by Krista Wolf
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Beyond the Gates of Evermoore
About the Author
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Beyond the Gates of Evermoore
About the Author
~ Ghosts of Averoigne ~
A Paranormal Menage Romance
Chronicles of the
Hallowed Order
Book I
Krista Wolf
Copyright © 2018 Krista Wolf
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without prior consent of the author.
Cover image: Stock footage — story is unrelated to subject/models
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One
Blackstone Manor wasn’t black. It wasn’t even made of stone. But the old Tudor-style manorhouse more than made up for the mischaracterization. Its historic halls were warm and inviting, its sprawling estate groomed and well-manicured. They had been for a hundred and eighty years. Would be for centuries more.
It was as if time had no power here.
Kara squirmed into her high-backed chair, her ass squeaking noisily against the leather. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get comfortable. Not in this room. Not now.
“Everything alright Ms. LoPresti?”
Besides, she was just too restless.
“You’re shifting around like you’ve got bugs crawling all over you.”
She stared over the ancient wooden desk, at the tiny woman sitting behind it. She was frail and dark-skinned, but sat dignified and upright, without the slightest hint of a hunch. Behind her the massive fireplace of the office roared and crackled, casting shadows over the rich, wood-paneled room.
“I’m fine,” Kara declared. The glass of water on the desk in front her remained untouched. She resisted the urge to reach for it.
“Then what’s the fucking problem?”
Kara’s mouth curled into a smirk. When it came to social graces, Xiomara Magoro lacked many things. Bluntness wasn’t one of them.
“I said—”
“It’s just strange, that’s all,” Kara said. “That you’d pair me up with another member of the Order. Especially when you and I both know I work best alone.”
Xiomara leaned forward, emerging from the silhouette of the fire behind her. “Don’t tell me what I know,” she snapped. “You work best when you’re focused. And lately, you’ve been pretty fucking distracted.”
She waved one small hand dismissively. Kara bit her tongue. It was tough but she did it.
“And besides,” the woman continued, “this is too big a project for any one member. Especially not right now.”
Kara’s dark brow furrowed. “Right now? What’s so important about—”
“The opportunity is time sensitive,” Xiomara replied. “It’s… inherent to something that happens in just a few short days.”
Now Kara did reach for the glass, if only to give herself a moment to think. The technique worked.
“The winter solstice?”
“Yes.” The old woman rested her elbows on the desk and eyed Kara shrewdly before continuing. “Have you ever heard of the Averoigne?”
The question was almost insulting. Anyone who’d spent any length of time in the Order’s massive library knew of the Averoigne. It was in the upper echelon of all credible paranormal reports, and one of the top continuous hauntings.
“Late 19th century Art Nouveau style hotel? New Hampshire?”
Xiomara actually looked pleased. “That’s the one.”
“Plagued with sightings since its inception.” Kara went on. “One of the only hotels that downplays its activity instead of promoting it.”
“Okay, now you’re just showing off.”
“Activity increases every winter. The only hotel to—”
“Oh shut the fuck up.”
Xiomara shoved a folder across the desk. A thick folder.
“Everything your wise little ass just recited is in there,” she snapped, “and then some. Read it. Study it. Know it all by the time you arrive, which should be in about nine or ten hours.”
“Ten hours?”
“There’s a car already waiting outside.”
“My—”
“Your shit is already packed.”
Kara’s mouth opened and closed slowly. She blinked twice in indignation. “You packed my stuff?”
The Head of the Hallowed Order leaned back in her chair and just grinned. “Oh you poor little princess. Do you think you’ll be okay?”
“You packed my stuff?”
Xiomara continued along, completely ignoring her. “I’ve sent equipment ahead already as well, everything you should need. And the owner of the Averoigne is expecting you. Make sure you shake the man down for whatever information he has. You’re good at that, LoPresti. Better than most.”
Kara swallowed hard. She’d received last-minute assignments before — there was nothing new about that. In the realm of investiga
ting paranormal events, being able to leave on the fly was something that went with the territory.
But she’d never seen Xiomara this anxious to get her out of her office.
“So about your partner…”
Here it comes.
“Remember, you’re a grown woman, LoPresti.”
Kara growled.
“You’re well past being coddled. The whole ‘impetuous youth’ thing has worn off for you long ago, so—”
“Who is it?”
“—I don’t want to hear any whiny bullshit about you being uncomfortable.”
Uncomfortable?
“You’re going to lecture me about comfort?” Kara scoffed. “You sure seem comfortable enough sitting here in front of a warm fire, in your cashmere kaftan. Indulging in—”
Xiomara stood up. As always she wore one of the colorful tribal robes of her West African heritage. Today’s was a spectacular green and blue.
“Fuck you Kara,” the woman snapped. “You get to be my age, and chafing becomes your biggest enemy.” Her robe fluttered around her tiny wrists. “And believe me, I’ll indulge in whatever the fuck I want.”
Kara couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly. Xiomara was not as amused.
“In fact—”
A door opened behind her. Kara spun around in her chair, just in time to see a tall figure step into the room.
“Oh hell no.”
Two
The visitor looked like he’d just arrived from outside. He sported a fur-lined coat wrapped in leather, and a pair of thick, rawhide gloves. He was tall and imposing. Rugged and chiseled. His cargo khakis, stained but not dirty, were held up by a large belt buckle of oiled brass.
“Mr. Rhodes,” said Xiomara. “It’s about fucking time you arrived. Welcome back. Now get the hell over here.”
The man’s great brown boots clapped along the manor’s timeworn floor as he made his way over. He walked with a swagger and arrogance that most would mistake for an air of cool confidence. But Kara knew better.
“Say hello to Ms. LoPresti.”
The man grinned devilishly. “Hello Ms. LoPre—”
“Fuck you Logan.”
He looked good. Better than good, actually. His face was almost exactly as she remembered it; handsome but not pretty, with thick eyebrows and full, come-kiss-me lips. He was taller than she remembered him. Broader too, though she imagined he might’ve filled out some over the last six years.
Six years! Has it really been that long?
Yes, she supposed it had. She was nineteen when they’d met, and on her very first assignment with the Order. Kara had been so optimistically unjaded back then, so overly eager to please. And she’d fallen hard for him. Very hard.
Too hard.
Logan was her superior, and that alone was bad, but he was also five years her senior. The whole thing was stupid and she knew it, even then. But she’d done it anyway. She did lots of things anyway.
“Did you feed her yet?” Logan was asking Xiomara. He sank heavily into the chair next to Kara. “Because she gets cranky when she’s hungry.”
“Shut up Rhodes,” the old woman snarled. “Jesus Christ, a half-minute in and you’re both acting like ten-year olds already. Do I need to send a babysitter along with the two of you?”
Kara looked at him through her peripheral vision, not wanting to give him even the satisfaction of a curious glance. There was too much history. Too much bad blood.
“Good to see you too,” he sighed.
She couldn’t help but think back to all those years ago. Logan had charmed her. Seduced her… or at least that’s how she remembered it. The truth however, was harder to pin down. Over time, Kara found herself wondering whether she shouldered more of the responsibility than she originally gave herself credit for. That maybe she were to blame for some of what happened. Even just a little.
Screw that, she thought angrily to herself. You were nineteen. Just a kid.
“Are you done?” Xiomara was asking them. She paused dramatically, and for several tense moments the only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire. When neither of them answered she took up her chair again. “Good,” she sighed. “Let’s get on to business.”
She opened the folder and pulled out several large photographs of an old hotel. Kara found herself leaning forward… alarmingly close to where Logan happened to be leaning forward as well.
“The hotel Averoigne has a long history of paranormal occurrence, dating all the way back to its construction. Reports from the original time periods are sparse, but in the last half century the owners have been keeping more detailed records.”
Xiomara slid a second file out from within the first. “This list,” she said, “is a compilation of eyewitness accounts and event summaries.”
“That’s a lot,” said Logan.
“A metric fuck-ton,” Xiomara agreed. “And this is after all the bullshit ‘tourist’ sightings were weeded out. All the hotel guest ‘I think I saw something’ nonsense from the drunks, the wishful thinkers, and those Godforsaken ‘ghost hunting’ bloggers.”
Logan thumbed through the file, frustratingly too fast. Photographs and handwritten papers whipped by. Kara fought the urge to rip it from his hand.
“In the fall and winter,” Xiomara continued, “activity ramps up. Sightings are more corporeal. More significant. It’s worst in the weeks leading up to the holidays. And it ends—”
“Right after the solstice,” Kara chimed in.
Xiomara nodded. “Exactly.” A hint of jasmine-scented oil came with the movement. “On the nose.”
Logan scratched at his chin, and Kara risked a glance. His stubble had gone slightly grey in places — a sprinkle of salt in the pepper of his beard. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light.
“What about after the solstice?”
“Nothing,” said Xiomara. “The place goes silent for months. Activity is negligible until summer.”
Kara grumbled. “So we don’t have much time.”
“No,” the Head of the Order agreed. “Especially not for any of your schoolgirl bullshit.”
She closed the file and leaned back. Opening a drawer, Xiomara drew forth a wafer of something small and thin. She unwrapped it slowly as they looked on, then popped it into her mouth.
“It’s chocolate,” she explained, as they stared on expectantly. “Just another one of my indulgences.” She glanced specifically at Kara as if to say ‘piss off’.
“So that’s it?” Logan asked. “We head up there to… document? Investigate?”
“You’re there to find out what the fuck is going on,” Xiomara barked. “And tell us why it all happens now, this week, right before the winter solstice.” She turned to face Kara. “You’re the Order’s premiere clairvoyant. You should be able to discern something of the hotel’s past. Why it’s like this, what made it this way. I don’t care if you have to talk to the fucking bricks! I want answers.”
Kara nodded dutifully. “And him?” she asked, jerking a thumb at Logan. “Why am I stuck with the burden of this—”
“He’s our best precognitive medium,” Xiomara cut in. “He’s there to keep you out of trouble. To recognize where and when you’ve pushed too far.”
The old woman’s expression went suddenly serious. The anger, the defiance, the annoyance… it fell away all at once, like a heavy curtain.
“You both watch out for each other,” Xiomara said evenly. “No bullshit. There are forces at work within the Averoigne you’ll need to treat very carefully. Delicately…” Her voice trailed off in an almost trance-like state. For the first time, Kara and Logan actually looked at each other.
“Here.” Mechanically, Xiomara slid two small stacks of cash across the desk. “Take whatever other resources you require. There’s more if you need it.” Then, in a lower voice: “And the Order’s arranged for additional help, too.”
Kara slipped one of the stacks into a jacket pocket, her face scrunched in confusion. “Additional help?
”
“Just go,” said Xiomara. She unwrapped another wafer of chocolate and slid it into her mouth. “I’m tired of you both already.”
Logan stood up from his chair to leave. Kara however, remained seated.
“Listen…”
She decided to take one more shot. This time with sugar and honey, instead of a shotgun.
“You know I work best alone,” she implored Xiomara. “I always have, all throughout my tenure here. And my reputation speaks for itself.”
The old woman stared back at her impassively. Maybe she was savoring the chocolate. Tasting it. Allowing the tiny wafer to melt on her tongue.
“Give me this assignment,” demanded Kara. She jerked her head toward Logan. “And send him elsewhere.” She lowered her voice without knowing why. “Surely you don’t need the both of—”
Xiomara’s eyes flared. Her mouth twisted into the same expression Kara imagined she’d have if she’d just bit down on a lemon.
“GO!”
Three
Kara was nine when it first happened. Or at least, the first time she remembered it happening.
She’d been at her grandmother’s. Sitting in the old house, the one her great-grandfather had built, down by the lake. One minute Kara was eating ice cream at the kitchen table, just daydreaming. Staring past the yellow-orange curtains that framed the window, into the bright blue sky.
The next minute, she was gone.
Or rather, her surroundings were gone. Kara was still there. Still seated at the table, still eating ice cream. Only she was now somehow outside. No curtains, no window… just the lake.
When she looked down, it was like being in a dream. Her bowl, her spoon… everything was fuzzy and disjointed. Nothing had clear edges. Like it was there, but also not there — somehow at the same time.
At first she’d been scared, almost to the point of panic. But then a strange sense of calm stole over her, and Kara found she could feel the warmth of the sun. She could hear the sounds of the insects, the birds, the wind. The sounds of summer.
That’s when she saw him: the man in the faded red hat.
He was a big man, gentle-looking and soft, with a broad, gap-toothed smile. A warm smile. The kind of smile only truly good people had. The kind of happiness that was impossible to fake.