by Shayla Black
restore both to a more period-appropriate color.”
He nodded again, but it was a negligent gesture. “I’m sure it will be lovely.”
And then he was gone once more, heading back to the living room and leaving a terrible void in his wake.
Something had to give. Right now, she just hoped Eric actually came back from Chicago. What if he got there and remembered how much he loved it, how much less complicated everything was in his office? How much he enjoyed the comforts of his home? What if he called in a few days and told her to have a good life? Kell and Tate would leave shortly thereafter.
At the terrible thought, a sob rose up inside her.
Once, she’d thought they’d all be better off if the guys left. Now, Belle wasn’t entirely sure she’d live through their parting. She’d gotten so used to being with them, to having them in her everyday life. She couldn’t imagine how quiet the house would be without them. But her feelings stemmed from more than a worry about being lonely. Belle would miss them like she’d miss the beating heart they’d tear from her chest when they left.
She took a deep breath and picked up her tea mug. Weariness threatened to invade her bones. Despite the fact that she wasn’t alone at night, what little sleep she got wasn’t restful. Her dreams were still haunted by swinging ropes and screaming women as they were dragged to their deaths. She still heard those whispers in the night that warned her to leave. Often, she’d sit straight up in bed. Then the voices would stop, only to start again when she settled back against her pillow.
The sound from the television drifted from the living room.
Police are still investigating the murder of local madam, Karen Ehlers, age fifty-nine. Ehlers allegedly ran the most upscale brothel in New Orleans. She was found strangled in her home just over a week ago amid rumors that she was preparing to write a tell-all autobiography that would have outed several of New Orleans’s most powerful men as her clients. The police haven’t made any arrests. In a press conference earlier today, they requested that anyone with information about Elhers’s infamous client list or the murder contact them.
Belle shuddered as she walked into the parlor and saw another dead woman center screen. The last thing she needed before bed was to listen to tales of death and mayhem. She already had them running through her head every night.
Belle stretched as she walked into the parlor and turned on the overhead lights. They illuminated the room with warm, golden light as she headed for her favorite chair in the house. It was a big comfortable wingback in the corner. The fabric was an eye-assaulting brocade, but she couldn’t bring herself to change it. Big bookshelves full of eclectic tomes flanked the chair, and the prettiest Tiffany lamp decorated the adjoining side table.
At some point, her grandmother had begun using this space less as a room to greet guests and more as a cozy place to relax. She could envision her grandmother sitting in the comfy chair while reading. Belle had taken to curling up there in the evenings and reading her grandmother’s journal before she retired.
The woman she’d met only at her father’s funeral fascinated her. The diary hinted at some big and slightly scandalous parties back in her day. Belle had wondered more than once what her grandmother would say about her unusual relationship with Kell, Eric, and Tate. Oddly enough, she had the sense that Grandma would have understood.
The overhead lights flickered, blinked twice, and died, sending the room into gloom again. Belle sighed. Maybe they weren’t done with Mike after all. She reached over and pulled the chain on the Tiffany lamp. Luckily, it came on, giving her a small circle of light. Belle settled against the back of the cozy chair, deciding the little pool of illumination was actually quite nice.
She opened the journal, flipping to the place where she’d left off last night, and settled in eagerly.
My darling boy, I hear you had a baby girl. Annabelle. Oh, my son. I’m so proud you named her after my dearest Belle. She loved you so. I sent a gift, but I don’t expect you to receive it well. If you send it back to me, I’ll give it to the orphanage. They can always use the money. I wish I could see her, see the smallest piece of myself in her beautiful, tiny face. You won’t allow it, but know that I love that child like I love you, son. Tell her to have the best life she can. Tell her to find love and when she does, you tell her to never let it go. You tell her to fight in a way I didn’t. I let your father go too easily. You tell her she’ll never regret that she fought. She will only mourn if she doesn’t.
Would it please you to know I sold the business? Likely not. I’m too old to control those girls anymore. I’m far past my prime. I’ll just read my cards in the Square from now on. I’ll tell tourists the futures they want to hear, then maybe—just maybe—they’ll create their own self-fulfilling prophecies and make their dreams come true. Sometimes all a person needs is a little faith. I have the greatest faith that someday you will forgive me. Someday I will prove myself and my adoration to you. I love you, my boy. Take care of your baby girl.
Tears sprang to Belle’s eyes. She sniffled, the words in front of her watery but seared into her heart. She flipped the page to read on, to find out why her father had never forgiven his own mother. But that was the last page of the entry. The rest of the pages remained void—like their mother-son rapport.
Why had her father been so angry with Grandma? Belle couldn’t understand why he’d kept her from a loving grandmother. It was so obvious the woman had adored her only son. In earlier entries, she’d written tearfully about sending him away for boarding school. She’d missed her son desperately, but wanted what was best for him. How had her father not seen or believed in that love?
Belle read the entry again, looking for clues. The words seemed to swell off the page and into her consciousness. Fight. Fight for the love she wanted and deserved. Risk her heart. Take a chance.
It scared her. She’d already seen what life looked like when one didn’t. Her grandmother had ended up alone. Her mother, too. Her father…she recalled his occasionally withdrawn moods. Had her family all walked away from love and lived to regret it? Could she break the cycle?
On the other hand, she’d tried so hard as a child to make her mom love her again following her father’s passing and she’d failed. After that, she’d stopped trying at all, refusing to let herself be hurt again.
Was she playing out the same patterns as her ancestors? Sure, she’d listened to Kellan’s terrible past, even empathized with him, but had she fought for him? Really? For all of them to stay and love her?
No. She’d pushed them away to protect her heart, but it was already breaking. And if she didn’t change something now, she feared she’d soon mourn the fact that she had not done absolutely everything she could to keep them.
The light in the room flickered on again. Belle glanced up at the big fixture dangling from the ceiling. It flared and died, a popping sound splitting the air.
She stood. Damn it. Mike had sworn everything was up to current code. He’d smiled and taken her check, and now Belle kind of wanted to punch him in the face. Guess she’d be calling him again in the morning.
With a sigh, she leaned back against the chair, wishing her other problems would be half so easy to fix.
Suddenly, every hair on her body stood up. The air seemed to turn electric. Goose bumps covered her body.
A shadow snagged her attention, and Belle zipped her gaze to the far wall in time to watch a dark mass move across the area. She gulped in a silent breath, her eyes widening as the figure moved toward the window. The whole room seemed to turn cold.
There was no way to deny what her eyes were seeing. That shadow moving across her wall didn’t move like a person. It seemed to float off the ground. It didn’t have defined legs.
It wasn’t of this world.
A cold menace snaked across her skin. All the air in the room was suddenly sucked away. Her lungs ached. Time slowed to a stop as she watched the black mass pause, turn. Was it coming her way?
She felt a cold touch on her shoulder, almost like an icy finger passing through her flesh. She heard a scream. Then the whole world went black.
* * * *
Kellan’s heart threatened to stop when he heard the blood-curdling scream fill the whole space as though the house itself was screaming.
He dropped the file he’d been studying and ran because Belle was in trouble.
“Belle!” Tate yelled for her as he jumped to his feet.
“The parlor.” Eric picked up his cell phone as they all sprinted toward that section of the house. “She always reads in there at this time of night.”
Kellan got to her first. She looked so frail and delicate, her body slumped over in the big chair. He got to his knees, feeling for a pulse. Praying for a pulse. God, what had happened?
“Kellan?” Her lashes fluttered, her eyes opening slowly.
“I’m here, love.”
With a cry, she threw herself against him, wrapping her arms around his body as if he was a life preserver in the middle of a raging sea.
“I’m calling 911,” Eric barked.
“Do you see something? Someone? I’ll do a search.” Tate stood tense as he stared down at her.
“Don’t,” she said quickly, sniffling slightly as she shook her head. “Don’t call anyone. They’ll just think I’m crazy.”
“Love, we need to get this on record. Who was in here?” It had been so quiet the last few days, Kell had almost believed that whoever had tried to scare her previously had moved on. He’d hoped that whoever wanted her out had realized that scare tactics wouldn’t work. No. They’d just been waiting, plotting, and escalating. He was going to kill whoever had rattled her with his bare hands.
Belle pulled back, trying to stand on shaky feet. “No one. I mean no one alive.”
Had she been drinking? “What?”
She scanned the room fearfully, as though trying to find something no longer there. “It was here. A big shadow… I-it was shaped like a man mostly, but I felt its evil. God, Kellan. The room got so cold. I felt him touch me and it nearly made me sick.”
His heart was still thundering in his chest, but he frowned. Was she implying that she’d seen a ghost? He wondered what exactly her grandmother had been writing about in that journal of hers because it was making Belle’s imagination run wild.
“I’m sure you just fell asleep and had another bad dream.”
Her eyes narrowed into a stubborn glare. “I did not fall asleep.” She frowned, swallowing. “I didn’t want to believe it myself, but I think this house is haunted and by more than one entity.”
Yeah, what the hell did he do with that? “Okay, maybe we should have you talk to someone. You’re under a lot of stress.”
Tate cleared his throat and suddenly looked sheepish. “I might need to talk to someone, too.”
Belle turned, gasping as she reached for Tate’s hand. “You’ve seen something?”
Kellan frowned at Tate. What the hell was he up to? “Are you serious?”
Tate flushed slightly, his big shoulders shrugging in a self-conscious gesture. “Maybe. Look, there are some weird things going on in this place.”
Eric pocketed his cell again. “It’s a historic house, man. You’ve never lived in a really old place like this. There’s always settling, and the electricity is obviously still faulty. There’s a logical explanation.”
“Okay, explain why the dog barks at shit that’s not there,” Tate shot back.
It took everything Kellan had not to roll his eyes. “Uhm, because he’s a dog and not a very smart one.”
Seemingly of its own accord, Kell’s head jerked slightly to the right. Damn it. He was going to have to get that checked out. He seemed to have developed a tic in his neck that caused him to jerk occasionally.
Belle stood by Tate, obviously picking her side of the fence. “Sir is not stupid.”
Oh, she was going to change that dog’s name if it was the last thing he did. “Love, he’s out chasing a cat across the courtyard. He’s not exactly a Rhodes Scholar.”
Eric crossed his arms over his chest. “It is a little creepy how he acts sometimes. I caught him growling at a closet the other day. Like really growling. He was ready to attack.”
“A lot of people believe animals see things we can’t,” Belle argued. “That animals have extra or heightened senses.”
“And some people think Santa Claus is real. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s not.” His head jerked again. Damn it. Maybe there was something neurologically wrong with him.
“Are you okay?” Belle’s eyes softened with concern.
“It’s a just a tic, love. Sometimes I get them when I’m stressed.” Though usually it was in his left eyelid. He’d never had his neck jerk like someone had slapped him upside the head.
Tate held up a hand. “Look, all I know is there are creepy parts of this house.”
Kell glared. Tate was supposed to be the logical one. “What does science tell you, man? I really thought you would be on my side. You were raised by scientists.”
“Yeah, uhm, what science tells us above all else is that we don’t know everything. The Greeks explained thunderstorms as Zeus getting pissed off and throwing lightning bolts around. How do we know that the ghost thing isn’t a way of explaining something we don’t understand yet? A truly good scientist leaves room for possibilities.”
“Do you really think that Belle saw a ghost?” Eric asked, shaking his head. “Because that seems farfetched.”
“To you, sure. But an iPod would look like magic to someone who lived a hundred years ago. I’m just saying there are more things in heaven and earth than are obviously a part of the grand philosophy of Kellan. Forty-eight percent of all Americans believe in ghosts. And this particular one seems to like to pat my ass,” Tate said with a sigh. “It’s happened more than once.”
“What?” Belle’s eyes widened.
“Dude, come on.” Kell frowned. Was Tate trying to get in good with Belle or had he just lost his mind?
Even in the dim light of the room, he could see Tate’s face flush a bright shade of red. “I started feeling it a couple of days ago. A cold spot drifts around me. I don’t feel…alone anymore. Then something pats me on the butt. I don’t know how else to say it. I also think I saw the shower curtain moving on its own today. Baby, did you sneak in and write nice ass on the bathroom mirror this morning?”
“No,” Belle assured. But she looked alarmed.
Eric held up his hands. “Dude, I try to not look at your ass even though you walk around with it hanging free most of the time.”
They all turned to stare at Kell, and he rolled his eyes. “Do you honestly believe I would come up with a practical joke like that? I have no sense of humor.”
It was a sad fact of life. He’d lost his sense of humor when he’d lost everything else. Though the idea of some perverted ghost having a fixation on Tate’s butt was kind of funny.
Eric mumbled something completely incoherent.
“What did you say?” Belle asked.
Eric seemed to find his feet very interesting. “I’m saying something keeps patting my butt, too. It’s weird. And sometimes I think I hear a voice saying I’m a good one. I don’t know what that means.”
Belle’s eyes lit up and she raced across the room to pick up her grandmother’s journal. “That’s what my grandma used to say about the men she liked.” She flipped through the pages. “Look here. She says her friend, Harrison, was a good one. One of the good ones. My grandma is here.”
“And she wants to pat their butts?” he asked incredulously. “Belle, really?” Maybe he should call in a shrink.
“I know it sounds crazy, but there is something happening in this house and I’m going to figure it out. I need a computer.” She looked up at Tate. “Would you help me do a little research?”
The faintest hint of a smile lit his lips, the first bit of happiness he’d seen out of Tate for days. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
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They walked out, hand in hand. Belle might have scared the shit out of him, but at least she and Tate seemed to have put aside their problems. That alone might make the whole near heart attack worthwhile. Although if she got truly close to Tate and Eric again, where would that leave him?
“You okay?” Eric asked.
“I’m fine. I’m a little worried about her. I think the pressure must be getting to her. It’s the only way to explain this sudden belief in ghosts.”
Eric’s brows rose. “I don’t think it’s sudden. Have you ever seen all the shows she tapes? Mostly it’s shows where people buy houses and then like wreck them and shit, but she also likes shows where people hunt for ghosts. But that’s not what I’m talking about. What are you doing, man?”
“I’m trying to figure out how to help Belle.” What was Eric’s