The Ghost Hunter

by Lori Brighton

  Apparently the old woman was going for direct. Ashley froze in midstep, the shock on her face was almost amusing. No way in hell the woman could deny her powers now.

  “No,” blurted from her mouth. “I mean.” A red flush made its way up her neck and into her face. Bloody hell, the woman couldn’t lie to save her life. “That is…I can sense things sometimes, like cold air and stuff, but I mean…”

  She slid Cristian a glance as if attempting to read his reaction.

  “What’s this going to cost me?” she whispered, her look of shock turning into a glare.

  He stepped closer to her, so close he could feel her body’s heat. He meant to intimidate her, but her nearness made his mind spin, his thoughts confused and muddled. “Nothing. On me.”

  Her mouth fell open, and she began to sputter.

  He grinned. Damn, how he wanted to jerk her forward and press his mouth to her lush lips. That would stop her sputtering nonsense and her questions.

  “Aye, ye have an evil presence in this hame.” Rose said, slowly turning in circles in the middle of the room. Ashley tore her gaze from him, but Cristian continued to study her, unable to look away, fascinated by the way her eyes flashed, her lips pursed together. She sighed in disgust and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “How much are you actually paying for her sage wisdom?”

  Cristian didn’t bother to answer, considering he wasn’t paying Rose a damn thing.

  “More than one,” Rose added. With her eyes closed, she held out her hands and moved her arms through the air like a blind person. Cristian rolled his eyes and leaned against the counter. The old witch was overdoing it a bit. “They were har, they were. In this verra spoot.”

  Ashley seemed to be buying the show. Her face grew an unhealthy pale. Cristian stepped closer, preparing to catch her if she fainted, but she didn’t even seem to notice his nearness. That’s gratitude for you.

  “Aye, been mooch activity ‘ere.” Rose turned toward Ashley, her eyes narrowed.

  Ashley stepped back, directly into his chest. He grasped her upper arms, keeping her steady. Oddly enough, she didn’t pull away.

  “Whoot questions do you ‘ave?”

  “Well…” Ashley hesitated.

  Rose leaned closer. “Aye?”

  Cristian felt a shiver run through her body and resisted the urge to bring her even closer, to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight. What was that warmth rushing through his very soul? An odd feeling of…compassion? Hell, no. He was too old and wise to feel compassion for any human. Yet, there it was.

  “Just…well…” Ashley couldn’t seem to speak.

  Shite, she was buying Rose’s act. She was even more naive than he’d realized. Before Ashley could get a complete sentence out, Rose reached for the door that led into the basement.

  Suddenly coming to her senses, Ashley surged forward. “You really shouldn’t—”

  With a whimper, Rose stumbled back. “Evil.” She whispered the word in an effectively harsh whisper.

  A wave of energy swept up the steps, hitting Cristian in the chest. Ashley sucked in a sharp breath between clenched teeth. Cristian pushed her aside and started toward the stairs. Something had happened, something had changed. The energy was stronger, more tangible than it had been last week when he’d arrived.

  “No!” Ashley reached for him, but he ignored her cry of protest.

  As Cristian moved down the steps, he could hear Rose whisper, “Dunnae go down thar, dunnae.” She wasn’t acting anymore. He could hear the honesty in her voice; she was trying to protect Ashley.

  But he could feel Ashley following him, her feet thumping down the steps quickly, too quickly. She gasped and he spun around. She fell into his arms, her breasts crushing to his chest. For one long moment they merely stood there, her heart hammering against his. He couldn’t let go, didn’t want to let go, wanted to pull her even closer. Slowly, she lifted her head and stared into his eyes. Her hands fisted into his t-shirt and her gaze dropped to his lips. Heat shot straight to his groin. Shite, he couldn’t handle this.

  He grasped her upper arms and gently pushed her away. “Ye should be more careful, Ashley. Next time I mightn’t be here to catch ye.”

  She raked trembling hands through her hair, the handkerchief falling to the steps, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t need you to catch me.”

  But she did, she just didn’t realize it. Still, he couldn’t help but admire her stubbornness. “Seems to me ye do.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want you down here.”

  He quirked a brow. What had she seen? Obviously something had happened to upset her. “Why?”

  “Because…because…I don’t and I don’t need a reason.”

  Hell, whatever she’d experienced must have done a number on her, or she wouldn’t be so upset. Torn between the need to know and the need to protect her, he started down the steps to the basement floor. Ashley stumbled after him. The area was empty, void of everything but a few crates against the wall. He should have felt something, being here, in this place after so many years. Instead, he felt oddly numb.

  “See, nothing.” Ashley latched onto his arm. Her touch sent his senses spinning. Feeling rushed through his body in a storm of emotion so strong, it left him shaken. He stepped away from her hold and the feelings she produced. He needed to concentrate, damn it all.

  “A door?” he asked, forcing her attention to the far corner of the room.

  She froze, he wasn’t even sure if she breathed as she stared at that portal. In her eyes he saw fear, a fear that worried him, but more than that, a fear that angered the hell out of him. He didn’t want to see her this way. She didn’t deserve this life.

  She rushed after him. “Honestly, I don’t know what it is.”

  He paused in front of the familiar door. If she only knew what was truly behind there… He could tell her, tell her the truth and hope it scared her enough that she ran. But it was doubtful. If she knew the truth, he had a feeling she’d be the one attempting to break down the door. Not that she could, he’d made sure of that.

  He lifted his hand and brushed his fingers over the icon in the middle of the panel. A familiar icon, one he knew well. Nothing more than a shiver of awareness spread through his body, but the house rumbled in angry protest. Ashley froze beside him, not saying a word. Like, if she kept silent, he wouldn’t notice the huge trembling pink elephant in the room.

  “What the bloody hell was that?” He turned toward her, waiting to see how she’d explain the situation away.

  She started back toward the steps, most likely hoping he’d follow. “How should I know? The boiler?”

  “Boiler’s over there.” He nodded toward the far corner where the rusty monstrous machine sat cold and unforgiving.

  She paused on the first step, looking confused for a moment. Cristian doubted she even knew what a boiler was. “Well, whatever. We should go, it’s rude to keep Rose waiting.”

  But she didn’t move, merely waited impatiently, tapping her foot. Slowly, he made his way toward her. She didn’t flinch, but held her ground as he rested his foot on the first step and peered into her hazel eyes. “What are ye trying to hide, Ashley?”

  She swallowed hard, her delicate throat working. “Oh, I don’t know. Ghosts?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Lot’s of ghosts.”

  He smiled. She was trying to kill him with honesty, was she?

  “What?” She arched a brow and looked down her nose at him. “Don’t you believe in ghosts? You brought Mad Rose here, I assumed you believe in such nonsense.”

  He shrugged. “Of course I do.”

  She frowned, obviously surprised that he would admit the truth. “Really?”

  “Don’t ye?”

  She paused for a long, telling moment. “Maybe.”

  Cristian rested his arm on the railing and leaned closer. Her vanilla scent swirled around him, took hold of his groin and made his body harden. “I think ye do,
ye just don’t want to admit it.”

  “Oh yeah, you an expert?” Her warm breath whispered softly against his lips.

  He lowered his gaze to her mouth. “Perhaps.”

  Nervously, her pink tongue darted out, licking her bottom lip. Fire shot through his body. “Then tell me something, why are there ghosts? I mean really? Why don’t they just go on to the other side?”

  He forced himself to look into her eyes. “Perhaps they like it better here. If they bother ye, Rose can give you something to get rid of them.” He’d wanted to get rid of them years ago, but Aunt Clare wouldn’t allow it. Treated the beasts like family. And they’d always been harmless enough, until now. Now, it was imperative they were destroyed.

  She stiffened in surprise. “Get rid of them?” She shrugged, looking rather put out. “Perhaps they aren’t so bad.”

  He laughed. “Ye like hanging out with evil, do ye?”

  She bristled, her cheeks flushing with annoyance. Lord, she was lovely when she was angry. “Ghosts aren’t evil.” The words came out strong and sure.

  Hell, she was like her aunt after all. She’d grown fond of the damn spirits. “Then why are they still here?”

  She poked him in his chest. “You tell me, since you seem to know it all.”

  He glanced back at the narrow wooden door that rested in the corner of the basement. “As I said, maybe they don’t want to go back.

  “Why wouldn’t they want to go back?”

  “Perhaps they’re afraid of what’s waiting on the other side.”

  She was quiet for one long moment. “You’re saying every spirit we see is evil?”

  He rested his hand on the railing, so close to hers that their fingertips touched, making his hands tingle and he had to resist the urge to move away. Hell, he wouldn’t be intimidated by a little attraction. It was normal, especially for his physical body. But he had to admit, he’d never experienced attraction like this.

  “No, not exactly,” he admitted. “I think perhaps some spirits come back for a brief time to visit their living relatives, but the ghosts we see here…all the time, aye.”

  She drew back from him as if he’d offended her. “Listen, I can’t talk about this right now. I have the real world to deal with.”

  She turned and started up the steps. He’d offended her. He shouldn’t care, yet he did. Hell, why not just admit the truth? Tell her what she was, who she could be if she only accepted her powers.

  “Ashley, I—”

  She paused.

  Because he cared. Damn it all. He knew almost as much about her as he did himself. He cared about her and he didn’t want her drawn into this life. “Never mind.”

  “Cristian,” Rose called out, her voice high-pitched with warning.

  Cristian raced by Ashley and into the kitchen. Rose was slumped over in her chair, her head hanging so low her chin touched her sagging chest.

  “Shite.” This was no act.

  “What is it?” Ashley arrived breathlessly beside him.

  Frantic fear ate at his gut. He pressed his fingers to the side of the old woman’s neck. A pulse beat sure and strong, thank God. He shouldn’t have brought her here. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she was getting too old to deal with this nonsense.

  “She’s dead!” Ashley cried out.

  A groan escaped Rose’s thin lips.

  “Apparently not.” Cristian knelt beside her and gently slapped the side of her face. “Rose? Can ye hear me?” She didn’t respond, but her lashes flickered, her eyes rolling behind closed lids.

  Ashley pulled a cell phone from the pocket of her shorts. “What number do I dial, who do I call?”

  Cristian almost snorted. As if a hospital could fix this problem.

  “Cristian,” Ashley snapped impatiently.

  A soft moan escaped Rose’s lips. Cristian held up his hand, silencing Ashley. “Wait.”

  For one long moment no one moved. Suddenly Rose’s head jerked upright, her eyes opening. No longer a faded blue, but now an intense black. Those obsidian eyes fastened immediately to Ashley. “Ye.” She lifted her knobby hand and pointed. “Ee’s been waitin’ fer ye.”

  Cristian raked his hair back. “Shite,” he snapped.

  Ashley had lost all color, her cell phone falling with a clang to the floor. “What does she mean?” she whispered.

  Before they could question the old woman, Rose’s eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped forward, once more unconscious.

  Chapter 8

  Ashley should have been home cleaning for the tenant who was scheduled to arrive around noon today. Instead, as the sun popped above the horizon, she made her way down a trail between misty green pastures intent on finding answers. She blamed Cristian for her restless mind. If he hadn’t brought Mad Rose to the pub the other day, she wouldn’t be so freaked out.

  She’d left the U.S. to get answers and uncover her past. Not to become even more confused. She wasn’t going to leave until she uncovered the reason behind her father’s disappearance. This was the last place he’d been, and if she had to question every damn neighbor, she would.

  She pushed between two overgrown honeysuckle bushes, sending their heady scent into the air along with a flock of black birds. They chirped and squawked in objection, the sound too sharp and loud this early in the morning. The winged creatures disappeared into a grove of trees and the morning slipped into blissful silence once more.

  Yes, it was Cristian’s fault. What did he mean by bringing a witch to her home? Was he trying to scare her off? Or was there something more behind his actions?

  Dew soaked her tennis shoes and the cuffs of her jeans, but already there was a simmer to the air that threatened another scorcher. She ignored her quickly dampening socks and studied the purple blooms that lined the path and brushed against her legs, releasing their fragrant scent into the air.

  Overall, it was a beautiful picture and she would’ve enjoyed the scenery, if it wasn’t for the big, hairy monkey on her back. She paused and glanced over her shoulder. On the hill in the distance, The White Horse Pub rose like a dark demon invading a landscape of virginal purity. Her home. Her evil, dark, dastardly monkey.

  Morose, she plucked a flower from its stem and moved around a crop of Oaks. Rose’s weathered cottage came into view, nestled at the base of a hill like a painting of the past. So normal looking, but she knew better. The woman was odd, more than odd. And she was more than nervous about seeing her again.

  Ashley pushed through the gate of her white-washed fence and made her way up a dirt path, determined to get answers. The door, a brilliant blue, was the only thing that was new and clean about Mad Rose’s abode. The roof had missing patches of thatch, the fence was flaking, and weeds littered the garden. Only an old oak flourished, gnarled and knobby, much like the owner of the house.

  Above the door, a wind chime of crystals clattered and tinkled, although there was no breeze. Those brilliant pink, purple and white minerals hovered over her head as if warning her to go back. Well, it didn’t bother her in the least; she’d made up her mind.

  Steeling her courage, she knocked.

  No answer.

  Ashley knocked again and this time the door creaked open of its own accord. Fanfreakingtastic, another horror movie cliche in the making. She stepped inside, like the dumb bimbo who should be running the other way. Unfortunately, curiosity was her known vice and would probably lead to her downfall.

  “Rose?”

  The cottage had one large area that provided both living room and kitchen, while down a short hall, two doors interrupted the wall. Probably a bedroom and bathroom. Certainly not fancy living, but then she supposed Rose didn’t need much.

  “Hello?”

  Silence.

  Okay, she should’ve left, but how could she not resist looking around? Although really there wasn’t much to see. Your typical old-lady furniture with a pattern of brown and orange flowers that could double as drapes. The only show of modernity was a sm
all television on a table across from the couch. Dry herbs hung from wooden beams in the kitchen, their smell faded and musty. On the table that divided the kitchen from the living room were a variety of crystals and books.

  Ashley glanced around to make sure she was still alone, then stepped closer to the table. “Potions and spells,” she read on the cover of the first book. “Hmm, interesting.”

  So Rose really was a witch? She resisted the urge to laugh. She was such a cliche old witch. She was surprised her house wasn’t made of gingerbread and candy. But her amusement quickly faded. If Rose was a witch, did that mean her powers were real? Was her dire warning at the pub something Ashley should take seriously?

  She pulled the book closer, and in doing so, knocked a clear crystal to the floor. It skittered across the wooden planks before landing in a patch of light coming in from an open window.

  “Crap.” She scooped it up and started to put it back in place when the mineral began to glow. She dropped it to the table and jumped back. Even after all she’d been through, she couldn’t quite believe what she’d just seen.

  Books on potions? Minerals that glowed? What the hell was Mad Rose up to?

  Ack, this was becoming more bizarre by the moment. She’d only recently accepted the fact that she could see ghosts…now she was supposed to believe in magic too? She stepped back, intending to leave when she spotted a photo half sticking out of a book.

  She glanced over her shoulder. The house was still empty.

  Taking her lower lip between her teeth, she opened the book and lifted the photograph.

  Her father smiled up at her.

  Ashley’s heart slammed against her chest, accepting what her mind refused to believe. Her father. Her proof he’d been here because in that background was the unmistakable stone facade of her Pub.

  Beside him stood Aunt Clare and to his other side stood Mad Rose, actually smiling. They were all smiling, as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Shock gave way to anger.

  While she’d been forced into a hospital for the crazy, he’d been here…enjoying life. Here it was, her proof, question one answered. But she didn’t care about the damn proof anymore. The only thing that mattered was that Dad had been happy here…without her. Gripping the photo tightly, she tore open Rose’s door and stepped onto the front stoop.