Once Haunted, Twice Shy (The Peyton Clark Series Book 2)

by H. P. Mallory

  “I haven’t lost my sanity, thank you,” I started, my nose pointing up in the air as his expression told me he begged to differ. Fortunately, rather than argue with me, he chose to remove the small shard of glass from the ball of my foot. He then gently lowered my foot back onto the floor and held up the miniscule sliver of glass. It was maybe a quarter of an inch long. I could barely see it in the low light of the room.

  “I believe I have recovered the offending piece of glass, mon amour,” Drake said with another practiced smile, his expression hinting to the fact that I was completely overreacting because my “flesh wound” could hardly even be considered a wound in the first place. Apparently my slipper shoe had absorbed the majority of the damage. “Perhaps you would like me to bandage your foot now?”

  “Yes, please,” I answered as I placed my hand in front of his face. “Oh, and I cut my finger too.”

  “Very well, I shall bandage that too,” he said, chuckling softly as he reached for my finger. When he took it, there was still no sign of any recognition on his part. “Perhaps now you will reveal to me how you and I are acquainted?”

  We started for the hallway. When we reached the table with the gun, he grabbed it, carefully tucking it into the waist of his pajama bottoms. At the base of the long flight of stairs, he paused and eyed me skeptically. “Given the state of your foot, climbing these stairs might prove something of an obstacle,” he said with a lascivious smile, suddenly hoisting me into his arms. It was more than obvious that he was looking for any excuse to do so because he’d made it more than clear that the wound on my foot was anything but concerning.

  “I can walk!” I started to protest, but quickly looped my arms around his neck when he pretended to trip. “Smooth, Drake, real smooth,” I muttered as I caught him gazing at my breasts again, now barely constrained inside the loosely flowing fabric of my dress.

  “The bandages are in my bedchamber,” he said with a shrug, as if it weren’t his fault they were located there. When we reached the top of the stairs, he didn’t set me down on the ground, but continued to carry me into the master bedroom, the same room where I first heard his ghostly footsteps, albeit in the twenty-first century. The thought made me a little nostalgic for the relationship that Drake and I shared in modern times.

  I wondered why Drake didn’t seem to recognize me, even though we’d touched one another repeatedly. I didn’t know how in the world I could convince him that a previous friendship really did exist between us. There was no way I could persuade him that I was possessed by his spirit in my own time, and returned to the past in order to defeat a demon by the name of the Axeman! Nope, he’d sooner have me booked on the closest train to Looneyville.

  He kicked open the door to his bedroom and carefully set me down on top of his bed. The room’s light source was an oil-burning floor lamp that matched the one I saw in the music room. Then it dawned on me that in 1919, electricity could not have been standard in every home. I looked around and immediately recognized the bedroom from my dream visits with Drake. The dark walnut floors, the three floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a view I knew so well. I recalled the navy-blue curtains on either side of the windows as well as the charcoal-gray walls. I even recognized the spicy scent in the room, an aroma that uniquely belonged to Drake.

  Drake disappeared into the adjoining bathroom and returned moments later with a black, circular tin, which read in white cursive letters, “B&B Adhesive Plaster Tape.” “There now, mon chaton, we will have you all mended in a hurry!”

  “Mon chaton?” I repeated, wondering if he used the familiar pet name because he now remembered who I was.

  “Ah, excuse me, mademoiselle,” he started with a shake of his head and an embarrassed chuckle. “In English, I was calling you my kitten.”

  “I know,” I answered immediately, disappointed that he still had no clue of my identity.

  “Perhaps you could enlighten me as to our association, mon amour?” he asked, glancing down at me with a raised brow. It was almost as if he was bored being the well-mannered host and wanted to get down to the real nitty-gritty.

  I sighed, knowing I couldn’t tell him the truth, not if I wanted him to think I was still in control of all my faculties. “Drake, look at me,” I said, hoping my tactic would work, but doubting it all the same. He faced me curiously. “Look at my face and deeply into my eyes and then tell me you don’t know who I am,” I said.

  He looked at me. Then he stared at me. Then we both stared at each other. But there was still no spark of recognition in his eyes at all. However, something was certainly sparking in me. And it had nothing to do with time travel recognition. I was completely consumed with the burning urge to taste him. I wanted to touch his lips with mine and feel the wetness of his tongue and mouth. Then, as if turning on the light switch to my libido, I instantly hungered for him, in a desperately ravenous way. The thought occurred to me that this could simply be the work of Guarda and her blasted red devil candle.

  “I’m sorry, mon amour; though I will repeat that I find you quite lovely, I cannot place your face,” Drake said with a sigh. “Please do not blame me for it, though, as I am certain our time together was definitely worth it.”

  I frowned. “What time together?”

  He unwrapped the bandage, picked up my foot, and studied it for a moment before securing the “plaster tape” on top of my wound. Then he faced me again. “Yes, whatever magical evening we spent together, I am certain was . . . well worth it.”

  What? Did he think I was just another chick he’d had drunken sex with, and now couldn’t remember my name? Great, just great. “I’ll have you know,” I began my tirade, then inexplicably lost my train of thought. I had the irresistible urge—or was it need?—to kiss him. I grasped the bed linens and shut my eyes to avoid dealing with the passionate force that was growing inside of me.

  “You’ll have me know?” Drake continued.

  “I’ll, uh, I’ll have you know,” I repeated as I opened my eyes, but failed to restrain my sexual feelings from resurfacing. Drake placed my foot back on the bed and, even though it was probably the worst thing he could have done, he came closer to me. He studied me with undisguised curiosity before leaning down and reaching for my wounded finger, which he lifted up to inspect.

  “It appears to be merely a tiny sliver, mon amour,” he said, in a deep, husky voice.

  “Okay,” I answered hesitantly as my urge to lick his body almost overwhelmed me. “Then, uh, then you, uh, you don’t have to put a Band-Aid on it,” I said, gritting my teeth as I tried to remain on the bed. It probably looked like I was struggling to control a serious bout with gas.

  He raised a brow in my direction and closed his hand over mine, bringing my fingers to his lips. He gently kissed them while intently staring at me. Guessing his ploy—to lure me into having sex with him—I might have laughed at his blatant attempt had I possessed my wits. As it was, fueled by a passion that burned even more furiously, before I could stop myself, I lurched out toward him. I grabbed the back of his neck, and pulled him down on top of me, while planting my lips onto his.

  He melted into me as our lips met. I felt him gyrating his lower body against mine, right before he suddenly went stock-still, and an instant later, pulled away from me. I sat up and, completely against my better judgment, grabbed him by the upper arms. I pulled him back down toward me with great difficulty because he abjectly resisted, while vigorously shaking his head. Since I refused to be ignored, he pinned me down on the bed as he faced me with an expression that revealed shock as well as recognition.

  “Ma minette?” he asked with a frown, and both of his eyebrows furrowed in the middle of his forehead.

  “You remember me?” I asked, wondering if it was our kiss that had done the trick. I was momentarily relieved that the sexual feelings inside me instantly subdued themselves. Hopefully for a long time.

  He shook h
is head. “Non,” he started with a sigh. “That is the problem. I do not remember you, though I am overcome by many memories of you and the uncanny feeling that I know you well . . . intimately well.”

  “Well, we actually don’t know each other intimately well,” I started, even as I realized I was well on my way to knowing him intimately, and the thought didn’t exactly thrill me. I attempted to move, but his manacle-like grip on my wrists disabled me. “I think I’m okay now,” I said as I blushed from the roots of my hair down to my feet. “I mean, I’m not going to try to seduce you again,” I corrected myself, hoping he got my gist.

  He frowned, seemingly still worried that I might try to bed him again. But when I returned the frown and even looked slightly ticked off and impatient, he let up. Taking a deep breath, I was relieved to no longer feel that insatiable sexual yearning inside me. Sitting up, I rubbed the life back into my wrists and felt the weight of his stare now upon me.

  “How could I not know you and yet possess a myriad of memories, that insist that I do?” he demanded as he stood up and took a seat on the boudoir chair beside his bed.

  Scratching the top of my head, I tried to figure out the best way to explain something that, at best, sounded impossible. “Because we know each other from a different span of time,” I said.

  “A different span of time?” he repeated, frowning at me.

  Hmm, so my current explanation wasn’t exactly comprehensible. Time to change gears. “Do you believe in magic, Drake?” I asked, hoping to hear an emphatic “yes!”

  He laughed. “One cannot live in this city and not believe in magic, ma minette,” he answered, becoming visibly uncomfortable with the pet name he called me. He shook his head. “I do not understand these feelings I know I harbor for you. When I touched your lips, I seemed to unlock something inside me that makes me believe I care . . . very deeply for you.” His eyes dropped down to his hands and he extended his long fingers while continuing to shake his head. “It is not a feeling I understand. I know I have never seen you before, even though I now possess new memories, for which I cannot account. How could I care so deeply for someone I have never met?”

  “Magic,” I said with a shrug. I also silently gave a prayer of thanks that Guarda’s magic finally decided to pull its head out of its . . . “You and I are very close, Drake, although not in a way that you might expect.”

  “Why is it that I feel part of you somehow?” he asked as his eyes pored over me. Apparently, his memories weren’t too exact because he obviously didn’t realize he had been in possession of my body. And it wasn’t like I looked forward to telling him any time soon. I didn’t think he would respond well to learning he was a ghost haunting my, er, our house.

  “Some things are too difficult to explain.” I shook my head. “Suffice to say you and I are very close and I’ve traveled to hell and back to find you, because I need your help.”

  “Mon aide?” he said before shaking his head and apparently realizing he was speaking in French. “My help?”

  I nodded. “Yes, Drake, something terrible is happening in this city, something demonic in nature.”

  He nodded, but didn’t look at all surprised. “I am aware,” he answered stoically. I guessed his memories were intact enough that this wasn’t exactly breaking news. “The demon is the Axeman,” he continued in a monotone. “Although I should consider this news, my memories have informed me otherwise.”

  “Yes,” I answered immediately. “Drake, we must catch the Axeman and when we do, we must exorcise the demon inside him and send it back to wherever the hell it came from.” And then I realized I had another problem. “Shit!” I said and sighed, realizing my hunch about Lovie’s exorcism tools had been spot on. “Lovie’s exorcism tools didn’t make it here with me!” I said, facing Drake as I realized what that meant. The rest of the tonic that was supposed to get me out of 1919 and back to the present was also in Lovie’s bag . . .

  “Do not fret, mon chaton,” Drake said as he shook his head. “The old woman must have had a reason for telling you that you would know how to deal with the Axeman when the time came.” He shook his head again and sighed. “I do not understand how I am even in possession of this information.”

  I nodded, figuring that he’d somehow accessed my memories about Guarda because as far as I remembered, Drake had been absent through most of my interactions with her. As to the missing bag, I would just have to exorcise the demon without it. I didn’t have a choice. “Then you will help me?” I asked him optimistically.

  He chuckled and stretched his arms above his head as he sighed. “I do not know if I look for trouble, or if trouble just finds me, ma minette.”

  “What does that mean?” I demanded, feeling the minutes falling through my fingers like grains of sand.

  He smirked a devilish grin. “It means that I am not a man who would ignore the request of a damsel in distress.”

  I couldn’t sleep all night; but it wasn’t really like I expected to, not when there was so much riding on the next day. Regardless, I continued to toss and turn, listening to the chiming of each hour as it pealed from a grandfather clock. The clock stood beside the wall in one of Drake’s guest bedrooms, which happened to be on the third floor, next to his bedroom.

  After our kiss, which had reinstated Drake’s memories, he became very quiet and I figured he was pretty much stunned by the whole ordeal. He politely escorted me to the guest bedroom before retiring to his own bedroom, claiming to have a headache. But, after hearing him pacing in his room all night, I knew a headache wasn’t the culprit. Figuring Drake probably needed some time to himself, if only to work through the mess of his thoughts, I left him alone and focused, instead, on the mess of my own thoughts.

  A stream of light pierced through the white plantation-style shutters covering the windows and aimed itself right into my eye. I rolled over, hoping and wishing that my exhaustion would finally claim me, because it was imperative that I got some sleep. Exorcising demons without any exorcism implements was hard enough, but to compound that by doing so without any sleep? I didn’t think my current condition of fatigue would yield a very happy result.

  “Ma minette?” Drake’s voice sounded at the door at the same time that I heard his timid knock. “Are you awake?”

  “Yep!” I called out, with no inkling of morning voice. “Just give me a second!” I sat up and remembered taking off my shapeless, tubular dress in order to sleep more comfortably in my undergarments. Those undergarments were a pair of short boxer-looking bottoms, which extended to my lower thighs and were a rosy beige color, fringed with beige lace. The matching top was actually cute. Constructed from the same fabric and lace, it looked like a loose-fitting blouse with spaghetti straps. The silk failed miserably at hiding my nipples, though, so it was definitely out of the question for me to receive Drake when dressed in only that.

  “Bien sûr,” Drake called back. “Of course, mon chaton, take your time.”

  I stood up and retrieved the bizarre dress, which was nowhere near as cute as I imagined 1920s fashions should be. I pulled it down over my head, being careful to smooth my bobbed hair back in place behind my ears. After I was decent, I started for the door and pulled it open, pasting a big smile on my face. “Good morning!”

  Drake immediately smiled while taking stock of me from head to toe—making it more than obvious that he appreciated the female shape, even when his mind should have been on other subjects. “Good morning, mon amour,” he started, his gaze resting on my breasts for a few seconds before he looked me in the eyes again. “I trust you slept well?”

  “I didn’t sleep at all,” I answered with a shrug, as if to say it wasn’t a big deal.

  He nodded, frowning. He was wearing dark-gray pants that were nicely tailored, along with a long-sleeved, white-collared shirt, which was tucked into the pants. A navy-blue tie complemented the brown buckskin of his leather shoes. To
pping it off with a newsboy cap, he looked ever so charming and handsome. “Oui. Neither did I, mon amour. My mind was much too clouded with questions and concerns that persisted in plaguing me all evening.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. I smiled apologetically and shrugged as if to say there wasn’t anything either of us could do about our situation.

  “Oui, well, it is a trivial point, really,” he finished. Then he cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “I washed the whiskey and the glass shards from your hat, ma minette, and left it to dry in the kitchen.”

  “Thank you,” I started, surprised that he would have bothered with such a task. I’d actually completely forgotten about my hat, the whiskey, and the broken glass.

  Drake rolled his eyes as if to say laundering my hat wasn’t a big deal. “As to your outfit,” he said, while looking me up and down again, “you will need something heavier and warmer to wear if we are to spend our evening awaiting the Axeman. I daresay we shall spend a good portion of our evening outside.”

  “Yes,” I answered, further lamenting my bad luck because I’d written the address for Mike Pepitone, the Axeman’s final victim, on a piece of paper that I’d securely placed inside Lovie’s bag of tricks. “Do you happen to know a man named Mike Pepitone? Or more importantly, where Mike Pepitone lives?” I asked, bracing myself for him to reply in the negative.