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

by H. P. Mallory

  “Where are you going?” Drake demanded immediately. “And why?”

  “We’re going to… the hotel I keep seeing… in my visions because I’m… fairly sure there’s something there… I’m overlooking. Hopefully, something that can… help us.”

  “Hotel?” Drake repeated.

  “The Place D’Armes,” I replied, somewhat warily. The very thought of the hotel left me cold. Not only because I worried about what might await me, but also because of my fatigue in general. The very thought of leaving the house made me wish I could crawl into my bed and sleep for ten years.

  Drake stroked his chin. His knowledge of New Orleans was vast, so I guessed he knew the hotel as well as its ghostly history.

  “Is it possible this establishment is the answer to her search?” he asked Lovie, who was taking a mug from the cupboard.

  She looked back at him. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s all I have,” I said, ready to interrupt if need be. “Every vision I’ve… had has taken… place at the Place D’Armes… there has to be a reason why.”

  “Or not,” Lovie said.

  “Or not,” I repeated with a shrug. “But, really, what else… should I do? I went to The Old Absinthe House… hoping to learn something… from Lafitte and he left me high and dry. Now… I’m nearly catatonic after waking up in… my backyard as a zombi, or whatever the hell… I currently am. And if what… the cards… say is true, I need to do something… before something does me in.”

  Drake stared down at the floor, his hands at his side. He clenched and unclenched his fists, moving his jaw in a circular pattern. He looked like a man who was pondering something difficult to accept. “What do the cards say?” he asked as he finally looked up at me.

  “That the shit’s… about to hit… the fan,” I answered.

  It was strange not to hear his thoughts. I knew him so well that I could guess whatever was going through his head. In general, Drake was a go-getter. He was accustomed to handling problems himself, especially where I was concerned. That was why he was having such a hard time. He couldn’t help me now.

  He emerged from his trance, relaxing his hands, and turned his attention to Lovie. “What do the cards say?”

  Lovie took her drink from the counter and brought it back to the table as she sat. “The cards say nothin’ more than this: Peyton is under the power o’ somethin’ dark an’ malevolent.”

  Drake turned his back to me and tilted his head lower, resting a hand on his forehead. Distressed, he reached back to me, seeking reassurance, and I pressed my palm against his.

  “You tell me when you’re ready to leave, Peyton,” Lovie said as she gave me a small smile and stood up. She could see Drake and I needed some time. Maggie looked from Lovie to me and then went out, as well. Only Drake, Daschel and I were left in the room, and Drake turned around to face me with red, watery eyes.

  “Drake,” I started.

  “I would give my soul to touch you,” he interrupted. “This separation between us has been so hard, ma minette, so hard.”

  “I know… I’m missing it too.”

  He smiled sadly before floating down beside me, as if he intended to sit.

  I remembered the look he gave me right before Ryan and I left for The Old Absinthe House on our “date.” I can never forget the sorrow in his eyes, which haunted me. He wore the same expression now.

  The separation between us wasn’t the only thing that was hard for him. I now understood there was much more to it—he was forced to watch the woman he loved share intimacy with another man.

  “I’ve been cruel,” I said as I tried to see things from Drake’s point of view.

  Drake closed his eyes, and his sweet voice entered my mind. You have not been cruel, mon chaton. You have been merely living your life. It is just unfortunate for me that I must play the role of your captive audience.

  If it’s any consolation, Drake, I wish you were back inside me. I miss our conversations and sensing you as a part of me.

  I miss those things too, ma minette. Mostly, I miss our adventures.

  I miss you too, Drake, I finished.

  A hot bead of moisture fell down my cheek.

  He hovered above the table beside me, staring down with his soothing brown eyes. I needed this moment with him. I had to make him understand he wasn’t the only one hurting. No matter what I had with Ryan or how much I cared about him, I also loved Drake… deeply. And I always had. I often wondered if Drake weren’t a spirit but flesh and blood, whom would I choose? I adored Ryan but Drake and I certainly had more in common.

  Ryan…

  God, I hope he’s okay, I thought to myself without realizing I was also sending the thought to Drake.

  Drake’s lips hardened into a white line.

  I’m sorry, I thought immediately.

  If it’s any consolation, ma minette, I cannot feel his energy in the spirit world.

  Then you believe Ryan’s still alive? I asked.

  Drake nodded.

  Thank you, I thought back.

  Soon Lovie and Maggie drifted back into the kitchen.

  “How’re ya feelin’?” Lovie asked me.

  “Better,” I answered. “As long as… this dog stays beside… me, anyway.”

  I looked down at Daschel and he wagged his tail as he looked back up at me.

  “He’s most definitely your protector,” Lovie said with a nod. “Do you still have the note that ya found on your door when he was dropped off?”

  “Maybe, why?” I asked.

  “We might be able to use it to identify the former owner who gave Daschel to you,” Lovie said.

  I nodded. “That would be… good to know.”

  “But, at the moment, we have bigger fish to fry,” Lovie finished. Clearing her throat, her expression blanched into one that was all business. “I know someone who works in housekeeping at the Place D’Armes,” she said. “I texted her just now an’ she said she’d meet us at the rear o’ the hotel an’ take us to the room that first appeared in your vision. That is, as long as it’s unoccupied. Do ya remember the room number?”

  “Yes,” I said with a quick nod.

  “Can I come?” Maggie asked.

  “No,” Lovie and I both said in unison.

  “As a sensitive, you should be wary o’ places like that,” Lovie explained. “At least until ya learn some basic shieldin’ techniques.”

  “Sorry, Mags,” I added.

  Maggie inhaled deeply and then exhaled slowly for dramatic effect before facing me. “I understand.”

  She left to go to her room, and I couldn’t help thinking the argument went a little easier than it should’ve gone. If she weren’t fighting me, she was probably rushing off to push the limits some other way.

  ###

  I went upstairs to change and Daschel followed me. He was constantly beside me, his fur tickling my skin. I feared that if Daschel were not so close, I’d get sick again.

  I started talking to him, and right away, he proved he had his own language of gestures. This definitely was no average dog. Average dogs don’t nod yes or no when you ask them questions. And they definitely didn’t act as magical barriers to protect people from dark, bad magic.

  Drake came in and out of my room, and the worry contorted his otherwise handsome face.

  “I wish I were still inside you so I could act as your sentry to the spirit world,” he said. I was busy pulling a sweater over my head before yanking my jeans up my thighs. Drake was so worried about my impending visit to the Place D’Armes Hotel, he didn’t seem to notice I was half dressed. That was saying something!

  “Everything is… going to be okay,” I said, wondering how true my words could be. It didn’t feel like it would be okay. Everything seemed ready to implode, with me in the middle.

  Drake floated behind me as I left my room and descended the stairs, meeting Lovie in the living room. I noticed with interest that Lizzie was now sitting in one of the armchairs beside the fire
place. She was looking at me with a placid expression. Yes, the doll’s facial features didn’t change and, I was probably crazy. I imagined I could read her emotions on her porcelain skin. The way she looked at me made me feel more at ease.

  I needed to go to the Place D’Armes and I believed Lizzie supported my decision.

  “Let’s go sit down,” I said to Daschel. He trotted alongside me. When I sat down on the couch, he put his paw up onto the cushion, lifting his head. He was virtually asking if he could join me. “If you want,” I said.

  He jumped up before issuing a soft bark. I figured he was asking what we were doing. I saw him look at Drake blankly, then back at me. I didn’t know how it was possible, but maybe I was destined to be a dog whisperer.

  “Do you think… I’m making the right… decision in going to the… Place D’Armes?” I asked Daschel, who cocked his head to the side as he listened to me.

  He nodded, but then he shook his head. “You aren’t sure?” I asked, trying to translate for him.

  He nodded again. “Well, Daschel isn’t… convinced that this… is the right move,” I said aloud.

  Then I looked at him again. “I don’t know… anything about you,” I said. “Were you sent… by the person… that is controlling me?”

  Daschel immediately shook his head and began whining. He seemed offended that I would even consider the thought.

  “I didn’t… think so,” I said with a smile, opening my arms wide and wrapping them around the dog’s head as he licked my face.

  ###

  Daschel rode in the front seat of Lovie’s car, sitting between us. I continued asking him questions, hoping I’d uncover something that might help me make sense of this puzzle but Daschel didn’t respond like before. He just continued to lick my face.

  Lovie turned into the hotel parking lot and parked the car. Then she turned to face the two of us. “Are ya ready?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said, my heart rising into my throat. “You be a good boy,” I said to Daschel as I opened the door and stepped out with the dog at my side. “Hopefully they… don’t give me… a hard time once they see… me walking in with Daschel,” I said.

  Lovie waved my concern away. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of anyone who tries to give ya trouble.” She sounded ominous but knowing Lovie, I wasn’t worried.

  I turned my attention to the familiar surroundings as we headed to the back entrance of the hotel. It was a three-story brick building, encircling the courtyard where Ryan and I ate a piece of pecan pie in my vision.

  Each level featured a wraparound, white porch with carved columns and rows of windows. Some of them opened out to balconies, and others had lush, potted flowers, dripping over the sills.

  Lovie grabbed her skirt by the sides and lifted it so she could climb the front steps. She darted toward the double doors and swung them open.

  At the same moment, a man with white face powder, a fake mole and a wig, came rushing towards me, flailing his arms. He had round spots of rouge on his cheeks. His eyebrows were poorly drawn, and he was wearing an elaborate outfit: a loose, white shirt, a yellow, brocade vest and white capris made from a thick fabric. They were neatly folded at the knees, where a black button held them in place.

  The fop searched my eyes for a moment until his mock excitement deflated. Then he stepped back, all the while studying me.

  “Peyton, we have no time to tarry with curious spirits,” Lovie said as she walked through him. Seconds later, a whole slew of spirits came bounding through the walls, wearing outfits from various periods and eras in history. I could see through the veil, into the spirit world, just as well now as I could when Drake was still inside me.

  I wondered why that was.

  The more I looked around, the more I realized I could see spirits like I never did before. They were everywhere! I’d never seen so many spirits gathered in one place. They came through the walls and the floors, many appearing out of thin air. They filled the courtyard, taking up every inch of space, a muddled pool of blinking eyes, all staring at me. Daschel didn’t seem to notice or mind them, but he stayed by my side. I reached down to pet him, fearing the ghostly phenomenon could upset him. But it didn’t.

  “This is weird,” I said.

  “Whaddya see?” Lovie asked.

  “So many spirits, there’s no room for anyone alive, looks like.”

  “Hmm, must be the voodoo magic surroundin’ you,” Lovie said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It opened the door to the other side so ya can see everything just as if you were a spirit, yourself.”

  “Then you can’t see what I’m seeing?” I asked, turning around to face her.

  She shook her head. “I don’t see anythin’ out o’ the ordinary.”

  “Lucky you.”

  At that moment, someone who was clearly flesh and blood stepped out from the shadows of the courtyard. It was a woman. She was pulling a cart filled with cleaning supplies.

  “Paula,” Lovie said as she turned to face me. “Peyton, this is Paula.”

  “You got my fifty?” Paula squeaked. She was barely five-feet tall, but her bulldog face told me she wasn’t anyone to mess with.

  “Right here,” Lovie said with a frown as she paid her the fifty dollars.

  Paula reached down and took hold of her key ring around her belt, pulling it off. Then she handed it to Lovie.

  “Ya ain’t got this from me, ya hear?” she said.

  “Loud an’ clear,” Lovie replied.

  “An’ ya gotta knock ‘fore ya enter. Got that?”

  “Got it,” I said.

  “Then ya put them keys back in that old pot over there when you’re done,” Paula finished, pointing at one of the planters in the corner of the courtyard. She eyed me narrowly and I nodded. Apparently satisfied, she started back down the hall, pushing her cart in front of her.

  “Lead the way, Peyton,” Lovie said as I nodded and started up the stairs with Daschel right beside me. Spirits hugged the walls, standing outside the rooms—a clash of ancient and modern fashion. Some seemed sentient, like they were watching me while others appeared doomed. They could only replay the specifics of their demises, over and over again.

  One woman, wearing a high-collared prairie dress, made the sign of the cross as we walked past. The vast sea of spirits began to disperse, until there was only a thin line on either side of us, holding their hats with their heads bowed low.

  No one made eye contact as we moved through the hall. My heart started to race as the images of my visions began to haunt me. But this was real, not any vision. Another ghost crossed herself—a twenty-something who was dressed like she just stepped out of the sixties. These spirits acted like they knew something we didn’t.

  They didn’t speak; they just watched us. They were so silent, I couldn’t have known they were there if I closed my eyes. The icy cold draft issuing off their bodies was the only giveaway. It caused our breath to cloud with steam. Even Lovie noticed. She shivered, holding her arms against her chest. She looked relieved when I stopped in front of a door and announced, “It’s this one.”

  I saw the spirits encircling us, imbuing us with a frigid chill that made my skin tingle.

  Lovie cupped her hands in front of her mouth. “I sense them. Something’s not right.”

  Daschel started to growl and the spirits retreated, only to hover forward again when he stopped. Lovie knocked on the door but got no response. She knocked again and still no response.

  “I think it’s empty,” she said.

  I nodded as I started searching the key ring. Each key had a room number written on a piece of masking tape. When I found the right one, I jammed it into the lock, turned it and opened the door. We were welcomed by a blast of warm air. We both paused to enjoy it before walking inside.

  The room was dark, but I had it memorized. I knew the location of the bed, the bathroom, and the nightstands. There was something I didn’t recognize, however, a sh
ape sitting in the armchair.

  It wasn’t the same entity I saw in my dreams—the woman with the black veil, smoking a cigar. This woman was small and thin with a long face and crooked teeth. Her blond hair was curled in ringlets and shining like a plastic wig. It didn’t match her sweaty face and freckles. It was too perfect.

  She was clutching the arms of the chair, bending her fingers into claws, rocking back and forth and staring straight ahead.

  “Lovie,” I whispered, “can you see her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can she hear us?”

  The woman didn’t react.

  “I don’t know.”

  I stopped in front of her and fell down on one knee with Daschel right beside me. “Can you hear us?”

  Two bloodshot eyes turned in my direction and I recognized her instantly, although I didn’t know her name.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “You should know,” she whispered as if she didn’t want to be overheard. “You saw.”

  She was talking about the first vision I had of the Place D’Armes, I was sure, because it was her face I saw in the coffin. Just after I saw my own face.

  “Where’s the woman with the black veil and the cigar?” I asked.

  “Sh-sh-she’s not here.”

  “Spirit,” Lovie commanded, “tell us where she is.”

  “I would,” the woman answered, “if I knew, but I don’t.” The woman covered her eyes and leaned back, shaking with silent sobs. “He’s not where he’s supposed to be.”

  In her, I sensed the same fright I felt during my vision. My fear of the impending nature of death, which the veiled woman reveled in. The joy she extracted from our fear could traumatize anyone.

  “What do you mean he’s not where’s he’s supposed to be?” I asked.

  “He’s gone, not here, not there; he’s really gone.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “My husband.”

  Lovie shuffled up behind me. “Who did that to ‘im? Do ya know?”

  The spirit gave Lovie a look of sorrow. “I was unconscious when it happened.”

  “Was it the veiled woman? Who is she?” I asked.

  “I told you, I don’t know!” the spirit said before examining a spot on the wall. “I like it when things are quiet.” Clearly, this spirit wasn’t all there in the mental department. I wondered if she were crazy in life and it transferred over when she died, or she went mad during her death, perhaps because of whatever the woman in the black veil did to her.