had been damaged by her fiasco of a marriage. Bernard was the kind of amusing man she needed to help her to forget the way Jordan had betrayed her. “Are you a local man, Bernard?”

  Bernard smiled. “Yes, of a matter of fact, I am.” His soft Southern drawl, usually kept in check, increased, elongating his vowels. Karey listened, fascinated. “I’m descended from planters on one side and slaves on the other. It’s not unusual. Masters took slaves to their beds, and after emancipation, s
ome slaves did well for themselves. My family went north and founded a company in Chicago. We did very well up there, selling cornbread and grits to the Yankees. We have a chain of ‘Home Cookin’’ stores. Have you heard of them?”

  “Sure. I’ve eaten in them a time or two. There’s one in New York, near our—er—my apartment.” The slip brought Karey back to the one thing she wanted to forget.

  She hoped the feeling would go away. Karey Murray was no victim, but despite his behavior, she still loved the man who had shown her more commitment in the three weeks they had been married than she’d ever known in her life before. She hated herself for it, but she couldn’t seem to help it.

  She looked up to find Bernard watching her, speculation in his midnight eyes.

  Perhaps she should let Bernard into her life. Her marriage was over now, all but the paperwork. If she put a few men between herself and Jordan, had a few more experiences, it might help her get him out of her system. Bernard had been her friend since she’d arrived at the house, two weeks ago, and she’d corresponded with him before that to make the arrangements for her arrival. “Why didn’t Auguste leave you in charge?” she asked suddenly.

  His face darkened, but then, as she watched, it was replaced by the lighter expression she was used to seeing in him. “I wanted it, but I haven’t been here long enough, and I’m not a member of the family,” he said frankly. “And I’m no paranormal expert. He needed you for that.”

  She smiled her reassurance. “Don’t worry, I’m only doing this by default, I’m not intending to make my temporary manager status permanent. Besides, I think Auguste was just being kind. He wanted to give me something to do until Jordan shows up to sign the divorce papers. He’s Jordan’s cousin, but my friend as well. A vacation wouldn’t have done anything but make me worry and he knew that. I need to keep busy. As soon as it’s all sorted out I intend to go back north and start my life over.”

  “Is it usual for you people to do these things on your own? Don’t you travel in pairs, like the FBI?”

  Karey chuckled. “It’s not necessary. If I need someone, I’ll send for them. This is my area of expertise.”

  “So what can you do, specifically?”

  “I can sense the presence of ghosts. Sometimes I can get into contact with them. I do have heightened psi senses, which helps. I was tested. There are tests, you know, for that kind of thing,” she explained, at his quizzical stare.

  Bernard shuddered. “You can’t sense vampires then?”

  She chuckled. “I’m not even sure they exist.”

  His gaze sharpened. “How about finding lost items? I’ve read about people who can find hidden treasure, things like that.”

  “You want to find the hidden necklace?” She shook her head and gave a wry smile. “No, if I can do that, I’ve never noticed. I can’t even find the right pair of shoes when I want them!”

  Bernard shrugged. “In any case, if the sapphire necklace was found, it would belong to Auguste and his family. All this mumbo-jumbo is a closed book to me. I prefer to keep my feet on the ground. I’m surprised you can sleep alone.”

  She snagged his gaze. “Perhaps I don’t want to.”

  * * * * *

  Revenge was the sweetest taste of all and Bernard Foret could taste it now. He would have the sapphires and his ancestor would be avenged. He wouldn’t stop until he had destroyed every member of the Duplessis family, and that included Jordan Arcenaux.

  He stepped forward, over the wriggling body staked to the floor and sighed when he saw his victim’s struggles had marred the perfect pattern of the veve, traced on the floor in cornmeal. It was a particularly complex one that had taken him nearly an hour to get right. He bent, flicking the white line back to repair the break. “Don’t do that again.”

  He had brought the ceremony to its peak. Clad only in black briefs, his bare body gleaming in the light of the black candles, Bernard faced his loa, his god, and asked the favor. “Send me that which will give me the power I seek, oh great Ghede.” Ghede was benevolent, and as such was a god he didn’t usually deal with. Bernard had long since left the path of goodness and become a follower of the left hand, a caplata.

  Bernard was a caplata of power. Despite that he had discovered in the last month that creating a zombie was one thing but summoning a vampire was quite another. Harder. The vampire tended to fight back.

  This was his last attempt. If this didn’t work, he would have to try something else. Vampires had the ability to discover precious stones like no other beings on earth, and he wanted that necklace. The man tied helplessly before the poteau-mitan, the sacred pole decorated with red and black ribbons, was Bernard’s last attempt at contacting a vampire. Baron Samedi, his loa of choice, had assured him the man was a genuine bloodsucker, but he had lied. This man was no such thing. Just another man pretending to be a vampire, one of the many drawn by the legends around New Orleans. Well, at least Bernard had another victim for the loa.

  Bernard had laid his knife to the side of the poteau-mitan, and now he drew it out for the high point of the ceremony. He took his stance astride the man on the floor, who stared at him with eyes wide with terror. The heavy gag prevented him uttering more than a kind of throaty growl, a sound Bernard quite liked, for the atmosphere it brought to his ceremony. Rededicating himself to the service of the left hand and the will of the gods he prayed fervently for the right outcome and brought the knife down.

  The man was easier to kill than a goat. Days of starvation had made the victim weak and the drugs Bernard had fed him only permitted a small amount of resistance. He had needed his victim cogent for the final ceremony, but not cogent enough to fight.

  Blood pumped out of the deep gash in the man’s neck and the naked body went into uncontrollable convulsions. Bernard watched for a moment. Not too much different to a goat, at all. He bent to dip his finger in the blood, drawing over the faint lines on his chest that he’d earlier sketched with a pen. He wished he could have freed the gag from the man’s mouth. The loa would have liked to hear the sound, he was sure, but someone might hear. Some of the men working on the estate were quartered in the cottages nearby. He couldn’t risk it.

  He faced the poteau-mitan and began to chant.

  Half an hour later his cell phone rang. Picking it up from the pile of clothes in the corner, Bernard didn’t recognize the number. “Yes?”

  “You rang?” a luscious female voice said. “I’m Didiane.”

  Chapter Two

  Half a world away, a vampire awoke and stretched, mildly surprised to find himself alone in the great brass bed. The crackle of paper under his hand alerted him to the presence of a note. Lifting himself up on the pillows, Jordan read his billet-doux.

  Darling Jordan,

  Pillow talk is so interesting, don’t you think? You are so amusing, mon cher, and such a vigorous lover, I almost forgot to stay awake until you fell asleep!

  I have to go, my sweet. I doubt we will meet again for a month or two, but I will be back, you may be sure of that. I have decided I want to keep you for a while and I expect you to be here when I return. I still want the Blue Star. I am fired with a passion for this gem, and I will not rest until I hold it in my hand.

  I seem to remember that you mentioned your lost love, too. Once or twice. You bore me with repetition, my dear. I do not care to take second place, so I will ensure that I will no longer do so. I’m sure you will agree, if she were not with us any longer, you wouldn’t think of her, and I can have you all to myself. While I find your boyish enthusiasm and gratitude amusing, I want more. I want all of you.

  For now, at least. Do not worry for me, I will return to you as soon as I have accomplished my tasks.

  Yours,

  Didiane.

  Jordan’s howl of rage must have been audible outside in the street. Not that he cared. His whole plan to divorce Karey had been to protect her, and now he’d hurled her into danger. Didiane mustn’t guess he cared about Karey, or she would take steps t
o kill her. Even the slighting remarks he’d made about his wife hadn’t deterred Didiane from her murderous purpose. His vampire lover was a jealous woman, one he’d rapidly tired of in recent days.

  He threw back the covers and crossed the bedroom to where the computer sat mutely waiting for his command. Switching it on, he could barely stand the short wait while it booted. Eventually he could call up the browser and tap in his company’s website name.

  The site looked exactly the same. His baby, his company, created for the scientific study of paranormal phenomena. This wasn’t the first occasion he’d logged on since he’d dropped out of sight, but no one would know that, since he’d used a back door. Despite his resolution to cut himself off from his old life, he hadn’t managed to keep away. Since the disaster six months ago, Jordan had effectively retired from the company that had once meant so much to him, but longing still arced through him like a physical pain when he went through it.

  Scanning down the list of cases, he let the mouse linger over Karey’s name in a caress he could never now deliver in person. She had never used his surname after their marriage, even in private. There had hardly been time, and there was no hint on the Hosts to Ghosts website that she was married to Jordan. He sighed and clicked the mouse, bringing up her caseload from the private part of the site.

  Fuck, he was right. He knew he would be. He read the brief account of Belle Sauvage, his mind going back to his childhood.

  Conveniently close to New Orleans, but away from the hustle and bustle of the city, and miraculously flood-free, the house was once a beautiful old plantation house. It had been in their family since it was built, but the last owner hadn’t cared to restore it. Auguste inherited the wreck and worked hard to make it into a going concern. It would work well with his burgeoning hotel chain. He and Auguste had played in the grounds as children. Looking at it now was like going back in time.

  Jordan skimmed the description of the house, and the photographs, showing the gracious old house and the public rooms inside, and passed on to the report.