by Ani Gonzalez
The ornate wood balustrades were smooth from use and the second step creaked loudly. Climbing up the back staircase to visit the library's haunted second floor had been one of her favorite childhood adventures. She and Holly used to sneak up to the forbidden romance section, leaf through well-thumbed paperbacks with garish covers, and wait for the ghost of Good Sergeant Atwell to sweep the books out of their hands, and the shelves, and onto the floor. The strong scent of pipe smoke would fill the room right before the ghost manifested himself, so they had plenty of time to get out of the way of the flying books.
The library's resident ghost had rather high-minded literary tastes and he wasn't shy about enforcing them.
"Zach?" She really wasn't sure about this.
He didn't answer, but she felt the warm pressure of his hand on her lower back. Her breath caught and her muscles tightened.
Damn the Zach Franco effect.
She took in a breath and climbed up. He followed, and the second step creaked loudly when he stepped on it. She giggled nervously as he cursed under his breath. They climbed the rest of the steps quickly, trying not to make any noise.
They finally reached the second floor loft. The vintage oriental rugs did little to muffle their footsteps, so they tiptoed to the balcony and crouched behind the thick wood balustrades. Zach was right, it was the perfect spot. They could see everything going on downstairs, but no one could see them.
Well, except the ghost, of course, but Good Sergeant Atwell didn't count.
She peered through the balustrades, focusing on the crowd milling around Elizabeth. She couldn't hear what her friend was saying right now, but she was not interested in Elizabeth's performance. She examined the attendees, trying to figure out if any of the committee members had arrived with Elizabeth.
But the Historical Preservation Committee was fashionably late, as always. Great, they were stuck here with only a spectral -- and extremely straight-laced -- Civil War soldier for company. Disappointed, she sat down on the carpet...
And collided with a very solid, very muscular Zach Franco.
The library ghost would definitely disapprove of her reaction. Her body tensed and she felt herself flush.
What was wrong with her? She'd known Zach her entire life. They'd been friends for decades. She'd never thought of him as, well...a man.
Until she'd seen him naked in the PRoVE specimen room. Now that image was all she could think about. Well, that and the kiss.
"They're not here yet," she said, trying to cover her reaction.
Zach looked at her, eyes narrowed in concern. The covering up thingie? Apparently, she hadn't done a very good job.
"You care that much?" he asked.
She frowned at him, surprised by his question, but relieved that he had misunderstood her reaction. "Of course I do. It's..." Her voice trailed off as she considered his question.
Yes, she cared. A lot.
But she didn't want to say it. To admit that this was something she'd dreamt of since she came back to Banshee Creek. She'd left Manhattan with her life in disarray, but she didn't give up her goal: to have a real restaurant, one of her own.
Zach wouldn't be impressed by that. His Casanova derring-do concealed a pragmatic business person. He wouldn't approve of letting emotions guide your business decisions.
"Yes," she confessed, choosing not to explain. "Don't you?"
He shrugged. They were so close that the slight movement made his shoulder graze against her arm.
"That's not an answer," she prompted. She wanted to know how committed Zach was to this enterprise. Did it matter to him as much as it mattered to her?
Because that could be a problem.
Zach paused before replying, his face serious, not an expression he sported often.
She had to admit it, she liked serious Zach. She liked him more than she liked happy-go-lucky, party Zach. In fact, she liked him a bit too much.
"I wish," he said in a soft voice, "I was the sort of person who didn't care."
The soft whisper made her skin prickle. What was it about Zach's voice? It wrapped itself around you like a warm sensuous blanket. It was positively magical.
She tried to focus on his words. What was he saying? That he didn't want to be the kind of person who...
"So do I," she admitted, her heart sinking. "I hate being the bad guy."
"The bad guy?" he asked, leaning close. "That's ridiculous. You could never be the bad guy. "
He smiled, full wattage. It was the killer Zach smile, the one he used when he was on stage, playing guitar. The one that drove the ladies crazy.
But there was something behind the smile now, something compelling. She felt she could get lost in those warm brown eyes...
And never come back.
"You don't have a nefarious bone in your body," he finished, with a rough chuckle. A sound that hinted at dark deeds and darker nights.
She was suddenly keenly aware that the neckline of her sweater was hanging low, exposing her cleavage and that her hair was soft and seductive. A long slow shiver ran through her body, as if something hidden, dormant even, was waking up. She licked her lips and looked into Zach's dark eyes.
"Oh," she said, in a throaty voice that sounded alien and unfamiliar. "You have no idea."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HE STARED at Patricia. Were they still talking about the Rosemoor? He'd assumed they were still discussing the bid process, but now he wasn't sure. Somewhere, somehow, the conversation had taken a wrong turn and now he felt like he'd followed the White Rabbit through a hole in the ground and into Wonderland.
Or, rather, an R-rated version of Alice in Wonderland. One with skimpy clothing and naughty winks.
Maybe it was the new sweater she was wearing? It was tight and clingy and the drapey neckline dipped enticingly to reveal...
He forced his gaze back up and focused on her eyes, which looked clear and honest as always. The bright teal sweater gave the blue in her eyes a greenish tinge, but, still, the color was familiar and reassuring.
The loose curls tumbled over her shoulder, however, were not.
This was a different Patricia, and it wasn't just the new clothes and makeup. The town baker had spent the past couple of years buried in spreadsheets and business accounting programs. She was sharp and business-focused, but also shy and, by all accounts, uninterested in anything that didn't involve flour or obtaining favorable Yelp reviews. Everything was done strictly by the book.
Yep, that was the Patricia he was used to -- steady, polite, reliable.
This Patricia, however, was different.
This Patricia would do anything to get what she wanted, even leave a business rival chained up in a cold storeroom. This Patricia was willing to hide in the library loft and spy on the participants. This Patricia was...unpredictable.
And he was, unfortunately, fatally drawn to the unpredictable.
A shrill sound rang out, breaking the spell.
"They're starting," Patricia said, looking up. She crawled toward the wood railing and peered through the balustrades. He tried not to look at her curvy bottom as she scooted her way to a better spot. It was a surprisingly difficult endeavor.
"Hurry up," Patricia whispered urgently, motioning for him to join her.
She'd taken the best spot and he settled behind her, looking over her shoulder. He steadfastly ignored the faint scent of gardenias and focused on the sight below.
Holly and her minions had turned the first floor of the library into a decent facsimile of a meeting hall. The walls were still lined with bookshelves, but the reading tables had been pushed to the side and the room was now filled with aluminum folding chairs in straight lines, all turned toward a wooden podium and an old-fashioned projection screen.
Elizabeth stood behind the podium, testing the microphone with dainty taps. Every time she hit the bulky contraption, a loud boom echoed through the room.
"C'mon, Hunt," Caine shouted. "We don't have all night."
/> She ignored him. Holly stood behind a bulky metal box, twisting knobs and flipping switches. Elizabeth tapped again, but this time there was no sound.
"I think that equipment is older than I am," he whispered.
"Hey, at least it's not haunted," she whispered back.
She paused.
"As far as we know."
"Can you hear me now?" Elizabeth intoned.
Her voice was like nails on chalkboard, making him wince.
"Sweet howling banshees." Caine's deep baritone carrying easily, even without magnification. "Are you trying to kill us, girl?"
She stood back. "Is this better?"
It was, her voice was loud, but without the fear of eardrum damage. She smiled and pressed a button on the laptop in front of her. The projection screen went dark.
"Then, ladies and gentlemen, and you too, Caine."
The head of the paranormal society snorted.
"I present..." Elizabeth paused dramatically. "The Banshee Creek Valentine's Day Ball."
A loud groan greeted her announcement, but Elizabeth paid it no heed. An image of a costumed couple appeared on the screen. The woman was wearing a rosebud-colored period gown and...butterfly wings? Another image appeared, this one of a man and a woman in full Medieval regalia.
It was pink Medieval regalia. Pepto-Bismol pink.
Elizabeth's audience muttered angrily. They gasped when Elizabeth paused on a picture of a couple in feathery cupid wings and richly embroidered clothes.
The room grew quiet
"Have you gone Ren Faire on us, Hunt?" Caine said.
"Oh no," Patricia whispered. "He went there."
He did indeed. Zach's eyes swept over the crowd looking for...there he was. A muscular mountain of a man with long blond hair in twin braids over his shoulders rose slowly from his seat. He wasn't the only one staring at the leader of the local Society for Creative Anachronism. The entire room stood in silence, waiting for Hank "the Hulk" Stark's response.
"So," Hank drawled. "You seem to have something against the Renaissance Faire, friend." He paused, cracking his knuckles loudly. "Would you like to discuss it outside?"
Caine considered the offer, then sighed regretfully. "Now, Hank, any other day, I'd love to oblige you, but we need to present a united front here."
Elizabeth tapped the mic, looking pleased.
"Well," she said. "The Historical Preservation Committee has nothing against the Renaissance Faire."
Caine groaned.
"Or anybody else, for that matter."
She pushed another button on her laptop and a progression of images appeared on the screen -- a space-themed couple with green body paint and small -- very small -- pieces of sparkly fabric strategically draped over sensitive areas, a vampire bridal party, a pair of Victorian Egyptologists -- the parade went on and on.
The audience stared, spellbound.
"That doesn't look very romantic," Patricia said. "What does that have to do with Valentine's Day?"
"They're all couples," he replied, although he wasn't sure about the aliens, they looked more like predator and prey. "I guess that meets the minimum requirement."
A pair of tentacled creations appeared. He couldn't tell whether they were inspired by Jules Verne or H.P. Lovecraft. Maybe it didn't matter.
Patricia looked doubtful and Zach didn't blame her. His mind was racing, trying to find a way to turn this into a pizza selling opportunity.
Nothing came to mind, though.
"I tried to do tentacle éclairs once," Patricia said, voice laden with regret. "They weren't exactly popular."
"No," he said, recalling the experiment. "They were very creative though, and tasty."
Patricia frowned. "Creative doesn't pay the bills."
"I hear you," he replied.
She turned to him and smiled. "Although I do appreciate that you actually ate one. That was pretty brave."
He nodded, unable to speak. Something about her smile had rendered him speechless.
"We're trying to create a second Halloween," Elizabeth said. "It will be couples only, because it is, after all, Valentine's Day, but it will have a Banshee Creek twist. The goal is to convince the tourists who visit us during Halloween to come back and check us out on Valentine's Day."
"You want courting couples to spend their romantic weekend visiting haunted houses?"
Zach didn't recognize the voice, but he fully agreed with the skepticism behind the comment. He loved his town, but Banshee Creek didn't exactly scream out romance.
Elizabeth was not fazed.
"The Historical Preservation Committee," she said. "Has been hard at work combing the archives to compile the many love stories--"
A snort interrupted her speech. Elizabeth glared at the offender.
"Many," she repeated, "love stories connected to our town. The Hagen House, for example, and the Lady of the Falls are all tales that speak of the enduring power of love."
"Those," Patricia whispered, "didn't exactly end well."
He chuckled. "I guess the committee will gloss over the tragic suicides and murders."
"The committee will print new materials and update the website to match the Valentine's Day theme. We will coordinate with WPRV and they will provide suitable programming."
Patricia rolled her eyes. "WPRV's idea of Valentine's Day programming is Bride of Chucky."
"That's very impressive, Elizabeth," Caine said. "But you're creating a huge infrastructure for a bunch of people who may not show up. How are you going to get people here?"
"If you build it, they will come?" Hank countered.
"Not these guys." Caine pointed at the last image, an impressive werewolf couple in full body armor, hoisting flamethrowers. "That is the Creature Factory, an elite team of cosplayers. They don't just show up in full costume."
"That's why we will have the ball," Elizabeth explained.
"That's a dance, right?" Caine asked. "These guys don't even bother with the small conventions. Why would they show up for a dance?"
"The ball will be filmed," Elizabeth replied.
Caine looked unconvinced.
"And there will be a contest. Staff from Arcanum Production Company will judge the costumes. They do my House Haunters show and they owe me a favor."
"Those guys do a lot of contests," Caine commented. "That's not a big draw."
"But there's real Hollywood people judging it," Hank replied.
Caine shrugged. "I don't think these guys care about Hollywood."
"The contest prize," Elizabeth interrupted. "Will be two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
Hank and Caine stared at her in surprise.
"Two hundred..." Caine's voice trailed off in disbelief. "For dressing up in fancy costumes?"
"Well," Hank said, brows raised. "Now you've got my attention."
"She doesn't need your attention, Heidi," Caine said, nodding toward the werewolf pair. "She needs their attention."
"And I think she's going to get it," Hank said, a note of respect in his voice.
"Oh, I already got it," Elizabeth replied airily. "We invited the top twenty-five cosplaying teams in the country and they all accepted." She smiled broadly, playing up to her audience. "The Banshee Creek Valentine's Day Ball is officially on."
The room broke into applause.
"And that's not our only announcement," Elizabeth took a breath and looked over the crowd, as if searching for someone.
Or, rather, two someones.
He heard Patricia gasp and cursed under his breath. This was going to end badly. If he won Patricia would be devastated. If she won...
What would happen?
The costumed couples faded from the screen and were replaced by...real estate ads? Elizabeth must have clicked on one of her real estate documents by mistake. A lovely Queen Anne house was listed as Barely Haunted, and the ad went on to explain that the building was "sold 'as is' but seller will provide a credit for wall dent repair." Elizabeth cursed and
bent over the laptop, stabbing at the keyboard with her fingers.
"I won't mind," Zach whispered, as Elizabeth struggled with her computer.
Patricia turned and frowned at him, looking confused.
"If you win, I mean," he added. "If you win I'll be okay."
She looked skeptical, and he floundered trying to find the right words.
"I mean I will mind. Quite a bit actually."
That made her smile. It wasn't a big smile, but it was a smile.
"But I won't let it come between us," he finished.
He didn't quite know what he meant by "us." Friendship? Friendly antagonism? Something else?
But he wanted to find out.
"Deal?" he asked, stretching out his hand.
Patricia hesitated, making his heart skip a bit. After a long minute -- one of the longest of his life -- she extended her hand. Her long, cool fingers wrapped around his. He tried not to picture those fingers curling around other parts of his anatomy.
He failed.
"Deal," she said, voice deceptively firm.
They shook on it, and just in time, because Elizabeth had finished switching presentations.
"Here we go," she said. "So, the decision on the Rosemoor is..."
She paused, eyes roaming the crowd, still searching. Patricia's grip tightened on his hand.
"No decision."
"Wait, what?" Patricia breathed.
"The committee has decided to hold another contest," Elizabeth explained. "This time for one of the most coveted properties in town. The Valentine's Day Ball will be hosted at The Rosemoor. Its period details and spacious rooms make it the perfect venue."
"It's the only possible venue, Elizabeth," Caine interrupted. "It has the only ballroom in town."
"Right," Elizabeth replied. "We want to turn this into the premier costume event in the nation. Our Halloween party has already set a Guinness World Record for Largest Costume Party, and we want the Valentine's Day Ball to be recognized as featuring the best, most amazing costumes in the industry."
Another pause.
"And the most fantastic food."
"Oh no," Patricia moaned.
Zach had to agree. This did not sound good.