Opposition

by Eliza Lainn

  I didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t reveal something I thought we better keep secret: that we knew ghosts, that some of us were psychics, that our perceptions were deepened.

  He watched, those hazel eyes studying, and an arrogant smirk stole over his features at my silence. “Interesting.”

  Oh, he was dangerous, alright. Dangerous like a fox.

  He moved and I flinched back. With my legs already pressed back up against the bed, I ended up sitting down on it.

  “You should be more careful,” he said, holding out a hand.

  I eyed it, uncertain. But I was saved answering from approaching footsteps. And his hand fell back to his side.

  Bronte came to a stop in the doorway, eyes widening at me sitting on the bed and Sebastian standing in front of me. “You good, Stella?” she asked uncertainly.

  “Um, yes,” I said, scooting over so that I could stand. “Find what you wanted?”

  She had a flash drive clutched in her hand. “Yeah. Ready to go back?”

  She stood in the doorway, letting me pass and then falling into step beside me as we headed back for the elevator. The doors slid open automatically and we stepped in quickly.

  I felt like letting out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Bronte shot me a concerned look. “You ok? You’re blushing.”

  “Am not.”

  The concern quickly switched to a snicker. “Are too.”

  “You’re terrible.”

  “I know.”

  “Not a word to the others.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Please. As if I’d want a tornado ripping through our hotel room.”

  I didn’t have a chance to ask her what she meant before the doors opened and she stepped off.

  Chapter Ten

  I hesitated outside of our bedroom door. Bronte opened it and then turned around when she realized I hadn't followed. "What's up?"

  I felt like an idiot, that’s what was up. We’d barely begun investigating and I’d already revealed more to the opposition than I’d intended.

  Not that we were really enemies or anything. Mackenzie hadn’t made it out like we were in competition with each other. But I felt like he was the opponent. They all were, I guess, but Obscurity Consultants felt like the biggest threat.

  And, in a single interaction, I’d given away more than I’d intended: he knew I was wary of his little brother, he knew there was more behind a group of friends trying their luck at ghost hunting, and he knew how inexperienced we were. At this rate, it wouldn’t take him long to puzzle out what other secrets we had.

  All because of me, my big mouth, and the way his stupid eyes made me all fuzzy.

  “I’m going down to the front desk,” I said a bit more curtly than I intended. I took in a breath and worked to soften my voice. “I just don’t feel ready to call it a night.”

  “Want some company?”

  “No, that’s ok. It’s just the front desk—I just want to talk to the employees and get a sense of what they’re thinking. Couldn’t hurt, right?”

  She shrugged. “Good luck.”

  The door swung shut behind her and I headed off for the lobby.

  It was empty, the chandeliers shining in full force to keep the darkness on the other side of the glass at bay. It felt weird to be in a quiet place, when your first impression of it had been bustling and lively. Now it just felt cold and empty.

  A man stood behind the desk. He heard me walking across the atrium, so he stopped the typing he’d been doing and gave me a smile. An awkwardness crept into the space as I hurried closer, him still waiting with his smile. Like the same feeling when someone holds the door open for you but you’re far away.

  “Hello,” he finally let out a little exhale of relief as I stopped on the other side of the desk. “What can I help you with?”

  My eyes found his nametag. “Jason?”

  He nodded, still smiling.

  “I’m with Apparition Investigations—did Mackenzie tell you we’d be here?”

  The glassed over smile was instantly replaced with excited curiosity. He leaned forward eagerly. “She did. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Just some questions. What do you think about Gina’s story?”

  I’d forgotten how eager some people were about workplace gossip. Working for a small nonprofit, we really didn’t have enough coworkers for that sort of thing. But Jason’s entire face lit up and he leaned in even closer.

  “Oh, I believe her,” he said earnestly. “Gina isn’t the type to mess around with the occult and stuff. Hates broken mirrors, won’t walk under ladders, that sort of thing.”

  “So, she believes in the occult?”

  He nodded.

  “And is she reliable?”

  “Oh yeah. She’s always dependable—takes extra shifts when they come up, stays after if we need her. She’s got three kids to take care of and they’re all polite, hard workers. The last person I would ever imagine inventing a made-up story for attention would be Gina.”

  “And the ghost? Do you believe in that?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t not believe, if you get my meaning. But weird stuff does happen in this hotel.”

  “How so?”

  “I’ve worked hotels before. This one has a weird atmosphere in that hallway. Have you been to the room?”

  When I nodded, he continued. “And yeah, I know the reputation. And I think most of the stories people come up and tell me about their experiences are just them freaking themselves out. But, sometimes, I’ll get a guest and they look…” his voice trailed off.

  “Look how?”

  He struggled for the words. “Different, I guess. Some people psych themselves out, but a part of them realizes they’re making it up or blowing something out of proportion, so it’s not as convincing. But some people, they look really freaked out. They’ll tell me things that have happened in that room and I don’t think they’re lying.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  “Banging doors, things disappearing, blood seeping from the armoire and then gone when they blink, footsteps in the hallway, the bed being jerked. This one guy swore a gunshot woke him up. He was a business guy, here on a quick trip, not the kind who wants trouble or to make up stories. But he was adamant a gunshot woke him up. Called down here in the middle of the night and everything. It took me, the security guard, and the overnight maintenance tech to calm him down to where he wouldn’t call the police. And even then, I still don’t think he entirely believed us when we said we hadn’t heard anything.”

  “Some of those things sound fairly violent.”

  He frowned, as if a thought struck him. “Yeah. Now that you mention it, the gunshots and blood stuff has been happening only lately. Like in the last few months.”

  “And the other things?”

  “Since before I started working here. I remember being freaked out when Amanda—the morning front desk person—told me about the blood. She looked spooked.”

  Signs of a haunting becoming increasingly violent wasn’t a good thing. Even without Rose’s knowledge of ghost haunts, I knew that much. Escalating violence, whether human or ghostly, wasn’t going to spell sunshine and flowers at the end of this.

  Still though, some of those things could be rationally explained away. The blood seeping from the armoire, the bed jerking, the gunshot in the middle of the night—those could be dreams or nightmares jarring the person awake and the experience feeling real. Footsteps could be a person in the hallway. Banging doors could be a draft. And missing items could just be theft.

  I didn’t think he was lying, especially since Cyril and Oliver felt something in the hotel. But I needed to make sure. Mackenzie had wanted proof, after all. Telling her that my two ghost-roommates-turned-ghost-hunting-coworkers felt a dead presence in her hotel probably wouldn’t sell her on Gina being shot by a ghost.

  “Are you the only ones awake during the night? The front desk, maintenance, and security?”

 
“We have the gift shop open all night too,” he said, pointing down the hall. “Jeff should be in there. He’s got drinks, snacks, that sort of stuff. Can’t tell you how many people get the munchies at two in the morning when they’re on vacation.”

  “Anything else you can think of?”

  He shook his head. Then brightened. “But you’ll be the first, I promise. Apparition Investigations, huh? So, you were with that hot blonde?”

  He flushed as if realizing what he’d just said. And at how unprofessional it was.

  I laughed. “Yes, I’m with the hot blonde. The dude’s her boyfriend though—so maybe don’t tell her that.”

  He relaxed once he realized I wasn’t about to get him into trouble for his comment. “Nah, I can take him.”

  I shrugged then leaned in closer. He eagerly leaned in as well, eyes wide even before I whispered. “Try at your peril. He’s a psychic.”

  “What?”

  I spun on my heel and started marching back toward me room. “Thanks Jason! Have a good night!”

  Chapter Eleven

  There was something on the floor in front of my door. As I came closer down the hall, I recognized the shape. And the panic that had flared at something unknown in front of the door—the door Bronte was sleeping behind—quickly switched to confusion.

  It was a stuffed dog. Fairly generic, just like a teddy bear but with droopy ears and snout. It was dark brown, the color of chocolate.

  When I reached down to pick it up, I saw the white piece of paper folded underneath it. Still frowning from the confusion, I lifted the paper and read the note inside.

  Can’t have a Scooby-Doo squad without a mascot.

  “What the hell?” I muttered, staring at the writing, then to the dog, then back to the writing.

  And then it clicked.

  The paper crinkled in my hand as I balled it into a fist. “That bastard,” I hissed. “That egotistical, hazel-eyed, better-than-you, likes-to-invade-personal-space, son of a—”

  “Stella?”

  The paper and doll slid from my hands as I jumped in surprise. My eyes snapped up at Cyril’s voice, but by this point, I knew better than to expect to see him. Still, old habits and all that. “Dammit Cyril—you can’t just—”

  “What’s that?”

  The paper started floating upright.

  I snatched it from the air, feeling a chill around the paper. And I shoved it into my pants pocket. “It’s nothing.”

  “Nothing?” he asked, the plush dog rising next.

  Despite the urge to rip it from his incorporeal hands, I resisted. It was just a dog. The note, on the other hand, was an act of war. And the last thing Cyril needed to be worried about was Sebastian Adair.

  I seethed as he turned the stuffed animal over, looking at it in silence. Fine, Sebastian. You want a war? You’ll get one. Teach you to mess with our Scooby Squad. Teach you to mess with a psychic who could order you to run around on all fours like a dog once she got ahold of your name.

  And, believe me, I was going to get his name.

  “Interesting,” Cyril mused, still examining the stuffed animal. “Buying souvenirs?”

  “Something like that. Give it here.”

  The animal floated higher.

  “What are you doing?”

  “How much was it?”

  “What?”

  “The dog. How much did you pay for it?”

  “$5.99,” I guessed with a snap. Then I stretched up for it, but it was just out of my reach. “Now give it here.”

  “The price tag says it’s $9.99.”

  “Overpriced piece of crap. Why are you holding onto it—just give it here.”

  “Why are you so angry?”

  “I’m not angry.”

  The animal finally fell, falling right into my outstretched hands. But now that I had it, I wasn’t sure what to do with it. So, I ended up holding it slightly away from my body, like it was tainted or spoiled.

  “You are angry,” he insisted. “And you didn’t buy it. So, tell me, why does a present outside of our room have you so out of sorts?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Your insistence to the contrary really isn’t helping your case.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What does it matter? It’s just a dog.”

  “A dog that has made you visibly upset. A dog left by someone other than Rose, Bronte, or Noah, considering they’re all asleep inside. A dog with a note you won’t let me read. And a dog that sent you spiraling into a deluge of mumbled insults and curses. So, I shall ask again, why does a dog have you so out of sorts?”

  I didn’t answer, my eyes falling to the stupid piece of fabric and fluff in my hands.

  Cyril continued. “I would wager the dog itself is not the source of the problem. You adore dogs, to my knowledge, so therefore the problem lies with the sender. Am I on the right track?”

  “Cyril—”

  “And considering, upon Bronte’s return, she mentioned you two had a brief run-in with Sebastian Adair from Obscurity Consultants, I would again wager this dog was a present from him. Yes?”

  I sighed. “Yes.”

  “So, let’s get to the root of the problem then, shall we. Why is Sebastian Adair leaving presents outside your door?”

  “Because he’s a prick.”

  Cyril sighed. “As an insult then?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  I felt a chill near my hand, then watched as the dog’s ear flopped as he touched it. “Interesting you would manage to rile him to the point where he felt the need to retaliate with an insult.”

  I looked up. “What?”

  Even though I couldn’t see his face, I could hear the smile in his voice. And the pride. “You must have struck a nerve. He wouldn’t have sent an insult to you if you hadn’t made him feel threatened.”

  “Huh.” I hadn’t thought of it like that. But he was right, wasn’t he? Why insult me, send me a challenge, if he thought I—and my Scooby Squad—was beneath him and his hoity-toity attitude? I smiled, tossing up the animal and catching it in both hands. Now when I looked at it, I felt a smidge of pride, not anger. “Cyril, I could kiss you.”

  Cyril went quiet.

  “You there?”

  “Y-yes, I’m still here.”

  “You should use your deductive reasoning skills more often, Holmes,” I said.

  He sighed. “I should have used them earlier.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oliver slid out of the room earlier this evening.”

  My eyes snapped up. “What?”

  “I’m sorry, Stella—I should have been watching him more closely. It was while you and Bronte were gone. With Rose and Noah absorbed in their research, he left. It took me a minute to find him, and when I did…” his voice trailed off.

  I felt cold. “What happened?”

  “I found him a few rooms down, locked in a staring contest with Seth Adair.”

  “What?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Oliver had been grounded to our bedroom. And, surprisingly, when Cyril went inside to get him, he came out without a fuss. Probably because Bronte was asleep on the other side.

  That was my guess, anyway, since he started talking the moment he came through the door. “Stella, I am so sorry, I didn’t think he’d be able to—”

  “To what?” I snapped. I had a headache. I wanted to go to bed. I didn’t want to deal with any of this.

  “To see me,” he finished sheepishly.

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I started down the hallway. “Come on. Let’s hear what you have to say.”

  “Shouldn’t we stay close to the room?” Oliver asked, his voice following me.

  “No, because I can’t promise I won’t yell. And considering half, if not all, the hallway is probably asleep, that would be very rude indeed. We’re going to the restaurant.”

  The door had been locked, but as I neared, it clicked open. “Thanks Cyril,” I said,
pushing through, guessing confidently he’d been the one to do it.

  The restaurant, like the atrium, felt cold and empty without living souls in it. The mirrors circling the walls made the space feel bigger, made the darkness feel larger. I resisted the urge to shiver at how small I felt as I made for one of the tables that had been replaced in their usual spots following our dinner meeting.