by Audra North
Need.
It had been a long time since she’d touched a man, or been touched by a man. She got hugs from the kids who came in for story hour, and kindly pats on the hand from her elderly patrons when she helped them find a book or use the computer. But the strength of a man’s arms around her waist, or the play of rough-tipped fingers between her thighs…
It had been years.
Goodness. Her emotions were all over the place. Maybe it was just the strangeness of Halloween, invading her senses. Everything would probably be fine again tomorrow, once the restless spirits went back to sleep.
“Marnie.”
Mike, the high school student who volunteered at the library a few afternoons a week, got her attention.
“What’s up?” She turned to see that he had the phone tucked under his ear.
“There’s a guy on the line who wants to know whether we have volume three, issue six of The Wilford Leader. I told him that Wilford doesn’t print the Leader but that we might have back issues of the Gazette, but he insisted that it used to be printed here in town.”
She nodded. “It was printed until 1985. So…well before your time. But we have a lot of the back issues in the archives.” She chuckled when Mike rolled his eyes. “The archives” was actually just a fancy way of referring to the attic of the converted old Victorian house that served as the Wilford Municipal Library. “Take down his information and tell him I’ll return his call tomorrow. I’ll go upstairs in a little bit to check.”
Mike nodded and Marnie walked away, pushing a cart of nonfiction books toward the elevator that they’d carved out of the old butler’s pantry. She’d shelve them on the second floor and then head up to the attic—er, archives.
The elevator arrived, and the doors opened on a slow roll. God, this thing is so old. But there were only so many tasks one could accomplish on a small budget, and making the elevator move faster was not even close to the top of the priority list.
What felt like eons later, she was pushing the cart through the stacks, sliding books back into place and straightening the spines as she went along. If there was one thing she was exceptionally proud of, it was how neat and welcoming she kept the library. It took a little extra work to make sure that things were always shining and clean, but it was worth it.
After a while, she left the empty cart next to the elevator and took the staircase up to through the third floor, where community education classes were sometimes held in the converted old servants’ quarters, then continued up an even narrower set of stairs from there into the attic.
The sun was already low in the sky, and the small windows up here didn’t let in much light. She flipped on the single bulb, which was the only light that they’d bothered to install in the attack when the library first opened. Hopefully, it wouldn’t blow out before she found the newspaper. The bulb buzzed to life, and the room glowed a dim yellow, creating more shadows than even the approaching dusk would.
The archives was the only part of the library that she didn’t spend much time cleaning. Since only the staff was allowed up there, it was crowded and stuffy, not as welcoming a space as the lower three floors. At least she made sure to keep it organized, if not completely dust-free.
It was cold, too. The heating system hadn’t been extended to the attic when the library had last been renovated, about thirty years before. The former librarian had maintained the archives on the floor below, unwilling to open up the rooms for use by the community. She hadn’t been what one might call a people person.
Marnie trailed a finger along the shelves, idly thinking to herself that she really needed to conduct a fundraiser to get someone to digitize the collection of old periodicals and journals before they all crumbled to dust.
“There you are,” she murmured, as The Wilford Leader appeared under her finger. Back issues were bound in large booklets, with several issues glued into the big bindings. She searched the spines, moving all the way to the end of the shelf. There it was. Volume one. Marnie slid the book out of its place and began walking back toward the door at the top of the stairs.
But just as she reached the first step, a loud THUMP sounded behind her, and Marnie froze, journal in hand.
What in the world was that?
She turned back slowly, looking around the room. The dust mites were stirring wildly in the air, as though someone had just walked through the room on the opposite side. But there was no reason they should be moving so wildly, at least not so far away from where she stood.
A chill zipped up her spine.
Probably just another Wilford Ledger volume, sliding and bumping against the wall now that you’ve removed one of the volumes.
But she could see the shelf from here, and nothing was out of place. Nothing that would have made such a loud noise.
Marnie let out a nervous laugh, the sound brittle and small as it wafted up to the rafters. She turned to switch off the light and go back down the stairs, wanting as much to pretend that nothing had happened as she wanted to get the heck out of there, but just at that moment, she saw it.
A small door—one that she’d never noticed before—had popped open. Set under the eaves and integrated into the wood paneling, she could understand why it had never caught her eye the other times she’d come up here. There was no handle, and the hinges were set on the inside. Closed, it would have been invisible unless someone was looking very closely.
Was that what she’d heard? The door popping open? Maybe the vibrations of her footsteps on the plank flooring had finally worked it loose. She took a tentative step toward it, praying that nothing would come jumping out and attack her.
But nothing did. She could see something just inside the little door. Shelves. Almost as though this had been a cupboard of some sort. She gently pulled the door all the way open. A wooden box sat inside, just on top of the shelf.
She pulled it slowly, brushing dust off the top and feeling the etched surface as she did. In the dim light, she could make out a delicate scrollwork pattern covering the top, encircling a set of initials.
H.M.C.
A small clasp was set along one edge, easy enough to pop, and she began to lift the lid, catching a glimpse of a photo of—
“What did you think of my trick earlier?” A man’s voice echoed in the small room, making her yelp and drop the box. She whipped her head up to the doorway, expecting to see Mike there. But there was no one.
Her heart beat wildly. Had she just imagined that voice? Why would her mind make up words like that, even, that made no sense?
She waited a minute longer, frozen in fear, but the room was silent and nothing else happened. Jeez. She must just be exhausted to the point of hallucinating. Maybe she would close up early, after all, even if just a few minutes.
She let out a long breath and muttered, “You’re really, truly going crazy.”
“Oh, now, that’s not fair. Just because of my, um, delicate condition, you don’t have to go around declaring that I’m insane.”
The voice. It had come from behind her, from the far, dark corner of the attic, where there was nothing but shelves of books and exposed beams and old pine flooring. No door. No window. Had someone snuck in here yesterday and stayed all night, hiding away? Was she about to be attacked by some lunatic who referred to himself as having a delicate condition? A mental one? She tried to scream, but her breath was caught in her chest, her heart thumping too fast for her to do much more than gasp for air.
OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod.
Please. Please don’t hurt me, she wanted to cry, but it was hard enough just to remember to breathe as she slowly pivoted, rising to her feet at the same time that she turned to face whoever was trespassing, preparing herself to see any manner of man.
But what she saw was nothing she could have predicted.
A shadowy figure, suspended from nothing, floated halfway between the suspended bulb and the floor by the shelves where she’d just pulled out the volume of old newspapers. Most of him had a s
trange, translucent quality, as though he were made of wax paper. Except his feet, which were—
Holy Mother of God. She could see right through them.
The blood rushed from Marnie’s head and the only thing her brain could think to do at that moment was to—
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!” The scream was loud, high-pitched, and punctuated by wild flailing. She managed to stub her toe on the wooden box that she’d left on the floor, but that didn’t stop her from racing toward the door, trying to get away from whatever the hell kind of nightmare—daymare?—her brain was inflicting on her.
Footsteps boomed up the stairwell, and in an instant, Collin Morgan was framed in the doorway, not hesitating for even a second before racing toward her and pulling her into his arms.
Chapter Four
“Marnie, are you okay?”
Collin could feel her heart racing against his chest. She had smashed her body against him, her arms wrapped so tightly around his neck that he could barely stand up straight. She’d coiled one leg high around his hip, stretching the material of her flowy skirt and making him all too conscious of the warmth between her legs against his.
Fuck, she felt good. This close, it was difficult to maneuver without revealing how aroused he was. His jeans were getting tighter, the hard shaft of his erection straining against the fabric, and he wanted to shift, just slightly, until they were pressed together in just the right place.
Thank God some small part of his brain managed to hold on to his control. She was frightened and in need of comfort. She didn’t need some asshole who was thinking about driving deep into the heat between her legs, making her arch and shout and—
Shut it down, asshole.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself as much as her. “Marnie?”
Her face was pressed into his shoulder, like a child hiding under a blanket from something in a scary movie. Fuck, she was breathing fast.
He brought one hand up and gently rubbed her back, looking around the room as he waited for her breathing to slow. This attic room was nice. They built solid houses back in the day, and the attic was still in great shape, despite that it looked like no one had bothered to do anything with it for the past hundred years. Plywood shelving and a few glass-fronted cases were arranged in short rows, placed just far enough apart for a slender person like Marnie to slide through. A thick white cord of electrical wiring ran from a conduit on the wall near the light switch, up to a single light bulb that swung from the highest rafter.
Code violation, that’s for sure. But he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. At least nothing that merited such a response.
“I saw—” she paused and looked around, as though confused by something, but then shook her head. “I saw a rat. Or at least what I thought was a rat.”
“Want me to have a look around?”
She nodded nervously, and Collin slowly let her go. Though Marnie blushed when she realized just how closely she had been clinging to him, she didn’t move away. Instead, she followed him as he walked through the room and looked along the baseboards for any sign of rodent infestation.
“I don’t see a way that a rat could have gotten in. Unless—oh, maybe there’s an opening behind the eaves. I didn’t realize you had a cubbyhole in here.” He stopped at an open door tucked under the eaves and picked up the box lying on the floor just in front of it. “Nice box. Is it antique?”
“I—I don’t know,” she stammered, coming close to peer at it. “I just found this door for the first time and this box was inside.”
“Maybe you startled a rat that had hidden inside, then. I don’t have a flashlight on me, but I can get one from my car.”
She shook her head. “It’s okay, really. You’ve already done more than enough. I never thought I was the kind of woman to startle easily. I always thought I had a strong stomach. But I’ve never seen a, um, a rat before.”
Why did she always stop before she said rat? Did the very word disgust her? Not that he was judging her. It was just surprising. For some reason, he’d built an image of her as a stalwart, self-sufficient kind of woman who wouldn’t have been so afraid of a rat.
Though he couldn’t deny that it had felt good to be her protector.
Her protector? Are you a caveman? He curled his lip, disgusted at himself, and shrugged. “No problem.”
“What about you, what are you doing back here? Did you forget something?”
“No, actually. I had left my car here earlier, when I was with Claire.”
“Where’s Claire, then?”
“With her mom—my sister, Deirdre. You might remember her from high school.”
Marnie’s brow furrowed for a moment, and then understanding dawned. “Oh! She’s your niece. I’m sorry. I thought—I mean, it doesn’t really matter what I thought, but—”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. She was just so sweet and genuine and so different from the slick, smooth-talking kind of woman he was used to.
She blushed, and he found himself mesmerized by the way the color climbed up her cheeks. Would it go down, too? Down to her neck and her breasts and turn her nipples a deep rosy pink, beckoning him to pull one into his mouth and—
“Goodness, of course. I’d heard that Deirdre had moved back to Wilford with a daughter. I guess I was just a little, um, distracted earlier today. Anyway, she’s a lovely girl. Your sister has done a wonderful job.”
Oh, Jesus, he had to get out of here. Now he was the one breathing too fast, and he had to shift behind the bookcase to hide what was now too prominent a tightness in his pants. “Speaking of earlier today, you doing all right?”
She nodded. “I am. Thank you so much for what you did.”
Just thinking of her dad made his erection start going down. “That guy was out of line this morning. I feel bad for his kid, really, since he’s stuck with such a shit-for-brains father—” Marnie’s father, too, if Deirdre had been right. He stopped himself immediately and shook his head. “I’m sorry. Please forgive my language. I work with construction guys all day and sometimes I forget.”
She laughed. “It’s okay. I was actually thinking the same thing.” She paused for a minute, and then added. “And he happens to be my dad, too.”
So it was true. He put his hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it. “Yeah, I, uh, heard a rumor that he was. But I didn’t realize he was back in the picture.”
“He’s not.” She lifted a hand and then dropped it. “Things ended really poorly between him and my mom, and I guess with him and me, too. He’s not a nice person, as you probably figured out. It was better after he was gone, but still…”
“Yeah. I understand.”
She looked at him, then. Right at him with those soulful brown eyes, and he felt it like a slug to the chest. “Do you?”
He shrugged. “Sort of, anyway. My family is a little strange and we have some history of…well, unpleasant things…but I’d rather have them with all the crazy that they bring than not have them at all.”
She looked away and drew in a shuddering breath. “Yeah.”
Her voice was so quiet that it was barely even a whisper, but before he could respond, she turned back to him. “Well, thanks again for coming to my rescue. That’s twice in one day. Come back any time and I’ll let you check out as many books as you want. For free.”
He snorted. “Isn’t everyone allowed to do that?”
“No, the limit for everyone else is seven,” she deadpanned, and he laughed.
“Hey, so…do you want me to escort you downstairs? I’m on my way out, anyway.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
He felt a thrill rush through him at her acceptance, and it almost made him laugh. Collin Morgan, getting excited that a woman agreed to let him walk her down the stairs?
It wasn’t like him.
She grabbed a leather-bound book and the antique box from the floor, and the two of them headed back down to the main level. At the circulation de
sk, she stopped. “Well. Thanks again. And Happy Halloween.”
“Happy Halloween.” He lingered for a second longer, wondering if he should say more, but what?
Shit. He had the sudden realization that, for nearly a decade, he hadn’t had to make any effort to engage a woman’s interest, and now he didn’t know what to say as part of simple conversation with a woman he found genuinely attractive.
It overwhelmed him, and ultimately the only thing he could do was wave and walk away, thinking to himself that he’d just missed something important, and he wasn’t sure how to get it back.
Chapter Five
Marnie slid open the bottom drawer of her desk and gently placed the box inside. Whatever was in there, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know, since the discovery of the box had coincided with the appearance—or possibly the complete hallucination—of that…ghost.
That’s what she’d seen, wasn’t it? It was too flimsy to be a real person. If she’d seen it at all and not made it up in her crazy cat lady mind.
Maybe tomorrow, when she was feeling less out of sorts, she would look at the entire thing with new eyes and realize that she was just overwrought after everything that had happened today. She locked the drawer and slipped the keys back in her pocket, then left her small office for the main room. Mike was packing up.
“Heading out?”
He nodded. “Yeah. It’s just after five. I was going to meet some friends at Kiki’s. But do you need any help before I go?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Nah, I’m okay. Have a good Halloween!”
He headed toward the doors and she grabbed another pile of books to return to the stacks. The second she was hidden amongst the tall shelves, she frowned. Was she going crazy? Or had she actually seen a ghost? The Wilford ghost, no less. That book she’d read to the kids this morning had a note in the back that she hadn’t read aloud—that it was based on a real-life haunting of the Wilford library. But the book had been written forty years ago. Surely it had just been a publicity gimmick and there wasn’t any truth to it.
