by fox, angie
She led us to the room on the left. It boasted high ceilings and beautiful blue silk walls. Another couple dined at a corner table and, near the back wall, a gentleman sat reading the paper. She seated us at one of the remaining three tables, next to one of the big picture windows. "This is one of my favorite rooms. It used to be the parlor," Marjorie said, placing our menus on a table covered in a white linen cloth.
A fire burned in the white marble hearth. And, I realized with horror, my dog had followed us inside.
"I'm sorry. He's mine," I said, intending to go after him. Pirate had found a nice warm spot directly in front of the crackling logs and had begun to curl up and make himself at home.
Marjorie paused. "You know, if he's just going to lie down, it's okay." She gave a small, wistful smile. "We used to keep both a dog and a cat here when we operated the bed and breakfast."
Pirate planted his head on his paws and arched up his brows in that heartbreakingly hopeful way dogs do when they want to be completely manipulative.
It worked.
Marjorie let out a low cluck. "Aren't you precious?" She left us, to go pet him.
"You have to understand—" I began, before I realized I'd lost her attention.
I didn't want to make a commotion. Although the other diners didn't seem to notice, or care.
"We don't want to reward his behavior," Dimitri added.
"Nonsense." She scratched Pirate behind the ears, which started his tail wagging. "I could never say 'no' to a face like that." She ushered Dimitri and I back to our seats. "Now I'm going to get your sweet puppy a bowl of fried gizzards, on the house. You two look over the menus."
I could swear Pirate grinned as he watched her go. "A cute face and a wagging tail will get you a long way in life," he said happily.
No kidding.
I opened my menu. "They get a decent crowd in here for such a quiet road," I said.
Dimitri hummed a response as he studied the wine list. Soon, I forgot all about the other patrons, as well as my dog. We ordered wine. We gorged ourselves on lobster ravioli, steak, and fresh baked bread.
I was fawning overly a particularly delicious side of mushroom risotto when Dimitri leaned over the table, grinning at me. "Look," he said, glancing toward the fireplace. "Pirate found a friend."
I turned and saw the ghost of a matronly woman in an old fashioned dress, complete with a hoop skirt. She spoke to Pirate in soft tones while she rubbed at his ears. He licked at her pale fingers and she giggled.
"Always the charmer," I mused. Pirate had a particular affinity for spirits. And he could make friends with a doorknob, so I wasn't surprised at all when they began holding an animated conversation.
Dimitri reached for a slice of fresh bread. "I wonder what they have in common."
Pirate did have limited interests, seeing that he was a dog. "It's got to be food," I said, reaching for a sip of wine. "Or smelly things."
"Things that roll, things that make noise," Dimitri added.
"The mailman." I thought about it. "Did they even have mailmen back when women wore hoop skirts?" It didn't matter, I supposed. I was just glad Pirate had made a friend. The ghost seemed to need one as well.
Marjorie returned to re-fill our water glasses and slip us the check. "Whenever you're ready," she said, as if she were reluctant to interrupt.
I let Dimitri take the black folder. "You know this place is haunted," I said to our host.
"Very," she nodded, as if it were a grand secret. "Word has it that Hiram Peele himself has been seen upstairs.
I loved ghost stories. Even if most of the ghosts I'd encountered kept to themselves. "So you called it the Peele House after Hiram Peele?"
Marjorie stood a little straighter, obviously proud of the house's history. "Yes. He's our original owner. Hiram Peele was a wealthy planter and he built this house in 1830 for his bride, a local preacher's daughter named Eva Fawn." she said, with all the finesse of a storyteller. "Men didn't often marry below their station in those days, but it was a true love match and Hiram was very close to her father. They were happy for many years until she died after falling down the grand staircase. It was so sad. He died the next night—in bed of a heart attack. Although most people say it was a broken heart."
Yikes. Maybe it had been despair I'd felt in the house instead of darkness. "Are they buried in the cemetery outside?"
"Yes. That's how they did it in those days." Marjorie held the water pitcher in front of her like a shield. "When my husband and I bought this estate, we thought the Peele's story might bring in the tourists." Her pale skin flushed at the neck. "But," she shook her head, "it's ended up being a bit much. Right after we opened, a newly wed couple took a tumble down the staircase. Both of them died," she said, her voice catching.
"What a terrible accident," Dimitri said, taken back.
Color rose in Marjorie's cheeks. "Then it happened again. About six months later."
"Did they? Not make it either?" I asked, not wanting to pry, but wow. Twice?
Marjorie shook her head 'no.' "The coroner ruled all four of the deaths…accidental." She made a subtle sign of the cross, but I noticed it. "We don't even like to go up to those rooms anymore. I know they said it was a fluke, but my husband and I just couldn't handle it if something else happened."
"I don't blame you one bit," I told her.
She nodded, accepting my sympathy. "It's a shame." She glanced at the dining room behind us. "As you might imagine, we could use the business."
I was about to tell her that it seemed like the other guests were enjoying their meals as much as we did. Only now that I looked at them, the couple dining at a corner table wore 1940's-era clothes. And had a pearly sheen. The gentleman eating alone had vanished.
After Marjorie left, Dimitri deposited a considerable sum in the bill holder. I was glad he could afford to be so generous. Then again, he was also eyeing me like he had an idea.
"What?" I asked, finishing the last of my wine.
His eyes flicked to mine. "She has private, quiet guest rooms upstairs."
A tingle of awareness warmed me. "Those are closed."
"Exactly." He placed a large, solid hand over mine. "We'd be all alone."
At last.
If we had the guts.
"No biker witches, no camping out," I said, warming to the idea. Even with a ghost or two it was worth it. Heck, I had demon slayer powers. I could handle myself. "A real bed."
Dimitri shrugged his wide shoulders. He was reeling me in. I knew it. He knew it.
"It could be an anniversary to remember," he said, tempting me more than he knew.
I ran my fingers along the edge of my wine glass. "I do still have to give you your present," I mused. "Although you'll have to undress me to get it."
He stood a little too quickly as he reached into his wallet again and peeled off an additional wad of twenties. "We'll add it to her tip, enough to cover a room."
It would be a shame not to contribute to the upkeep of such a wonderful old home.
I stood faster than I'd intended, wobbling my wine glass. "Okay. But just a quickie."
He grinned. "Anything for you."
Oh my God, I couldn't believe we were doing this.
"Come on," I said, standing, taking his hand. "We need to get upstairs and naked." Soon. Before I lost my nerve.
Chapter Two
We waited until our hostess retreated into the back, then we raced up the stairs like we were on fire.
Oh my God. I fought back a giggle and Dimitri smothered me to his chest at the top of the landing. He might be as stealthy as a shape shifter, but I felt like an ox going up those stairs.
I covered my mouth, but still, my face hurt from grinning as he took my hand and pulled me down the hall. The air hung heavy and stale. The narrow, dark corridor offered the perfect place to hide.
Dimitri pushed open a door at the end and yanked me inside. Shadows clung to the corners of the room. A layer of dust coated the antiq
ue furniture. No one had ventured up here for a long time. We were truly alone. Free. In an old-fashioned Victorian bedroom. I ran a hand over the carved wood chest of drawers with its chilly marble top and delicately woven lace dresser scarf.
I couldn't believe I was doing this. I'd never let myself consider it before. Not in my un-wild, un-crazy teenage years. And certainly not in my responsible twenties.
Dimitri's voice sounded rough, hungry. "Come here," he said, with the same excitement I felt. He kissed me hard, backing me up against the bed. I squealed as he tipped me down on the mattress.
"Impatient much?" I asked, giving him a saucy grin.
Wait until he got a look at my sexy red bra and panties.
He shook his head, advancing on me, all alpha male and sexy. "It's been way too long."
Since we were back home and not sneaking around. Hiding.
Well, technically we were sneaking.
"Then come and get it," I said, sliding my hands inside his shirt as he came down on top of me. He was warm, solid. His masculine scent and his strong presence enveloped me. I would never get enough of this man.
I kissed him with everything I had and I swore the room itself started to spin.
He felt heavier on top me, not uncomfortable exactly. Still, he didn't usually press down so hard.
I slid my hands up his sides, tried to get around the front of his belt buckle. It took all my effort to pry it open. This was the man who'd fought demons for me. He'd gone to hell and back (literally) for me.
That in itself was so heady that I felt mesmerized. Captured.
A frantic barking sounded outside the door. Pirate. I couldn't hear what he was saying. He seemed far away.
Dimitri blazed a trail of kisses down my neck, to my collarbone.
I couldn't see the top of the canopy anymore. It was dark.
Too dark.
"Wait." I tried to sit up. Something wasn't right.
Boom.
I felt like I'd been zapped by about a thousand volts of static electricity. The bed lurched. "Dimitri!" If I didn't know better, I'd think the entire room had spun off into oblivion. My fingers felt numb as I gripped his shoulders.
He was a dead weight now, struggling to move. He shoved hard against the bed and fell away from me panting.
Oh hell.
Blackness saturated the room, growing stronger. Heavier.
We had to get out of here. I struggled off the bed. My arms and legs tingled, like they were asleep as I forced my way to the door and yanked it open.
Pirate dashed inside. "Cut it out! In a jiffy! She says you can't do what you were doing!"
I didn't care what the owner thought. "Help!" I yelled down the stairs. "Something's up here!"
We needed people, noise, anything to fight back the darkness.
Pirate jumped up on the bed next to my husband. "There's nobody down there to call 911," my dog said, eyes wide. "We've been transported!"
"That doesn't make any sense." Dimitri drew a labored breath, working to buckle his belt.
"You can't do what you were doing," Pirate insisted. "I told her you were just wrestling on the bed. You always do that. But she said, 'not here!'"
I braced a hand against the bedpost as electric shivers ran up and down my body. Why weren't we getting any help? And if we were transported, "Who in Hades were you talking to?"
Pirate let out a heavy sigh. "The lady of the manor. My new friend."
The matronly ghost from downstairs shimmered into view next to my dog. Her upper half anyway. She stood in the middle of the bed, her grey hair, pulled into a severe twist, shimmering with a light of its own. Her face drew tight with fear. "It's too late. He's taken you."
Dimitri rolled away from her. "Who?"
"The master of the house. He's pulled you to another dimension." She cowered, as if she were afraid of being struck. "He rules here."
Bruises blossomed on her cheeks, neck and forehead.
It felt like the air itself tried to suck the life out of us.
Cripes. We needed the biker witches. I ran to the window.
We'd taken a room at far end of the hall, toward the back of the house. The witches should be right outside, past the cemetery. I threw open the velvet curtains and let out a choked cry when I saw an empty field.
"Ohhh biscuits," Pirate said, pacing the bed. "The lady's right. That ghost took us. We're in the wrong dimension. I'm in a freaky house with a bad guy."
"Run," Dimitri ordered. Never mind the fact he was too weak to stand.
The ghost let out a keening wail as she sank down into the bed. Her eerily high voice settled low in my gut. "He's coming."
"Who?" I demanded, then changed my mind. "What is the master of the house?" We had to learn what kind of a creature we were dealing with. Before it attacked.
"I can feel him." Pirate squeaked. "He's right below us!"
The ghost brought a finger to her lips. "Shh..." Her eyes held sadness. Bruises and blood marred her face. "My husband." Her gaze locked on the door. "He's a very pious man. He won't stand for fornication in his house."
"We didn't!" I protested. Not yet anyway.
From what I could see, her husband had been a violent man in life. And he'd morphed into something just as vicious after death. We needed a plan. Now.
Chapter Three
Stop. Think. If sexy vibes had caused all of this… I reached into my belt for the anti-passion spell Grandma had given me, the mucky brown and green one. I opened the jar and discovered it smelled just as bad as it looked. No matter. I poured the contents over my chest.
It hit me with a cooling rush of energy that calmed my nerves and settled my gut.
Dang.
I felt better. More like myself. I rushed over to Dimitri and dropped a big, wet handful on his bare chest.
"What the hell?" He jerked away. Yeah, it was nasty, but it did the trick. He rolled off the bed and onto his feet. "What did you do?" His legs appeared a bit unsteady, but the rest of him was gaining strength fast. "I feel better."
"The potion puts the whammy on any sexy thoughts." I told him. The smell alone would do it.
The ghost watched us, shivering. "You can't escape him. Don't fight," she whispered. "Then it won't hurt so much."
Screw that. I felt sorry for her but I wasn't going to stand here and be attacked.
A dark cloud roiled up from the floor between my boots. Cripes. I hopped up onto the bed. It seeped through the floorboards and filled the room.
A low growl echoed against every corner of the room. "Fornicators!"
"Fuck!" I said, nearly jumping out of my skin as Dimitri took my arm.
"Let's go," he croaked, as I slid off the bed and we hurried toward the door.
I reached to my belt for Grandma's Sneak Spell. I broke the jar against the hardwood floors, sending up a plume of glittering blue and silver smoke that felt hot in my lungs and made me cough.
Dimitri cleared his throat and gripped me tighter. "I'm never making fun of your Grandma ever again."
I fought for a clean breath. "That makes two of us."
Limbs stiff, we lumbered out into the hallway.
"Careful," he said, as we reached at the top of the winding staircase. The carpeting was slick with mildew. A layer of dust and cobwebs now coated the bannisters. Lord help us if we pitched down the stairs.
It had been so much fun to sneak up. Now, it could be an easy way for the phantom to snap our necks.
I had five switch stars, the weapons of a demon slayer. They were round like Chinese throwing stars, only much more deadly. They could slice and dice incubi, succubi, demons, imps, goblins, werewolves, and Frankenstein's monster, but they didn't work on ghosts. Damn. I really needed the biker witches.
Flames danced in the gas globes below. Taunting us.
My heart nearly beat out of my chest as we raced down to the foyer.
We made it.
Dimitri braced a hand against the wall, gathering his strength, while I pu
lled open the front door. A gust of frigid air blew in, ruffling his hair. "That actually felt good," he said.
"Oh, boy," I managed to choke out. At least if he was joking, he was feeling better.
Ghosts liked it cold, and it scared the bejesus out of me that the master of the house could control the weather in this...wherever we were. It was as if we'd entered the phantom's own particular brand of hell.
"Come on," Dimitri said, taking my hand as we escaped the house and ran for all we were worth.
I had one spell left—the one for passion. Fat lot of good that would do us. I had nothing for protection or defense.
We made it to the cemetery at the side of the house. A few hundred feet and we'd be—where? My breath caught in my throat. We were still in the wrong dimension, whatever that meant. Still, it's not like we could stop. We had to get as far as we could from the house.
The cemetery appeared to be as old as the estate itself. Narrow crypts thrust out of the ground, some tilted like they'd stood there for centuries. Smaller tombstones crowded the empty spaces in between, their crosses and weeping virgins reaching out to snag my legs and skirt.
Pirate dashed ahead of us, weaving in and out of stones. I followed his wriggling rump and stubby white tail until it disappeared into a rush of fog.
"Watch out!" I barely had time to get the words out before a wall of black smoke rose up from the earth itself. Pirate flipped over backward to avoid it.
Dimitri cursed.
Another wall rose up on the left, and on the right. I spun to see the final wall go up behind us.
We were surrounded.
Pirate retreated until he hit my boots.
We stood in front of a limestone crypt. A harsh stone cross dominated the roof. Carved angels wept at the corners and the worn bust of a stern, older man stood on a pedestal under the limestone eaves. A faded inscription at the front, black with lichen, read:
Hiram Everett Peele
1796 - 1857
Eva Fawn Peele
1812 – 1857
Forever bound
"That's him." I said.