Masque

by Lexi Post

  The chapel was homey, if such could be said to describe an old stone structure built for worship. From the warm pine pews to the brightly colored stained glass windows, it radiated safety, comfort, and invitation. Maybe it was built to invite the sinners of the Pleasure Palace to repent. She smirked. As nice as the place was, it probably didn’t work.

  She wandered over to one of the narrow windows that offered a view of the Abbey yard. The graveyard she had seen from the roof spread out before her. From the dulled edges of the headstones, it was clear the weather had taken its toll over the years. Anxious to take a closer look, she glanced around the chapel for a side exit and spotted a small door to the left of the altar.

  Unlatching the wooden door, she stepped into the cemetery. As she drew closer to a headstone, it became obvious the weather hadn’t given it its misshapen appearance. The headstone itself was a number of smaller stones mortared together to approximate the shape of one. Peering at the shallow engraving, she read the name Victoria Montgomery. The date of the woman’s birth was unclear, but her death took place in 1861.

  Meandering between the stones, she read a few more. They all had the same year of death. Picking up her pace, she perused an entire row of ten graves. All died in 1861. It had to be the Red Death. The town had been decimated, leaving only a quarter of its population to carry on.

  She crossed her arms over her chest as a cloud floated in front of the sun, cooling the air. So many people dying at the same time had to have been devastating to those left behind. She couldn’t imagine what it had been like.

  Wandering through the graveyard, she read each name as she passed, searching for one with a different death year. She stopped. Eve Hansen. Dread crept up her spine as she stepped to the next stone. Jonathan Hansen. Could it be a coincidence? With feet dragging, she walked to the next stone and the next. The third stone confirmed her fears. Mrs. Margaret McMurray, 1798–1861.

  The graveyard was filled with the ghosts of the Abbey, not of the townspeople.

  As if the breath had been knocked from her, she plopped down on the grass. Air barely filled her lungs as her body constricted against the reality of her new home. She’d been so excited to find ghosts, she’d forgotten they were once living, breathing people with hopes and dreams and loves and lives. Staring at the headstones surrounding her, her heart burst and tears rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t care that it made no sense to weep for people who had been dead for over a century, especially when they seemed so alive within her Abbey. Their lives had been cut short by a brutal, probably painful disease. A deep sorrow permeated her soul and no reasoning could push it away.

  She had no idea how much time passed as she sat on the moist ground, but eventually, she wiped her eyes and made an effort to get a hold of herself, but the deep sadness remained. She looked longingly at the chapel. Its soothing presence called her, and her jeans had become damp from the grass. Standing, she studied the rows of stones. She needed to know. She counted. There were seventy-three. New tears started.

  Blindly, she raced to the side door of the chapel. She sat on the first pew she reached. Closing her eyes, she took deep breaths, trying to find the solace of the space again. It came, blanketing her with reassurance. As the scent of incense filled her nose, she calmed. Incense? She opened her eyes. No one was there, but the spicy odor remained strong. She took another deep breath, the scent filling her with peace. She’d just overreacted. What did she know about events that occurred over a century ago? Shaking her head, she stood. “Thank you.”

  Her voice sounded soft in the stone room. She had no idea why she spoke, but the need to show her gratefulness was strong. Usually, she wasn’t such an emotional mess, but she had to admit, the Abbey was a strange place. Grabbing her camera from where she’d left it, she strode back down the aisle. She’d have to take pictures another day. She had an urge to find live people to be with.

  * * * * *

  Rena leaned against the closed door for a moment before heading back the way she came. Voices drifted through the corridor. Ghosts? The sounds were harsh and loud and came from the forward area of the Abbey. Quickening her steps, she sped through the servants’ quarters. As she neared the kitchen, the words became clear. Too clear.

  “Why the hell did you call me if you were going to make a mess of this wall anyway? What idiot did that?” The harsh baritone voice was one she hadn’t heard before, and she increased her pace.

  Valerie’s voice, however, was easily recognizable. “Excuse me? You’re the one who said you’d be here when you were good and ready. I hate to tell you, buddy, but I don’t have time to wait for you to decide to mosey on over here. I’ve got electrical to get in, pipes to be updated and appliances to install!”

  Oh boy, this wasn’t good.

  “Well, let me tell you something, Miss Priss. I’ve got a good mind to let you keep your mess all to yourself.”

  “Mind? You’ve got a mind? You could have fooled me.”

  Rena pushed open the door of the servants’ quarters in time to see Valerie and a rather brawny man standing toe to toe, their noses almost touching.

  The man straightened. “That’s it. I don’t need to take this from some scrawny American girl. I’ve got plenty of other jobs I can be doing.”

  Rena’s gut told her this wouldn’t be a good option for her bed-and-breakfast. She stepped up to the man and laid her hand on his forearm. Shit, his was huge. “Excuse me, sir, but I’m Rena Mills and I own this place. Can I help?”

  The man turned his furious brown-eyed gaze upon her and took a deep breath, which made his chest expand beneath his white t-shirt, reminding her of the Incredible Hulk. He had short brown hair and a neck like a football player, but what drew her attention was his heavy eyebrows. He couldn’t be older than thirty-two. Wasn’t he supposed to be old?

  Once he’d gained control of himself, he held out his hand. “Name’s Jamie MacAllistair, stone mason. I was given to understand you needed stonework done. This woman,” he pointed to Valerie, “tells me she’s the contractor on this project, but from the mess she created over there, I find that hard to believe.”

  Rena shook Jamie’s hand, but looked at Valerie and drew her brows together in warning. Her friend took the hint and shut her mouth before storming from the room. The mason was a MacAllistair?

  “Thank you so much for coming, Jamie. Yes, Valerie is my contractor, but I’m afraid this messy hole is my fault. I’ve been pushing her to get a number of preliminary items accomplished so we can open the Abbey as a bed-and-breakfast by fall. When you couldn’t give her a time of when you could work on our project, she started without you to please me. Is there anything you can do to fix it?”

  He shook his head, but took a step closer to the offending wall and studied it. “Ms. Mills, some things just need to be done right the first time. What you have here is a major project instead of a minor one.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I suppose I could patch it up here, and cut this here. It still won’t be pretty.”

  She smiled warmly, using all the charm she could muster. “I would be grateful for anything you could do. It’s in the kitchen where the guests shouldn’t wander, so if it’s not perfect, they won’t see it.”

  He turned his full dark gaze on her. “I only do perfect.”

  Was this man for real? “I believe you. With this wall though, I know anything you do for it will be a huge improvement. Where I need perfect is in the dining room and it sounds like you are the man for that.”

  His harsh mouth softened a bit. “I’m the best.” He stopped and turned to study the hole again. “All right, I’ll patch this so it’s serviceable and do my usual work in the other room.” His eyes grew shrewd as he studied her. “But it will cost you.”

  She nodded and swallowed. “I really appreciate it. Did you need any help? I can ask our landscaper to assist you if you want.”

  “No, I work alone.”

  Of course he did. Who would want to work with him? “Okay, I�
�ll let you get started then. If you need anything, just ask Valerie. And thank you again for coming to this project so quickly. As you can see, we do need you.”

  Jamie grunted before he left the kitchen, hopefully to grab his tools. Having averted one disaster, she peeked into the dining room to see if Valerie was there, but no luck.

  Knowing her friend, Rena didn’t bother to check the colored rooms, but headed straight out the front door. She found Valerie in one of the side yards, the one where Synn had said many a woman had been kissed.

  Valerie’s focus was trained on a notebook she carried around containing everything having to do with the renovations. Rena tapped her on the shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  Valerie raised her gaze, but let it slide away as she strode through the English garden.

  Rena hooked her by the arm and steered her to a bench. “Okay, sit.”

  She did, which in and of itself surprised Rena. Something was wrong. “Now spill.”

  Valerie set down her notebook and rubbed her face with both hands. “I don’t know. Everything, I guess. Maybe it’s the fact that none of these furnishings should exist, or maybe it’s the naked ghost in my room.”

  “Wait, Eric came back?”

  Her friend shook her head. “No, he didn’t. Thank Synn for me, will you? I guess he does have his uses.”

  Rena smirked. It must have killed Valerie to say that. “He has other uses too.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not sleeping with him, so I don’t find him that useful. I still say there is something not quite right about him. He’s too damn arrogant to be homeless, but he lives here, and yet he has not once eaten with us.”

  Rena swallowed her surprise that Valerie not only knew she was intimate with Synn, but had also noticed his lack of attention to food. Her friend was too damn observant. Rena put her hands on her hips. “But that’s not what’s bothering you.”

  Valerie shrugged, and in that nonchalant gesture was the answer.

  “It’s Jamie, isn’t it?”

  Valerie shook her head, but it didn’t hide the flush rising in her cheeks. This confident woman never blushed. “Not him so much as his attitude. I don’t think I’ve ever run into a man like—”

  “Yes, you have. I’ve seen you. Remember the tile layer last year or the roofing guy from the Rawlins project? They had the same ridiculous attitude as this man. But you didn’t like them.”

  Valerie’s head snapped up. “What do you mean, like him? You heard him. He’s the most arrogant artisan I’ve ever encountered and he thinks I don’t know my job!”

  Rena put her finger to her lips. “Shhh. You don’t have to tell the world. But he isn’t the ninety-year-old you were expecting either.”

  “No, he isn’t. He’s young and built like a bulldozer and…”

  Rena sat next to Valerie. “And he sends your libido into overdrive?”

  Her friend’s nod was barely perceptible.

  “Then show him you’re interested.”

  Valerie raised her eyebrows. “Did you see him? He’s gorgeous and I’m…”

  Rena took Valerie’s hand. “You’re what? Beautiful? Knowledgeable? Gutsy? What?”

  Her friend stood and picked up her notebook. “I’m flat, skinny, and don’t have a girly-girl bone in my body. Why would a guy like that, who’s so male, want this?” She pointed to her chest.

  Rena sat stunned for a moment. Valerie had never, ever shown such insecurities before. “Lots of men would, but there is only one you are interested in, so let’s start there.” She stood and strode toward the break in the trees that divided the English garden from the bowling lawn. “And I think you’ll make better progress with him if you stop insulting him.”

  Valerie fell into step with her. “He probably lives with his mother or maybe grandmother. The woman on the phone was old.”

  “So, I bet he’s taking care of her. Now let’s get back to work. I know you can be more professional than what I witnessed in the kitchen. Besides, I don’t want to have to fire you.” She smirked in anticipation of Valerie’s response.

  Valerie gave her a look to kill, and Rena laughed. “Like I ever would. If it weren’t for you, I could never make this work. You know that.”

  “True.” Valerie’s focus on the Abbey returned full force. “And I need you to make a few decisions on the upstairs rooms. Let’s do that now.”

  Rena sighed. Not what she had planned on doing next, but the bed-and-breakfast came first. The sex journal would have to wait.

  * * * * *

  Synn watched Rena sleep from the safe distance of the chair by the fireplace. He needed to wake her soon, but he wasn’t ready. For three days, he’d kept away from her in an attempt to keep their nightly activities in perspective. She was the answer to his prayers, his redemption, his vehicle to assuage the guilt that had ridden him for over a century. Maybe that explained why he was so attached to her. He could taste emotional freedom within his reach. Even if he continued on in his semi-living state for eternity, the guilt could move on with the spirits.

  He unbuttoned his white shirt farther in an effort to be more comfortable, but his thoughts made that impossible. His mind traveled a familiar road to 1861 with the same dead end. His intentions had been pure. Make the prince aware of his townspeople’s plight. That’s all. Induce him to help them. The prince was an assemblyman of the country. He could have made something happen.

  And something did happen. Everyone in the Abbey died because of him and his good intentions. Restless, Synn rose.

  He had to think of Rena as no more than a means to an end. She would complete the Masque and the spirits would pass over. He slowed his steps as he approached the bed. Father Richard said he was different. He’d always known that. He rubbed his chest where the bullet had entered.

  Shaking his disturbing thoughts away, he bent and gently kissed her temple. She smiled in her sleep. What dreams did she have? He couldn’t remember what it meant to dream, but he hoped hers were good ones. She deserved whatever she desired…except a haunted abbey. He couldn’t let her keep the ghosts.

  Brushing her hair away from her face, he cupped her chin and pressed his lips to hers. Her mouth awoke before she did, kissing him back long before her eyes fluttered open.

  “Synn. What? Where have you been?”

  He grinned as he sat on the bed next to her. The shirts she wore to bed were strangely sexy. He ran his finger along her collarbone. “I had business to attend to. Are you ready for your next room?”

  She eyed him steadily. “Business? Did it have to do with ghosts or something else?”

  He shrugged as he dropped his hand. “A bit of both. Are you ready to meet another ghostly couple?”

  Though she pretended coolness, he could see the excitement in her eyes. The question was, for which, the spirits or the sex? At least her openness to the sex boded well for his mission.

  “You didn’t tell me you would be gone. I was worried.”

  He took her hand. “About me? I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s time to enter the Orange Room.”

  She licked her lips, her curiosity evident. “How should I dress for billiards?”

  “I believe what you are wearing will be fine. That and your mask.” He held hers out for her.

  She looked at her shirt. “Really?”

  He couldn’t resist. He kissed her on the forehead. “Yes, really. Now put this on.” After she secured the pale-blue mask to her face, he tied his matching one then offered her his hand. “Shall we?”

  She hesitated for a moment and he held his breath. Maybe staying away hadn’t been the best decision if it affected her so much. She was too important to them all. He’d been selfish in taking time for himself. She had to come first. Whatever she wanted, he must make happen.

  Finally, she placed her hand in his and he helped her from the bed. What he wanted to do was carry her. Having the luscious woman in his arms made him whole. Ignoring his need, he held tight to her hand instead. The rooms r
emained in their daytime position as it wasn’t quite late enough for him to make the change; therefore, they were alone. He’d lit the fires before coming for her and each room had its own particular glow. As they stepped into the billiard room with its orange light bouncing off the white plaster walls, he was suddenly reminded of hell. Ignoring the tight feeling in his stomach at the unusual thought, he brought Rena to the wall where the cues were stored. “Would you like to play?”

  She looked over her shoulder at the table with the netted corners and side pockets. “I know how to play pool, but I’ve never played billiards before.”

  He chose a cue of proper length for her and offered it. “It’s not difficult. Do you know how to shoot a ball?”

  She cocked her head and stared at him. “Like I said, I know how to play pool, so of course I can.”

  Ahh, “pool” must be very similar to billiards. He needed to be more careful not to show his ignorance of modern terms. Choosing his own stick, he walked her to the table. There were two tables now, but there would be only one shortly.

  He pulled three balls from the corner pocket and set them on the table. “Why don’t you show me how you shoot.”

  She shrugged. “Okay, but it’s been awhile.”

  Rena bent over the table to line up her shot. The edge of her long shirt rode up her thighs until the curve of her ass was revealed. Damn. His cock hardened within his pantaloons. Maybe playing billiards wasn’t such a good idea.

  As her ball bounced off the side and into a pocket, she lifted her arms in triumph, her shirt showing more of her tight, round ass. He remained still, trying for a neutral tone. “Nicely done.”

  She spun around, her eyes alight with success, her lips parted to take in air. He couldn’t resist. He scooped one arm around her, pulling her against him and fastened his lips to hers. As his tongue pushed through to taste the sweetness of her mouth, he dropped his cue and ran his hand over her ass, squeezing, smoothing, and finally grasping it to push her hips into his growing erection.