She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out.
Lightning flashed in the stairwell again, and the blob disappeared. Frozen, she craned her neck to see if anything else was coming up the stairs. The stairwell was much cooler than it had been moments ago. Not just cooler. Cold. Her heart hammered and she put her hand over her chest, as if that would calm her. Her breath came out in puffs of condensation, like tiny clouds in the dark.
“Sophia?” A hand clamped down on her shoulder.
She screamed. Not a girly scream, but an all-out scream of terror.
“Sophia!”
Garren.
She scanned the area, and then looked at him. What was going on?
He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, his warmth soothing her instantly. And more than it should. “Are you okay?” he asked. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Chapter 2
The hallway went on forever, she was sure of it, as she’d been walking for hours or maybe days. Did her bare feet even touch the ground, or was she floating inches above the wooden floor, propelled by the misty fog that consumed the space? And why was it so cold? She gazed at the long white nightgown she wore, fingering the thin, silken fabric. So thin. Then she wrapped her arms around herself to control her shudders. “This isn’t mine,” she said. Her voice echoed down the hall in a million repeats of “Mine, mine, mine.” No one replied. Dust tickled her nose and the odor of decay and death filled her senses.
Would she ever find her way out?
With a piercing shriek, the sconces on the wall began breaking away one by one and slammed to the ground in front of her, creating little puffs of oily smoke as they went dark. Then she was holding a silver candelabra, heavy with five red candles, the flames dancing green and purple. She held the light high, but all she saw in either direction was endless hallway and closed door after closed door.
All locked. She’d tried to open them.
“Sophia?” The voice called to her again. The same voice had lured her from her bed and out into the hallway and now seemed to come from behind every closed door, under every floor plank, and on every wisp of chilled fog.
“Sophia? Come here.”
Recognition chilled her veins.
Garren! The voice was his all along. Why hadn’t she recognized it before?
He leaned against the wall up ahead, his black hair falling over his eyes, and she ran toward him. If she could reach him before he disappeared, maybe he could help her.
She stopped in front of him, her breathing labored. She tried to speak but no words came from her mouth. “Help!” she called to him in her mind, hoping he could understand her thoughts. Tears streamed down her cheeks and he wiped them away with his finger and gave her a sad smile. His blue eyes glowed golden and he took the candelabra and set it on the narrow hall table that had not been there a moment before.
Garren, she mouthed his name.
He leaned forward until his lips touched hers…
She fell...
Sophia jerked awake and gasped for breath. Darkness surrounded her. Tossing off the heavy covers, she reached to turn on the bedside lamp. The light cast the room in a familiar warm glow and the nightmare raced to the edge of her consciousness. What the hell was that dream? She rubbed her eyes and glanced around the quaint room, decorated in what could only be called inn chic. A cream-colored spread with matching pillow shams turned the iron bed into an inviting cloud, and a multi-colored hooked rug covered most of the bare floor. The walls, paneled in dark wood, closed in the space, but windows covered in pale curtains helped keep the room from feeling like a tomb. An antique oak dresser sat across from the bed and a small chair leaned against the wall just outside the private bath. Her unopened suitcase still sat on the chair.
She barely remembered falling asleep; she’d been so tired.
Garren had walked her to Room 217, given her the key, then left, promising they’d talk first thing in the morning. Still shaken by what she’d thought she saw in the stairwell, she washed her face and tried to calm her nerves. Exhaustion claimed her. She’d kicked off her shoes and crashed in the bed without undressing. All the talk of ghosts had definitely gotten into her psyche, and that combined with a long day of travel had conjured up a vivid nightmare. She tucked her hair behind her ears and moved to sit on the edge of the bed.
Why had she dreamed about kissing Garren? Or had he been suffocating her? I don’t remember. She shivered. Her imagination was definitely up to some tricks tonight. She’d just met him and she was having erotic dreams about him. Or horrific dreams, she wasn’t entirely sure which. Either way, she’d enjoyed the soft touch of his lips on hers.
Even if he was trying to kill me.
“Stop being ridiculous,” she whispered, running her damp palms across the bed covers. Her crazy imagination was one of the things that drove off her last boyfriend, and she’d sworn to try to keep the craziness a little more confined.
The room had a set of double windows, and they creaked in the wind and rain. The storm hadn’t died down yet and thunder boomed and rolled. When she’d checked the weather before traveling, rain hadn’t even been in the forecast.
“Damn weathermen. They’re wrong more often than they’re right.”
Her stomach rumbled. When had she last eaten? Breakfast.
Garren had told her to head down to the kitchen if she got hungry in the night and right now, that sounded like a great idea, even if she had to fight some ghosts over her food. She smiled. Not funny, Sophia. She wasn’t just hungry, she was starving, and that had probably made her nightmare worse.
The tiny alarm clock on the bedside table read 3:33 AM. She’d have time to grab a snack and get more sleep before getting to work in the morning. Ghosts be damned.
She got out of bed and slid on her shoes. Slipping the key in her jeans pocket, she closed the door behind her and headed for the stairwell. The hallway, similar to the one in her dream, was soundless and dim. Her footsteps, muted and heavy, barely broke the silence as she crept toward the stairs. She didn’t know how many other guests were at the inn, but three AM wasn’t the time to find out.
The sconces, unlike in her dream, remained on the walls and lit her way in a steady golden path. She stopped at the door to the stairs. No ghosts. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, then opened the door and stepped into the stairwell. After she let the door drag closed behind her, she opened her eyes slowly.
The stairs were empty.
Rain dripped down the outside of the red windows and lightning flashed outside, but no orbs or ghosts lingered in the space. Still, her heart hammered and chills raced up her spine. Every little hair on her arms stood upright and she rubbed them back in place.
Get ahold of yourself. You’re being ridiculous.
She walked down the dark stairs to the first floor as quickly as she could, and then headed out into the hallway. No point in lingering. She released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
The first floor seemed much brighter even though the hallway had the same sconces as the second floor. She hurried past door after door to the foyer where another hallway spoked toward the kitchen and common areas of the inn. No one was at the reception desk, though the little lamp was still on and a stack of papers riffled in an unfelt breeze. The antique clock ticked time.
She passed a lovely sitting room with a large stone hearth and wall-to-wall bookshelves laden with books of every size. Coals still glowed bright orange in the fireplace and the tang of burning wood seared the air. Two oversized couches with a shared coffee table corralled the fire—a perfect place to have a snack. She’d grab something from the kitchen and bring it back to the sitting room to eat.
She stopped outside what must be the kitchen when she heard voices. Her mouth went dry and she clutched the doorframe, staying out of sight.
Garren.
“Leave her alone,” he said.
“But…” another voice replied.
&nb
sp; “I need her help.”
“If you say so, master.”
“Don’t call me that. You’re no more a servant than I am a free man.” Garren’s voice rose with the last words.
“Someone’s there,” the other voice hissed. “Outside the doorway.”
Sophia flattened against the wall. Her heart’s throbbing would surely give her away. I should run. Her legs wouldn’t move. She closed her eyes and waited.
“Who’s there?” Garren called. “Come on in.”
She let out a breath. Why was she acting like a scared teen in a horror movie? Garren wasn’t a serial killer. But what did he mean that he wasn’t a free man? That was odd talk, plain and simple.
“It’s just me, Sophia.” She stepped into the kitchen, her legs weak. She’d always had an imagination, but this was getting ridiculous. She’d never been so jumpy and skittish. Imaginative, yes, but not afraid. What was it about the inn that made her so nervous? Or was it Garren?
He sat at a small round table, hands folded over one other, his button-up shirt from earlier replaced by a simple black vee-neck T-shirt. His hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. God, the man was gorgeous.
He smiled and stood. “Couldn’t sleep?”
She shook her head and scanned the small kitchen. Modernized and functional, it wasn’t what she’d expected. Granite countertops shone against the dark wood of the floor. Small appliances of all sorts lined the counter near the door and a row of ragged cookbooks leaned against the wall along the counter in another corner. Double ovens and dishwashers and a huge fridge, all stainless, gave the space a professional flair. A cook’s dream kitchen, even if it was small.
And empty except for her and Garren.
She looked back to him. “Who were you talking to just now? Before I came in?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She touched her lips. Had she asked that aloud? Awkward.
He shrugged. “No one here but me.” He moved to stand nearer, his shadow casting over her.
“But…”
“Maybe you heard me mumbling,” he offered. “I’m anxious about losing the inn and I was sitting here going over things. Stressing.”
“But I thought I heard…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence so she leaned against the counter. Had she heard what she thought she heard?
“The property’s been in my family since it was built and I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to it. I’m concerned. I must’ve been talking to myself without realizing it.”
Okay…that was possible. She nodded. “Well, you can count on Mr. Beck. He’s a great lawyer. He’ll find a way out from under this mess.” And afterward, we can help you find a good shrink.
“I hope he can help.” Garren rubbed his face and scowled. “I can’t lose Blackbird Inn. It’s the only home I’ve ever known.”
“You’ve lived here all your life?” She swallowed hard. She’d had at least fifteen moves by the time she turned twenty. Living in one place for that long was unfathomable. And unusual.
“Always. I’ve barely even been anywhere else. But that’s okay. I love it here. It’s home.”
A loud clap of thunder shook the windows and Sophia ducked, covering her ears.
“Just thunder. It won’t hurt you.” He stepped close and put his hands on her shoulders. “You really need to relax—I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as high-strung as you.”
The warmth from his hands soaked through her shirt and she moved away to avoid the tingles he was causing in other areas. The kiss was a dream. It wasn’t real.
“I hear that all the time.” She fiddled with the long stands of her hair. “I guess I’ve been under a lot of stress, too, but I think that goes along with being a new attorney. Stress is part of the job description, but I do seem to be more on edge than usual.” She sighed. “I’m not sure why. Heavy workload, maybe.”
“Well, let’s hope saving Blackbird Inn is an easy job with little or no stress.”
“Yes. I hope so.”
“How about a midnight snack?” He looked at his watch. “Well, a three AM snack? Food is good for calming the nerves. Right?”
“That’s why I came down.” She rested her hands on the counter and yawned. “I’m starving. I forgot to eat dinner. I was so tired, I crashed.”
“Well, let me prepare a snack. I know we’ve got some fresh fruit around here. Maybe some cheese.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’ll join you, if you don’t mind. I’m a bit hungry, too.”
“Sure.” What was the worst thing that could happen?
Sophia stared at the fire and sipped her cup of hot tea. The stone around the fireplace radiated the heat out into the room in waves of warm air. Garren had prepared a five-star snack of fruit, cheese, and bread and then stoked the fire to life before joining her on the couch. A beautiful copper teapot sat on the coffee table, filled with the most delightful floral tea she’d ever tasted. She was already on her third cup, and she hadn’t even needed honey to sweeten it.
“Good?” He leaned back on the couch, cup in hand.
The copper kettle reflected the bright fire. The florals in the tea mingled with the woodsy smell of the fire in the perfect combination. Definitely stress relief.
“Mmmhmm.” She peeked. God, the man was attractive. He didn’t look as pale in the orange firelight, but his skin was still offset by his unruly black hair trying to escape from his ponytail. He filled out the T-shirt in exactly the right way—not too many muscles, but not too thin either. She raised the cup again and watched him through the steam as he drank his tea.
“I love tea.” He set his cup down. “And it’s been ages since I’ve had someone here to share it with.”
Blue. His eyes are blue.
“What?” She set her cup on the coffee table, clinking it against the saucer.
He leaned close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body. “I said,” he whispered, “it’s been a long time since I had anyone to share tea with. So, thank you.”
“B-but you have guests all the time.”
He leaned back and laughed. “Yeah, but they don’t sit and spend time with the solitary innkeeper. They’re out exploring the mountains.” He leaned close again. “Or searching the property for ghosts.”
She forced a smile. Ghost stories made the inn money, and she understood why Garren needed to play along, but did he really believe in the supernatural? Then again, the apparition in the stairwell wasn’t a floating dust bunny. Something was there, she just couldn’t explain what. “Tell me about Blackbird Inn.”
He stood and stoked the burning wood, the embers brightening with each thrust of the poker. “Well, we have twenty-eight rooms.” After putting another large log on the fire, he replaced the tool then sat down beside her again. “And the property is just shy of a hundred fifty acres. We have our own lake, barn, and cemetery.” He poured himself another cup of tea.
“No, I mean tell me about your family. About the history.” She crossed her legs and faced him on the couch. Something about Garren compelled her to talk to him, and it wasn’t work. She could tell from the way his posture changed when she brought up the inn that it was special. And something about the sitting room, with its piles of books and fiery warmth, told her the place was close to his heart. Framed photos lined the mantel and a heavy mirror hung above the fire. “Tell me why such a large inn was built so far from town. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
He looked down at his hands. “It’s not a long story, really, but it’s a sad one. Or some say it’s sad. I guess you should know since we’ll be working together to try to save the place.” He took a deep breath and stared into the fire. “But I’m more concerned about the inn’s future than its past right now.”
“But the history would help. I read what I could online, but we might uncover a nugget that would make the inn too historically important for the state to seize.”
“We tried for historical status many years ago and lost.” He turned to look at h
er, his eyes searching hers. For understanding? Compassion? “Even though we housed soldiers returning home after the Civil War, we didn’t qualify because we didn’t have the necessary documentation, or not enough of it. And just being old isn’t enough for status, either. The requirements are strict.”
“Yes, they are. Do you have any records detailing past guests? We might be able to use the paperwork to gain status, especially if someone important stayed here.” Surely, with the inn being as old as it was, they could find something to keep the state from tearing it down to build a highway. It just didn’t seem fair. Maybe an important Union general had stayed there. Maybe even President Lincoln. That would make it easy as long as they had proof.
“Maybe.” He sipped his tea. “We’ll have to look at the stacks of paperwork stored in the attic. To be honest, I haven’t had time to go through that mess.”
She shifted. “Not tonight.”
“No, not tonight.” He set the cup on the table. “But just because we haven’t shown it, it doesn’t mean the inn doesn’t have a historical value.”
“True. But who understands what the government does?”
“Yeah.”
“Why is Blackbird Inn so remote?” She picked up her cup and sipped on the now-warm tea. “Seems like it would be better to put an inn closer to town. Especially a long time ago when transportation would’ve involved horses.” She shuddered at the thought of riding a horse carriage up the side of the mountain to the inn.
Lightning flashed outside the sitting room window, illuminating the skeletons of spindly trees outside. A low rumble of thunder followed. The storm seemed to be waning, thank goodness.
“It made perfect sense at the time.” Garren rubbed his forehead. “Civilization used to be closer, but the area along the road near us hasn’t been inhabited for nearly a century. And now, the land has reclaimed most of it. No one wants to build out here except the state.”
“Why? What happened?” She set her teacup down and pulled at the heavy blue afghan draped across the arm of the couch. She wrapped it around her up to her neck.
Myths & Magic: A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection Page 3