by Ani Gonzalez
She smiled. Her pleasure was short-lived, though. "What about this place? Are you going to lose it?"
He glanced at the murals. "Nah, I'll sign the papers and have Gabe sell the slasher movie pizzeria concept to his investors. Then I'll remodel this place with the proceeds. Or, rather, I'll have Sarah remodel it. I need to keep her busy now that she's not getting the Rosemoor."
He stopped when they reached the hallway in front of the basement door. This was as close to private as one could get in the pizzeria. "Anyway, who cares? I have other things to worry about, like, how do you feel about Nashville?"
Patricia looked surprised. "Nashville? What are you talking...did you get a record deal?"
He laughed. "No. But I got invited to the recording studio and to do more work for free. That's one of many steps before the record deal. So what do you think? Would you come with me for a week of Music City debauchery?"
Patricia hesitated. Debauchery sounded nice, but...
Zach seemed to read her mind. "I'll talk my parents into looking after your dad," he cajoled. "And Cassie and the PRoVE folks can handle the bakery."
Her eyes widened in mock horror. "Will I have any customers left? And what if they want to do a lockdown?"
He bent down to kiss her. "I guess that's a risk you'll have to take."
"I hear Nashville has a cool ice cream parlor," she mused. "They have bourbon ice cream and mint julep sorbet."
Zach groaned.
"The space next to the bakery has been closed for a while," she continued, smiling sweetly. "I hear the committee is desperate to find a tenant. There may even be..." She paused to savor the word. "A competition."
Zach shook his head. "Do we really have to go through this again?"
She smiled and leaned up to kiss him. Oh yes, Nashville was definitely a risk she could take.
THREE MONTHS later...
"I can't believe you own this many cookbooks," Zach grumbled, as he carried a box full of books into the barn. "How many recipes does a person need?"
Patricia laughed, following him into the house. She was also carrying a box, but hers held cutlery. "If you're managing a food business? A lot. Where do you keep your recipes?"
"Somewhere on the Internet like a normal human being." He set the box down next to a pile of other boxes. "I don't carry them around like a hoarder." He turned around to take Patricia's box.
She rolled her eyes. "This from a man with a three foot deep vinyl record collection."
He set the cutlery box on top of the cookbook box. "Hey, those are classics."
She laughed, staring at the stacked boxes. Wow, that was a lot of stuff.
"I guess I'm moved in," she said.
She was excited about the move, but she wasn't looking forward to the unpacking part of the process. At least half of those boxes contained kitchen supplies and those would be a pain in the neck to organize.
"Yep," Zach said, smiling with satisfaction. "Are you sure you don't want your furniture? I can ask Liam to help me bring it over."
She shook her head. "Laurie's keeping it. She doesn't own much stuff and she said she appreciated that the place came with everything."
Everything but pots and pans. Laurie had not minded. Apparently, she didn't cook at all.
"Excellent." Zach stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. "In that case, we can go straight to the 'living in sin' part."
He leaned in for a kiss. "That's my favorite part."
She smiled against his lips. She had to admit that sinfulness sounded pretty good right now. They'd had a busy couple of weeks, what with his new career with the Space Cowboys and her bustling bakery, and had hardly had any time for intimacy.
She melted into his embrace, her arms circling his waist as he kissed her. Zach deepened the kiss and Patricia shivered in response. She grabbed his shirt and pulled, eager to take his clothes off.
That's when the doorbell rang.
They jumped. The barn had a real bell connected to a button next to the door. The sharp metallic sound echoed through the house.
Zach cursed.
Patricia looked out the window. "I think that's a delivery. You may have to sign for it."
"Bloody hell, can't I take one day off?" Zach walked off, and Patricia aimed a regretful look at his sweats-clad body.
"I should send out some menus today," she noted. "And Elizabeth wants me to opine on the Historical Preservation Committee's Main Street revitalization plans."
The committee had decided that the town's main road, which included a haphazard collection of shops including her bakery, the bótanica, and the Chinese restaurant, wasn't paranormal enough. They were offering financial incentives to "appropriately themed" businesses that were willing to come in. So far, the applications had been underwhelming.
Zach returned with still another box. "I heard about that. I'm so happy the pizzeria isn't on Main Street. I hear the committee is looking for actual magic users, and, frankly, I have enough trouble with my poltergeist."
He opened the box and examined the contents.
"So far, they have one children's magician and a horror writer who wants to open a bookstore."
Zach snorted. "Great. Balloon animals and Stephen King wannabes. Elizabeth must be going nuts."
"It's not all bad. Amy Chan did a great job with the Chinese restaurant. Her branding is based on Chinese ghost stories. And Yolanda says she'll redo the bótanica."
That reminded her that she had to add the frosted fortune cookie recipes to her to-do list. Amy wanted some new desserts for her dinner menu.
Zach took some papers out of the box. "That should make them happy. That's a real magical supplies business."
The stuff in the box seemed to be sample menus and advertising materials. Apparently, Main Street wasn't the only thing getting a makeover in Banshee Creek. Zach's brother must have sent his rebranding proposal for the pizzeria.
"Yes, but she's being all mysterious about it. Saying stuff like 'she's waiting for a sign' and 'the time isn't right."
Zach laughed. "The committee wanted magic users and I guess they're getting them. The bótanica will be refurbished when the stars align."
Patricia giggled.
"But," Zach continued, "the pizzeria will be done much sooner." He handed her an expensive-looking menu. "What do you think?"
She grabbed the offering, noting that it was printed on high-quality stock cardboard with a matte finish. The graphics were a striking combination of red, white, and black with a snazzy ghost mask logo and a chainsaw. The front of the menu spelled out the restaurant chain's new name.
Poltergeist Pizza.
"They thought 'Pepe's' was a bit too subtle," Zach explained. "This gets the point across."
She grinned. "The chainsaw helps."
He nodded. "Keep reading."
She examined the menu. "They didn't change any of the dishes."
"We run a tight ship. Everything has been taste-tested and streamlined, so there wasn't much they could complain about. They're going to add local dishes depending on the restaurant location, Jaws-themed clam chowder in New England and zombie cowboy tacos for the Southwest."
"That sounds great," she replied, genuinely happy for him.
But Zach seemed to be expecting a different response.
"Keep reading," he said.
She went through the appetizers list, and glanced through the entrees. Everything seemed to be in order, down to the Elvira Linguini with Primavera Vegetables. Sure, the menu was glitzier and the descriptions were a bit more sophisticated, but it was still the same old pizzeria menu.
Then she got to the desserts.
"I don't think I like having them in the main menu," Zach commented. "It makes them look like an afterthought."
She read the words 'Guest Pastry Chef: Patricia O'Dare' several times, but, still, couldn't quite digest their meaning. And, yet, there were her desserts, listed in order. Even her croisswinkie was there. It was now called a 'GhostTwinkie'
and it had a little ghost silhouette drawn in white icing, but it was there.
And it was hers. It even had a little note explaining that it was her culinary school graduation project.
"I'm going to ask Gabe's people to do a separate dessert menu. Something they can hand out individually or even leave on the table so people can look forward to a sweet treat."
A sweet treat by Patricia O'Dare. The implications were overwhelming. This wasn't just a bakery menu or an online claim of ownership. This menu was backed by the biggest and most respected restaurant conglomerate in the country and one of Wall Street's most successful investment firms. Once this went live, Trevor wouldn't have a claim to her work anymore. The croisswinkie and all of her other recipes were safe.
Forever.
She felt tears sting her eyes.
Zach looked alarmed. "Don't cry. This wasn't supposed to make you cry." He hugged her tightly. "It was supposed to embarrass your stupid ex-boyfriend and protect your creations."
He kissed the top of her head.
"It wasn't supposed to make you cry."
She sniffled. "Trevor is going to fight this."
Zach chuckled. "I hope so. My lawyers will crush him." He kissed her again "Now, stop crying and lets unpack your stuff. I found an extra desk in the attic and I set it up for you. You'll love it."
She giggled. "Wow, I get my own desk and everything."
He led her to the living room, smiling. "Don't laugh. I'm looking forward to you making some changes around here. That cowhide, for instance." He nodded toward the offending rug. "You can change that if you like."
She grinned. "Oh, I don't know. Caine offered me the vampire deer head he put in the Rosemoor. I bet it would go nicely with the rug."
Zach's eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare."
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
MEANWHILE, BACK at the Rosemoor...
The hideously vulgar party was over. The house had been cleaned. The soft moonlight shone through the windows, making the rooms gleam. Everything was clean and quiet.
Just the way she liked it.
Mrs. Danvers stood on the staircase of the Rosemoor and surveyed her domain with satisfaction.
Nothing out of place.
Except the thin stream of mist seeping through the door. She gave an exasperated sigh as the intruder took form. In a matter of seconds, a stocky young man stood before her, his shape as translucent as her own.
"It would have made a fabulous restaurant," he said. "If you'd only given it a chance."
Mrs. Danvers raised her chin, but stayed silent. This intruder did not deserve a response. Why, he was only a boy. All the military insignia in the world wouldn't change that. She'd lived here for decades, almost a century. Who did this upstart think he was?
They glared at each other for a seemingly endless moment. The young man finally gave up, his gaze sliding away. He gave an exasperated sigh.
"You can't stop me, you know." Cole Hunt's form grew fainter, turning back into mist. "This is only the beginning. Change is coming. You can't avoid it."
Mrs. Danvers turned away haughtily. This newly-made ghostling had no idea what he was getting into. She didn't have to stop him.
The Hagen House would.
***
Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this story. If you did, I'd love it if you took a moment and left a review. A full list of books is available on my website, www.AniGonzalez.com. If you join my mailing list you'll get updates on when the next Banshee Creek stories are published and the first Ghost Hunters After Dark novelette, One Night with the Golden Goddess, FREE (Warning, this is a very sexy book. Practically combustible in fact.).
Turn the page to check out the first book of my new series, Main Street Witches, where we find out how magic works in The Most Haunted Town in the USA. In A Very Witchy Wedding, jewelry designer Cat Ramos comes to Banshee Creek to break the famous Hagen House curse. In order to do that, she must marry Liam Hagen. Love isn't part of the deal, and neither is a vengeful ghost. Will Cat be able to handle both?
Thank you for reading - Ani.
A Very Witchy Wedding - Excerpt
"Welcome to 666 Main Street," the pretty baker intoned with a bright smile. "Satan's Own Shopping Strip."
Catalina Ramos stared at her, confused, and the girl's smile faded.
"I guess that doesn't work that well," she said with a heartfelt sigh. "Back to the drawing board. Too bad, I had high hopes for that Satan thing. I should read up on this branding thing. I like your necklace, by the way."
"Thanks," Cat replied, fingering the piece. The pretty piece of tiger's eye quartz was one of her earliest pieces. She'd made it herself at the school workshop when she'd begun her jewelry design training. It was a simple piece -- she'd learned a lot since that first year -- but it was still her favorite.
The baker walked back into her store. The buildings brick front had been painted bright pink, a color as cheerful as the pretty striped awning and the sign on top with the adorable cartoon ghost. The sign read "Banshee Creek Bakery." Nothing could have looked less Satanic.
Or more inviting. She'd been nervous about being late to this appointment and she'd given herself plenty of time to deal with the vagaries of Northern Virginia traffic. As a result, she was now very early. She had some time to kill and the bakery seemed like a perfect place to do it.
She walked in, enjoying the blast of air conditioned air. Summer in Virginia was no joke. It wasn't as hot as her grandparents' home in the Caribbean, but it could hold its own. She'd worn light cream pants and a white blouse -- the combination that had seemed most appropriate -- and she could feel herself sweating under the silky fabric. Part of it was nerves, of course -- she was here for an important meeting, possibly the most important one of her life --but a lot of it was the heat.
She could really use a piña colada right now. And a beach. A beach would be nice.
But she'd have to console herself with an Abominable Snowman Frozen Frappucino. She walked up to the counter and waited while the baker wrapped some Wicked Stepmother Apple Cider Donuts up for a couple of tourists.
She'd already figured out how to tell who was a tourist in Banshee Creek. The residents and shop owners all looked normal, even businesslike. The tourists all had fangs, or capes, or, in this case, T-shirts that announced "My Other Ride is a Tardis."
That made sense in a town that billed itself "The Most Haunted Town in America." The locals really did seem to be out to make a buck.
Or maybe that was her Bronx cynicism speaking.
The Tardis couple paid and left, their arms laden with warm donuts. Cat fought to repress a shiver. Who would eat a hot donut in this sweltering climate. She was as much of a sugar fiend as the next person, but, right now, she wanted her saccharine fix several degrees below zero.
"One Frappucino, please," she told the baker. "Um, is that real whipped cream?"
The bakery owner seemed offended. "Of course it is."
Why was she so touchy? Their cream could be as phony as their ghost stories. "Extra whipped cream then."
The girl nodded, then paused and examined Cat's face. "Would you like an cinnamon serum shot? It gives you extra energy."
Crap, did she look that bad? Guess she did. The past couple of weeks had not been easy. What the heck? She might as well give it a try. At least the cinnamon part sounded tasty.
"Sure."
She added a thick brown liquid to the coffee and put it in the blender. Then she poured the coffee into a tall coffee cup and handed it over. Cat grabbed the ice-cold beverage eagerly.
The baker smiled. "That should get you through the day."
She took a greedy sip. She could taste coffee and chocolate and cinnamon...and something else she couldn't quite identify.
"What else is in it?" she asked, peering at the creamy foam suspiciously. She didn't distrust the town baker, but who knew what they put into their coffee drinks here. She'd already seen a Candy Corn Latte and that thing had colors in it t
hat were not found in nature.
The baker laughed. "Just cinnamon, sugar..."
Cat took another sip. This thing was really tasty, and, weirdly enough, it really did seem to give her extra energy.
"Lots of extra caffeine," the baker went on. "Oh, and the spell of course."
She almost spit the drink out. The what?
The baker smiled. "Yolanda from the Bótanica does is specially for us. The syrup is made with ingredients that are sacred to the Orisha Changó, the patron of fire. That's why it gives you so much energy.
Cat stared. A bótanica? Here? She'd seen bótanicas in the Bronx and in Miami, but in Nowhere, Virginia? No way.
"Where is it?" she asked, swiping her credit card to pay for her drink. She had at least half an hour before her meeting. She could check out the mysterious Banshee Creek Bótanica. It would help calm her nerves.
"Oh, two stores down." The baker tore out the receipt and handed it over. "Yolanda's part of our 666 Main Street rebranding. She didn't like the 'Satan' part though."
"I bet," Cat replied, pocketing the receipt. Bótanica owners, like all santeros, were devout Christians. This Yolanda person would not have found any humor in the satanic reference.
"We'll probably go for 'A Charmed Shopping Experience' then." The baker sighed. "I don't know. It sounds so...lame."
A blast of heat hit Cat as she exited the bakery. She took a long sip of frapuccino and turned right. According to Ms. Ghostly Cupcakes, the bótanica should be right around...
Here. It was right next to Yolanda's Hair Salon. A small building with a bright yellow awning and an all-seeing eye painted on the window next to a list of services provided. We do readings, cleansings and purifications. Hauntings are our specialty. Exorcisms are extra. Inquire inside.
She examined the white storefront carefully, then stepped into the store. The seashell wind chime next to the door tinkled as she stepped in and her grandmother's old prayer popped into her head. Protect us Yemaya, Lady of the Salt Waters. Bless us sweet and fearsome mother. She paused, surprised. The sign over the door said Banshee Creek Bótanica, but it didn't look like any spiritual goods store she'd ever visited with her grandmother in the Bronx. Sure, there were the requisite velones, the colorful candles used for the rituals, and herbs stored in cheap plastic bags with homemade labels bearing Spanish names. The shelves were full of the garish porcelain statues that represented the African Orishas, St. Michael Archangel fighting a dragon, St. Barbara with her sword, and others. Woven baskets held the various collares sacred to the Yoruba deities, blue and white for Yemanya, red and black for Chango, yellow and white for Oshun, the Goddess of Beauty. The pieces were crude and cheap --mere plastic beads strung with fishing wire --and she ached to take them apart and turn them into something more attractive. There were other things too, but she didn't recognize them. Her knowledge of Santeria was limited. She knew the basics and little more.