Hosts to Ghosts Box Set

by Lynne Connolly

  They both sighed. “I thought you might be Nev, come back to plague me,” she murmured. He reveled in the sensation of her breath on his chest. So real, so wonderful. “It was only when they opened your eyes to do some reflex tests I saw they were blue and knew it was still you.”

  “How long do you think I’m here for?”

  “A week or so, until they’re sure there are no ill effects. They’re testing you every day, and they want you to come back at regular intervals for a while, for more tests. Well you’re coming back for every test, whether you like it or not. If the CT machine bothers you, they’ll just have to sedate you.”

  “I’ll manage.” He could do anything, now he knew he had her with him.

  “My parents flew over as soon as they heard. They’ll help with the Abbey and the press until you’re well enough.”

  “The press?”

  She smiled and looked up at his face. “You’re their Christmas miracle. The Hosts to Ghosts show was deferred until they knew if you were going to live or not, but the anticipation has only added to the hype. They’re working it for all it’s worth. They’ve been here every day, and you were headlines.”

  He chuckled. “Fame at last.”

  “What do you mean, at last?”

  She reached up to kiss him gently, and much to his chagrin, he found he was too weak to take advantage of her, but the kiss was as sweet as any he’d had.

  “Why am I still here, Sylvie?”

  She stared into his eyes. “I don’t know. A Christmas miracle perhaps. God knows I prayed enough.”

  When her mother entered the room half an hour later, it was to find her daughter curled up with her husband, her arm across his chest. Both were sleeping like babes.

  She decided not to disturb them.

  * * * * *

  “Nev, did you see the angels?” Shouted questions confused him after a week in the relative quiet of his hospital room.

  With cameras flashing in his face, Nathaniel briefly thought of stepping back into the hospital. Hadn’t the staff warned them not to do that? Wasn’t the flashing bad for him?

  He tightened his grip around Sylvie’s waist, feeling her strength and her love. “Not Nev, not any more. I’m going back to my real name, Nathaniel Edward Vernon Heatherington. I’m Nathaniel, Lord Rustead.” Sylvie increased the pressure of her hand on his waist, and he grinned. “I’m told I have to take it easy, so I’m retiring from photojournalism and heading for the quiet life.”

  “I don’t think the quiet life will last for much longer,” Sylvie muttered so only he heard her.

  He turned his head to see her smiling. The shadows had gone from her face. She looked radiant, blooming, even.

  She reached up to whisper in his ear. “I’m told babies can scream quite loudly.”

  Forgetting the media people who stood in front of the main entrance of the hotel, he turned to face her. “What?”

  “I did a test. It’s early, really early, and I would have left it, but I wondered if that was the reason you’re still here. Is this why you’ve been allowed to stay? To love and care for your children?”

  “Children?”

  “Well I didn’t think we’d stop at just one.”

  Wrapping his arms around her, he took her in a soul-stirring kiss, and really gave the media something to report.

  Epilogue

  Dark, midnight, the witching hour. Also the only time Rustead Abbey was quiet, these days. What with the tourists, the TV companies who used the Abbey as a picturesque backdrop for dramas, and the Earl and Countess’s growing and raucous family, a ghost had no rest.

  Brother Anselm stood in the Long Gallery, in front of the portraits of the two brothers who had kept him company for so long, and ruminated. Not, for a change, on the everlasting wisdom of God, but on earthly matters. Both had passed on to their earthly rewards, both deservedly happy, the sins of their past expunged. He was happy for them, and daily he fought against his resentment which was none of their doing.

  Vernon, blissfully happy and prolific with his beloved Cassandra. A full and happy life, renewed prosperity for the Abbey and a clutch of children. Everything he had wanted, restored back to him threefold. Brother Anselm tucked his hands into the sleeves of his brown robe, and smiled up at the aristocratic Cavalier, resplendent in blue satin and white lace.

  Nathaniel, astonished to find the love of this and every life, Sylvie, loved him back. Even more astonished to find how much he adored the children she gave him. He never stopped counting his blessings, enjoying every moment of the new life he had. The modern era suited him better than the one he’d been born into. His portrait reflected his character then and now, restless, intelligent, principled. Dressed in a simple black leather jerkin, a plain, crisp white collar relieving his dark garb, his portrait was an excellent foil to that of his brother.

  Not for him. His sin had been so much greater, but he had long repented. If he’d learned anything, it was that repentance wasn’t enough. He had to atone for his sin. In this secular, frantic age, he doubted it would be possible. He was here until the end of time, he feared, never to go forward, never to know what he could have been.

  Turning away, Brother Anselm glided to the end of the gallery. A girl stood there, someone in her late teens or early twenties, no older from the clear complexion and coltish body. Something inside him twisted. She reminded him of someone else, a someone he’d known long ago.

  She wouldn’t see him. No one saw him anymore. He was too adept at concealment, too quiet to cause any ripples in the atmosphere of the great house.

  So Brother Anselm was deeply shocked when she gave him a sweet smile.

  “Hello,” she said. “Who are you and why are you dressed like that?”

  The Haunting of Belle Sauvage

  A Hosts to Ghosts Story

  By

  Lynne Connolly

  After three weeks of married bliss, Jordan Arcenaux wants a divorce. Reeling from his rejection, Karey agrees to exorcise Belle Sauvage, a plantation house being renovated as a luxury resort.

  The ghosts of Belle Sauvage are dangerous. They want a treasure lost a hundred years before, the sapphire necklace known as the Blue Star, but more than that, they want to find a way back to life. They want Karey.

  Newly made vampire Jordan follows his vampire ex-lover to Belle Sauvage to try to save the wife he still loves. Karey can’t be part of his new life, but his efforts to push her away become more desperate as he tries to save her from himself and Karey makes it clear she doesn’t want to be saved.

  Ghosts in search of a body to inhabit, a lost treasure and a voodoo practitioner turned rogue all conspire against Jordan and Karey finding any kind of happiness together.

  But in the heat of the Louisiana night, that’s all they can think of and all they want. Despite impossible odds, they still want each other.

  Chapter One

  Jordan Arceneaux paused to scent the air. Paris, one of the two cities he knew best, but for a change, he was in a hurry to get home to New York City. To his bride of three weeks, the delectable Karey, the woman he’d never thought he’d win. This interview had better be worthwhile.

  He rang the bell and heard the disembodied voice on the intercom.

  “Qui est lá?”

  He answered in French. “Jordan Arcenaux from Hosts to Ghosts. I’m here to talk to Gillespie Cornell.”

  “Entrez.”

  The buzzer sounded and he pushed the glass door, passing into the cool, marble lobby of the exclusive apartment block. Gillespie Cornell certainly lived in style, for a vampire. Idly, Jordan wondered where he kept his coffin.

  He still doubted this was anything but a hoax. Usually Hosts to Ghosts dealt with paranormal phenomena like hauntings and poltergeists, gaining a reputation for ‘cleansing’ houses, which had problems. Jordan had yet to see any proof that there was anything but human influence involved, sometimes of a nature that was beyond modern science, it was true, but explainable within the n
ew bounds the company was developing. They made their money by televising the research, a program that was becoming increasingly popular. Eventually, Jordan hoped that would make his name. His and Karey’s. She had as much to do with the success of the company as he did.

  When the door to the apartment first opened, Jordan only had eyes for the vision that stood welcoming him. This must be the woman who had answered the intercom. Tall, willowy, golden blonde with incredibly blue eyes, and chic as only a Parisienne could be. She smiled. “I am Didiane Merchand, Gillespie’s wife.”

  He raised an eyebrow. Cornell hadn’t mentioned a wife in his emails. The correspondence had been tantalizing enough to bring Jordan over the ocean when he should have been on his honeymoon, but now he doubted them. He would be extremely angry if all this was a hoax. Not for the first time since he’d kissed her goodbye at the airport, Jordan wished Karey could have come with him, but work had interfered as usual, and she had to stay behind.

  “Je suis ravi de vous rencontrer.”

  Didiane Merchand smiled. “Your French is very good.”

  “My mother is French, and my father is from Louisiana. They speak French there.”

  “Of a kind.”

  “Yes.” Jordan smiled when he remembered the bayous of his childhood, idiomatic and unique.

  “Do come in. Gillespie is waiting for you.”

  The man who stood to greet him in the large living room was tall, dark and handsome, possessed of a pair of startlingly vivid blue eyes. He smiled easily. “You are very brave, coming here on your own.”

  To his surprise, Jordan found himself looking up slightly to meet the amused expression in the blue eyes. At six feet four, he generally found he was the tallest person in the room, but not this time. Cornell must be six and a half feet, at least. He didn’t explain to Cornell that his doubts about the veracity of his story. No sense antagonizing the man from the outset.

  Cornell stared at him, his startling eyes fixed on Jordan’s own. “In answer to your question, I have no coffin. I am not dead. And you should have brought someone. Who knows if I might want to lunch from you?” He sniffed the air, the animalistic gesture somehow graceful. “I haven’t fed tonight.”

  Jordan admired the man’s approach. He didn’t wonder about the answers to his unasked questions. They were stock questions to ask vampires, questions anyone might want to know.

  The sinuous smile remained. “I know you are doubtful, but it doesn’t matter. We will talk. Drink?”

  “Water if you have it.”

  Didiane fetched the water, and passed it to Jordan in a beautiful cut glass. They all sat, Didiane settling on a sofa next to her husband in the shelter of his arm, her attention riveted on Jordan.

  Uncomfortable under the concentrated regard, Jordan fumbled when he placed his camera in the center of the glass table. These days he recorded on to his camera. He set it up in full sight, but he also had another, tucked inside his jacket. Sometimes people objected at the last moment.

  Didiane smiled. “If you abandoned the polyester in favor of natural fabrics and cut your hair more becomingly, you could be a good looking man.”

  Startled, Jordan stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Not at all. Polyester doesn’t allow your body to breathe. If your mother was a Parisienne she must have taught you some style.”

  Jordan shrugged. Clothes were the least of his concerns. “Easy wash, easy iron. I haven’t time to waste fussing over what I wear.” He was neat and presentable. What more did they expect?

  Cornell smiled and covered Didiane’s hand with his own, where it lay on his knee. “You are taking too much of a personal interest, my dear. Leave the man alone.”

  This was bizarre. Jordan began his interview, clearing his throat. “I appreciate the opportunity of talking to you. If I may be frank, I’ve never interviewed a vampire before. My wife thinks I’m insane, coming over here on the off-chance I’ve found one of the legendary Cornell family. Could you tell me something about yourself? Your biography, your age?” He still didn’t dare to believe he’d found a Cornell. He barely believed in vampires, but the legends fascinated him to the point of obsession and he wanted proof, one way or another.

  “Very good.” Gracefully, Cornell unfolded himself from the sofa and stood. “But I didn’t summon you here for that. I may answer some of your questions if you answer some of mine. I want to know something of this jewel. Didiane has a longing for beautiful jewels, and I have been reading of yours.”

  Bewildered, Jordan said, “I have no jewels, nothing out of the ordinary, that is.”

  “Tell me about the Blue Star.”

  “Ah.” He could see no reason why he shouldn’t satisfy Cornell’s curiosity. The story was public knowledge, after all. “It’s a legendary sapphire necklace, lost over a hundred years ago. The family has long given up the search. Hosts to Ghosts was called in to investigate paranormal phenomena in the house, nothing to do with the jewel.”

  “Your family owns it?”

  “Very distant family.” But in Louisiana, cousins counted for something. So did second cousins, and thirds...one reason he’d moved away. He’d felt stifled.

  “Do you mean the owner of the house has no intention of discovering the stone?” Cornell strolled to the window and stood with his back to Jordan, staring out at the night, street lights glittering below him.

  “The house was run down, and Auguste is turning it into a resort hotel. The Blue Star was the last thing he was thinking about. As far as we know it will never be found, and nobody is hunting for it. It could have been secretly sold, and the legend about its loss put about.”

  Cornell turned away from the view and fixed his remarkably penetrating gaze on Jordan. “I know things about the family. I have read the accounts. This is an old necklace, untouched for centuries. It will not have deteriorated in a hundred years. I thought to indulge her wish and find it for her. I can pay, if you wish.” His eyes glittered, and Jordan wondered if the legends about mind control and hypnosis were true.

  He looked away, frowning, and sipped at his water. “Why didn’t you contact Auguste?”

  “I did. He dismissed my request.” Cornell turned, his face devoid of expression. “The man is a fool. I wish merely to search for it. Then I discovered you were his cousin, and I had a chance to speak to someone. You have a claim on the jewel?”

  Jordan shrugged. “I’m not betting the farm on it.” He dredged his mind to remember what his father had told him. “There is an agreement. If the stone is ever found, all the surviving members of the family have an equal share. It will be sold and the proceeds split among us. But nobody has ever thought it would be found. It was searched for, and never discovered. It’s lost.” A sense of annoyance filled him. Was this why he had been dragged half way across the world? “You’re not a vampire, are you? Just a fortune hunter. I think our business is done here. If you want the stone, you will have to find it for yourself.”

  He stood up, picking up his camera and clicking the stop button. When he turned to put it back in his briefcase, he felt hot breath at his back.

  It wasn’t possible. Neither of them could have moved so silently. But it was true. Cornell’s voice hummed breathily into his ear. “Hold still. I will not hurt you, merely take a little blood so you will obey me.”

  He struggled, and felt his shirt dragged back, almost throttling him. Cornell cursed. “Polyester! It doesn’t tear like cotton. Damned stuff!”

  A long hand curled around his body and began to undo the buttons. Without thinking Jordan jerked his elbow back into Cornell’s stomach. The blow should have winded him, at the very least. Jordan hadn’t brought anything here he wasn’t prepared to leave behind, so he headed for the door, putting on a burst of speed.

  He never got there. Cornell landed on his back like some giant bird of prey, bearing Jordan heavily to the ground. Pinned down, Jordan felt his collar pulled back. “This won’t hurt a bit,” the hot voice breathed in his ea
r.

  He lied. The sharp double prick at the side of his neck made Jordan struggle violently, but the man must have been made of steel, for all the difference it made. “You are strong,” Didiane’s voice came from somewhere above him, “but we are stronger. Do not struggle, it will be over soon.”

  The voice, strangely calm, dissolved into mist as Jordan lost consciousness.

  * * * * *

  Six months later

  Karey Murray stared around the near empty dining room at Belle Sauvage, fingering the letter in her hand. While it was pleasant to be able to sit here in peace, it wasn’t for much longer. The hotel would re-open when its owner, Auguste Duplessis, returned from his business trip, ready to take their first visitors.

  The hotel was bound to be a success. It was to be furnished in the first style of luxury, with a health center and well-appointed rooms and suites as well as a series of cottages in the grounds. The stories about the malevolent ghosts and deathbed curses made the resort irresistibly notorious to the ghoulish. Add to that the stories of the hidden sapphire necklace and Belle Sauvage would soon be as famous as one of the best hotels in the New Orleans area. That was what Auguste wanted. What he didn’t want was the real ghosts, which was why Karey was here. A talented psychic, a cleanser and the part owner of Hosts to Ghosts, she was the natural person to call.

  “Interesting news?”

  She started at the male voice coming from behind her chair, but smiled in greeting when she realized it was Bernard Foret. The hotel’s concierge had been remarkably good company these last few weeks, helping her to find her balance after her world had ripped apart. “Not news,” she said, folding the letter. “Old stuff.” She knew it by heart by now, anyway.

  Karey,

  I know you expected me home last week, but there was an unexpected development. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll come straight out with it.