“A bush.”
She snickered. “A bush.”
Abby could get used to that snicker. “I won’t take any more of your time.”
Azalea took both of her hands and squeezed them. “May the light of the world surround you and yours with love, hold you safe and protect you from all harm.” Then she mumbled some foreign words and let go of Abby’s hands, which stung from an ice-cold heat.
14
Love is Love
THAT NIGHT AS SOON AS ABBY got the kids settled in a cozy corner of the reception area with blankets and pillows, she set about her chores. Within twenty minutes all three of them were fast asleep. Time passed slowly for her as every sound made her jump: the ticking of the clock in the reception room, the odd car that drove by and Lilith’s snoring. But she persevered, determined to do a kick-ass job for Azalea who had to be the best boss ever. When she stopped for a cup of tea at midnight, the kettle was already boiling and Eric stood beside the stove.
Her heart beat kicked up. Amazing how a cold, dead spirit could create so much heat in a room. Having his perfect, warrior body so close, made her feel safe and hotter than hades. She pulled a hand over her hair smoothing it out as best she could. “I wondered where you had got to.”
Did he know what he did to her? The confidence in his bad-boy smile said he did. “Älsking, if I was still alive I would pull you into my arms and hold you so tight I would feel your heart beat next to mine. I would feel the silkiness of your hair with my fingertips as I ran my hands through your beautiful mane. I would taste and taste again your full lips, until we both gasped for air.”
She swallowed. “Eric,” she said, noting a huskiness had seeped into her voice.
“I would trail sweet kisses up and down the length of you, along your luscious curves. And crevices. Aaah, your crevices. I would pull you tight against my manhood and feel you shudder with wanting.”
“Oooh.”
“What? I’m just getting started. Let me tell you more.”
Her breath quickened. “Uh, I think that’s enough for now.” She fanned her face, which she guessed was bright red. “Tell me more about you.”
Eric shrugged and poured the hot water into her tea pot. “What do you want to know?”
“How you died.”
His image flickered a deeper silver, but, after a heartbeat, his square jaw firmed and he spoke. “As a boy I dreamed, like all Viking boys dream, of dying in battle and being sent to Valhalla.”
“But you didn’t die in battle.”
“No, I died in an accident.”
“What happened?”
“Did I tell you I imagine your lips taste like the juice of peaches ripened to perfection in the midday sun? Like aged wine made from the ripe grapes grown in the Cowichan valley. Like …”
“I never thought Vikings would be poetic.” She wished she could elbow him or something. Yes, something.
“I am a Viking man, but like all men I have learned how to speak to women. And you have a snygg rumpa.”
Rumpa? Is he talking about my ass? “I get it. You’ve been sweet talking the ladies for over a century.” Hmm. Let’s do the math. If he had one girl friend every fifty years that would be …
He shook his head and his crystal blue eyes looked soft enough to break. “Do not diminish what we have, Abigail. For it is special, and we both know it.”
“Just tell me how many?”
“How many times I would kiss you in an evening?”
She threw a cushion and it passed right through him, which made them both laugh. “No, how many women you’ve loved.”
Eric looked around as if he had lost something. “In my bed, or in my heart?”
“Dodger.”
He smirked. “Friends call me Dodger, but the name is a joke. I’d like you to call me Eric.”
“Eric. Please, tell me what I want to know.” His smile widened and he stepped closer. “It wouldn’t matter how many women I have cared for in my mortal and ghostly lifetimes. The only thing that matters is you and me.”
Sheesh, he could spin a line. “What am I to do with you?”
He sighed, but it being a ghostly sigh, the sound rumbled through the room as if it were a rock slide. “Oh, the dreams I have had of us together. Trust me, you would do many things.”
Abby could not deny his effect on her. “Azalea mentioned a magic that would …”
He held up his hand. “When your family is safe, we can talk of such things.”
“So it exists?”
“Possibly.” His eyes turned translucent.
Clump. Clump. Clump. Someone or something—she would keep her mind open to possibilities—was climbing the back staircase.
15
At the Back Door
ERIC PUT HIS FINGER TO HIS MOUTH and disappeared through the wall, leaving Abby staring at the back door. The footfalls were too loud to belong to a burglar. This person didn’t care if he or she were heard. But why the back door? And why at midnight?
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Abby grabbed her cell phone out of her pocket in case she needed to dial for help and went to the door.
“Police,” said a loud male voice from the other side.
Cops? She leaned against the door. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a window for her to look through and check him out, or a security lens either. “I didn’t call the police.”
“There’s been trouble in the neighborhood. I’m going door to door to check on people.”
Trouble? Was the poltergeist bothering others? “What kind of trouble?”
“It would be easier to talk, if you opened the door.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, ma’am, it will make me sound like I’m crazy, but we’ve had reports of a dark spirit roaming around. Looks like black mist.”
Louis. People knew about Louis. The police knew! “Listen, I’m the night cleaner of the town’s haunted teahouse. Talk about spirits doesn’t sound weird to me.”
“Then let me in.” He knocked on the wood. “I’m sliding my business card under the door. My badge won’t fit.”
That made sense. His matter-of-fact demeanor sounded very-cop. She bent over and lifted his card off the floor. The RCMP logo on the top looked right. Below she read his name: Constable Zane Reynolds, Sunset Cove Detachment. The back was blank. It looked legit, but anyone with a printer could create it. “How do I know you’re for real.”
“I appreciate your hesitancy to open the door, ma’am, especially at this late hour. In fact, I applaud it. You can never be too careful these days. But I assure you, I am the police.”
“Uh-huh.” Where the hell was Eric?
“Okay, how about this. I’ll stand back. You can crack the door open an inch and take a look at me. I’m standing here in my full uniform.”
Man oh man, this guy was persuasive. But she was far too savvy to just open the door for a sweet-talking guy. Still, he only asked for an inch. She put her phone back in the pocket of her apron, grabbed a butcher knife from the counter and returned to the door. Holding the knife in the air with her right hand, she wedged her foot against the bottom to slow his entry. Carefully she cracked the door open a half inch and peered out.
The police officer stood there looking cookie-cutter perfect. Eric loomed behind him with his arms crossed over his chest. Clearly he wasn’t impressed, but he wasn’t interfering either. She opened the door fully.
“I haven’t seen any dark spirits tonight,” she said. And that was the truth.
He nodded. In the porch light it was hard to distinguish the color of his dark eyes, but he did look like a cop, not just because of his uniform, but because of his whole six-foot-tall and serious-as-stink manner. Not that she had anything against cops, especially good looking ones, just that they had, well, a common look about them.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s been spotted in the vicinity.”
Oh fudge. “Like I said …”
&
nbsp; “Mind if I look around?”
“Uh.” She looked at Eric and he shook his head. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
Constable Zane pushed on the door and walked right past her as if she had agreed. “This won’t take long.”
Eric shimmered dark silver. They both followed the police officer into the reception area where the children slept.
“Kids, eh?”
“Yeah.” She could explain why they were there, but she didn’t.
“I got a daughter,” he said. “Her name is Rebecca. She’s two and sweeter than blackberry honey.”
Okay, this guy could grow on her. Eric shimmered red as if he were ready to go poltergeist and his woodsy scent developed a burning ember tone. Had she missed something?
Zane stopped beside the baby. “And this one has to be the cutest.”
She smiled. How could she not. Jane was gorgeous.
Zane picked her up. What the hell?
He nestled her in his arms. “Such a beautiful child, but that shouldn’t surprise me. She has a beautiful mother.”
Eric, now pure red, groaned and rolled his eyes. Zane heard the rumbling, ghostly groan and looked around. “I thought you said there were no spirits.”
“No, I said no dark spirits.”
Zane’s shoulders stiffened. He looked at the baby and then at Abby. His face contorted as if it had been placed in a vice and pinched. “I … I … can’t do this.”
Abby grabbed Jane from his arms. “What is this, exactly?”
“I can’t steal your children.”
An icy chill slid down her spine and she stepped back. “I’m not alone,” she said.
The policeman looked around. “I don’t see anyone.”
Eric threw a tea cup and Zane, seeing it, ducked to avoid being hit.
“What the …”
“I told you, I’m not alone. I am protected.”
Eric stood behind him. His eyes looked like orbs of fire.
Zane’s eyes bulged and he took a big breath. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come. It’s against everything I believe in.”
“Then why?” Eric’s voice boomed through the room.
Zane turned to face the ghost, but she didn’t think he could see him. “I said I was sorry. The … the …”
“Louis the poltergeist,” said Abby.
“You kn … know about him?”
She nodded, keeping her calm, as if a discussion of the neighborhood evil spirit was an everyday thing. “We’ve met.”
“I guess you have.” He took off his hat and wiped the sweat off his brow. “He came to my house a week ago, in the middle of the night and he …” Zane wiped his brow again. “He took my Rebecca.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus.”
“She’s the nicest kid you ever met. She lives in tutus and sings and dances and …” His voice broke. “She’s so innocent.”
“I’m sorry.” Abby moved closer and rubbed his arm.
“Louis slid down Rebecca’s mouth and in an instant she lit up as if she were a Christmas light, and cursed like a sailor. She threw our dishes onto the floor. It was like watching the Exorcist movie. I didn’t know what to do. My wife went hysterical and told me to make whatever deal I had to, to get her back.”
“Deal?” Eric’s voice thundered again. Boy he could be scary when he wanted to be.
“‘Send you wife away,’ Louis told me, ‘and find me another child.’”
“Oh dear God, that must have been awful. He made you choose between giving up your child, or giving him someone else’s.”
“Exactly.” Zane wiped his brow again. “So my wife went to her mother’s and I drove around town trying to figure a way out of my pact with the devil.”
“And Rebecca?”
His Adam’s apple went up and then down. “She sits in a room somewhere, glowing and muttering curses. I know—at least I think I know— she’s inside there somewhere, but what I see is not Rebecca. She’s more Louis than human. He tells me if I don’t find a suitable replacement, he will forever possess her and I will never see her again. He will roam the world inside her form doing whatever the hell poltergeists do.”
“How awful.”
He nodded. His eyes filled with tears. “So awful, I considered killing her myself. Maybe that would be the answer.”
“Nooo.” Eric again. “She is part his and if you took her mortal life, he would devour the last of her life energy into his evil spirit before she had a chance to die.”
Zane closed his eyes. “I thought as much.”
“There has to be something we can do.” Abby’s stomach twisted.
“I obeyed his orders and searched the town for children who looked vulnerable. When I heard a widow had moved to town with three children, I checked you out. I’m sorry.”
Abby folded her arms across her chest. She was well aware that she and the children would be considered vulnerable by many, because there was no man in the house, but the day Ben died, she vowed to herself to do everything she could to protect the kids. Hearing that she’d been profiled hit her hard. She had thought she put up a brave front, but how easily it had been seen through. Fudge. Heck. Double fudge.
“When Louis tried to take one of your children and you stopped him, he commanded me to take them. I thought I would start with the baby.”
Tears rolled down Abby’s face. “You can’t have my baby. You can’t have any of them.”
“But Louis has my baby.”
16
Google On
LATER THAT NIGHT, after Zane had left and she had finished cleaning the teahouse, Abby took her kids home. Two hours later she sat at her kitchen table staring at the laptop screen in front of her. She had tried every search term she could think of, but after an hour of research she had made no progress on finding out about the life of Louis LamentAIN.
She dropped her head into her hands. What could she do? Azalea said she would find out what had happened to Louis, but she hadn’t heard from her.
What next? She had to keep trying.
She typed into the Google search engine a new query. “Louis accident Vancouver Island.” A bit of a stretch, but why not.
Boom. It worked. The Orca News had an article from 1950 related to her query. She clicked on it.
Ten-Year Old Boy Falls to his Death
After a three-day search, ten year old, Louis Lamentain was found dead in the forest behind the Orca Recreation Centre. According to Constable O’Rourke, communications officer for the local RCMP detachment, the boy’s death may have been an accident. The rocky ledge beside the river is a treacherous place for children to play.
The boy died as a result of a severe blow to his head. While the immediate cause of the injury is clear, the investigation is not closed, as there have been reports the boy was the victim of bullying.
The question remains: Did he fall by accident from the rocky ledge or was he pushed?
His parents thanked the RCMP and the community for the search for their son.
Abby checked through later copies of the newspaper. The following week there was a small article:
Did Bullying Lead to Louis’s Death?
After further investigation the police appear no closer to determining whether Louis Lamentain’s death was accidental. If they know something, they aren’t sharing it. A source reveals the teachers at the school wonder if it was a suicide. Several children bullied the boy because he was over-weight and small for his age. This is another lesson …
Abby kept reading through following editions. Nothing. There just wasn’t enough information about what happened to Louis, so she read all of the weekly editions around the date of his death.
The newspapers made Orca Beach sound like a quiet, peaceful seaside town. The headlines were usually about bake sales and pet by-laws. Human interest articles dominated, giving her the impression that it was a happy place to live.
But she’d seen enough of life to know that Norman Rockwell perfect towns don’
t really exist. People are people. There are good ones and there are the others. She kept reading.
Another picture of the town came through. It started with a small paragraph in one edition talking about complaints that a stranger had been seen lurking around the playground at the Orca Rec Centre. Then nothing for a few weeks. Then another paragraph. The stranger who wore a black jacket and ball cap was seen taking pictures of children. The police were unable to find him but said they would be patrolling the area. A week later Louis was found dead.
What did she have? A ten-year old kid, bullies and a lurking stranger. How had Louis died? She had to know.
She sent a text to Azalea. “Can you help me contact the poltergeist’s parents or someone in his home town?” It was four in the morning, but she needed help.
Five minutes later Azalea responded. “Come to the teahouse. We will have a séance.”
A séance? As in chatting with dead spirits? A week ago she didn’t believe in ghosts and she certainly didn’t believe in séances. Life was so much simpler then. Now she knew that not only did strange after-life things exist, she needed their help to save her children.
“On my way,” she texted.
Eric had disappeared to talk with his friends about Louis. He said something about sliding into another dimension, so she couldn’t ask him for help. She couldn’t call Jillian or anyone else to babysit at this late hour either, so she packed up the kids—not an easy chore—and took them with her. Once at the teahouse she settled them into a corner of the receptions room.
***
THIRTY MINUTES LATER Abby sat opposite Azalea in Lilith’s room lit by a single candle in the middle of their table. The curtains were drawn and they were alone. The air smelled of a strong, earthy incense.
Abby swallowed. Part of her wanted to make fun of all of this spiritual stuff, but she couldn’t. It was all too real.
“I have to warn you, Abby. The spirits you have met in the house are sociable and enjoy roaming our world. The ones we are about to call may not be. Prepare yourself. This could get ugly.”
A Viking Ghost for Valentine's Day (Gambling Ghosts Series Book 2) Page 6