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

by Krista Wolf

  “Get a load of Colonel Mustard over there,” Eric chuckled to her under his breath.

  “Colonel… Mustard?”

  “You know, from Clue,” he prodded he. “The board game?” When Melody didn’t answer right away he actually dropped his fork. “You’ve played Clue, right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I— I think so.”

  A vague memory resurfaced, of possibly playing the game with her older brothers. Maybe even her father too, before he died. She was pretty sure it was Clue, anyway.

  Or was that Monopoly?

  Either way it didn’t matter. The Colonel, or whatever he was, wore a white frocked vest and dress pants with blue sleeves and red cuffs. Rows of polished gilt buttons shot diagonally across his chest. His shoulders were decorated with golden epaulets. They hung down proudly like tiny braids of spun yellow silk.

  They ate. They drank. They observed. The main course was a delicious slab of roast beef, which was tender, tasty and pink in the center. Melody ate it slowly with her silver fork, sipping wine from a silver and glass goblet. While she did, she scanned the room for anything even remotely resembling the carved ivory egg they’d been sent to find.

  Unfortunately she saw nothing.

  As she was scanning the dining room, she locked eyes with the little girl seated across from her. Melody gave her a big smile, but the girl only looked away shyly.

  “And what’s your name, sweetie?” she asked.

  The girl squirmed in her chair but didn’t answer. The mother — who refused to even look at her — went on eating as if nothing had happened.

  Well I hope you’re not going to the ball, Melody thought to herself, slightly annoyed.

  The man in the business suit had been talking to Eric ever since he mentioned he’d been to New York. From what she gathered he was some kind of banker, and everything Eric said seemed to fascinate him. Eric on the other hand, appeared thoroughly bored. As if he knew every question was a set up, and everything the man was saying was all part of a specific persona, or character.

  It’s just like one of those Murder Mystery dinners, thought Melody. The kind where you sit around and pretend to be someone you’re not.

  She’d been to one such event before, and actually enjoyed playing her part. At first she’d thought it would be stupid, but as the night wore on and she was able to correctly guess the killer’s identity? She had to admit she’d had fun.

  This is just like that, she convinced herself. Only you’re looking for an object instead of a person.

  The woman seated across from her was Anabelle. Her daughter, Emily. Melody found these things out through listening, not talking. Many times conversations swirled around her as if she wasn’t even there.

  She turned her attention to the other end of the table. Lurch sat alone, hardly eating. He wasn’t talking to anyone, and no one was talking to him either. She was about to point this out to Eric when a loud voice interrupted her.

  “And you?” the Colonel said gruffly, pointing with a piece of meat to the young man on their side of the table. He was practically a boy, really. “Why aren’t you in the Militia, son?”

  When the boy lowered his head and refused to answer, the man turned his fork on Eric. “Or even you, young man? No uniform on you. I see no reason why someone your age shouldn’t already be enlisted.”

  The question caught Eric mid-sip. He swallowed his wine casually before lowering his goblet. “Believe it or not,” he said evenly, “not everyone is cut out for soldiering.”

  “Bah!” the Colonel spat. “Every man has an obligation to protect his country!” He thumped his chest. “Only fools and cowards shun war when duty calls.”

  His role-playing — if it could be called that — was extremely thorough. The man’s accent, his mannerisms — everything seemed to fit. And not only was the Colonel’s act convincing, but he also gave off the distinct impression that he himself was convinced of his character.

  Eric spent quite some time debating the Colonel, or general, or whatever he was. Whatever the man had to say, whatever point he’d been about to make, Eric always seemed to have the perfect counter for it. He cut him off mid-sentence. Finished other sentences with exactly what the man was about to say. It flustered him, turning him bright red, until the Colonel threw down his fancy silk napkin and gave up. Eric left him mercifully alone after that. But for the rest of the meal, Melody noticed the man seemed almost… broken.

  The food was left out for a long time, and Melody couldn’t help picking at it. There were potatoes, turnips, carrots. A platter of various cheeses. More wine was brought out, and she soon found herself on her third glass, or goblet, or whatever the hell it was called. Her head was swimming, and she was getting tipsy. Silently she chastised herself and switched to water.

  You’ve got one shot at this! the little voice in her head screamed. You need to remain on you toes at all times.

  She gulped down half a goblet of lukewarm water as punishment. It left an unpleasant aftertaste in her mouth, something like sulfur.

  Besides, Xiomara would kick your ass.

  Melody chuckled. That was for damned sure. Maybe she should ask to be excused. If she left the room alone, maybe she could go looking for—

  Abruptly a man and a woman entered the dining hall, both dressed in the same drab uniform. They cleared the plates, took away the courses, and finished pouring the last of the wine decanters. When they left, the middle-aged man stood up and clapped his hands together.

  “Good night to all of you,” he said in a sing-songy voice. “And sleep well.”

  Turning deftly on his heel, the man left.

  What the hell?

  She whirled on Eric in confusion. “Did he just say ‘sleep well’?”

  Her companion shrugged. “Yeah, I guess he did.”

  Melody shook her head as if to clear it. She was suddenly very sober. A bit groggy but otherwise okay.

  “What about the ball?” she asked. “The cotillion?” When Eric shrugged again she turned to ask the Colonel the same question. “Isn’t there a ball tonight? Aren’t we—”

  “The ball!” the Colonel laughed. “Ah, yes. The ball!”

  He got up and pretended to dance, smiling and laughing and holding his arms out as he waltzed himself around the room in spinning circles. When he reached the exit he danced himself through the archway and disappeared.

  When Melody turned back around she noticed half the table was gone too. It had all happened so fast, when she wasn’t even looking.

  “Where’s everyone going?” she asked. She reached reflexively for her phone that wasn’t there. “W—What time is it anyway?”

  No one answered. No one even looked at her.

  “Excuse me,” she asked the younger man on his way out. “Do you happen to have the time?”

  He turned halfway around, only to stare blankly back at her. Where there should’ve been youth, and vigor, and near limitless stamina, there was a cold emptiness that seemed hollow and strange. The young man appeared very weary, exhausted even, when he finally answered her question.

  “No one does,” he said, before slinking away.

  Eight

  Melody lay in her bed, drenched in sweat.

  No heat she’d ever felt had been this bad, had made her this uncomfortable. The humidity was oppressive. It hung over her like a wet blanket as she stared at the ceiling, stifling each breath she tried to take. She’d thrown her covers off long ago. Stripped down to practically nothing, and yet still she was still too hot.

  A big part of it was the room’s single window; no matter how hard she pulled on it, she couldn’t get it open. She had no idea what time it was. It could’ve been eight o’clock. It could’ve been two in the morning. She had no way of knowing.

  I wonder if my driver is still there?

  At some point the man would leave, obviously. He’d realize she was staying the night, and report it back to Xiomara. Melody didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing. A
ll she knew was she’d been sent to Evermoore for a specific reason, and so far all she’d done was eat ‘supper’.

  She flipped over and over, restlessly. Already she was regretting their decision to turn in early and start looking for the egg in the morning. At the same time though, it seemed everyone else in the mansion had gone to bed. She and Eric had walked most of the first floor on the way back to their rooms, passing through nameless chambers filled with fantastic, vintage furniture. Every room was dim. Everything hardly lit… but still illuminated.

  “Get some sleep,” he’d told her. “We’ll start early tomorrow — before everyone else is up. Find this thing and be out of here before anyone even knows we’re gone.”

  It had sounded good. Felt good, especially with his hands gripping her shoulders. Eric had stripped down to a T-shirt before going to bed, and Melody found herself staring at the musculature and definition in his arms and chest. Intrusive thoughts came. Thoughts of him pulling her into him, against him. Wrapping himself around her…

  Get up.

  The little voice in her head was firm and motivational.

  Get looking. Now.

  She sat up, finally glad at having made a decision. Finding the egg was her job. Her assignment. She was grateful for Eric’s help — and especially his company — but if she managed to accomplish the task without him, all the better.

  Melody wriggled back into her undershirt. That, and her underwear, were all she had. She glanced over at the heavy ball gown, hung from a peg on the wall. If she put it on now she’d pass out. No way.

  The door opened into the hallway with a rush of cool air. The breeze was almost orgasmic. Melody paused for a moment to bask in it, then stepped out and began padding barefoot along the darkened corridor.

  She had no idea where she was going.

  The egg wasn’t big, but it wasn’t tiny either. And it was beautiful enough that it would probably be on display. She thought about this as she padded silently downstairs, grateful that the treads were well-carpeted. She’d seen a trophy case in the conservatory — or whatever the room with the piano in it had been referred to. She’d start there.

  The first floor was wide and spacious. Dim moonlight filtered in through tall windows as she made her way along. She stopped only once at a pair of double doors that opened into the grand ballroom — a tremendous stretch of parqueted floor and vintage draperies that formed the very heart of the house.

  But it was throughly empty.

  No prom for you, she thought with a nervous laugh, and now no cotillion either. You’re batting a thousand, Melody.

  She’d missed her senior high school dance, ironically, due to her ‘gift’. It turned out that while it was somewhat advantageous to read someone’s thoughts and feelings, it wasn’t always fun. Especially not when your boyfriend Jason inadvertently reveals he’s been sleeping with someone else — one of your closest friends, to boot — just hours before the big night.

  The realization had been bitter, the confrontation even worse. It had ruined any chance Melody had of finishing her senior year with any degree of happiness, but at least it had made the decision to go to New York that much easier.

  She sighed, thinking back on what the pseudo-gypsy had said to her about sorrow. Her abilities were both a blessing and a curse, and they didn’t always come when she needed them. Sometimes they were outright useless, too. Melody would try to determine if someone were lying about something, only to read a recipe, or a reminder to pick someone up at the airport, or the random memory of pure ecstatic joy from hugging a puppy.

  Bits and pieces. That’s all she got. Fragments. Shadows. And sometimes, she’d learned bitterly? Getting half a story from someone’s mind was worse than nothing at all.

  A minute later she was in the conservatory, standing in front of an elaborate glass trophy case. Tiny crystal birds filled the first two shelves. Melody saw a beautiful vintage music box — she knew it from the treble-clef on its front, and because she owned a similar one herself. Her father, a violinist, had given it to her on her eighth birthday. He’d given her her name, too.

  Focus.

  Above, on the higher shelves, she saw more gold and silver trinkets. There was a small spoon collection. An antique dueling pistol, set in a wooden stand. Melody stood on her tiptoes, straining to see. She saw a drinking — no, a powder — horn. An engraved flask. A scrolling filigree box with the cameo of a woman on the front. It was too small to hold the egg though, she decided.

  SKRIIIIIIT!

  Melody’s heart leapt into her throat. Something moved. Something in the shadows, on the other side of the room.

  She recoiled immediately, crouching down and curling into a ball. She felt vulnerable and naked in only her underwear. She was torn immediately between hoping she wouldn’t be seen, and wanting to run as fast as she could.

  For now, she stayed put.

  SKRIIIIIIT!

  It was a shifting noise. A dragging sound. Like someone scraping a dried branch against a stone floor.

  Get out of here! her mind screamed. Go!

  She was up and out, moving in one fluid motion. At the base of the staircase she turned to look back. It was horrible, staring into the darkness of the previous doorway. Wanting but not wanting to see what might come through it…

  SKRIIIIIIT! SKRIIIIIIT!

  She took the stairs two at a time. And then she was back, back in the hallway. Back in her hallway, in front of the door to her room. Melody grabbed the knob. Turned it…

  But the knob didn’t move.

  The key!

  She’d forgotten to take it with her! I didn’t even occur to her that the door might lock behind her.

  Another noise reached her ears. This time, it was more of a bump. A thump. A double-thump…

  Someone — or something — was coming up the stairs.

  Holy shit holy shit holy shit…

  Melody ran past the next door and stopped at the second one. How many doors down was Eric’s room? Two? Three? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember. Tried the knob gently, but it didn’t move.

  This is it. It’s gotta be it.

  She curled her knuckles against the door. Just before knocking, she heard another sound — this one from the other side.

  The sound of a man weeping.

  All the blood in her veins went to ice. The long, wracking sobs on the other side of the door were borderline hysterical. They came with an intermittent wailing that sent shivers down Melody’s spine.

  Not this door…

  The thumping sound ended. Whatever was coming had finished climbing the staircase…

  Melody turned away, scrambling frantically over to the next door. But before she could do anything, her entire body froze again.

  There was man at the other end of the hall.

  He was seated. Motionless. Sitting and just staring at her. Staring straight at her, but not really seeing her.

  Lurch!

  The realization was chilling. Lurch was seated upright in a high-backed chair at the opposite end of the hallway. The window behind him cast the rest of his face into shadow, but his eyes were still open. The irises seemed to glow with a dull, translucent silver…

  The thumping sound came again, from somewhere behind her. Melody whipped her head around, checked the other end of the hallway, then whirled back again.

  Lurch still faced her, but those eyes registered nothing. They were dull and lifeless. Almost like…

  Like a golem.

  The word had somehow jumped into her mind. It described the man perfectly. His skin was a mottled grey in the filtered moonlight. His face, sunken. His cheeks—

  THUMP…

  Melody turned again, and this time something was there. A hunched figure stood silhouetted against the other end of the hallway. It shifted forward, dragging something behind it. She saw hair, hanging down like straw, grey and unkempt. A terrible smell washed over her all at once. A familiar, musky smell…

  “OH!”r />
  Something in her hand moved, and Melody jumped. It was the knob. The door opened abruptly and Eric was standing there, shirtless, rubbing his eyes…

  She flung himself into his arms and kicked the door closed behind her.

  Nine

  It took a long time for Melody to calm down, for her thundering heart to finally return to its normal rhythm. The adrenaline coursing through her veins was just too much.

  “I’m telling you there’s nothing there,” Eric declared again from the doorway. Still gripping the knob he leaned out and checked in both directions. “I swear, Melody. Come look for yourself.”

  Melody had no intention of looking for herself. She was already huddled in the back corner of his bed, knees pulled into her chest, on the other side of the room. She sat watching him. Expecting at any moment for him to be yanked through the doorway, as in the penultimate scene of some bad horror movie.

  “You don’t even see Lurch out there?” she asked him. “In the chair?”

  Eric squinted into the darkness for a moment. He turned back with a skeptical look. “What chair?”

  Now she was pissed. Forcing herself to stand, Melody crossed the room and pressed herself against him. His body was warm. His chest firm against her own. She clung to him tightly as she mustered just enough courage to peer out into the hallway…

  Nothing.

  “But… But there was…”

  The hallway was inexplicably empty. There was no trace of the thing that had come shambling after her, up the stairs. On the corridor’s other side, Lurch was nowhere to be found either. Even the chair was gone.

  “I swear,” she said. “I was downstairs, and I saw—”

  “You were downstairs?”

  She shrugged off the admission. “Yes,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep. It was too hot, and—” she paused, confused. “Hey? Why isn’t it all that hot in here?”