by Rose Pressey
Jumping up, I tiptoed over to the staircase. Annabelle followed, but stopped short at the library entrance, pressing her back against the wall. The hair on the back of my neck prickled. The footsteps sounded again, this time coming across the hall toward the landing. An undeniable presence emanated from the top of the stairs, but I saw nothing. I knew something was there… I felt it. A cold misty sensation sent chills down my arms.
Slowly, I placed my foot on the step in front of me and forced the other one to do the same. The stairs made a creaking noise with the movement. Annabelle rushed over, grabbing the back of my shirt so I almost tumbled backward. A ghost hunter she was not.
“You can’t go up there,” she whispered, still holding my shirt.
“Why not?” I whispered back.
“Because it’s dangerous, that’s why. Can’t you do some kind of spell and get rid of the spirits?” Her voice wavered.
“Ghosts are supposed to be living with me here, Annabelle. It’s their job. Their whole purpose is to make spooky noises and make us think we’re losing our minds. They haunt creepy old manors. I can’t ask them to leave. Besides, witchcraft doesn’t work that way. Don’t you know that by now?”
I hoped she would never ask how witchcraft really worked, because there was no way in hell I could explain. I had no idea how it worked. If I had, I wouldn’t have been named Worst Witch of 2009 at the local fête.
“If I see bones coming down those stairs I will probably pee my pants,” she whispered, still holding my shirt.
I pulled the fabric from her grasp. “Let’s go up there and see what happened. Maybe it was just the wind.”
Okay, even I couldn’t say that with a straight face. There was no way the noise we’d heard was the wind.
Annabelle shook her head, stepping backwards toward the door. “I just remembered. I told my mother I’d take her shopping for yarn.”
I turned around to face her. “Yarn?” I raised an eyebrow. “Since when does she know how to knit?”
“New hobby. She’s quite good actually. You should see the lovely scarf she’s making.” She chuckled nervously.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving me here with a ghost. You’re supposed to be my best friend!” I closed the space between us.
She grabbed my arms and looked me straight in the eyes. “I don’t want you to stay here. Get out while you can. This place is haunted and it’s creepy. They shoot spooky movies in houses like this one.”
“You are officially in panic mode.”
“You’re damn skippy I’m in panic mode. And you’d do well to turn on that switch too. Join me in my freaked-out state, won’t you?” If possible, her eyes widened even more.
“Take a deep breath and tell yourself that everything is fine. Repeat after me: ‘I ain’t afraid of no ghosts.’”
“Okay, now you’re just making fun of me.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“What? Me? Make fun of you? Never.”
The look in her eyes told me that she wasn’t remotely convinced by my false bravado.
Annabelle shook her head. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me in the middle of the night when some ghost wakes you up and you freak out. I’ll be sleeping.”
I used my index finger to draw an imaginary cross over my heart. “I promise.”
I wasn’t about to let her in on the fact that I was more than a little creeped out. That would only cause her more terror. As far as Annabelle was concerned, I had always been fearless. My witchcraft ancestry made me invincible. I didn’t want to burst her paranormal bubble. Heck, I wouldn’t dare tell Annabelle about the pull that I’d felt from the book. The yearning desire I had to understand every single word between its old covers.
As she hurried toward the door, she called over her shoulder, “I was just joking about calling me, you know? You can call anytime you want.”
I nodded. “I know. Go help your mother with the yarn. I’ll be fine. What’s the worst that can happen?”
Chapter Three
Thunder cracked and rolled across the night air, making me sit straight up in bed. Rain pounded against the window. Another crash of thunder rang out, but that wasn’t the only noise. I could hear a strange pounding coming through the wall. Was something happening up in that old attic? Had the old bones come to life?
I’d looked around upstairs after Annabelle left, and I’d found no intruders, no ghosts—nothing that could have made those creepy sounds. Maybe it really was the wind. But I could have sworn I heard a baritone voice whispering in my mind, calling out my name.
Halloween LaVeau, Halloween LaVeau…
Now I was imagining things? Hearing voices? Great. Insanity had officially set in.
The pounding echoed through the room. I caught my breath, then slipped out of bed, shoving my feet into my slippers and grabbing my silk robe. As I inched along the hall and down the stairs, the knock rang out again. Someone was at the front door.
Who would be visiting at this time of night in the pouring rain? A deranged killer, no doubt. I eased over to the door and peered through the tiny peephole. A dark figure stood on the stone veranda in front of the entrance. My chest clenched as I swallowed hard.
I couldn’t make out any features, but could tell by its size that it was a man. My heart thumped, warning me I shouldn’t answer, but responding to strangers was a big part of running a bed-and-breakfast. Turning away customers wasn’t exactly the best way to make my business successful. Maybe this was some poor man whose car had broken down. He probably just needed a place to crash.
Yeah, I could tell myself that all night long, but believing it was a different story. He’d probably hack me to death the second I opened the door.
A stone fence separated my property from the main road and a crushed pebble circle drive spanned the length of the manor. Beyond the veranda, swirls of fog cascaded along the ground. Through the peephole it looked like a scene straight out of a hokey vampire movie. The mist purred its way down the street and straight up my driveway.
Ignoring my gut instinct to bar the door and go back to bed, I called out, “Who is it?”
As if this man would come right out and tell me if he was a psychopath: Hello, single vulnerable woman, I’ve come to chop up your body, stuff it in an oil drum, and bury you in the back yard. Would you let me in?
“I saw your sign for a bed-and-breakfast. Do you have a vacancy?” he asked.
His voice was strong and smooth. He certainly didn’t sound like a killer, but what did a killer sound like? Once again, a mysterious pull willed me to open the door—this strange, yearning feeling that had become all too common since I’d moved into LaVeau Manor. I had to start learning to ignore my gut instincts—nine times out of ten they got me into trouble.
“I have a room,” I choked out.
Feeling like a crazy woman, I unlocked the massive carved walnut door with a turn of the old key and swung it open. He wore black. What else, right? He was dressed like a walking cliché: all that was missing was a cloak. The cut of his short, black hair emphasized his strong jaw, chiseled features and brilliant blue eyes. His gaze seemed to hold an electric charge. I wondered for a moment if I was dreaming. Had a mysterious handsome stranger really just emerged out of the misty night?
I thought again of turning him away, but instead I continued to move as if controlled by a force outside myself, stepping aside to allow the man to enter my home. He shook out his umbrella and walked in, placing the umbrella in the stand.
Light fell across his face. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect my mother was involved in bringing Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome to my doorstep. It was as if someone had waved a magic wand and delivered the Perfect Man to me—all intense eyes and long lashes. On second thoughts, he was too dangerous-looking for her taste.
“I’m glad I found you,” he said with a smooth drawl. I detected a slight accent, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
Found me? What did he mean?
&
nbsp; He smiled as if he’d read my mind. “The weather is so bad that it’s impossible to drive on the roads. It was a stroke of luck that I found Enchantment Pointe. Must be a great place to live.” He looked around the foyer, craning his neck to peek into the parlor.
I put on my best business face. I hadn’t yet had any guests come to stay at LaVeau Manor and hoped I was coming across as a professional proprietor. “I’ll just get some information from you, then show you to your room.”
As I walked to my makeshift office in the back of the house, the same thoughts ran over and over on loop in my head. Who was this man and why was he driving through Enchantment Pointe in the middle of the night? I pulled out a clipboard with the information form I’d printed earlier that day, and a set of keys. Annabelle would flip out when she found out I’d had a stranger to stay without telling her.
When I returned to the foyer, the man was standing just where I’d left him. He fixed his gaze on me when I entered the room. Talk about uncomfortable. All I wore was a silk robe—okay, it was some form of satin—and my hair probably looked as if I’d styled it with a hand mixer.
“Please fill this out.” I handed him the clipboard, noticing his strong hands as he took it from me. He had an intricate silver ring on his right hand, but no band on the left. I stopped the thought, shocked to realize I was looking for a wedding ring. Had I lost my ever-loving mind?
As he grasped the pen and began writing, I fidgeted with the key. I’d decided to place him on the third floor, so I’d be able to hear him when he moved around. If he came down the stairs during the night, at least I’d be prepared if he really was a nutcase. I studied him as he continued to write on the paper, taking in his lean physique and broad shoulders. I was desperate to know what he was doing around these parts. Where had he been headed?
After a few more seconds, he finished and handed me the clipboard. “All done.” He flashed a gorgeous white smile.
I glanced down at the paper to read his name. Nicolas Marcos. Is he serious? How exotic and sexy was that? Annabelle would have a heart attack when I told her.
I met his gaze. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Marcos. My name is Hallo—My name is Hallie LaVeau.”
He took my hand and placed it to his lips. My heart rate increased as his mouth lingered there for a moment. His touch was smooth. I definitely didn’t trust a man with hands that smooth.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Halloween.”
I pulled my hand away as if a shark was about to take a chunk out of it. “How did you know my name is Halloween?” I stepped back, putting distance between us.
A small smile curved his delicious lips. “It was on the form you gave me. That’s quite an unusual name. I bet you had a tough time growing up.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. Yes, no big surprise, of course I’d had a tough time fitting in in school as a witch named Halloween. And of course he’d seen my name on the form. Now I felt like a paranoid nutcase.
“You seem a little tense. I can imagine it’s tough for you to allow strangers into your home,” he said.
“Mr. Marcos, I have to ask, where are you headed? Not many people are just passing through Enchantment Pointe at this time of night.”
“I’m headed to New Haven. I have business in the city.” He smiled again.
I supposed asking what type of business would be just plain rude. I bit my tongue and refrained from being too darn nosey.
“Well, the weather is terrible. I don’t blame you for stopping,” I said, glancing over his shoulder at the rain pounding against the window. “If you don’t mind, I have a room for you on the third floor. I think you’ll find it very comfortable.” I pointed toward the staircase.
He looked me up and down and nodded. “I’m sure I will. Thank you, Mrs. LaVeau.”
“Ms. LaVeau,” I repeated softly, like some kind of shy schoolgirl.
“You have a beautiful home, Ms. LaVeau.” His gaze didn’t leave mine.
I fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other. “Thank you. It was my great-aunt’s. Well, it’s been in the family for hundreds of years. She was the last owner.”
Did he have luggage? And for that matter, where was his car? I hadn’t spotted it in the driveway.
“Would you like to get your bags?” I asked.
“I have a small case on the veranda. I wanted to make sure you had a room for me first.”
Okay, that made sense, but what about the car? “Is your car out there?” I asked, looking toward the door as if I’d see it.
“Actually, I walked. My car broke down just down the road.”
“Do you need to use my phone to call Triple-A?”
He stared for a beat before answering, then finally said, “Thank you, but I already called from the road.”
He wasn’t exactly being forthcoming.
I hesitated for another moment, not sure what I was waiting for. After an awkward pause, I motioned for him to follow me.
“Let me show you to your room.”
Nicolas reached out the door and grabbed his case. I was glad to see that he truly had one.
As I turned to move up the stairs, I felt him behind me. His presence was strong, comforting, and scary at the same time. He was awfully close, but boy did he smell good—vanilla with a touch of sandalwood and spice. It was exhilaratingly masculine. My stomach did a little flip-flop.
When we reached the third-floor landing, I hurried down the hall toward the bedroom without glancing over my shoulder to see if he was following. I shoved the skeleton key into the lock and turned. The old door creaked when I pushed it open. Mr. Mysterious and Sexy was right behind me.
I opened the door and stood back. Nicolas entered the room, but I waited just outside the threshold. Sheer white curtains hung beneath velvet corded drapes on the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined one wall. The room was accented with antiques that Aunt Maddy had collected over the years, each touched by stories that I could only imagine. It had taken forever to clean the layers of dust off everything.
Antique lamp fixtures mounted against each wall lit up the room. On one side of the room rested a softly rounded chaise lounge and on the other was a simple, yet expensive-looking Parsons-type desk. A fireplace in the middle wall had a maple mantelpiece that I’d spent too much time polishing the day before. But the massive hand-carved bed was the most stunning piece in the room.
Nicolas moved across the floor and pushed on the mattress. Checking for lumps, I guess.
That same vibe pulsed through my body telling me to run, run, run, but instead, I stayed, stayed, stayed. This whole experience was nothing short of awkward.
“There are towels in the bathroom.” I gestured toward the small bathroom to the right. “Please let me know if you need anything.”
He walked over to the desk and picked up the copy of The Raven that I’d left for my guest’s perusal. Hey, it was an old, dark manor and I figured it would add to the mystique. People who stayed here were probably looking for creepy—I’d try my best to give it to them.
His lips tilted upward at the corners as he placed the book back on the desk. The mischievous smile revealed perfect white teeth, almost blindingly white. Did his gaze move down to my lips or was that my imagination? I thought I glimpsed a hunger in his eyes.
If he continued to smile at me with that perfect mouth there was no telling what kind of stupid comments I would blurt out. It was time for me break off the conversation while I still had an ounce of professionalism as an innkeeper.
“Breakfast is at seven. Do you have any special dietary needs?”
He stared at me before answering, as if I’d asked the strangest question in the world. “No, no special needs. Please don’t go to any trouble on my account.”
“It’s no trouble, really. If you need anything please let me know.”
“I’ll definitely let you know when I need something.” He flashed another knowing smile.
Chapter Four
After leaving
Nicolas in his room, I hurried back down the stairs to retrieve my phone. I had to call Annabelle. She wouldn’t believe it when I told her a dark, mysterious, handsome stranger had shown up at my home in the middle of the night. In a thunderstorm. I felt like I was on an episode of some prank reality show. I kept expecting Ashton Kutcher to leap out holding a video camera.
“I knew you’d call. You heard the ghost again, didn’t you?” Annabelle said when she picked up.
I whispered into the phone, “I have a guest.” Why was I whispering? The house was so big there was no way he could hear me.
“Hallie, I don’t think I’d call a ghost a guest. An unwanted guest, maybe.”
