My Ghostly Valentine: A Haunting Paranormal Romantic Comedy (Banshee Creek Book 4)

by Ani Gonzalez

  Zach hesitated, he really didn't want to know. He started to excuse himself, but Cassie tugged at his sleeve.

  "You should go," she whispered, handing him a donut wrapped in a pink and orange napkin. "Here, this will give you strength."

  He accepted her offering -- he never said no to Patricia's donuts -- and followed Caine into the video editing room. Like the rest of the ghost hunting team's headquarters, the video editing room was decorated with vintage-looking wallpaper, this time in a preternatural shade of turquoise, and wood paneling. Unlike the rest of the house, however, the room was full of high-tech equipment. One wall was covered in screens and the rest with metal shelves filled with various types of recording devices. Zach glanced at the Midas Pro-X professional grade track mixer with undisguised envy. It was gorgeous, expensive and totally unnecessary if all you were doing was isolating indistinct background noise. However, thanks to his brother, Gabe's, largesse, the PRoVE guys could buy all the expensive toys they wanted.

  Caine deposited his pizza box on a large metal desk and pulled up a pair of modern-looking swivel chairs. A poster on top of the desk summarized the PRoVE philosophy in large gothic lettering: "Document the phenomena, Respect the evidence, Opine with care, Verify your findings, Explain your results." An exasperated team member had scrawled "and do NOT steal other people's lunches" at the bottom.

  "Check this out," Caine said, sitting down and typing something on a wafer-thin keyboard. "This was one of the cameras we stuck into the ground."

  The largest screen lit up to a woodland scene rendered in the sickly, greenish tones characteristic of night-vision photography. The forest was still and quiet, and very, very green.

  Caine, eyes riveted to the screen, opened the pizza box and picked up a slice. Zach sat on the other chair and settled down to wait. He'd sat through enough PRoVE editing sessions to know it would be a long time before anything happened, and, when the long-awaited moment finally arrived, it would be utterly anti-climactic, a mere whisper or a barely visible orb of light, a barely-perceived sound or smudge that would then be replayed a near-infinite number of times until Caine was satisfied.

  Well, at least he had a donut, and it was apple cider, his favorite.

  There was something to be said for the classics. The donut was the perfect balance of sugar, spices, and, let's face it, grease. The apple cider donut was the one delicacy that he would always associate with Banshee Creek Bakery's unassuming exterior, sticky sweetness and unexpected flavor.

  Unfortunately, they also reminded him of Patricia.

  And he was trying not to think about Patricia. He'd stayed up late at the pizzeria trying not to think about Patricia. Then he'd come in early and accepted the PRoVE order so he wouldn't have to think about Patricia. It was amazing how much work you could get done when you were trying to avoid something. He was almost up to date on his tax records, for one.

  And -- he eyed Caine's jalapeño-pineapple pizza, well, what was left of it anyway -- he'd built a breakfast pizza business.

  Not bad for someone who was desperately trying to avoid thinking about a girl.

  "Check this out," Caine said.

  Zach focused on the wooded scene. It seemed unchanged. The trees were still there. The snow was still there. The eerie green tinge was still there.

  And that was pretty much it. It was pretty boring.

  But Caine did not agree with him. The leader of the PRoVE team leaned forward, eyes riveted on the screen.

  "There," he exclaimed, pointing at the screen. "Behind that tree."

  Zach could see it now, a greenish silhouette peeking behind the trunk. It hesitated then stepped forward, closer to the camera.

  It was a small deer, not as big as the white-tailed fawns that populated the Banshee Creek forests. The triangular head looked disproportionately small, and the neck was too short. It walked slowly, on painfully skinny legs, as if unused to its environment.

  It wasn't an impressive sight.

  "I don't think it likes the cold," Caine commented.

  "Transylvania's pretty cold, isn't it?" Zach replied.

  Caine did not look away from the screen. "It's not Transylvanian. It's Chinese and it's used to a temperate climate."

  The dainty animal bent its head to the ground, digging in the snow.

  "Poor thing, it must be having trouble finding food," Caine explained. "But, then again, we probably wouldn't get any footage if it didn't have to come out and forage. This is pretty amazing."

  Caine's voice rose in excitement, but Zach was still confused. Other than its strange proportions, there didn't seem to be anything special about this animal. It sure was a good digger, though, it must have found something under that snow...

  "Caine?" he asked, horrified. "Is that thing eating my mom's bulbs?"

  "I hope so," Caine replied. "It needs the nutrients."

  Great, just great. He had a sneaking suspicion that his mom would force him to plant replacement bulbs next fall. That was going to be fun.

  They watched in silence as the deer finished its dinner with dainty bites. It walked toward the camera, muzzle to the ground, looking for more.

  "There you go, baby," Caine crooned. "Just a bit closer."

  The animal obliged and they could see its face clearly now, and it was, Zach had to admit, kind of cute. Big dark eyes, which glowed green on the screen, and delicate ears and nose. A dusting of white spots on its fur gave it the look of a gangly, geeky adolescent.

  With large, sharp fangs.

  "Perfect," Caine sighed. "That's the money shot."

  And an impressive one at that. Tusks, shmusks. These babies looked needle sharp and dangerous.

  "It can extend them," Caine explained. "But it only does that during mating season, as posturing."

  That was reassuring. He hated to admit it, but the "vampire deer" moniker was well deserved. This thing looked freaky.

  "Is it dangerous?" he asked.

  "Not really. A couple of people in London reported that their dogs were attacked, but it was only a couple of scratches. Nothing major."

  That, however, was less than reassuring. The PRoVE team's "mere piffle" category included cave-ins, mudslides, and even hurricanes. He made a mental note to research "vampire deer attack" and tell Patricia.

  The thought startled him. Tell Patricia what? To watch out for the vampire deer? That sounded ridiculous.

  No, it was ridiculous. Patricia didn't even have a pet. If anything, he should call his mom and tell her to keep Sato indoors. And yet his first thought was to call Patricia. This was a sign.

  "And that's not all that we got," Caine continued.

  But Zach didn't pay him any attention. He was lost in thought. Patricia was his friend, his buddy. Sure, they'd kissed, but that had been a fluke. How did Caine put it? Nothing major? That's just what it was, an accident, a happenstance.

  "This is our drone footage," he heard Caine say.

  The screen went dark, then switched to a birds'-eye view of the forest. He could see the roof of his parents' house and the smoking chimney. His truck was parked in the driveway. The drone swooped down and he could see their footsteps -- his and Patricia's -- in the snow.

  The drone flew up over the house and into the forest.

  "The trees are tricky here," Caine muttered. "You don't want to get caught in the branches."

  But the drone pilot was able to avoid the branches. The camera danced around the trees, flew over the PRoVE team and headed back to the house.

  Zach winced as it flew around a large oak tree, missing the trunk by mere centimeters. The drone swept around the tree, bursting through a snow-covered branch. The screen turned white, then cleared a bit as the drone shed its powdery covering.

  He should call Patricia. Maybe tell her about Caine's vampire deer footage. They could have a good laugh about the fanged herbivores. That would prove that the kiss was behind them. That it had been forgotten.

  That they could go back to being friends.
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br />   The snow finally fell off and the camera focused on a small open area between the towering oak trees. A couple stood in the middle of the clearing.

  Kissing.

  Zach's heart sank as he recognized Patricia's dark hair and puffy coat.

  And it wasn't just any kiss. It was a hungry, passionate embrace. The sight of it made his muscles tighten instinctively. He remembered the feel of Patricia's arms circling his neck, the smell of her hair, the feel of her lips.

  Oh yeah, those two didn't look like they were just friends.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  FIVE. DOZEN. Donuts. Five dozen donuts before dawn.

  She opened the door to the shop to let in some cool air. The building's ventilation system was, like the bakery itself, rather on the antique side. The Great Donut Fry -- along with its sibling, The Bodacious Coffee Brew -- had officially killed it.

  Nothing like a vampire deer sighting to build up your appetite. She'd done big orders for the paranormies before, but this one was going on the record books. And she still had to make refreshments for the town meeting tonight.

  The sun was rising, and the morning sky was lit up in pink, blue and tangerine. It looked like a psychedelic rainbow straight out of a seventies' kid show. She stood in the cold morning air and stared. A dark shadow, recognizable as one of the town's many barn owls, swooped down and a loud screech rent the air.

  She smiled. Sometimes this town was downright magical.

  She stood, shivering in the cold, until the tie-dye sunrise faded away. As the sky grew lighter, she heard a shout and turned to greet Laurie who was walking toward the bakery, carrying her computer bag and empty coffee thermos. She was wearing a military style parka, jeans, and high-heeled leather boots. The outfit looked eccentric and stylish at the same time.

  Maybe she was a fashion blogger? That would account for her unexplainable sources of income and constant computer use. But why would a fashion blogger come to Banshee Creek? And was there such a thing as a punk fashion blogger?

  "No coat?" Laurie asked her, brows raised. "No ponytail? Have the pod people arrived in Banshee Creek? I knew it was only a matter of time"

  Patricia laughed and rubbed her arms. Laurie was right, she was getting chilly.

  "I like the new look," Laurie said. "The color is cute, the cowl neck is trendy, and the fit shows off your waist. It looks like cashmere, too. Where did you get it?"

  Patricia straightened the teal-colored sweater self-consciously. "Oh, it was one of my Christmas presents last year."

  The sweater was from Elizabeth and it bore the label of an exclusive, and very expensive, L.A. boutique. It was soft and luxurious. No, actually, it was downright decadent.

  It was everything Patricia wasn't.

  She'd thanked Elizabeth politely and stuck it in the back of her closet, sure that she'd never wear it. The deep blueish-green color was too...colorful, and the fit was too tight. She much preferred her pale pink polo shirts with the Banshee Creek Bakery ghost logo embroidered on the left side.

  Laurie laughed. "I heard the paranormie decree: No Pink or Red at the Town Meeting, No Way, No How. I guess that means most of your wardrobe is verboten."

  "Pretty much," she admitted.

  Actually "most" was an understatement. She didn't seem to own any clothes that were not work-related. She'd thrown away her Manhattan wardrobe when she'd returned to Banshee Creek, and most of her clothes were pink logo polo shirts and khaki pants. But some of her older shirts, from way back when, were white. Plain white t-shirts with "Banshee Creek Bakery" printed in plain black font on the front. She could have worn those.

  But she didn't.

  "I like the makeup too," Laurie added, eyes twinkling. "It's a nice touch."

  Patricia felt herself blush. She usually didn't wear makeup. But she'd dug up her makeup bag this morning. Sleepless nights usually called for copious amounts of concealer, and last night was no exception.

  But she didn't stop after applying concealer. She added eyeliner, a light touch of mascara, and, yes a glossy pinkish shade of lipstick with the irresistible name of Caramelized Peach Tart. It wasn't a lot of makeup and she'd hoped that the effect would not be noticeable.

  She'd been wrong.

  "I guess you really want to impress the Historical Preservation Committee," Laurie teased, smiling.

  She entered the bakery and headed for her usual table and Patricia relaxed. The inquisition was over.

  "Tonight's a big night," she said, following Laurie and closing the door. "They are going to do the Rosemoor announcement."

  She grabbed her friend's empty thermos, walked to the espresso machine and programmed it for a double shot of her spiced coffee blend. The familiar aroma filled the air, waking up her senses. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, identifying the individual spices, cardamom, cinnamon, cloves... The scent was comfortable and exotic at the same time. The custom spice blend was expensive, but, in her opinion, worth every single penny. It smelled like everything she wanted Banshee Creek Bakery to be, homey and familiar, but different and enticing.

  She opened her eyes and found a stranger looking back at her. The backsplash mirror reflected a beautiful girl with long, loose brown hair, long eyelashes and pouty lips. This girl didn't look like a small town baker with a painful past. She looked pretty and confident.

  And nothing like Patricia.

  When the thermos was full, she closed it and handed it to Laurie who...wasn't there.

  Strange, her client-cum-squatter usually dropped her stuff at her favorite table then waited anxiously on the other side of the counter for her morning caffeine fix. Not this time. Today, she sat at the table, staring at her laptop screen, a surprised expression on her face.

  Patricia sighed and walked over with the thermos.

  "Here you go," she said. "Do you want something--"

  Laurie jumped, looking guilty. She stared at Patricia, then looked back at the screen.

  "Have you seen this?" she hissed.

  "Seen what?" Patricia asked, placing the thermos on the table. "Another Devil Monkey sighting?"

  "No," Laurie replied with a laugh. "This particular critter has never been seen in the wild."

  She clicked on the keyboard and turned the laptop around. A large image, with the tell-tale greenish tinge of night-vision photography, filled the screen.

  Patricia frowned at the screen. It was just one of the PRoVE movies. What was the big deal?

  The paranormal group issued one pretty much every day, and they all featured some garbled ghost chat or a floating orb, or, on particularly slow days, a Sasquatch sighting from Tibet. She peered at the screen, trying to identify the Phenomena of the Day. Was it that weird glowing thing next to the kissing couple?

  No, her eyes widened in horror, it was the kissing couple.

  The video looped back to the beginning, and she watched as her doppelgänger grabbed Zach's flimsy leather jacket and pulled herself up, kissing him firmly on the mouth. At first Zach didn't move, shocked into stillness, but he quickly recovered, enfolding her in his arms and holding her as if he'd never let her go.

  "He's a good kisser," Laurie commented, taking a sip of coffee. "That's good. Sometimes the bad boys are all bark and no bite."

  The video restarted. They watched it again, enthralled.

  "He's got bite," Laurie concluded.

  Patricia nodded, Zach definitely had bite.

  "Well," Laurie drawled. "I guess I misunderstood the purpose of the makeover."

  Patricia glared at the screen and plotted her epic retribution. She was going to dismember Caine and his posse.

  "I can't believe I didn't see it," Laurie continued. "I mean I noticed that he comes here all the time."

  Her vengeful thoughts were instantly derailed. "He does not."

  Laurie raised an eyebrow. "He fixed your oven, and restarted your fridge."

  "Those were emergencies. And it's a quid pro quo. We help him with his taste testing."

  "
Right, which means he drops by several times a day with crazy recipes that he just has to discuss with you. How many of those recipes has he actually put in the menu? Or even tried as daily specials?"

  Patricia frowned. To be honest, he didn't actually make that many. He just dropped by, ate his own body weight in donuts and chatted about flavor mixing and dish marketing. He didn't actually try any of the dishes that he asked them to taste test.

  Laurie sighed. "I waited and waited for that gnocchi and samosa hybrid he was raving about. It actually tasted kind of good."

  Patricia disagreed, but that was neither here nor there. Was Zach's taste-testing serious, or was it, as her friend seemed to think, merely a cover?

  "And he brought you that weird gluten-free flour you needed for that crazy catering job," Laurie continued. "You know, the one with the bloody vegetarian cupcakes."

  Oh, lord, she'd forgotten about the Vicious Vegan Vampire Crisis. Yes, Zach had really come through for that one.

  "I guess the surprising thing is that you were the one kissing him." Laurie sounded genuinely puzzled. "He's absolutely not your type."

  A message bubble appeared on the screen and Laurie quickly turned the computer around. She shrugged a silent apology then hunched over the keyboard, typing furiously.

  Relieved, Patricia returned to her usual spot behind the counter. Zach Franco -- musician, ladies' man and all-around bad boy -- was exactly her type.

  And that was the problem.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  "YOU'RE ALL over the Internet," Sarah said, putting in an order for an Amityville Horror Antipasto Platter. "You and that scone-destroying baker bird beat out the Loch Ness monster-slash-log and that thing's been PRoVE's most shared link for two months."

  Zach frowned and stopped marking off items on his inventory list.

  "Caine put it up on the website?" he asked, fighting the urge to put down the list and rub his temples.

  The pizzeria was almost empty, which was worrisome. Sarah had turned up the music to mask the silence and the theme from John Carpenter's The Fog blared through the speakers. It was a singularly unsuitable choice.