If You've Got It, Haunt It: A ghost romance (The Peyton Clark Series Book 4)

by H. P. Mallory

“How long will I be forced to put up with her?” Drake asked.

  “Two weeks,” I responded. “And you’d better make them pleasant for her… and for me.”

  “And for me,” Ryan added.

  “Va te faire enculer!” Drake spat at Ryan. “Fils de pute! Branleur!”

  Having had a best friend in high school who was French, I knew the French swear words better than I knew the rest of the language. Even though I tried to control myself, I started to snicker as Drake disappeared into the hallway.

  “Why are you laughing?” Ryan asked as he eyed me with interest.

  “No reason.”

  “Liar!” Then he eyed me more narrowly. “What did Drake say?”

  “Um, he called you a few names.”

  “What names?”

  I cleared my throat. “If I remember correctly he said, and I quote: ‘Go fuck yourself! Son of a bitch! Wanker!’”

  Ryan was quiet for a moment but then he started cracking up and the two of us laughed together. Meanwhile, I handed him a bunch of spinach and a jar full of garlic and he placed them in the bottom drawers of the fridge.

  I had to wonder if the fact that Drake was handsome was part of the reason Maggie seemed so upset about him eavesdropping on her. She was at the age where she was a hormonal bundle, so it probably followed that living with Drake would prove to have its own issues.

  Speaking of the devil, he appeared in the hallway again, his lips tight and his expression determined. He floated right up to me and then glared at me.

  “I assure you, mon cherie, I will do everything in my power to be a gentleman, such as I was raised,” Drake said, “and, for your personal knowledge, I told the whole truth. The girl is too curious. You were not out of the house for more than ten minutes before she began sneaking around, opening wardrobes and peeping under the tables.”

  “It’s normal for a young woman who’s just discovering she’s a sensitive to go through a phase of wanting to know all she can about the spiritual realm. It’s not like she’s ever seen a haunted house before, let alone lived in one,” I said coolly. “I was very much like Maggie when I was her age. Insatiably curious.”

  “I understand but she did not have to lie about her curiosity, nor drag my name into the proverbial dirt,” Drake insisted.

  I nodded. “I’ll talk to her about it.”

  Closing the cabinets, Ryan said to me, “I think your nostalgia for your own youth might be clouding your judgment. There are some genuinely dangerous objects in the storage room like that Ouija Board you used with my sister. Things Maggie shouldn’t be messing with. God only knows what she’ll summon next time we’re not here.”

  “I am afraid I must agree with le barbare, madame,” said Drake in a beleaguered tone, as if humiliated by this accidental alliance. “L’ enfant could find herself traveling back in time, releasing an ancient curse over the city, or perhaps bewitching the radios of New Orleans to play only that ruckus you turned on the other night!”

  “Led Zeppelin is hardly a ruckus,” I answered with a shrug.

  “Drake has something against Zeppelin?” Ryan asked, shaking his head. “Tell that dandy he needs to learn a thing or two.”

  “Dandy?” Drake railed, his jaw growing tighter. “T'as pas de coquilles! J'en ai ral le cul!”

  “Drake, Drake, Drake,” I said, grabbing his attention again.

  “What’s he saying now?” Ryan asked.

  “Something about how you don’t have the balls… for what? I don’t know. And then he said he was fucking fed up.”

  “You miss the point entirely, madame!” Drake snapped.

  “Which is?”

  I began slathering marmalade over a slice of toast.

  As Drake watched, he said, “L’ enfant can’t be trusted in the attic! It is akin to leaving a child alone unattended inside a nuclear reactor! One day you shall return home to find the house gone—exploded to smithereens and me with it!”

  “You’re being overly dramatic.”

  He shook his head. “Non, I am being realistic! I am afraid the only solution is for me to keep an eye on her myself.”

  It took me a second to register the full implications of what he was suggesting. “Keeping an eye on her? But that would mean—”

  “Doing precisely the thing she just accused him of doing,” Ryan finished for me.

  “I will not play the voyeur, I assure you,” said Drake, chest swelling with pride. “I will not observe her during her intimate moments. I will not go into her room unless I believe she is in danger or is endangering the rest of you. But when she wanders through the house, as she will surely do, it is my obligation, non, it is my solemn duty to keep watch in the name of security.”

  “What’s he saying now?” Ryan asked.

  “That he thinks it’s his duty to keep an eye on Maggie so she doesn’t inadvertently open a portal into another dimension and return with Predator or Alien or maybe both.”

  “I do not know this Predator of which you speak, mon chaton,” Drake said.

  “I hate to say it,” said Ryan, “but I think the ghost might have a point.”

  “Please tell le barbare it is rude to refer to one as the ghost,” Drake said, glaring at the hunk.

  “Then you believe Drake?” I asked Ryan. “You think Maggie was snooping?”

  Ryan shrugged. “Why would Drake lie about something so dumb?”

  “Oui!” Drake said triumphantly. “Why would I lie about something so dumb? Yes!”

  “And it would probably be good to keep an eye on her anyway. Teenagers are always getting into trouble,” Ryan finished.

  I wasn’t sure Maggie’s behavior tonight merited her her constant supervision. She was old enough and mature enough to look after herself. “Maggie’s almost an adult.”

  “She’s still a kid, Peyton.” He tried to rope an arm around my waist, but I brushed him away, much to Drake’s relief. “The attic is full of dangerous shit.”

  As always, Ryan seemed to have the more rational argument. And he was right. The attic played house to vanishing cabinets, hands of glory, sleep-inducing music boxes—the list went on.

  “Fine, Drake can watch her,” I said finally, throwing my hands up. Between the two of them, I was badly outnumbered. “But only when we’re not around, and only when she’s not in her room.”

  “Oui,” Drake said with a clipped nod.

  “What was she messing around with when Drake found her anyway?” Ryan asked.

  “A crystal orb, which is about as useful as a Magic Eight-Ball from Wal-Mart,” I answered.

  “Right, but we have no idea what else is in there,” Ryan said.

  Over the last couple of months, I’d been collecting paranormal objects from various antique stores around the city and storing them in the attic. Why? Because it was easier to make contact with the dead when you had an object designed for that exact enterprise. And with Drake out of my head, I needed all the help I could get.

  “So that means Drake will keep an eye on Maggie tomorrow night when we go to The Old Absinthe House,” I said.

  “Right,” Ryan agreed.

  Rinsing off the butter knife, I placed it back in the drawer to the left of the sink.

  “If you would ask my humble opinion,” Drake started. “I believe the objects in the attic could be of interest to whoever this thief is.”

  A shudder of apprehension overcame me as frightening visions flashed in my mind’s eye: A defenseless Maggie opening the door and letting some powerful creature into the house.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When I entered the kitchen the next morning at nine am, I found Maggie already dressed and seated at the island, eating naked toast and vegan sausage links. “Hey you,” I said groggily as I reached for the coffeemaker before remembering that it was still broken, and shoving it aside, “how’d you sleep last night? No ghostly interruptions?”

  “No, I just watched a movie on my iPad until I fell asleep.”

  “So Dra
ke behaved himself?”

  She nodded but I could tell she was still uncomfortable with the subject. “I kept thinking I heard noises—it was probably just the house, though. There’s supposed to be a big storm coming in tonight.”

  “That’s fantastic.” If it rained, water would drip through the leaky ceiling and end up all over the bed in the master bedroom. The antique bed was too old and large to be easily moved, or we would have just moved it out of the way. Guess we needed more tarps and buckets to catch the leaks. And then I remembered Ryan and I had plans to go to The Old Absinthe House tonight. “I’m really not in the mood to brave New Orleans traffic in a torrential downpour.”

  “At least, you won’t have to spend the night alone in a scary, old house with an ahole ghost and a doll that randomly moves around.” Stabbing at her last link with unusual vigor, Maggie added, “What are we doing for the rest of the day, anyway? Before you and Ryan leave tonight, I mean?”

  I set the tea kettle to boiling and took a stool beside her, clutching an empty mug in both hands. “Ryan has to drive into town this morning to meet a client, but I was thinking you and I could hang out and sort through some of the antiques in the attic.”

  Rather than trying to keep her from everything in the attic, maybe it was better to educate her about each item, where it came from and what powers it possessed. Maybe in understanding the hidden dangers in paranormal artifacts, she’d be less likely to mess around with them. That was my hope anyway.

  Maggie’s eyes rose at the word antiques. “That… that might be fun! What are we going to do with them?”

  The kettle was whistling now. I rose and poured the hot water into the mug over the peppermint tea bag, stirring in a tablespoon of honey. “There’s a lot of stuff up there that I’ve just been collecting, and I need to start cataloging everything so I know each item’s details and where to find it when I need it.”

  “Is it all ghost-hunting paraphernalia?”

  I shook my head. “Some of it is just antiques, passed down from my mother’s side of the family. And there’s a lot of crap up there too. Stuff I need to throw away or donate.”

  “And will Drake be along for the ride too?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Who knows? If he wants to, I guess.”

  “I wish we could go through it without Drake,” she said. “I’m doing my best to avoid him.”

  “And I imagine he’s doing his best to avoid you too,” I replied. “But keep in mind that he also lives here so you can’t avoid him forever.” Then I frowned at her. “Besides, it seems like maybe you’re overreacting a little bit?”

  “I’m not overreacting. He needs to learn to mind his own business.”

  “Well, I don’t want to get into it again,” I said with a sigh. “But my point still stands. You can’t avoid each other forever.”

  “Unfortunately, for me.”

  Luckily, I was relieved of the burden of having to respond by the arrival of Drake, who came drifting through the open door of the cabinet. “Good morning, mon chaton,” he said before he pointedly turned up his nose at Maggie.

  “Say good morning to Maggie, Drake,” I said.

  He didn’t look at her. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning to you,” she answered, equally as aloof.

  “You two are going to have to work through this,” I said to both of them. “And you’re going to have to figure it out really soon because this silent treatment you’re both giving one another is going to get really old really quick.”

  “Understood,” Maggie said as she slumped back over her breakfast.

  Drake merely nodded sharply.

  “So, what sort of stuff is up there?” Maggie asked shyly but I could tell her interest was simmering just beneath the surface of her calm demeanor.

  “Up where?” Drake asked.

  “The attic,” I responded. “We’re about to go clean it and catalog all the items.”

  “Mon dieu,” Drake said.

  “You don’t have to come with us,” Maggie said.

  “I would not miss it for the world,” Drake responded with a broad grin.

  “That’s what I was worried you were going to say,” Maggie grumbled.

  He faced Maggie. “Not everything in the attic is innocent.”

  “Innocent?” she repeated.

  “Paranormal artifacts can carry their own inherent dangers,” I said.

  Drake nodded. “I would advise you to burn the lot, although certain items will prove impermeable to fire.”

  Maggie nearly sprang out of her seat as her eyes went wider. “You mean there are objects up there that won’t burn? Not because they’re flame-retardant, or whatever, but because of curses or spells?”

  “Precisamente,” replied Drake. He launched into a long explanation of how certain objects have protective spells to prevent them from being tarnished, destroyed, or mislaid. Then he cited an example of a small cauldron that always found its way back to its owner whenever it was accidentally left somewhere.

  I pulled the empty lemonade jar out of the pantry and started filling it up with water when I heard footsteps on the front porch. My first thought was that maybe Ryan came home early but a weird, sinking feeling in my gut told me otherwise. Suffice to say, I’ve learned to listen to my body and my instincts. Whenever I sense impending doom, I treat it with all the reverence it deserves.

  Please don’t be another ghostly child, I prayed to whoever would listen.

  Leaving the jar on the counter and motioning for Maggie to wait in the kitchen, I walked into the hallway. There was a knock on the door.

  “Who do you think is knocking?” Maggie asked as she came up behind me, nearly scaring the hell out of me.

  “I don’t know!” I said as I turned to face her and shook my head, trying to catch my breath. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put?”

  “Well, yeah...”

  She smiled guiltily but I didn’t respond.

  When I reached the front door, I peered through the peephole. To my utter relief, no one was standing there—no one, that is, except for a small dog. It was definitely a golden retriever mix, sitting on its haunches with its mouth open and wagging its tail cheerfully.

  “What the heck?” I said as I opened the door enough to poke my head out. No one accompanied the dog. I glanced left and right but only saw the empty street. So who could have knocked?

  Before I knew it, the dog pushed open the door with its snout and forced its way inside. It had the familiar air of an old friend. Within seconds, it was bounding up on surprisingly powerful hind legs, attempting to lick my face.

  “Oh my gosh! He’s so cute!” cried Maggie, kneeling down and running her hands all over the dog’s face. “What’s your name?”

  I checked his neck but he wore no collar. “Maybe he belongs to one of the neighbors,” I said as I studied the dog now slobbering all over Maggie, who didn’t seem to mind at all.

  Maggie looked up and her attention settled on something behind me. “Look, there’s a note taped to the door.”

  I turned around. Sure enough, someone left a note on blue-lined paper taped to the front door. I took it down and unfolded it before reading: “To whomever lives here, I lost my job and I can’t afford to keep Daschel any longer. I’ve always admired your house, and I believe you don’t have any pets, so I hope you’ll consider keeping Daschel and giving him a good, loving home.”

  “Wow, that’s so random,” Maggie said.

  I turned the piece of paper over twice before adding, “Yeah. Really random. And there’s no name or address.”

  “Guess Daschel’s yours then,” Maggie said as she patted the dog’s head gingerly.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that yet.” I looked down at the big, goofy creature, wondering if I could really drop him off at the pound. “A dog is a huge responsibility.”

  “Yeah, but he needs a home and I agree with whoever wrote the note—this is the perfect home for him,” Maggie argued.

  �
�What’s going on?” asked Drake, half-floating through the door frame. He glanced down at the dog and gave a condescending smirk of disdain. “Ah, a stray animal.”

  “Your powers of observation are astounding,” I said with a smirk.

  “What are you doing with him?” Drake continued, eyeing the dog with visible distaste.

  “I don’t know,” I answered.

  “We plan to keep him!” Maggie responded as she threw her arms around Daschel, and the dog wagged his tail even harder.

  “I do not care to share my dwelling with a filthy animal,” Drake said.

  “We have no problem sharing our dwelling with you,” Maggie pointed out and I did my best to suppress a smile. Teenagers.

  “Well!” Drake said with feigned offense.

  “You sound like a grumpy, old man, Drake,” I replied with a laugh.

  The dog knelt in front of us, panting and presumably unbothered that his future was being discussed right in front of him. “You’ve got to admit he’s cute!” I said, facing Drake.

  Drake studied the dog a moment longer before his frown softened. “I am pleased that my presence does not daunt him.”

  “That’s a good point,” I said as I faced the dog with renewed interest. “Most animals are terrified of spirits.”

  “Daschel’s not afraid of anything!” Maggie chimed in. “He’s perfect!”

  I stroked the dog’s fur, checking for fleas, but there were none to be found. Sitting up, he walked inside the house with the confident air of a king surveying his kingdom. I was curious to know what other breeds he had in his ancestry since he was a medium sized dog, I’d say. He had short, stubby legs and a pert tail that curled up into a question mark, as if to underscore the mystery of his origin.

  “He’s already acting like he owns the place!” Maggie said with a smile. “Peyton, you just have to keep him!”

  I was quiet for a few more seconds before I had to admit Maggie was right. There was no way I could turn the little guy out. Not when he needed a home and I had the room. “I’ll text Ryan and send him a picture.”

  After I did that, I received three texts in a row from Ryan wanting to know why we were bringing a strange dog into the house and how we expected to care for it.