Ghosts of Averoigne: A Paranormal Menage Romance (Chronicles of the Hallowed Order Book 1)

by Krista Wolf

  The man looked at her. Looked past her. That part Kara was always unsure of — whether or not he actually did see her. There were times she knew in her heart that he couldn’t have. But also times when she swore that he did.

  He walked past her, and for a split second his features came into sharp focus. Angular nose. Brown pants and suspenders. His expression still plastered with the same deliriously happy grin.

  There was a rush of sound, and noise, and suddenly Kara was back again. Sitting in her grandmother’s kitchen. Eating vanilla ice cream out of a plastic Tupperware bowl.

  All she remembered after that was the screaming. It had taken forever just to calm her down.

  It was several months before she saw him again, this time in an old, black and white photograph hung in her grandmother’s room. The man stood wearing the same suspenders, wielding the same gap-toothed grin. Kara didn’t have the slightest doubt as to who he was. Though he was missing the hat, it was unmistakably him.

  The man, she’d eventually learn, was her great-uncle Amos — one of three brothers who’d helped her great-grandfather build the lake house. When she described what she’d seen, no one believed her. Everyone had brushed it off with placating smiles.

  “You probably saw the photograph before,” her mother had said. “And forgot you saw it. Or maybe you’re just remembering it strangely.”

  Kara almost bought into that idea. That is, until she mentioned the red hat. Whenever she talked about that part of her vision, her grandmother’s face always went grave. She refused to talk about it… but she knew that hat. And moreover, she knew that Kara knew too.

  For the rest of her life — all two and a half years of it — her grandmother had looked at her the same way one looks at an unpredictable dog… one that could bite at any time. There was still love, still affection, but also a distance. An unspoken wariness that drove an unfortunate wedge between them.

  It was the only aspect of her clairvoyance Kara would ever truly regret.

  From there it happened again, although infrequently, over the years. Kara would see people, places, even events… all where there was nothing to see. “It’s like a bunch of stuff that’s already happened,” she’d said, describing it to friend once. “Echoes of the past. Brief flashes of things that used to be.”

  All of her friends laughed it off. Not one of them believed her. They didn’t see things the way her grandmother did, and that was just fine with Kara.

  When she was twelve, Kara watched the apparition of an old woman pass through her classroom. This happened every day for a solid week; same woman, same time, same class. Curiosity eventually overrode caution, and Kara found herself raising her hand… and getting excused to the bathroom, so she could follow her.

  The strangely-garbed woman led her through a series of hallways, and then down into a broken and abandoned part of the school. There, hidden beneath an old floorboard, Kara unearthed a whole purse full of gleaming gold coins. A purse she knew was there only because she’d watched the apparition put it there… so many, many years ago.

  The district took possession of the coins immediately, leaving Kara with one as a souvenir. But the story made headlines. There was enough of the ten-dollar gold eagles to rebuild the gymnasium, and everyone had called her ‘gold digger’ for the rest of her school career.

  Not long after that, she saw Xiomara for the first time.

  The old woman looked pretty much the same as she did now, small and frail, her silver-black hair pulled tightly back over her tiny head. She showed up in strange places; at stores in the mall, in seats at the movie theater, even once in the audience during her junior high school play. It was easy to pick her out among the crowds, as she wore an seemingly endless array of bright, multi-colored robes. And always, she’d be looking at her. Staring at Kara intently through her wire-rimmed glasses.

  It wasn’t until her sophomore year of high school that Kara actually had the guts to approach her. She walked straight up to the old woman in the parking lot of a convenience store, and asked her what the hell she wanted. And Xiomara had grinned — a full blown smile — before uttering those first four words: “It’s about fucking time.”

  It was Xiomara who told Kara all about her gift, and how it was a blessing and not a curse. She explained that her visions were among the most important and wondrous things in the world, and that she shouldn’t ever feel badly about them.

  Somehow, she knew everything.

  Later on, Kara would realize the old woman picked up on her gold coin story, and had been keeping tabs on her ever since. It was scary at first, but it was nice to finally be believed. Besides, the old woman seemed harmless. Kara had questions about her abilities, and Xiomara had answers. Hell, she was the only one with answers.

  They began spending time together, and that’s where Kara learned just how special she was. Xiomara taught Kara how her abilities could be commanded, directed, even somewhat controlled. When the visions occurred, she showed her how to sharpen the details. To enhance and focus on things. It was like owning an expensive amplifier for a long time, and finally having someone show you what all the knobs and dials were for.

  “Clairvoyance,” the woman had told her at their second meeting. “The ability to see things as they happened, or as they will happen.”

  The old woman studied Kara’s reaction carefully. She remembered shaking her head.

  “But I can’t—”

  “Your specific ability is retrocognition,” Xiomara had said. “The ability to see the past exactly as it happened. Sort of like watching an old movie — you can watch and listen, but you can’t change what happened.” Her face crossed with a dark expression, but only for a moment. “In that regard, you may have the strongest retrocognitive connection we’ve ever seen. Perhaps in all the history of the Order.”

  Kara could remember shaking all over, unable — or rather unwilling — to accept the truth. Part of her screamed that such a thing shouldn’t be possible. But a bigger part of her told her what she already knew; that everything the woman was describing, she’d somehow been experiencing for years.

  Xiomara wouldn’t talk about the Hallowed Order, at least not yet. Her foul-mouthed mentor lent her a sympathetic ear, gave her comfort, and dispensed advice. She told Kara not to speak of her abilities, or of herself, to anyone else. Then, after less than a week, she left.

  “You’re still a child,” Xiomara had smiled during their last meeting. “But come see me when you’re grown.”

  She’d folded something into her hand then, a small token carved from bone or ivory. On one side was an elaborate symbol. On the other, an address — somewhere in upstate New York — scratched into the surface.

  It was an address Kara would visit shortly after her eighteen birthday.

  Four

  It was past two o’clock in the morning when the car finally pulled up to the hotel. Kara opened the door before the driver even rolled to a stop; that’s how eager she was to get away from Logan.

  “Shit, that’s a lot of snow.”

  Her unwanted companion had a tendency to talk a lot. In fact, he hardly shut up. Kara had tried sleeping on the way up, but being near Logan it was difficult. The only real rest she’d gotten was when he was busy reading the file.

  “Any idea when this storm’s supposed to let up?” Logan was asking the driver. The man shrugged as he unloaded their things. Kara grabbed her bag the second it emerged, then forged on through the blowing snow.

  For a second she stopped to look up. The hotel Averoigne was an impressive sight, even after well more than a century. Graceful arches and gables jutted forth, flanked by winged balconies and a rounded double entrance. Perched on a cacophony of steeply peaked rooftops, dozens of chimneys poked upward, defying the snow.

  This place is old, she thought. Something out of a movie. Hell, it even looked like it was haunted.

  “Don’t worry,” Logan remarked snidely. He was standing beside her, struggling with two bags in one
hand and a bunch of equipment in the other. “I got it.”

  “Great,” Kara smirked wickedly. “At least you’ll be good for something.”

  She stomped through the front doors and into the lobby. Instantly she was impressed. Tall columns stretched to a beautifully-arched ceiling, three stories high. The upper floors were cut out with wrap-around landings, railed off by ornately-carved balusters and polished corner pieces. The lighting up there was poor, though. The second, and especially the third floor, seemed lost in shadows.

  The front desk wasn’t far to the left. Kara crossed the polished oak floor, past plush seating areas made up of furniture long past its prime. At least the place was warm. A tremendous stone fireplace spanned the middle of the opposite wall. Even now, at this crazy hour, it roared with flames.

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  The woman at the desk was startled out of what might’ve been sleep. Her silver hair didn’t just have a bluish tinge to it — Kara saw actual blue. She looked unfortunately like she could’ve been built with the hotel.

  “Can I help—”

  “Kara LoPresti,” she told the woman. “I’m expected by the owner.”

  The woman, ‘Fran’ according to her name-tag, turned open a comically giant ledger. Kara almost expected her to blow a layer of dust off of it before perusing it with one venerable finger.

  “Ah, yes. I have you here, with…” she looked around. “With—”

  “Logan Rhodes,” she said begrudgingly.

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  Almost on cue, Logan appeared behind her. Kara shifted over to give him a wide berth.

  ‘Fran’ pressed a button at one end of the desk. Nothing happened. “The owner’s on his way,” she announced mechanically.

  They stood in silence for a minute, then two. Then three…

  “Your clock’s wrong,” said Logan nonchalantly. He nodded at the big old timepiece mounted high behind the front desk. “It says one-eighteen.”

  Fran cleared her throat. “It’s broken,” she explained. “Been stuck on one-eighteen since the day I started working here.”

  Logan put up one finger and started to say something sarcastic but Kara threw him a dirty look. Wisely he let it slide.

  It turned out that ‘on his way’ meant almost ten minutes. Kara spent that time sizing up the old hotel, and ignoring her unwanted companion. The architecture in the lobby was old, made older by worn finishes and threadbare textiles. The gold leaf had rubbed away on many of the lower finials. Silently she wondered how magnificent the place might’ve looked in its heyday.

  “Check that out,” said Logan. “A glass elevator.”

  Standing proudly at the other side of the lobby, a brass-framed elevator was set with large vertical panes of glass. It looked like it could even be original to the building. Either way, it was ancient.

  Back at the front desk, Fran had returned to the same catatonic state Kara had found her in. Her thick-rimmed glasses had slid down to the tip of her nose. Her chin rested on her chest.

  “I would’ve thought all the Frans were extinct by now,” Logan mumbled. He leaned in confidentially. “You know, like the Ethels and the Mildreds. And the—”

  Kara poked him. “Don’t be an asshole, Logan.”

  It was kind of funny though. Even Kara had to admit that. And Logan always had a way of making her—

  “Hello!”

  A heavyset man approached them from the opposite side of the lobby. He had tired eyes and sleep lines still criss-crossing his face. “Travis Radcliffe,” he said as he shook Logan’s hand. He reached for Kara’s next. “Welcome to the Averoigne.”

  “Thanks,” said Kara. “I was hoping—”

  “I know why you’re here,” the man spoke quickly, “which is why I wanted to greet you both personally. Away from the guests.” He looked around.

  “Away from the—”

  “At this hour I know that seems silly,” he said. “But we should talk more, in the morning. In my office, of course.” His face opened up in a bone-cracking yawn. “Until then…”

  Mr. Radcliffe turned to Fran, who handed him a long bronze key. Attached to it was a blue plastic disc with the numbers 207. He held it out, between them.

  “The key to your room,” the man said. “Your things have already been brought up. And if you—”

  “The key to our room?” Kara snarled.

  Mr. Radcliffe went suddenly silent. It was the first time she’d seen him with his mouth closed.

  “We require two rooms,” Kara stated evenly. Her voice was low and tense. As an afterthought, she forced herself to add: “Please.”

  “I— I’m sorry,” said Radcliffe. “The storm has us overbooked. We’re at full capacity right now, both floors.”

  Kara fumed. Logan squinted back at the owner for a moment, before pointing upward. “Then give us two rooms on the third floor.”

  “Sorry, can’t do that either.”

  “And why not?” Kara asked.

  “We don’t rent rooms on the third floor.”

  They stared back at the round-faced owner. Radcliffe’s expression had gone suddenly serious. He shook the key, which he still held out at arm’s length. “For obvious reasons,” he shrugged.

  Grumbling, Kara swiped the key from him. The owner looked relieved.

  “Alright,” she grunted. “Tomorrow. Your office. First thing in the morning.”

  Travis Radcliffe yawned and nodded. Then he disappeared the way he came.

  She was still fuming when Logan started walking away. “Where are you going?” she called after him. “The stairs are over this way.”

  “Ever been in a glass elevator?” he asked.

  Kara sighed and shook her head.

  “C’mon then. Me neither.”

  Five

  Stepping into the old glass elevator was like stepping backward through time. Dust swirled. The floor creaked. The car itself dipped significantly as they shifted their full weight inside.

  A chill ran though Kara as Logan pulled the door closed behind them.

  “Go on. Push the button.”

  There were no buttons. Only a series of old levers jutting out of the floor.

  “Maybe this thing is out of service,” Kara suggested.

  “Nah,” Logan said dismissively. He closed two hands over a pair of handles. “We can figure it out.”

  He pulled on something and the car lurched uncomfortably.

  “Oops. Not that one.”

  Kara noticed a lever marked with a red handle. She pointed to it, and Logan disengaged the brake. Slowly, shakily, the elevator started to rise.

  “See?” he said. “Nothing to it.”

  They stared down together, through the old wavy glass. The lobby looked smaller almost immediately. Off in the distance, Fran was still asleep at her desk, dozing away from a standing position.

  She glanced up to find Logan staring down at her. He was smiling now, not smirking.

  “Wow,” he said with a low whistle. “It’s almost like you’re having fun.”

  Kara started to roll her eyes at him… but then something stopped her. A nagging, sing-songy voice went off, somewhere in the back of her head.

  Maybe you’re being a bit of an asshole?

  The little voice admonished her harshly. It always had. Kara tended to disagree with it mostly, but in the end, the voice almost always ended up being right.

  Lighten up.

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. That always seemed to do the trick. But here, in the elevator… this close to Logan…

  SQUEEEEEEAK!

  The elevator shrieked loudly as it approached the second floor. Kara could feel the gears grinding to a halt, and then…

  “Whoa!”

  The car dropped. First an inch, then a whole foot. The two of them looked at each other, just as—

  “OH!”

  It let go all at once — the entire glass elevator! With the brakes disengaged the car fell stra
ight down, free-falling back to the lobby…

  Kara remembered bracing herself against the glass walls, then just as quickly yanking her hands away. She imagined deep slashes across her wrists and fingers as the entire car shattered into a million glittering pieces.

  Then, suddenly, darkness. She was enveloped in something hard yet soft. The car bumped hard against the floor, slowed only by the screech of metal on metal, and then everything was still again. She opened her eyes.

  She was in Logan’s arms.

  Sometime during the fall, he’d wrapped his whole body around her. Kara sniffed, inhaling the smell of leather and oil and steel. It was a familiar smell. One that her nineteen-year old self had always thought was—

  “Are you alright?”

  The elevator was on a slight angle now, and Kara pushed herself to an upright position. Logan’s arms were even stronger than she remembered them. She twisted away from the security of his leather jacket and brushed herself off.

  “I think so.”

  “Good.”

  His body had protected her, but Logan himself had taken the brunt of the impact. A small trickle of blood streamed down from above his left eye.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  Kara reached out and brushed the hair back from his forehead. It was a small cut. Small enough that she regretted the movement.

  “It’s nothing,” said Logan.

  One after another, they stepped out of the ruined elevator. The frame was intact, but two of the glass panes were now spider-webbed with a series of oddly beautiful cracks.

  “OH MY GOD!”

  The voice belonged to Mr. Radcliffe, who’d come rushing up from out of nowhere. He looked a lot more awake now than he did just minutes ago.

  “What happened?”

  “Your elevator tried to kill us?” Kara remarked snidely.

  “That’s not our elevator!” Radcliffe declared. He pointed to a small alcove on the other side of the lobby. “That’s the elevator! This thing hasn’t work since… since…”

  “The 1980’s?” Logan smirked.

  The owner’s eyes went wide. “Something like that, yeah!”