Shades of Winter

by Linda Fallon

  O’Hara dressed differently from the others, too. Lionel was given to simple, plain, black, and Mr. Felder wore conservative suits. O’Hara had chosen the most outlandish suit for the wedding. The pants were checkered, and the jacket was a muddy brown.

  And he stared at her in what could only be called an insolent manner. “Most likely. There are doors within Lucien that are standing wide open, inviting the spirits in. He was born with those doors, and has spent a lifetime opening them wider and wider. If you have such doors at all, they are firmly shut and locked.”

  “But …” Daisy began.

  O’Hara stepped closer, his hand outstretched. He seemed to be coiled like a snake, ready to strike. “Take my hand, Miss Willard, and I will assure you that those doors within you are inaccessible, and that you are safe.”

  Daisy clasped her hands in her lap. She had no intention of touching the rogue. “I think not.”

  O’Hara smiled. “Afraid?”

  Terrified. “Of course not.”

  “Here,” Katherine said, offering her own hand to the scoundrel. “Reassure me so I can go upstairs and find myself a comfortable place to sleep.”

  O’Hara took Katherine’s hand and clasped it tight. They stood face to face, and for a long moment neither of them moved. Did they even breathe? O’Hara’s smile faded. His jaw clenched. The firelight danced over them both, almost as if it were drawn to them. Katherine was tall … almost as tall as O’Hara. But at the moment she looked much smaller than he, in her fine black gown.

  “You have a ghost of your own,” O’Hara said, his voice low.

  “My departed husband,” Katherine said without emotion. “We’ve tried to get rid of him but he refuses to go.” She attempted to appear nonchalant, but something on her face changed, as it always did whenever she spoke about her late husband.

  “He won’t go because you have not released him,” O’Hara whispered.

  “That’s ridiculous.” Katherine tried to retrieve her hand, but O’Hara held on tight.

  An intense O’Hara continued. “Lucien’s efforts at releasing Jerome’s spirit have failed because you won’t let him go.”

  “That’s not true. I despise him. I want him out of my house!” Katherine insisted as she continued to tug at her trapped hand.

  O’Hara leaned in close and lowered his voice, his fingers tightening around Katherine’s hand. No one but Katherine and Daisy could hear him as he whispered. “Let him go. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  Katherine tugged once again and O’Hara released her. She almost fell back, but caught herself quickly and regained her composure. After taking a deep breath, she backed away from the man who had touched her hand and told her more than she wanted to hear. “I’m going upstairs to sleep. Is there a particular room I should stay in or one I should avoid?”

  Hugh Felder glanced at O’Hara and raised his eyebrows.

  “She’s fine,” O’Hara said.

  “Second floor, either the second or third door on the left,” Lionel instructed. “Actually, most of the rooms on the second floor are relatively quiet. I would suggest that anyone who wants to rest tonight stay away from the first and second door on the right, and avoid the third floor entirely.”

  “We really should get some rest,” Mr. Felder suggested wisely.

  “I’ll go with you, Katherine,” Daisy said as she quickly stood. “If you don’t mind.” She had no desire to spend the night in a room of her own!

  “Miss Willard,” O’Hara said as she stepped past him. “Don’t you want to take my hand?”

  Daisy hurried away from him, “I think not,” she said primly as she chased after Katherine.

  He laughed softly as she all but ran to the stairway.

  Five

  Eve slipped beneath the covers and reclined along the length of Lucien’s long body. Her wedding dress was draped over the chair by the bed, her corset had been removed and tossed aside. She would sleep right here, wearing only her chemise. Convention be damned, this was her place in the world. Sick or well, Lucien was hers to keep.

  She’d left the candle burning as long as she dared, but there wasn’t much left. Snuffing out the flame had left this room in darkness. Snow continued to fall, so there wasn’t even the light of the moon to illuminate the room.

  As long as she had Lucien to hold on to, she didn’t care.

  “I didn’t think you would come for me,” he whispered.

  Eve shifted her body along his. She couldn’t get close enough, not tonight. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You didn’t.” Lucien ran his hand down her back. “I’m exhausted, but I keep waking up.” His hand found her hair and he threaded his fingers through the loosened strands. “I can’t seem to stay awake for long, and when I sleep it’s a deep and dreamless sleep.”

  “You need the rest.” She laid her hand against his chest. Heavens, it was a relief just to feel his heartbeat! Had she really thought for one moment that she couldn’t forgive him? She lifted her head. “Why on earth did you think I wouldn’t come?”

  She had missed this, lying with Lucien, touching him as she pleased, having him touch her. He was long and strong, rough and hard. He was the perfect contrast to the curves she pressed against him, to the softness that seemed more pronounced when they were side by side.

  “I left you waiting again,” he answered. “I didn’t mean to, and I certainly didn’t want to. But that doesn’t change the fact …”

  She silenced him with a soft kiss. “You would come to me, if I needed you.”

  “Yes.”

  “So why did you doubt that I would come for you?”

  He hesitated. Maybe he was already drifting back toward the sleep he needed so badly. “Your uncle is right, Evie. You deserve better,” he whispered.

  “Better than you?” she teased. “Impossible. You are the best.”

  He wouldn’t allow her to make light of this moment. “I can’t give you everything you should have. This disaster proves that beyond a doubt.”

  “You can give me everything I need and want, Lucien Thorpe,” she assured him as she cuddled against him. “Do I deserve a lifetime with the man I love?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then sleep, and get better, and when we get out of this place we’ll see what we can do about that.”

  She pushed aside the nagging doubt that her life would always be this way. Uncertain. Filled with dangers she would never fully understand. Lucien Thorpe would never be a shopkeeper or a lawyer or a businessman of any kind. He would always be drawn to things she could not see or hear, to things she tried to understand but never fully experienced.

  Still, living with uncertainty was much better than living without Lucien.

  “Do you know how much I want to make love to you right now?” he asked in a weak voice.

  This should be their wedding night. Lucien, who was a very detail-oriented and thorough lover, should be making love to her right now. Lying beside him, she couldn’t help but remember all the nights they’d spent exploring, laughing and screaming until they were completely spent and then sleeping entangled, as if to let go would mean death. He wanted her. She wanted him. Since he could barely move, that would have to wait.

  “Soon,” she whispered. “When you’re better.”

  “I hate this,” he said. “I hate being weak and trapped in this place, and most of all I hate that I disappointed you again.”

  “You’ll be yourself soon,” she assured him. “And we’ll have our wedding, and then we’ll have our wedding night.” Right now that wedding seemed like a distant dream, a castle in the clouds.

  “Kiss me again,” he requested in that thin voice that scared her more than anything else.

  She did just that, rising up to lay her mouth over his and give him a sweet kiss. When she took her lips from his he immediately fell asleep.

  “I love you,” she said as she settled in close at his side. “But for goodness sake, Lucien. You left me at the altar tw
ice!”

  Once again she had been utterly humiliated. The people in Plummerville would talk. Aunt Constance would never recover.

  And still, Lucien was the only man for her. Was it her curse, to never have him completely? She would never love anyone else, she knew that. She didn’t doubt that he loved her. She only wondered if love would be enough for them to build the life they wanted.

  Katherine tried to keep her eyes closed, tried to will sleep to come, but she stayed wide awake. If she let Daisy know she was awake, the girl would probably want to talk the night away. Katherine didn’t want to talk.

  Daisy dozed fitfully beside Katherine, tossing and turning in the bed they shared. After a restless bout of turning this way and that, Daisy woke with a start. “Oh, I hate this awful hotel!” she said as she sat up. She shook off the dream that had scared her with a shake of her head, sending blond curls this way and that. “We haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary, except for Lucien’s dreadful state, and still I know with every ounce of my soul that I would prefer to be anywhere else tonight. Anywhere but here.”

  Katherine had seen something to keep her awake, hadn’t she? She hadn’t seen any ghosts, she hadn’t seen any monsters of any kind. But she had felt something odd when O’Hara had taken her hand. What if that disturbing man was right, and she was actually holding Jerome here, somehow? She shuddered at the thought.

  Daisy leaned over Katherine awkwardly, as if making certain she was awake and listening to the tirade. Katherine groaned. “Can’t you be still?”

  “I had a bad dream,” Daisy said quickly.

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Is that why you’re awake? Did you have a bad dream, too?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t think I can sleep,” Daisy whispered. “That dream … I don’t even remember what it was about, and still my blood is running cold. I need something to take my mind off that dream, before I can even think about going back to sleep.”

  Katherine just sighed.

  “We can talk for a while.” Daisy rolled onto her side and moved closer to Katherine.

  It was dark in this room, but Katherine’s eyes had adjusted. She could see well enough. There was nothing frightening here. Nothing but Daisy Willard and her need to chatter. “Talk about what?” Katherine snapped.

  “Well, we could talk about your … umm … ghost.”

  “Absolutely not,” Katherine said sharply.

  “But you have to get rid of him, don’t you, before you can move on? When you get married again you certainly don’t want …”

  “No!” Katherine took a long, shaky breath. The idea of another man in her house, in her bed, in her life, terrified her. “I won’t get married again. Not ever. Not ever,” she said again, more softly.

  “But you might find a really good man, this time,” Daisy said optimistically. “The way Eve found Lucien.”

  Katherine scoffed. “If you ask me, Lucien Thorpe is no prize.”

  “Eve loves him.”

  “For now,” Katherine whispered.

  She’d once loved Jerome, hadn’t she? It had been so long ago, but she still remembered. She had once loved her husband, before he’d shown his ugly side. In the end she’d discovered that everything about him, everything but his face, had been horribly, deeply ugly.

  “But …”

  “I don’t want to talk,” Katherine said. “I want to sleep. I suggest you try to do the same.”

  Daisy settled back down and pulled the covers to her chin. She stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open.

  Katherine sighed, feeling a little guilty. It was only for one night, after all. She could humor the girl. “What about you,” she asked. “Why aren’t you married?”

  Beneath the covers, Daisy shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. The right man just never asked, I guess.”

  That was such a lie! Katherine, who had learned to live with lies, knew it too well.

  “Do you hear that?” Daisy whispered.

  “Hear what?” Katherine snapped.

  “That.”

  They were both very quiet for a long moment, and sure enough, there it was once again. It sounded very much like there were soft footsteps above their heads. Faint, quick, footsteps.

  “Someone decided to spend the night on the third floor,” Katherine suggested.

  “But that nice Mr. Brandon said not to go up there,” Daisy whispered.

  “Perhaps someone in our party is more brave than wise.”

  Daisy took a deep breath. “I’m sure that’s it.” She didn’t sound at all sure.

  At that moment, a woman’s laughter drifted down to them. Daisy turned to glare, wide-eyed, at Katherine. “That’s not Eve, and we’re the only other women here.”

  “A trick of the wind,” Katherine said sensibly.

  As if to prove her wrong, the trill of laughter came again.

  Daisy pulled the covers over her head and started to pray.

  O’Hara paced in the lobby. He wouldn’t be able to sleep, not tonight. Luckily for him, he didn’t require much sleep. His body sometimes functioned on an energy he had never understood.

  Lionel sat on the lobby couch, now that the others had gone to bed, and Hugh dozed off and on in a wide, fat chair near the stone fireplace. The fire had died down, but it continued to burn so the room wasn’t lost in darkness.

  Some of the furniture that had once adorned this lobby had been taken, either moved when the hotel closed or stolen in the years since then. But a sofa, three chairs, and a writing desk remained. Drapes covered one of the long windows, but the others were uncovered. A long front desk was situated against one wall, where happy, unsuspecting guests had once checked into this damned hotel.

  Touching the walls proved to O’Hara that this hotel was wrong. They needed to get out of this place, and the sooner the better. Many of the guests who had checked in had never left. Not every trapped spirit was evil—in fact, most were not—but there was evil here, and most of all there was pain. The place was definitely wrong.

  He felt the wrongness when he touched the walls, when he laid his hand on a doorknob, even when he ran his fingers along the back of the sofa. There was darkness in this hotel.

  There had been a time when he’d thought his ability to see into and beyond things and people when he touched them would make him a raving lunatic. Nothing in his life was simple. Shaking a man’s hand might reveal secrets he had no right to know. Touching a woman always uncovered fears and hopes he didn’t want to know. Even picking up an item of clothing or jewelry gave him an abrupt glimpse into the life of its owner. Years ago he’d reached the point where he didn’t touch anything or anyone, unless he had no choice. He told no one of his ability. In the end, he became the one with the fears and the secrets.

  And then he’d found Hugh, who had introduced him to the others. To know he was not alone was such a relief O’Hara had cried—once he was alone, of course. Lucien was able to channel spirits, Lionel was incredibly psychic, and Hugh had a weaker but still impressive combination of psychic skills.

  O’Hara had the power of touch. He accepted that, now. He could take a person’s hand or hold an object and know things about them. He never knew what kind of message he would receive, and Hugh had taught him to turn the power down when he so desired. He was still trying to perfect the art of turning it off completely, but learning how to mute the power had saved his sanity, perhaps even his life.

  The widow Cassidy had been an interesting study.

  She was tough on the outside, but inside … inside she was teeming with fears and insecurities. She’d had a bastard of a husband, and in an instant O’Hara had known all the terrible things he’d done to her. The hitting. The way he had forced himself upon her. And still, Mrs. Cassidy felt guilty because she was so relieved that her husband was dead.

  O’Hara was relieved for her.

  The day had been draining. First the failed wedding, then the hotel, and then Katherine Cassidy. It wa
s not at all what he’d expected when he’d traveled to Plummerville to watch Lucien and Eve get married. Hugh had proposed that his invitation to the wedding had been mishandled in the mail. O’Hara knew better. Eve wanted nothing to do with him these days. He’d hitched a ride to the wedding anyway, thinking it might be fun.

  So far, nothing about this trip had been fun. Of course, it could be. What he really wanted was to lay his hands on Daisy Willard. Could she possibly be as sweet and innocent as she appeared to be? Brushing up against her didn’t give him enough of a reading to be sure, but he suspected there was more to her than met the eye.

  He would prefer to learn all about Miss Willard someplace other than the Honeycutt Hotel.

  The entire house creaked, and Hugh opened his eyes. Lionel stood.

  “It’s the wind,” Hugh said uncertainly.

  “Not entirely,” Lionel added. He closed his eyes and became very still, the way he often did when he worked.

  O’Hara laid his palm against the wall. “The place is angry,” he said.

  “Because we arrived before Lucien died,” Lionel said, eyes remaining closed. “Something in this hotel wanted him, very badly.”

  “Someone,” O’Hara said.

  “No,” Lionel said, “Some thing. Once a man but no longer. It was trapped here long ago.”

  “Older than the house,” O’Hara said.

  “Much older.”

  Hugh grabbed a pencil and paper and began to write down what they said. So often they forgot.

  “It’s frustrated,” O’Hara said. “It trapped all these souls here, feeding itself, but it’s not enough.”

  “Yes,” Lionel said. “But not enough for what?”

  “I don’t know.” The knowledge was just out of reach. If he could reach into the wall, into the house, into the heart of the spirit that had almost killed Lucien, maybe he could see.