The question would have been peculiar, seeing as how the day came about once every one hundred years, but many residents in the town had seen way more years than just a hundred. Immortality was fairly common around these parts.
“Yep, I’ll be there. But I’m not sure what all the fuss is about,” he said, secretly looking forward to the day. It was a time when spirits could walk the Earth in human form for twenty-four hours. And he had one spirit in mind that he’d been waiting all his life to meet face-to-face.
Barnebas eyed him closely. “Hmm, so there isn’t a sassy young lady who just happens to live over at Hells Gate Inn whom you’d like to spend some quality time with that day?”
“Nope,” answered York, as his deep voice cracked slightly. It took all he had not to reach up and touch the spot Morgan had kissed. “Just another day to me. Not sure why we’ve had to have a month-long celebration in anticipation of it.”
“Uh-huh,” murmured Barnebas. “Keep telling yourself that. Maybe you’ll even believe it soon enough.”
York pretended not to notice the comment.
Barnebas motioned to York’s truck. “Didn’t realize you liked George Michael so much.”
“Like George who…?” York thought about the music that had been blaring from his truck. He groaned. “Love him. Can’t get enough.”
“So I heard.” Barnebas went for his discarded mailbag. “I need to get back to work. You take care now not to run over anyone else.”
York went back to his open truck door and climbed in. The moment his backside touched the seat, the music began to play loudly once more.
Barnebas shook his head.
York did his best to appear fine with the music selection. He even attempted to tap along to the beat. He had nearly no rhythm. The song started once more and began to skip, repeating something about doing the jitterbug over and over again.
York grunted and kept driving. If he didn’t get to the antiques shop that his brother ran for the family, Louis would send out the troops and have a major-sized meltdown. That was just Louis’s way.
Explaining to Louis that the morning had been one calamity after another would get York nowhere.
He tuned out the blaring music as he drove, continuing to think about Morgan. The woman had been showing up at random much more frequently as of late, and while he had to admit he was thrilled by the fact, it also confused him. Much like the kiss had. Most of the time, she razzed him, and he did the same to her, as if they were best friends who enjoyed getting the better of one another. But there was something more there, on his side at least. Something he couldn’t put his finger on, and before the chaste kiss, he’d have bet money on the fact it was one-sided.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
Then again, it wasn’t as if she’d ever even shown herself to him.
No.
She reserved that for a select few chosen ones, and York apparently wasn’t on that elite list.
It was hard not to take offense since she’d shown herself to pretty much everyone he knew.
He had a mental image of her, brought about from what others said she looked like. He wasn’t sure how close or how far he was from what she actually looked like, and he didn’t care. He liked being near her, even if he couldn’t see her. She got his sense of humor and had a dry wit about her that he enjoyed and looked forward to. Of course, on most days he assumed he just annoyed her. Then again, she’d kissed his cheek today.
That was something.
Part of him had to admit that he went out of his way to get under her skin because he enjoyed her reactions and simply having a reason to talk to her. The sound of her voice had always been soothing to him and his inner beast. The shark side of him was often restless, wanting to be out in the ocean, not stuck on dry land.
Morgan’s voice had a way of staving off issues with his shark, calming it nearly instantly when she spoke—even if she was yelling at him.
Absently, his hand found his cheek once more, easing over the spot she’d kissed on his scruffy jawline.
Damn if the woman didn’t have a way of twisting him all up inside.
Chapter Three
Morgan stood with her arms folded under her chest, shaking her head slightly as Bob, an Earthbound spirit who resided at Hells Gate Inn, hovered near the desk in Luc’s study, encouraging the elderly woman sitting there to go ahead with her newest online purchase. It all seemed harmless enough, until one took into consideration the sweet older woman he was helping was really a demon, and the purchase they were trying to make was zombie body parts—in bulk.
She wasn’t exactly thrilled to have to return to the inn to keep a handle on Betty and Bob, especially since she’d been spending a little time with York. The strangest urge to go to him had come over her out of the blue, and she’d listened to it, popping into his truck. Seeing him was always something of a highlight of her day, but she didn’t dare admit that out loud to anyone.
Her fingers went to her lips as she thought about the kiss she’d given him quickly before returning to the inn. It had been impulsive to a point because whenever she was close to him, she struggled with the urge to make contact with him in some manner. Finally, she’d given in and done just that.
“That button there,” said Bob to Betty, yanking Morgan from her thoughts on York.
They’d been down the road of Bob assisting Betty with internet purchases more than once in recent years, and each time Luc had been less than pleased with the results. They’d only just gone through all the werewolf toes Betty had ordered with Bob’s help. They’d been used by her in countless family recipes (that only she and her sisters ate) and as dog treats for the hellhound that also resided on the premises.
Three of Betty’s five sisters had arrived in town for an impromptu family reunion some eight months prior and had yet to leave. They’d oddly fit right in to Hedgewitch Cove. They weren’t full-time residents of Hells Gate, like Betty was, but they weren’t totally unsupervised either, thanks to Luc’s insistence that they stay at the retirement center near the edge of town.
Thunderbird Estates had areas for those who needed round-the-clock care or just some supervision, and a large section for those who didn’t require much in the way of health needs. Since the sisters were as old as time but healthy, they technically could be in the retirement section, not the assisted-living quarters. But they weren’t exactly saints, so that hadn’t worked out as planned.
Especially since Luc had forgotten to forbid them from eating staff members.
So, after a rather unfortunate incident that resulted in the need for the center to hire two new male nurses, several more groundskeepers, and a new cook, they now knew the rules.
Morgan found them amusing and popped in to visit them often. Even though they were demons, they were a functional family in comparison to hers, which was saying something.
Upon her death, and after learning that her parents had been heavily involved in what sounded more and more like a cult to her every day, Morgan had refrained from asking Luc for additional details on them. She didn’t want to hear about how they’d selected money and power over their only child. Hearing it once was more than enough to last her for all eternity. And while she could come and go as she pleased, unlike many of the spirits in town, the burning need to go home—back to New York City—had never come over her.
While she’d grown up loving the city and everything about it, the taint of dying there was something she carried with her to this very day. Then there was the fact the town she now called home had grown on her tremendously. This was a good place. A safe place, even with most of the Sisters Six (what Betty and her sisters had been nicknamed by Luc). And here was where her godfather called home for the most part. He liked to say it was one of many homes he owned, and it was, but it was the place he laid his hat on most occasions.
Morgan, Luc, and the rest of the people who lived at the inn were something of a family. Hells Gate Inn inhabitants ranged from the living-challenged
to the devil himself. At first, it had been mind-blowing to Morgan when Luc had brought her there directly after her death. Not only had she needed to come to terms with being deceased and learning supernaturals were a real thing, but she’d also needed to learn to adjust to life in a small Southern town. Hedgewitch Cove was about as different from New York City as one could get, yet she’d fallen for its quirky charm and its residents.
Even Bob, who was always up to no good.
If it wasn’t for the fact Bob was basically levitating behind Betty, no one would have known the man was a spirit. From his balding head with white hair around the sides and back—that matched the white hairs that sprouted forth from his ears, as well as his bushy eyebrows—to his rosy, rounded cheeks, he looked alive. He’d died in his late sixties, and from what Morgan had been able to gather, had been something of a mischief-maker in life as in death.
The man liked to reminisce about better days when things were more straightforward, and when he’d have been allowed to smoke anywhere he wanted. Since he’d died during the 1950s, that made sense. He’d died of lung cancer, which also made sense. Didn’t stop him from taking every opportunity he could to plant himself in the path of anyone who happened to be smoking.
Since the act wasn’t permitted within the inn, Bob spent a lot of time outside whenever a guest who was a smoker stayed. He was bound to the inn, meaning he couldn’t actually leave the grounds. For the best, since he would have wreaked havoc all over town.
Betty, who was a few inches shy of five feet, making her very tiny indeed, was sitting in Luc’s executive office chair, on a throw pillow to boost her up. She had on a pale lavender pantsuit with matching slip-on flats. Her short hair was curled the same as it always was. She had on a gold brooch that looked like a flower until one examined it closer and realized it was a demon with its mouth open wide, showing rows upon rows of jagged teeth.
It was one of many from her collection of bizarre and dark jewelry. It had been a gift from Luc, and she cherished it, never letting it out of her sight for too long. For as disturbing as most would find the item, Morgan had to admit she liked it. Then again, she’d always been attracted to darker items.
When she’d passed, she’d been considered punk or even goth, depending on who you asked, but going off today’s standards and labels, she’d have been called emo more than likely. Yes, her tastes had evolved somewhat over the years, but she still liked and gravitated toward the macabre. Thankfully, unlike some spirits, she wasn’t stuck wearing the same thing she’d passed in. She had the ability to change what she appeared in, but not with the same ease that Bob did. Bob simply thought it and it was.
Not Morgan.
She had to get dressed, but she could at least make the clothing vanish with her whenever she didn’t want to be seen. She had a room at the inn and it was furnished just as if she were alive. The closet had articles of clothing and various shoes for her to select from, and she had to physically change into them, rather than simply wishing it so. It was wrong to be jealous of dead people, but even she had to admit the ability to think it and make it a reality was pretty neat.
Today she’d gone with a pair of dark skinny jeans, black soft-leather knee-high boots, a long-sleeved black and white checked, button-up shirt, and a gray cardigan sweater over it. The shirt and the sweater hung to her mid-thigh, looking a lot like a dress. She had on full makeup, something else she had to do by hand each day, and her shoulder-length hair was down, its trademark red streak in the front.
That was something that didn’t change.
The red streak.
She used to have to dye it when she was alive, to give contrast to her otherwise ink-black hair, but that had changed in death. Her hair grew, just as it would if she were alive, forcing her to get haircuts, but the red streak was now permanent. At least that was what Medusa, the woman who owned and operated the beauty salon in town, had told her. Medusa had also mumbled something about Morgan being different than most of the dead but hadn’t elaborated further.
“Buy it, Betty,” encouraged Bob, sounding gleeful. He knew he was up to no good.
Betty lifted her small hand and put it on the mouse for the computer. “I hit this then?”
“Click,” corrected Morgan from the background. “It’s called clicking.”
She nodded and kept her gaze locked on the screen. “I do so love to hit things.”
And she did.
While she may have appeared to be mild-mannered and meek even, she could more than hold her own. In fact, she was downright deadly when the need called for it. Sometimes even when it didn’t.
Morgan strongly suspected that was part of the reason Luc had her living at the inn rather than roaming free in hell like the rest of her family and friends. She was something of a liability and could quickly get herself into a pickle that would leave her being targeted by demon hunters.
While the woman did, at times, get herself into some precarious positions, Morgan didn’t want her harmed. It was why she helped to keep an eye on her for Luc. And what Betty was doing now would surely get Luc’s dander up.
With a sigh, Morgan eased forward slightly. “Betty, I don’t think you need to order zombie parts. You know Jasmine offered to bring you some from New Orleans when she gets back from her trip there. Not to mention, Luc isn’t going to be happy.”
New Orleans was just a hop, skip, and a jump from Hedgewitch Cove, which made sense, since it had such a sizeable supernatural community itself. It was one of the most haunted cities in the world. Hedgewitch Cove was right up there with it. Case in point, Morgan, Bob, and the countless other spirits who called it home.
“Oh, that Jasmine is such a dear, real shame she’s been spending so much time with that hunter boy,” said Betty in a soft voice. “You know his people hunted my people, and his kin, way back when, they killed some of my family.”
The hunter boy at the center of the conversation was none other than Leopold “Leo” Gibbons. He’d come to town with Curt Warrick and Petey Williams a while back and had yet to leave. Currently, Leo had been assisting Louis with running the antiques shop next to Hells Gate while the owner dealt with a rather nasty but well-meaning curse.
Betty’s feet, which did not touch the floor due to her small stature and Luc’s large chair, swung as if she were a small giddy child. In many ways, she was.
“Always thinking of me, that Jasmine,” said Betty as she glanced up briefly from the computer screen. “You know, just the other day she promised to bake cookies with me. I just love to bake. These zombie parts would be here just in time for the celebration. My sisters and I could make so many wonderfully delicious goodies to share with the town.”
“Betty,” said Morgan, “Jasmine won’t let you put anything out of the ordinary into the cookies. And what celebration?”
“Out of the ordinary?” questioned Betty, her voice raising slightly. “I’ll have you know I’ve been making cookies with zombie parts for centuries. To me, any other way is out of the ordinary. You young folks just haven’t developed a taste for the finer things. You should try Leva-Joyce’s scones made with zombie-parts flour. It’s gluten-free.”
Morgan hoped she never did get a taste for zombie parts or werewolf toes. And there was no way she would ever eat anything Betty’s sisters made either. They were too much like her.
She was very pleased she didn’t need to eat or drink at all. Especially not with as much as Betty had been trying to sneak in extra ingredients as of late. Though Morgan did have to admit she missed the ability to taste food and enjoy it. Too many days she’d spent catching the scent of the sweets from the bakery just down the street. Her mouth practically watered for them, but she’d learned long ago there was very little point to bothering. She could no longer taste them, which took from the enjoyment of the act. Plus, she didn’t actually get hungry, and eating to just eat was pointless.
Bob glanced at Morgan and grinned mischievously. “Don’t listen to her, Betty. You can neve
r have too many zombie parts.”
Nodding, Betty clicked a button on the screen that allowed her to instantly purchase what she wanted. “Oh, I agree. Good to stock up on them. You never know when there will be a shortage. You know, during the depression, they were much harder to come by. For a while there, they were rationed just like ghoul bits were. And during prohibition, it was so very hard to come by quarts of good blood. The vampires and the demons would stage the best sit-ins. Those were the days.”
Morgan rubbed her temple, the pair of them making her tired. “Luc won’t be happy about this.”
Bob waggled his bushy brows. “I know.”
“You know you should not encourage her,” she warned Bob.
Betty waved a hand dismissively. “Luc will be just fine. Besides, he has more pressing matters to deal with. Such as Dead Rising Day, and then there is that whole thing involving you, dear.”
Morgan stiffened. “What thing involving me?”
Bob cleared his throat, his loafer-covered feet touching the floor. “Nothing. You know how she is. She forgets and gets things confused. Happens when you’re as old as time.” His attention shifted rather awkwardly back to Betty. “How old are you again, Betty?”
“Hmm, how old is the Earth?” she returned.
“Old,” offered Bob.
Betty nodded. “It is. I still remember when Belial and I were an item. Warriors made my three hearts beat so fast.”
Three hearts?
That was news to Morgan.
Tipping her head, Betty looked far off in thought. “My sister Mildred tried to steal Belial from me. We were always competing back then to see who could impale the most or make our torture victims scream the loudest. You know, the fun stuff. Any-who, she knew I was sweet on Belial. All the girls were. I mean, he was one of the first demons to get his name out there. But I digress. About Mildred. I fixed her a good one. I set her up on a blind date with an archangel.”
Do You Really Want to Haunt Me: A Happily Everlasting World Novel (Bewitchingly Ever After Book 3) Page 4