Ghosts of Averoigne: A Paranormal Menage Romance (Chronicles of the Hallowed Order Book 1)

by Krista Wolf

  Kara sighed in relief. She looked down at her phone.

  Be right up.

  Twenty-Three

  The knock was low, almost inaudible. Kara threw back the covers. The floor felt like ice against her bare feet as she opened the door.

  “Hey,” said Logan.

  “Hey.”

  She leapt back into bed in a flash, trying to preserve the warmth. Logan kicked off his boots. He took off his shirt, unbuckled his pants…

  “Sleep only,” Kara murmured from her pillow. “There’s no need for you to get undressed.”

  “But this is how I sleep.”

  “I don’t care, Logan. Leave your stuff on, or—”

  He slipped into the bed anyway, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. “You wanted to be warm, didn’t you?”

  He slid closer and his body was warm. Almost instantly Kara felt the heat radiating off him. Her arms wanted to go to him. Her legs wanted to wrap themselves around his hotness…

  Fuck me, this is ridiculous…

  She gave in. Kara turned into him, giving him her back. Letting him spoon her, transferring his warmth to her aching body.

  Mmmmm…

  His arms went around her, and she welcomed the contact. She loved how big and strong they were. Savored how safe she felt, locked securely inside.

  “Goodnight,” she said.

  Logan locked his wrists. Snuggled his bare legs up against the back of hers. It felt like fire. It felt amazing.

  This is what you wanted, her mind registered. Kara cuddled back against him. Isn’t it?

  She told herself yes. Convinced herself that it was.

  Just for warmth, right?

  Her mind drifted. Soared. Wouldn’t come down. The dread realization stole over her that she was overtired. That maybe, even after all this, she wouldn’t be able to sleep.

  A minute went by. Five minutes. Ten? She couldn’t tell. All Kara knew was that she couldn’t sleep.

  And then Logan’s hands were moving.

  They started low, slipping themselves around her waist. Then, ever so stealthily, one palm snuck its way under her shirt. The fingers of his other hand slipped beneath her sweatpants…

  Tell him to stop.

  Her lips formed the words, but her throat refused to say them. Instead she snuggled backward some more, arching herself into him.

  This isn’t sleep, Kara.

  It was a true enough statement. Even so, it fell on deaf ears. Kara said nothing as Logan’s fingers moved downward. They glided smoothly over her lower belly. Pierced the lace perimeter of her panties…

  At the same time his other hand had moved upward. It spread warmth everywhere it touched before finally settling deliciously over one curved breast.

  “What do you think you’re doing?

  She had to say it. It was required. Even so, she almost wished she hadn’t.

  “You can’t fall asleep,” Logan whispered into her ear. He kissed her there, and it sent an electric shiver down her body. “I’m helping you de-stress.”

  Kara sighed. She put her hand over his…

  You should probably stop him.

  … and pushed his hand downward.

  Logan’s middle finger bumped over her clit, then curled inside her. She gasped sharply as he slid it in, but found herself using her own hand, her own fingers, to guide him.

  He’s right. You need to sleep.

  If it was an excuse, Kara no longer cared. She surrendered to the feeling of being wrapped in him, of having him touching every part of her body. Logan had two fingers inside her now, pumping slowly in and out. The hand on her breast was gently kneading her nipple. His mouth was locked on her neck, kissing her wetly…

  Everything was so warm. So safe and secure…

  It took Kara less than two minutes to come. She did it just like this, writhing backward against him, grinding her ass into the hard bulge she could feel growing between his legs. Logan’s fingers were achingly deep inside her, his thumb putting pressure on her clit. His tongue traced a line along the nape of her neck as she flung her head back into his.

  “OHHHHHH!”

  The hand over her breast left her shirt. It shot upward… and then clamped over her mouth. It was hot. More than hot. It felt absolutely insane as he held it there, firmly over her mouth, her body shuddering through the throes of the most beautiful orgasm.

  “Ohhhh…”

  He released her when she’d stopped churning, when he was sure she was finished. Kara lay there breathlessly against him, her head lolled into the pillow, her body limp with exquisite release. His arms were still around her. His hands were back near her lower belly, locked securely around her waist.

  “Goodnight Kara,” he said, as he kissed her shoulder.

  Sleep led her away before she could even reply.

  Twenty-Four

  Kara woke up alone again, wondering if Logan were some kind of bed-ninja. This time though, his side of the bed was still warm. He’d only just left.

  She could tell right away she slept well. Kara felt refreshed. Revitalized. Ready for anything.

  Inviting him up to sleep with her had been a good call.

  But yet still a mistake…

  Kara shoved aside any guilt she might’ve felt at having gotten off with Logan in lieu of a clear mind and well-rested body. She changed quickly and headed downstairs, eager to get started. Her phone told her she was only six minutes late. Not too bad. When it came to setting alarms, she was usually a lot worse.

  Down in the lobby, Jeremy was waiting on one of the couches. He had a cardboard tray with some drinks and sandwiches on it.

  “Hey,” he smiled as she approached. “The dining room is still open if you want, but I figured we could grab these and go.”

  “Awesome idea,” said Kara. She bit into a soft triangle of turkey sandwich. She’d forgotten how hungry she was.

  “Here’s coffee,” Jeremy said. “Sugar no cream.”

  She was impressed he’d remembered. Then again, it was Jeremy. He remembered everything. Kara took the cup gratefully.

  “You’re a fucking rock star.”

  “Oh I know,” he smiled.

  Logan came up from the opposite hallway. Kara intentionally avoided his gaze as they said their hellos.

  “Got coffee for you too bud,” Jeremy said. “Black though. Didn’t know how you like it.” He jerked a thumb toward the dining room. “Milk and sugar in there, if you wanna—”

  “Thanks bud,” Logan practically sneered. “I’m all good though.” He grabbed two half-sandwiches anyway. “You both ready?”

  Kara and Jeremy nodded.

  “Good. Jonathan’s over this way. Let’s go.”

  Jonathan was a thin, older man with big hands and a firm grip. They found him at the front end of the hotel, shampooing one of the very large and elaborate Persian rugs in the foyer.

  “Nice to meet you,” the man said amiably. He shook hands with all three of them while the whirring machine powered down. “Mr. Radcliffe said you’d be coming around.”

  Jonathan reached to his hip, for a large steel ring of about two dozen keys. The keyring alone made him the epitome of any janitor ever, but there were a lot of other details that painted the same picture.

  Kara noticed two of the keys were longer and older-looking than all the rest. Skeleton keys, her mind registered. He unhooked the shorter of the two longer keys, and handed it to her.

  “This should open any door, to any room,” he said, “on any floor.”. The old man smiled and winked. “Don’t go getting into any trouble now.”

  They thanked him, and the guys turned to head off. But Kara wasn’t finished.

  “Jonathan, how long have you been here at the Averoigne?”

  “Oh wow,” he grinned. The janitor stopped to lean on the big silver machine. “Since… sixty six?” He nodded to himself. “Yes, I think that’s when I started. Summer of nineteen sixty six.”

  “So you’ve seen a lot of... I guess I sh
ould say, stuff?”

  His kind expression didn’t leave the man’s face entirely, but it definitely went a bit darker. He looked down at them from beneath the rim of a weathered blue baseball cap. “Oh yeah,” he said eventually. “I have.”

  Jeremy stepped in, suddenly interested. “Like what?”

  The old man sighed. “Well…” He looked around, then pointed down at the carpet. “Like right here for instance. See this spot?”

  There was a dark, reddish-brown stain on the rug, right where Jonathan had been shampooing it. He was only about halfway done.

  “Yeah?”

  “This spot… no matter how much I clean it, it always comes back.”

  “You mean you can’t get the stain out?” asked Logan.

  “Oh I can get it out,” Jonathan said quickly. There was a measure of pride in the statement. “I can get anything out. It’s just that, well, it always comes back. Every night I shampoo it. The next day it comes back.” He took his cap off and wiped his brow. “I’d leave it alone, but the manager wants it gone. Even temporarily.”

  “So that’s it?” asked Logan. “You’ve seen a phantom stain?”

  You’re such asshole, thought Kara.

  Jonathan only glared at him. There was the hint of a smirk on his face now. Almost a challenge.

  “Something happened here,” the janitor said, pointing at the stain. “Right on this spot, a long time ago. And whatever it was?” He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “The Averoigne remembers.”

  Though his words were calm and measured, they still raised the hair along the back of Kara’s neck. Jeremy looked uncomfortable too. Logan was uncharacteristically silent.

  “I know you’re all going to the third floor,” Jonathan went on. “And that’s your business. But I’ll tell you right now, tread lightly. Don’t take anything for granted… and don’t believe everything you see.”

  The warning was well-meant, but still ominous. Kara kept an eye on Logan, ready to kick him if he tried to say anything else.

  “And be respectful,” the janitor finished. He nodded again, as if agreeing with himself. “Yes, respectful. That’s the best advice I can give you.”

  His eyes shifted over to Kara. He tipped his hat with one hand, and flipped the machine back on with the other. It whirred instantly to life, drowning out anything else anyone might’ve said.

  Kara clutched her coffee a little tighter as they headed for the grand staircase.

  Twenty-Five

  Access to the third floor hadn’t just been roped off, the entire thing had been blocked. A wall had been built — and painted to match the surrounding decor — so that the grand staircase didn’t continue its upward climb.

  “Damn,” said Logan. “I wouldn’t even have noticed the stairs continue at all, if not for the door.”

  In the center of the makeshift wall was a door to apparently nowhere. It looked like every other door in the upstairs hallway, only the brass plate where the room number should be was blank.

  Kara inserted Jonathan’s skeleton key. The knob turned, and the door creaked open.

  “Ladies first,” she said.

  She got only a half step when Jeremy stopped her with a hand on her arm. She looked annoyed.

  “What, you don’t think I should go firs—”

  “No, not at all,” he cut her off. “You’re just gonna need this.”

  He handed her a heavy black flashlight — one of those unnecessarily long ones that security guards always carried that could double as a nice, hefty club. She noticed he carried one too.

  “There’s no lighting on the third floor,” he said. “They cut the electricity decades ago.”

  Kara blinked. Logan’s brows came together.

  “And you were going to tell us this… when?”

  “Just found out,” said Jeremy. “Radcliffe handed me this flashlight when you guys were still—”

  “Can’t he just switch it back on?” Kara cut in quickly. “I mean, if it’s only the matter of a few circuit breakers…”

  Jeremy shook his head. “Too dangerous. Something about installing a new panel back in the 80’s. The top floor still has aluminum wiring. Fire hazard.”

  Kara sighed and stepped through the door. On the other side, the big staircase continued upward in all its splendor. It looked every bit as grand as the one they’d just climbed, only this one was shrouded in shadow. And covered in dust.

  “We’re going to need respirators up here,” she lamented. “No kidding.”

  “Don’t worry,” Jeremy winked. “I’ll clean you off again later.”

  They climbed.

  Somehow this staircase seemed steeper, each step feeling taller than the last. By the time they arrived at the third-floor landing Kara felt uncharacteristically tired. All three of them were huffing and puffing, and not just from the dust.

  Kara and Jeremy clicked on their flashlights. Logan, who apparently hadn’t gotten an invite to the flashlight party, was using his phone.

  “That’s creepy.”

  The hallway extended in both directions, with wings off to their left and right. It was a carbon copy of the same hallways on the second floor, only these were pitch dark and spooky-looking. The carpets beneath their feet were dirty. Everywhere the beams of the flashlights went, they cut through swirls of dust.

  “How are we doing this?” Logan asked. It was a fair question. Up until now they hadn’t even discussed it.

  “Room by room, I guess,” said Jeremy. He pointed right. “We’ll do this hallway first. Kara and I will take one side, you take the other.”

  Logan scoffed. “Bullshit.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Kara’s with me. You take that side by yourself.”

  Oh great, she thought. More of this…

  “The both you of you can piss off,” she jumped in. “There are a lot of rooms here, a lot to do. All three of us should split up.”

  They looked back at her, then at each other. “Fine,” said Logan. “But we’re all taking the same wing. And we should all never go more than a room apart.”

  Neither of them protested. The guys even nodded.

  Finally! Something we can all agree on.

  Kara rapped the nearest door — room 301 — with the butt of her flashlight. “I’ll do this side, Logan will do the other. Jeremy, you start a room ahead, and jump back and forth.” She unlocked the first door with a heavy click, then handed the skeleton key off to Logan. “Call out if you see anything. And don’t be shy about being loud.”

  She entered the room without waiting, swinging the door wide. Unfortunately it closed behind her. It was a hotel room after all, and privacy was a priority. She had no clue why she would’ve thought any different.

  ‘Ka-chunk.’

  Kara shivered as the door latched behind her. That part she didn’t like, but there wasn’t much to be done about it now. Her flashlight played its way around the room; over the bed, the dresser, the thick set of dark curtains draped over the window. Somehow it was even darker than in the hallway. Her heart was already beating out of her chest.

  “Well, here I am,” she said plainly. She’d decided that talking out loud, even to herself, made everything a little less scary. “Third floor. Ghosts, ghouls, housewares, lingerie…”

  If there were spirits here, it was obvious they weren’t amused. The room was nondescript and empty. Pretty plain Jane. The linens were old, the bed neatly made. But the walls…

  All four of the walls were painted jet black. Even the door to the tiny washroom.

  And the ceiling. Don’t forget the ceiling…

  Kara looked up. The ceiling was black too. It was like looking up into a nighttime sky, minus the stars.

  “Who the hell paints a ceiling black?” she asked no one in particular. Nobody answered. And that was good.

  She searched the tiny wash room, the rickety night table, the drawers of an ancient dresser. Kara even pulled back the curtains half-heartedly and checked behin
d them. In the end she found nothing. Part of her was disappointed. Most of her was grateful.

  “Black room,” Kara noted, “nothing but gloom.” She laughed at her own joke and made an exaggerated check-mark motion with one hand. “Check.”

  She turned around and headed for the door. Before she could close her hand over the knob however, her peripheral vision stopped her.

  There was something on the floor next to the bed. Or rather, a lack of something.

  “Shit.”

  Down on the faded oak floor, something had carved a jagged path through the thick layer of dust. The trail was fresh, just like her footprints. It was long and curved, like something had been dragged…

  “Ah, fuck me,” said Kara. “Really?”

  The trail lead straight under the bed.

  Do I really have to?

  She thought of Xiomara, scowling down at her. Kicking her ass being chicken-shit, for not being thorough. It seemed like at times like these, she always thought of Xiomara.

  Kara sighed resignedly, with undisguised anger. She knelt down, slowly picking up the bed skirt. Peeking her way under…

  There was blackness. Nothingness. She couldn’t see anything.

  The flashlight. She almost wished she hadn’t remembered it. Damn.

  It took every last ounce of Kara’s will to bring the flashlight down. She swung it in her hand, wincing apprehensively as she shined the beam directly into the shadows beneath the bed…

  “OH FUCK!!!”

  Her breath caught in her throat as her body recoiled in horror. She saw a face! A dried up, shriveled up, dessicated face with mottled grey hair and pointed teeth and—

  It’s a cat you asshole!

  Kara clutched her chest, her heart still beating so hard it felt like it would burst!

  It’s just a dead cat. A long, long dead cat…

  An arm went under her, yanking Kara to her feet. Jeremy spun her around to face him. He was out of breath, his face alive with concern.

  “A— Are you okay?”

  Kara swallowed dryly. She nodded.

  “Yes,” she said at last. “Yeah, I’m okay.” She stared down at the bed, her face beaded with a cold sweat. “It’s this place that’s fucked up.”