by Eliza Lainn
“What happened?” I asked, sinking into the chair.
“I just wanted to get the lay of the land,” he said, a slight perturbed wobble in his tone. “I didn’t think I’d run into any of the other teams while I was out looking. I thought they’d all be working or something.”
“His brother had been. He said Seth was in the room, playing video games.”
“He was reading,” Oliver said.
I felt a flare of satisfaction. I knew it. The boy hadn’t been the type to play video games. I wanted to ask if it’d been Crime and Punishment, but we needed to stay on point. The sooner we got this over with, the sooner I could go to bed. “Then what happened?”
“I just floated through the wall. At first, I thought he couldn’t see me. So, I started looking around. They had a whole bunch of equipment with them—the same kind we use. And a lot of books. Religious books.”
“Religious?”
“Catholicism, Buddhism, Shintoism, those sorts.”
“Huh. And then?”
“I looked around and then I turned back around, to look through the rest of the room, and the boy was just watching me. His eyes met mine and we stared at each other for a few minutes. He didn’t look away, just kept eye contact. Freaked me out.”
If I hadn’t been so tired, I might have laughed at the fact that the ghost was freaked out by the child, but I couldn’t even bring myself to chuckle. Or shoot a snort of air through my nose.
“I wasn’t sure what to do. So, I just floated back through the wall. And Cyril caught up to me.”
Cyril sighed and took over. “We went back to the room. We stayed there and kept quiet. Bronte returned, gave something to Rose, and then started to get ready for bed. We tried to mime at her to stay awake because we wanted to be able to tell her what had happened. But she didn’t understand and went to sleep before you returned.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Did you tell Noah or Rose?”
“No.”
“And you stayed in the room right after running into Seth? You didn’t go back out again?”
“Correct.”
This was bad. If Seth had seen Oliver, then no doubt Sebastian knew for certainty there was at least one ghost in the Horton. If he could perform exorcisms, he might start looking through the hotel to do just that.
He wouldn’t be able to enter our room without permission. But how long would we be able to keep him out?
Someone would always have to stay in the room with the ghosts and the pocket watch. Or, better yet, someone could leave with both. Rose would never abandon ship, and Noah wouldn’t leave Rose. But Bronte might take the watch and leave.
Or I could. But I didn’t want to leave everyone to face a potentially homicidal ghost without me.Noah’s barriers were powerful, but my name invocation was more versatile. Not that I wanted to burn Roger Whitaker alive, like I’d done with Nathan Elgin. But if I named him, maybe I could calm him down. Get him to talk to me. Figure out what was happening and then decide the best way to fix it.
No, I needed to stay. Bronte really was the best person to send away with the watch.
But what would Sebastian think if Bronte suddenly left? Would he get even more suspicious? Would he follow her to complete the exorcism?
Not to mention what that might do for Apparition Investigation’s credibility. Mackenzie had made it sound like Obscurity Consultants had been around for a while. If they started telling people we were working with ghosts, our reliability as ghost hunters wouldn’t last long. And that would kill Rose.
“Stella?”
“I’m thinking,” I muttered.
Insistence flooded Cyril’s tone. “Stella, get up slowly from your chair.”
I blinked, looking up and starting to look behind me. “What? Wh—”
“Stop. Just get up slowly and walk forward.”
He sounded level. His voice empty of anything. But the hard coldness of it was hiding worry. Even if I couldn’t hear it in his voice, I knew it was there—he never spoke to me like this.
I pushed up slowly from the seat.
Then froze when I felt a chill at my neck.
It wasn’t just a chill. It was more solid. Like the few times I’d touched Cyril or Oliver and there’d been some substance behind it. Not the full pressure of a solid hand, but not the emptiness of air either. Something in between.
It threaded through my hair. I felt strands lift and then fall, as if through fingers.
“Don’t move,” Cyril said, his voice tight. “Just…just stay perfectly still.”
I was halfway up from my seat, one hand braced on the table beside me. My legs began to protest from the awkward angle. Even as the hand brushed through my hair a second time.
“It’s a woman,” Oliver breathed softly. “I thought we were hunting a man?”
A woman?
Then my hair fell back into place and the chill left my neck.
Another cold touch clamped down on my arm. Hard. With fingers tightening, like freezer burn.
I was yanked forward, a scream nearly torn from me.
“It’s me,” Cyril said quietly, “just me.”
The hand pulled me farther away from the table.
“She’s headed toward the kitchen,” Oliver said, his tone coiled tight. Expectant.
The cold hand on my arm vanished. Then I felt another chill at my neck again.
“I don’t see that she did anything,” Cyril said. “Stella, are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I said, turning back toward the room. I brushed my own hand through my hair. “You said it’s a woman?”
“She just floated up through the ground,” Oliver said, tension still wound in his voice. “Right behind you. She just…just appeared.”
“She doesn’t have a gun. And she doesn’t look angry,” Cyril added.
I left my hand on my neck, hoping the heat might warm the spot. I had goosebumps prickling out from the woman’s touch, stealing down my arm and back.
“How did she look?”
“Calm. She just touched your hair and smiled. Fondly, almost. She seemed friendly.”
“She didn’t feel angry or mean.” Not like Nathan Elgin had. Not like the ghost in the graveyard had. “So, like a Casper, then?”
“Definitely a Casper.”
“She went into the kitchen?”
“Yes, should we—”
A gunshot rang out.
My hands slapped over my ears, as if that would deafen the sound.
It had come from the kitchen.
Then my legs were moving, and I was running toward the kitchen, as Cyril and Oliver yelled at me to stop.
Chapter Thirteen
I nearly barreled into the kitchen but stopped just in front of the door. Hesitating. I'd promised I wouldn't do this. No more running straight into danger. No more being reckless. I needed to think first, not act.
A second later, cold touched my shoulders. "Don't go in there," Cyril hissed.
“But if she’s in there—”
“I’ll go check,” Oliver said, his voice already fading as he went through the wall.
Time stretched as I waited. A second felt like a minute. And a minute felt like an hour. My mind swam with her in trouble, her in pain, her being shot. I knew ghosts could feel pain. I knew they could be hurt. Cyril had been attacked by a monster, his arm ripped and shredded as if it were flesh and blood.
I hated just standing here, waiting. Listening. Knowing that someone might need my help and I was just…stuck.
Then Oliver was back. “You two better come see this. Well, Stella can’t, but—just get in here.”
I pushed through the swinging kitchen doors.
It was your typical commercial kitchen. Metal tables, large sinks, industrial size refrigerators and a walk-in freezer. Everything had been cleaned and put away. A few lights flickered overhead, giving it almost the exact lighting from the raptor scene in Jurassic Park. Funny how I even felt the thrill of adrenaline too
.
“What do you two see?” I asked, my eyes swinging around the room. Nothing looked wrong or out of place.
God, I hated that I couldn’t see anything.
For a moment, neither answered. Then Cyril let out a heavy sigh. The kind you use when you see a dead cat on the side of the road or a child without a lunch in the cafeteria. “She’s dead. Well. Deader.”
“Gunshot?”
“Yes.”
“Is…is there anyone else here?”
“No,” Oliver answered that time. “I think I scared it off when I rushed in. But it was definitely a ghost that shot her.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Great. We had ghosts shooting people, and now ghosts shooting ghosts. All while ghost hunters stalked the hallways, doling out stuffed dogs and watching you with sharp, hazel eyes. Freaking fantastic.
“Can you go rouse the rest of the team, Oliver?”
“Shouldn’t we examine the body first?”
“Cyril and I will stay here with her. I think Bronte and Noah could help with the examination. And Rose might know more about ghost-on-ghost violence than we do.”
He hesitated, then sighed. “Sure, ok. I’ll be right back.”
Silence lapsed again.
“When he returns, he and I shall remain together for the rest of the trip,” Cyril said. “In the hotel room. That will lessen our chances of running into homicidal ghosts or arrogant ghost hunters.”
My lips quirked up at that. “Bringing you on a case was a bad idea.”
“In theory, it could have been better,” he said, his attention torn between his words and something else. Most likely, he was examining the body. “I do still think there is merit in bringing ghosts along on a ghost hunting expedition. Though maybe not to the Hotel California.”
I snorted. “The Hotel California?”
“Yes, well, guests do seem to have a penchant for checking in but never leaving.”
“You’ve listened to the Eagles?”
“Oh yes. Hmm…that’s strange.”
“What?”
“The bullet wound. It’s oozing red astral energy, such as mine did when I was struck by Nathan Elgin.”
“So, do you think we’re dealing with another monster, like him?”
“I’m not sure. Ghosts can strike ghosts, as Oliver and I have found. But killing? I’m just not sure what exactly that entails. Do we move on? Do we remain here, our astral bodies just…stuck? Where does our consciousness go, once we’ve been killed as opposed to being purified, as Noah puts it? Or are they the same thing?” His frustration grew with each question, until, finally, he let out an annoyed grunt.
“What do you think?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
“Then what do you believe?”
He sighed again. “I don’t know. But this…ghost or human, this violence is not as it should be. I don’t think spirits are meant to suffer like this any more than mortals are. I think this is wrong. But then that begs the question: is there a right way for our souls to pass on, now that we’re stuck in this limbo?”
“I’m sure there is.”
“Maybe,” he allowed, but didn’t sound convinced.
“How do you think Roger knew she was coming in here?”
“You think it’s Roger Whitaker then, who shot her?”
“It makes the most sense. A murdered gambler. I would think he would have a gun on him—maybe he used it the night he died or maybe he didn’t. But going by the most prevalent story Mackenzie Marcus told us, I think he’s definitely haunting the hotel.”
“Rose and Noah will be able to confirm that with their research. As to your first question, I’m not sure how he knew she was coming in here. Perhaps the details of her haunting could explain that?”
“How so?”
“Just like how Roger’s ghostly manifestations follow a pattern, maybe this woman’s do too. He had his banging doors, his racing footsteps, his disappearing items centered around 309. She might be more confined to this particular space—the restaurant and its kitchen.”
“Sounds like a safe bet.”
“But the why puzzles me.”
“How so?”
“Why kill a person that’s already dead?”
“Nathan Elgin hadn’t had any problem killing humans or ghosts.”
“That means we could be dealing with a monster…and yet, I’m not entirely convinced.”
“Why not?”
“He fled. When Oliver came into the room. A depraved monster wouldn’t run. At least, I would assume not.”
“Well then, can ghosts have motives like humans do? Greed, jilted lover—oh God, please tell me we have a ghostly soap opera happening here.”
Cyril chuckled. “None that I’ve seen so far. As to motive, Rose did say that some spirits aren’t aware that they’ve died. If the ghost that shot this woman was Roger Whitaker, he could be living out the last day of his life: running from the people intending to do him harm.”
“But then why shoot her now?”
“Yes…” he mused, “that is the question. Why now?”
Behind me, the door swung open. “About—oh,” I stopped, surprised.
It wasn’t Apparition Investigations, come to see about the dead ghost lady. Instead, Zach Birmingham and his team stood in the doorway, decked out in cameras, sensors, and other ghost-hunting equipment.
Chapter Fourteen
I froze like I'd been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Or, you know, like there was a dead woman in the room. Because there was, technically. Just a ghost dead woman...more dead than usual. And another ghost. All in the kitchen.
Crap.
I’d been so engaged with our crime scene I’d forgotten about the other ghost hunters trolling the halls. And now here they were. With cameras and equipment that would allow them to see my ghost as well as the dead woman. Assuming they didn’t have heightened perceptions themselves.
I didn’t know what to do. Name them? But no, they hadn’t introduced themselves to me. I didn’t have their names.
They were going to see Cyril.
Capture him on camera.
And I couldn’t stop them.
Zach looked at me through his camera. “And here we have another investigator. From Apparition Investigations, right?” Beside him, his men flanked out, taking temperature readings of the room or using a loud spirit box to pick up audio.
I nodded mutely.
“She’s here working in tandem with us as we hunt for Roger Whitaker’s ghost,” Zach continued, speaking loudly so he could be heard clearly on the camera.
He began panning around the room.
Wait.
Why wasn’t he freaking out?
There were two ghosts here.
He should have been a ten-year-old on Christmas morning.
“This is the kitchen area,” he continued, stepping more into the room. He moved past me, his camera sweeping around. “We’re pretty far removed from the haunting area, but it’s better safe than sorry. Got to make sure we don’t miss something, right?”
Was he still talking to the camera? To me? His men?
He moved past me and shivered.
I froze, eyes wide. My hands had rocketed past sweaty and were straight clammy. I could almost feel the heartbeat of my blood pounding like a war drum in my veins.
And then he just kept walking.
He hadn’t even slowed down.
Just enough to shiver out of it and keep going.
“He just walked through her body,” Cyril whispered.
My tension skyrocketed.
But none of them looked like they’d heard him.
The spirit box hadn’t even picked him up.
Zack continued rolling. “We’re still far from the haunt site, but I want to do some readings in the room. Let’s see if we can’t establish contact with Roger Whitaker or maybe another spirit haunting this space.”