“Both? Either?”
“You should go.” I planted my palm in the center of his rock-hard chest and shoved. He swayed a centimeter. Maybe. “Your mommy is waiting to smother you with kisses.”
If he heard the faint undercurrent of jealousy, that he still had someone to fret over his boo-boos, real and imagined, he ignored it. “I’d rather you smother me with kisses.”
I flashed him a saccharine smile. “I’d rather just smother you.”
“Kinky.”
“I have to run.” I ushered him toward the door. “That means you have to go too.”
Boaz shuffled along until we reached the foyer, but when I tried opening the door, Woolly fought me. Big surprise. While I was busy jiggling the knob, Boaz slipped behind me. He wrapped his thick arms around my middle, twisting me until my head spun, and I found myself sandwiched between a hardwood door and an even harder man.
I hadn’t let myself look at him, not really, but I had no choice now.
Boaz was taller than me by a few inches, so I had to tip my head back to hold his gaze. Milk-chocolate irises striated with lighter bands, like swirled caramel, stared back at me. White scars stood in stark contrast against his tanned skin. His platinum hair, baby fine and impossible to style, was shaved on the sides and longer on the top. Grudgingly, I admitted the blunt cut suited his square jaw and harsh features. Boaz was not a handsome man, but his charm made him irresistible. Sometimes I had trouble seeing past his personality to all the rest. At least when all the rest wasn’t pressed hip to hip with me.
“I missed you,” he rasped softly. “So damn much it hurt to breathe.”
I melted against him, allowing him to hold me, and rested my forehead on his chest. “Me too.”
“I want to kiss you.”
Lungs tight, I snapped my head up to find his mouth hovering inches from mine.
“But I’m scared you’ll hide from me again if I do.”
A thousand denials sprang to my lips, and they each died a thousand deaths.
“Woolly, you mind?” He flicked a glance up at the foyer chandelier. “Don’t want to keep Mom waiting.”
The door snicked open under his hand. The traitor.
I scurried out on his heels before she could slam it shut in my face.
“Night, Grier.”
“Night, Boaz.”
The boy next door left me standing on my front porch, unkissed and unsure where this left us.
“This has been a night full of surprises,” I told the old house, and the porch light hummed agreement.
I left Woolly with the usual instructions on how to behave once Amelie and her guests arrived. A flickering light, a couple of curtains blown by the floor registers, that kind of thing. Simple stuff that wouldn’t get me in trouble. The architectural spotlights had to go. Nothing killed ambiance like floodlights. Plus, darkness facilitated better shots. The odds were in the tour’s favor of snapping pictures of orb lights or other traceries indicative of a true haunting since Woolworth House was steeped in old magic from the not-so-secret lab in the basement to the junktique paradise under the rafters.
Despite the boost to my morale—and libido—Boaz had gifted me, resorting to whoring Woolly out to human gawkers left me feeling dirty.
“Make no apologies for surviving.”
One of Maud’s favorite sayings, and my personal talisman against the tough choices I made daily.
The garage door whined in protest when I mashed the button on my fob, and I couldn’t suppress an eager grin. Boaz would kill me when he noticed I’d helped myself to Jolene. Not waiting on the mechanism to grind all the way up, I ducked under the door and crossed to the coat rack holding my riding leathers and helmet. Both were from before and a smidge tight, but I made them work. Replacing them was light-years outside my budget.
I zipped up the plated jacket, plopped down on an overturned plastic bucket, then pulled on thick socks and boots. Done with that, I wiggled on flexible gloves. I waited until after I’d straddled the motorcycle, a crimson Yamaha V Star 250, to slide on my helmet. Dark, tight places made me nauseous, but I gritted my teeth and rolled us down the driveway. I wanted as little distance between me and the road as possible just in case Mrs. Pritchard wasn’t holding on to Boaz when he heard Jolene’s familiar growl.
Twist, flip, press. The engine caught, and her rhythmic purr blocked out the garage door closing behind me. The steady rumble vibrated through my body, soothing my frazzled nerves, and I fought a grin imagining his expression when he realized his mistake in storing Jolene in my garage. I blazed a trail into town as though the hounds of hell—or one really pissed-off necromancer—were chasing me.
A large crowd milled in front of the bar where Cricket asked our victims to meet and mingle while waiting for their tours to begin. I pulled into the employee parking lot in back and did my best shadow impersonation before the boss caught me showing up late and out of costume.
“Cricket is looking for you.” Neely hooked his arm through mine as I walked in the door and whirled me in the opposite direction from the downstairs salon, guiding me up a flight of stairs to the cramped room where the guys changed. “Smoke is pouring out of her ears.”
“Family emergency.” The reminder that my next of kin was a newly resurrected parakeet put my whole life into perspective. “Amelie is covering my tour, right?”
“Yes.” He rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t mean Cricket won’t chirp at you about responsibility and accountability and all her other favorite ilities until either she’s blue in the face or you are.”
“Ugh.” I was not in the mood for a lecture tonight. “Blue is so not my color.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Why Cricket assigned you as Blue Belle, I’ll never understand,” he lamented. “I moved your costume into booth two.” He hauled me onto the landing then shoved me toward a curtained-off corner. “Go on. Shoo.”
Sidestepping the puff of azure fabric that was my dress, I skimmed over the costume accoutrements, checking that all the thingamajiggers and doohickeys were present. Afraid of being caught with my pants down, I stripped to my bra and panties then fitted the corset in place.
Fiddlesticks.
This next part wasn’t happening without divine intervention or a glob of Crisco to lube up my torso. Squishing into the silky torture device left me winded from sucking in my belly to fasten the bottom hooks at my spine. The laces… Yeah. Not happening. Not without the aforementioned shortening so I could twist it to the front, lace it, and then spin it around back.
Usually Amelie and I changed together for this very reason. Except she was at my house right about now. Poor Ame. Being that close to her annoying oaf of a big brother without being able to pop in for a hug must be torture. Much like this corset.
While I wriggled in my best worm-on-a-hook impersonation, the stairs groaned loud enough for me to hear over my frustrated panting. I held my breath, afraid to give myself away. Excuses tripped over my tongue as I armed myself to face the Wrath of Cricket about the time a husky, masculine groan preceded ardent smacking noises.
“Um, Neely?” I called, crossing my arms over my chest to pin the corset in place. “Little help here?”
A handsome man with tanned skin, black hair and dark eyes yanked back the curtain, wearing a stern expression. “Should I be concerned about Neely hiding a half-naked woman in his dressing room?”
“Guess it depends.” Blushing under his frank scrutiny, glad I’d worn my good underwear, I curled my toes in my stockings. “How do you feel about half-naked women?”
“They’re like avocados. I can appreciate they exist, but I wouldn’t want to eat one.”
Hooting laughter exploded through the room. “Dang, baby.” Neely hooked his arm around Cruz’s wide shoulders. “You didn’t have to be so mean. We like Grier, remember?”
“We do like Grier,” he agreed. “We just prefer she wear more clothes around happily married men in the future.”
“You’re
so cute when you get jealous.” Neely planted a loud kiss on Cruz’s cheek then shoved him aside. “Now scoot back so I can get her tied up.” A wicked grin lit his face. “Behave, and I’ll let you tie me up later.”
Cruz’s molten gaze skimmed the length of Neely’s body. “Deal.”
“Do you mind if he stays?” Neely waded through a parade of half-naked women in various stages of undress nightly. He was blind to girl bits. Cruz, however, was not. Boobs clearly intimidated him. “I can blindfold him if you’d like.” He wet his bottom lip. “I know I would.”
“Neely.” I snapped my fingers at the end of his nose. “Focus.”
“Sorry.” He jolted to attention. “It’s just he’s been working a case in Atlanta all week.”
“The quicker you finish with her,” Cruz said, retreating to a chair he angled to face the wall, “the faster you can get back to me.”
Neely sighed dreamily at his gallant husband then whirled his finger for me. I did as he instructed, planted my palms against the wall, and sucked in my stomach until my navel touched my spine the way Cricket had taught me. He laced me up in record time then helped get the rest of the outfit straight before hauling me into the well-lit bathroom suite and starting to work on my hair and makeup.
“How did you get so good at this?” I gazed at the sagging ceiling while he applied my eyeliner.
Neely was about three years older than me, so I remembered him from high school, but I hadn’t gotten to know him until I worked my first summer as a Haint when I was fifteen. Things went south for me soon after, but Neely hadn’t changed a bit, and I could almost pretend no time had passed instead of facing the gap that yawned in our friendship.
“Are you asking because he’s a guy?” Chair legs scraped in the corner. Cruz twisted his chair and sat down facing my back, all the better to glare at me in the mirror. “Or because he’s gay?”
Mostly I was asking out of desperation. That almost-kiss with Boaz was occupying too much of my headspace for comfort.
Tension thrummed in the warm hand Neely rested on my cheek, and the eyeliner pencil wobbled.
I touched his wrist to let him know I was all right. “Are you asking because you’re insecure or paranoid?”
Cruz growled low in his throat, but very little scared me these days. When the worst had already happened, there wasn’t much left to dread.
“Grier is good people,” Neely said softly. “She’s not like…” He mashed his lips into a hard line. “Just dial it down, okay?”
A quiet breath hissed from between Cruz’s teeth as he stood. He left without saying another word.
Neely swayed toward the empty doorway like the bond between them was tugging him after Cruz.
“Do you need a minute?” I rested my hand on his forearm. “This can keep.”
“Cruz runs hot.” He shook his head and got back to applying the finishing touches. “Cooling off before we talk about this will help us both.”
Sensing Neely craved a distraction as much as I did, I picked up where Cruz had cut us off earlier.
“I don’t know the business end of a sponge applicator from one of those eyelash crimpy things.” Maud had been a fan of the natural look, but one glance in her bathroom proved how many cosmetics were required to achieve that bare-skin glow. “How did you learn?”
“Trial and error. Mostly error.” He clicked his tongue, going to work on braiding my unruly hair into an artful crown that circled my head. “It’s a miracle my sisters didn’t murder me for stealing their makeup. Erin, the second youngest, was the one who noticed I had a good eye and a steady hand. She started asking me to doll her up before dates. Later, Regan, the eldest, let me do her makeup for graduation.”
“How many sisters do you have?”
“Four. Two older and two younger. I’m the middlest.”
A twinge drew my chest tight as I imagined his big heart and wide smile multiplied by four. “That must be nice.”
“Nice is a strong word for growing up in a two-bedroom, one-bathroom house with four siblings.” He scooted back, giving me a clear view of my reflection for the first time since Cruz left. “Well, what do you think?”
The bags under my eyes had vanished beneath a layer of concealer, and the ragged skin on my chapped lips was hidden by the careful application of tinted gloss. Rather than appearing washed out from my confinement, he somehow smoothed my flaws into a porcelain glow. Even my frizzy hair behaved itself, sleeked back and coiled into demureness upon my head.
I flicked my gaze up to his. “Explain to me why you don’t do this professionally again?”
“There’s a reason so many people hang up on their calling. Dreams don’t always pay the bills.” He tapped the end of my nose with his fingertip. “Mom raised us on her own, and she was always worried about paying the bills. She figured the best way to have money was to work for people who had plenty. That’s why she nudged me into corporate accounting.”
“And that’s how you met Cruz.” That much of their story I had heard.
“He gave me the last bear claw during the longest, most boring meeting of our lives when the sugar might have given him the will to live through closing arguments. That’s when I started believing in love at first bite.” He flicked his wrist. “Now scoot. You’ve got victims waiting.”
I rose, straightening my skirt, then balanced on the edge of the top step. “Good luck with the kissing and making up.”
“Thanks.” He swiped a coat of clear gloss over his bottom lip with his pinky then pressed them together. “But I got this in the bag.”
Leaving Neely to hunt down his man, careful not to comment on the length of untied cravat in his hand that would do as a blindfold in a pinch, I braved the narrow staircase. Fabric rustled against the walls on both sides, and the ribs of the hoop skirt groaned as they were compressed. I counted the steps to make sure I didn’t fall flat on my face and breathed a sigh of relief when I hit bottom.
Thankfully, we were allowed to wear color-coordinated sneakers. Otherwise, I would have broken my neck in period-appropriate shoes on the way down. Not to mention grown a blister the size of some small children after a few hours.
The bulletin board where Cricket pinned our nightly assignments stood empty. I almost panicked before smacking my forehead with my palm. Duh. Of course my packet was gone. Leaving it up there for all to see would have shined a spotlight on my absence. Refusing to let panic wrestle me into a chokehold, I patted down my skirt in search of its hidden pockets. The crisp edge of stiff paper under my fingertips reassured me, and I pulled out an assignment sheet Amelie must have stuffed in there before enlisting Neely to the cause.
The note pinned to the top said the waiting group was twenty-nine strong. Considering the cutoff was thirty, it was a healthy size. My night was looking up already.
Stepping out into the cool air, I popped open my parasol, set it on my shoulder and twirled it all the way to The Point of No Return, which was a neon yellow line we used to cue up the next tour for departure.
My victims waited inside the red square, my favorite color. Another good omen. The blue and yellow squares stood empty, so those tours had already left. Most of the people in the green square had staggered outside of it, which was not a good sign. Drunk folks didn’t tip well. Except themselves. It was a miracle none of them had kissed asphalt yet.
“Evening, y’all.” I poured on the Southern charm. “I’ll be your guide through haunted downtown Savannah. Feel free to ask any questions you might have, but do please stay with our group. Trespassers will be shot on sight.” The crowd gasped on cue, and I tittered like a kitten on helium. “I’m kidding.” My face went stone-cold serious. “Or am I?”
While inviting them to join me at the starting line, I finished my spiel and reminded the crowd of the local liquor laws. Grateful for the routine, my nerves calmed for the first time since the sigil charred my skin. I had the local history memorized, and I knew how to pull a laugh out of the crowd, how to gauge
what kind of guide my group required.
All was well until we reached the house often billed as the most-haunted location in the city.
I stepped off the sidewalk, urged them into a huddle, and grasped the wrought-iron railing that surrounded the mansion, the metal chilly in my hand.
“This is Volkov House. Back in 1765, Anatoly Volkov passed away, leaving his estate to his son and daughter. Now, Nestor and Dina Volkov had both survived ugly divorces. Neither had much money, even with their inheritances, so the pair returned to their ancestral home to make ends meet.” The crowd shifted, studying the home and trying to picture the downtrodden siblings returning with their tails tucked between their legs. “Nestor was a bit of a bookworm—both the siblings were—and one night he came home from work, pulled an old favorite from the house library, and settled into his favorite chair while Dina started supper.
“Bang.” I clapped my hands, and the folks in the front row jumped. “A single gunshot blasted through the library. Dina was so shocked that she tipped the pan on the stove, and the oil she was using to fry pork chops spilled on her. Dripping grease, she ran into the living room and found her brother sitting in his chair with a book spread over his lap, a shotgun in his hands, and the back of his skull decorating the living room wall.” Shocked gasps rose, and I suppressed a chuckle, because that never got old. “Earlier that day, he had received a letter from his ex-wife, alerting him of her impending nuptials. Still in love with her, he took his own life rather than live without hope of ever winning her back.”
Searching window after window, their gazes touched each frame in search of the library.
“Two weeks later, Dina was home alone reading in her bed, recovering from her burns.” I clapped my hands again. “Bang.” I was rewarded by a young woman’s shriek. “Dina heard the sound again, coming from downstairs. Figuring it must be a heartless prank by some of the neighborhood kids, she jumped out of bed, ready to set them straight. Except nightgowns in those days were long, frilly affairs, and she tripped over her hem and fell against her nightstand. She knocked over the kerosene lantern by her bed, and her gown caught fire. She burned to death alone in the house. By the time the neighbors saw the flames, it was too late. Volkov House was nothing but ashes.”
How to Save an Undead Life (The Beginner's Guide to Necromancy Book 1) Page 3
