“Are you still cold?”
“A little.”
“I can build the fire up more if you want.”
“No, I’ll be okay.” She pulled the afghan higher. “Tell me what happened to the land near the inn. Did people pick up and move? Abandon their property?”
He nodded. “Pretty much.”
“But why?”
“Well.” He swallowed hard. “Essentially it was because of the missing woman, Alexandra Dumare, who supposedly died here.” He paused. “Or was rumored to have died here. I’ll admit that I don’t know the full story. No body was ever found, and my grandmother wouldn’t talk about it. But I did figure out that around the same time the woman disappeared, things at the inn got shaky. Less people came. We almost lost the property because of taxes.”
“Wow, but that’s been a long time. Almost a hundred years?”
“Yes, and people were a lot more superstitious back then.”
“You mean they believed in ghosts.”
“And demons.”
“Demons?”
A whoosh of cold wind swept through the sitting room, and the fire dimmed then flamed high. Sophia’s skin crawled.
“Demons.” Garren stood. “Let’s call it a night. We have a lot to do tomorrow. I’ll take the dishes to the kitchen. I trust you can find your way back to your room?”
“Yes, of course.” She stood, arranging the afghan back into place. Every time she began to relax around Garren, something weird happened. Her teeth chattered as chills broke across her back. Why was it suddenly so cold? “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Sophia.”
Chapter 3
Fire raged around her feet, flames racing down the hall and up the melting wallpaper, which dripped into pools of silver liquid on the wooden floor. She ran past heavy door after heavy door, her nightgown sticking to her damp skin and her feet blistering from the searing wood. Sulfur pierced through the tang of burning wood and smoke charred her lungs. She opened her mouth to scream, but clouds of red billowed forth, feeding the crackling fire into an inferno of molten flames and laughter.
“Come. Now.”
It wasn’t Garren. This voice was deeper and more rumbling, vibrating her flesh and turning her stomach sour.
Garren was dead.
She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew it as strongly as she knew her own name. Everyone else was dead, too. She’d seen the charred corpses as she ran. She was the only mortal left in Blackbird Inn and she wasn’t getting out alive. The ceiling beams crashed down around her in splintered explosions, knocking into the floor and shaking the foundation of the whole building…
Knocking? Sophia dragged her eyelids open then squinted. Her heart thudded as her mind tried to focus. Where was she? Blackbird Inn. The room, bright with sunlight, seemed much larger than it had the night before. The dream slipped away like silk through her fingers. She blinked at the ceiling’s matrix of cracks spider-webbing across hundred-fifty-year old plaster.
The fire was just a dream. All a dream.
“Sophia? Are you awake?” Garren called from outside the door.
Garren! He’s not dead. “Yes, I’m awake.” She tossed the covers back and hopped out of bed. Pushing her damp hair out of her face and taking a deep breath, she headed for the door. “Just a minute.”
“I was worried,” he returned. “It’s after two. Thought we should get to work soon since Mr. Beck will be here this evening. I’d love to have something useful to show him.”
Shit. “Of course! I’m sorry.” She pulled the covers up on her bed. “I overslept. I’ll grab a shower and be down as quickly as I can.”
“Meet you in the dining room for a late lunch?”
“Be there in thirty.” She yawned.
“See you then.”
She leaned against the door, Garren’s retreating footsteps growing quieter by the moment. Then, angry with herself for sleeping in, she yanked her suitcase off the chair and set it on the bed. Mr. Beck wasn’t going to be happy if he got to the inn and they hadn’t gathered the documents, at least. She’d hoped she would have the research done, and maybe have even found something to help by the time he got there. Now, she only had hours to get the work done.
Maybe she’d get lucky.
She set out her clothes—jeans and a slim-fit lavender T-shirt. No point in business attire if she and Garren were going to be poking around a dusty attic. She tossed her underthings on top and moved the suitcase back to the chair. She’d have to unpack later.
The sunlight streaming through the curtains brightened and she went to the window to check out the view. Below the inn, the mountain fell away at a steep angle filled with rocks and trees. The vista toward town was the better view and she marveled at how precariously the inn perched on the edge of a cliff. The other side of the inn faced a meadow before inclining up higher into the mountains.
Wonder where the barn is? She hadn’t seen any outbuildings when she drove in, but then again, it was storming and nighttime. She’d almost missed the inn entirely, except that its stone façade had uplighting near the door.
The trees in front of her shimmered in a dark cloud, and then a flock of birds alighted and whisked up over the inn and out of sight. Blackbirds. She could barely make out the ring of bright yellow around their eyes. So many birds.
She smiled.
Helping Garren save the inn was not optional.
After a quick lunch of ham sandwiches and chips, Garren led her to his office in the back of the inn. They’d talked through lunch about the inn and the state’s bid to take it over by eminent domain. It didn’t seem fair that property could be seized just because the state wanted it.
She glanced around as they walked, but she didn’t see any other guests. Maybe they’ve gone out sightseeing.
Garren stopped at a heavy oak door and stuck a thin skeleton key into the lock. The door groaned open and he motioned to the small room.
“This is where I keep the current inn records.” He flipped the light on in the tiny office, the single-bulb fixture barely illuminating the space. His blue button-up shirt glowed green in the dim light, but his hair looked as black as coal. A huge oak desk piled with stacks of yellowed papers consumed most of the room, and several old metal filing cabinets took up the rest of the area. The cabinets leaned under the weight of their contents. The musty odor of old papers lingered in the air and the low ceiling made the space feel even smaller. Garren dusted off his blue jeans. “I know it doesn’t look very organized. Truth is, it isn’t. But I can find most things if I have enough time.”
Sophia cringed. Good thing they wouldn’t be working in Garren’s office. Claustrophobia was already setting in and her pulse hammered in her wrists and neck. She backed against a tower of boxes.
“Used to be a side porch till my grandmother had it walled in.” He yanked open the main desk drawer and reached inside. “I try not to spend a lot of time in here other than to store things.”
“Yeah, it’s a little…small. And cramped.”
“We won’t be in here long. My bookkeeper, Henry, works in here sometimes. Like I said, the most recent inn records are here—back until about 1970 or so.”
“You have a bookkeeper?” Odd. Mr. Beck hadn’t mentioned that. “We need to talk to him later. He might be able to help us.”
Garren looked up from his search in the drawer. “Henry is a bit…backward. He’s worked here for many years, but he really doesn’t talk to people he doesn’t know.”
“Oh.”
“If you have any specific questions, of course I can take them to him.” He held up a key ring with half a dozen keys dangling from a leather cord. “Found them! I haven’t been in the attic in a long time. Creepy old place. Of course, some people like that sort of thing.”
Great. She stuck her hands in her pockets. “Guess this will be an adventure.”
He slammed the desk drawer closed. “I loved playing in the attic as a child. There’s so much stuff that�
�s been piled for storage. I’m not sure I would even begin to know everything that’s there, and most of it’s junk. But, to a child, it was a realm of lost treasures. And a respite from the daily work at the inn.”
“I’ll bet!” She smiled. “Sounds like a lot of fun.” She remembered the days when she and her younger sister visited her own grandmother. They would count and sort buttons in her sewing room and dig through all the cast-off items in the standalone garage out behind the house. They loved trying on old hats and shoes. Having an entire attic to play in as a child must have been amazing. Had Garren been lonely?
“Do you have any siblings?” she asked.
His gaze darkened and she immediately regretted asking the question.
“No, I’m only child.” He looked down. “My parents died in a car crash when I was seven. Maybe that’s why I spent so much time up in the attic. Some people might find that creepy, especially for a child, but all my imaginary friends lived there.”
“I’m sorry.” She wanted to touch him and comfort him, but held back. The pain on his face ran deep—almost fresh. Touching him might set him off, and not in a good way.
“It’s not your fault.” He waved her away. “The attic was too hot in the summer, but fall and spring, it was the perfect place to escape the inn guests. I’d grab a book from the sitting room or the library and sneak up there to read for hours. I could be someone else for at least a little while. Or somewhere else.”
“You could read in peace.”
“Oh yes.”
“But you haven’t been to the attic lately?”
“No. No reason to.” He glanced at his watch. “But we’d better go if we have any hopes of getting started on those papers. It’s already almost four PM. What time did you say Mr. Beck would be here?”
Sophia shrugged. “Last I heard his flight gets in around eight. Then, he has to drive here. So, maybe ten-ish? With no cell service, I don’t have any updates.”
“We’d better get busy then.” He brushed by her. “Let’s go. The stairs to the attic are behind the kitchen.”
She followed him out into the cramped back hallway back toward the kitchen. As they passed, Bernadette, the cook, waved. Impossibly old, the woman had made lunch with the speed of someone forty years her junior. Her white hair, twisted into a knot on top of her head, gave her the appearance of a troll doll, complete with a twinkle in her eyes. Sophia smiled and waved back.
“How many guests are at the inn right now?” she asked. “I haven’t seen many since I arrived.”
Garren climbed the narrow stairwell to the attic. “Last ones checked out this morning. So, just you.”
“I thought this was a busy time of year?” She held the rickety handrail to balance on the steep stairs. The thought of being the only guest at the rambling old inn gave her the heebie jeebies.
He turned and moved down to meet her on the stairs, leaning toward her until his breath caressed her face. “It usually is a busy time. Very busy.” His voice slid over her like soft fingertips and she shivered as the stairwell temperature plummeted. “I didn’t want thrill-seekers at the inn this weekend.”
“What happens this weekend?” She paused. “Oh, you mean Halloween?”
His lips brushed her ear. “Tomorrow is the hundred-year anniversary of Alexandra’s disappearance. Yes, Halloween.”
Chapter 4
Sophia set the dusty cardboard box onto the pile. She’d gone through half a dozen boxes full of ancient papers already, with no luck. No evidence that Blackbird Inn had Civil War soldiers as guests, or anyone of note. Garren worked beside her, flipping through ringed ledgers and books and loose papers, looking for any scrap that might save the inn.
She hadn’t pressed him about the upcoming anniversary of Alexandra’s disappearance, though it seemed odd or perhaps coincidental that she and Mr. Beck were at the inn during such a notorious time. And Halloween, to boot. If this were a movie, people would be saying it’s too coincidental to really happen. Garren didn’t seem worried about it, so maybe she shouldn’t be either.
She stared up into the rafters of the attic where large beams of old-growth wood crisscrossed the space. With the gables and hips of the roof, the attic was less than ideal for storage, other than its overall vast space. Nooks and crannies at every turn, there were enough boxes to keep them busy for much longer than a day, though Garren insisted that all the business papers were in the boxes where they searched.
What could be in all the other boxes and trunks spread around the attic? In the drawers of the cast-off furniture? Maybe Alexandra’s bones…
Sophia shook her head to rid herself of the thought. She couldn’t start thinking about hidden bones or corpses or she’d completely spook herself out. Still, the dark corners of the attic would be the perfect place to hide something. Something like a body. She shivered.
If the mere thought of Alexandra gave her such a fright, surely many people would clamor to visit the inn at the anniversary. Why hadn’t Garren capitalized on the opportunity to celebrate? Most innkeepers would fly the haunted flag proudly. And tourists would pay extra to ghost hunt for Alexandra, a real person who had disappeared. Maybe the pending takeover by the state had kept him from any public display.
The situation was odd.
They’d worked in near silence for over two hours and the last rays of the setting sun streamed in through the attic windows, laying down runways of light across the ancient floorboards. Dust spun and twirled in the beams of sunlight, like tiny fairies suspended in midflight. It’d be dark soon. She peeked at Garren. A fine sheen of sweat covered his pale forearms and his shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, was covered in dust. His ponytail hung low, strands of black hair escaping and sticking to the dampness on his neck.
He looked up and caught her gaze.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “You’re making this go a lot faster.”
She smiled. “I’m glad, too. This inn is so beautiful.” She rubbed her hands on her jeans. “Even the dusty old attic.” And being here with someone as sexy as you helps me keep ghosts off my mind.
She glanced around at the stacks of boxes. They had a lot more to go through before they could call it a day. Good thing they didn’t have to search the entire attic. It would take weeks, perhaps months. Old furniture lined one wall, some covered in sheets and some out in the open.
“I’m glad you like it.”
Had she imagined it, or had Garren’s face warmed under her words?
“I do,” she said. “Very much. It’s peaceful here, though I feel a little off balance. Like I’m always being watched. Like I’m not alone.”
“The inn has a way of making people feel like that. She’s a crotchety old mistress.” He pulled out another book from the box, flipped through to the cover page and then set the book aside. “So, where are your parents? Do you have family?” He paused. “I mean, where do you live? Not around here, obviously.”
Sophia sat back on her heels. “I live in Atlanta. I don’t talk to my parents much. We have differing opinions on how I should live my life.”
“Family is important.” He rubbed his face.
“Yes, but so is personal freedom.” She shoved the next box over toward him. “I am not the person my family wants me to be.”
He glanced over. “I understand.”
And he did. She felt it in her soul. But this job was not a place to be looking for romance. Mr. Beck would be really upset if he arrived and they’d found nothing. She turned away to grab another stack of ledgers. “I’m surprised the inn isn’t celebrating the anniversary of Alexandra’s disappearance. It seems like something a haunted inn would celebrate.”
“Why would we? It’s tragic.”
“But tourists like ghost stories, so I thought—”
He scooted next to her and tipped her face toward his with a finger. He was so close she closed her eyes. He smelled like rain and woodsy wilds. “You thought I’d try to make money off the story,” he whispered.
She nodded, her eyes still closed. The inn held onto its ghost stories so why was Alexandra’s story any different?
He ran his finger along her jawbone to her ear and she shivered under his touch. “I’d never exploit a tragedy.”
She opened her eyes. His face, inches from hers, tensed, and his blue eyes deepened.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“It’s okay.” He smiled and sat back. “You wouldn’t believe the number of news people that wanted to come out from Philly to report on the anniversary. I turned them all down. Alexandra’s story should stay buried, where it belongs. A hundred years is enough time to be in limbo and I have no intention of dragging up past events or painful memories.”
Sophia nodded. Her face still tingled from Garren’s touch. For a moment, she’d thought he was going to kiss her. And she was going to let him. What would the harm be? It wasn’t like he’d asked her to stay at the inn. She’d see him a few more days, and that would be it.
The pile of papers they needed to go through had gotten smaller, but they weren’t close to finishing. The sun had mostly set, and only a faint orange light shone in. Garren had found an old lamp and plugged it into the extension cord running across one side of the attic. The overhead lightbulbs were out, but the lamp would give off enough light for the time being.
“We’re almost done.” Garren set another stack on the floor beside her. “Just a couple more boxes and we can get out of here.”
“Yeah, but we haven’t found any evidence yet. Most of the paperwork is inn maintenance and correspondence with town markets and such. No personal letters or anything that might shed some light on what was going on here. I’m sure if someone famous stayed here, there would be some kind of evidence.”
“Yeah, the ledgers haven’t been helpful. But we still have a few more to look through. Maybe we’ll find something. Or maybe there’s something in the box of stuff we’ll take downstairs.”
Myths & Magic: A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection Page 4