The Second-Best Haunted Hotel on Mercer Street

by Cory Putman Oakes

  “Believe me, Louise, I couldn’t care less about your internship. It’s literally the last thing in the world I’d want.”

  “Right,” Louise said knowingly, clearly not believing a word Evie said. “I’m watching you, cousin. Whatever you’re up to, I’m going to figure it out.”

  “Aren’t you going to be late?”

  Louise gave her one last smirk before leaving the room, and Evie shivered in spite of herself.

  She’d hoped that Louise’s internship would distract her from the fact that Evie had been spending so much time away from the Hauntery the past couple of days. Unfortunately, it seemed like Louise’s new job responsibilities were making her more suspicious than ever. If Louise somehow found out about the Ivan, it would only be a matter of time before Mr. Fox knew. Then what? Would he really follow through on his threat to fire Evie and her parents?

  Evie tried to force herself to calm down. Louise didn’t know anything. She just had to be more careful, that was all.

  And yet . . . knowing that both Louise and Mr. Fox were going to be in a meeting all evening was making her be the opposite of careful.

  If Mr. Fox was lying about the Hauntery building being historic, what else was he lying about?

  Reasoning that there was no way Deena Morales would let an opportunity like this pass her by, Evie stole down the hallway toward Mr. Fox’s office. The door was closed, and Evie would have bet money on the fact that it was locked. Apparently, Mr. Fox didn’t have an overabundance of trust in the staff.

  But of course, most of the staff, Evie included, were not terribly bothered by locks. Or doors.

  Evie drifted through the door and stopped on the other side. The large desk in the center of the room was piled high with papers, but most of the office was empty. Mr. Fox was only at this Hauntery temporarily, and he hadn’t brought many personal items with him. The bookshelf behind the desk contained only one framed photograph. It was of Mr. Fox standing with his arm around another tall, bald man who looked exactly like him. His brother, maybe? There was also an award for service to the Hauntery and a collection of books. Evie stepped around the desk to read some of the titles.

  The Art of Effective Ghost Employee Management

  Negotiation Tactics for Dealing with Non-Corporeal Employees

  Dealing with the Dead: How to Get the Upper Hand in NCE Contract Negotiations

  How to Gain the Respect of Your Ghost Employees in Twelve Easy Steps!

  Evie doubted he’d gotten around to reading that last one.

  She turned her attention back to the desk, where there was a laptop computer with a Hauntery screensaver, a pile of employee time sheets, and a stack of large leather journals. One of the journals was open to a spreadsheet with the title “Hotel Staff.” Evie scooted around the desk to get a better look.

  The spreadsheet had a column of names listed by hiring date. As the most recent Hauntery hires, she and her parents were at the bottom.

  MacNeil, Evie. Spooky Little Girl. Difficult.

  Evie grinned at this, then looked farther up the list until she came to:

  Spengler, Patricia. Baker’s apprentice (promoted to assistant baker 2016). Faded.

  Evie stared at the word, sure she’d read it wrong. But there it was in Mr. Fox’s neat, precise handwriting: Faded.

  Hauntery ghosts never Fade.

  Mr. Fox’s well-worn copy of the Official Hauntery Handbook was lying next to the spreadsheet. It was shut. Evie flexed her fingers. She’d had large portions of the book read aloud to her, mostly by Mr. Fox when he was upset about something. But what if there was more in there?

  Things Mr. Fox hadn’t wanted to read out loud.

  Evie flexed her fingers. She leaned down until her eyes were even with the book, put one finger against her thumb, and flicked.

  The corner of the top cover jumped.

  One more harder flick, and the cover opened entirely. The book fell open to a random page entitled “Acceptable Cobweb Draping Techniques.”

  Evie bit her lip. A book this boring would undoubtedly have an index. And if there was anything in this book about hotel staff Fading, it would be listed there.

  Evie put her fingers in flicking position again, trying to flip as many pages of the book as she could at a time. It took her six attempts, and only two of her tries actually moved pages, but finally she was looking at the third page of the index.

  E . . .

  E . . .

  F . . .

  Fading, of Hotel Staff

  A key jangled in the lock.

  “I won’t be a moment,” came Mr. Fox’s voice. “I forgot my—”

  Evie ducked beneath the desk.

  “—book,” he finished.

  There was a scraping sound on top of the desk, then a brief pause. A minute later, the door slammed shut again, and there was another jangle of keys. Evie waited under the desk for several moments anyway, too scared to move. When she was absolutely positive that Mr. Fox had left the office, she stood up and turned her attention back to the desk.

  The Handbook was gone.

  CHAPTER 13

  WILLOW

  “No no no!” came an outraged voice from inside the library.

  There was a bark. Then Cuddles streaked into the lobby.

  Willow leaned over the side of the scaffolding, trying not to drop the can of wallpaper paste in her hand. After she’d hired Evie, gotten an electrician to fix the fridge, and paid the linen service bill, there had been just enough money left in the Rainy Day Fund to buy new wallpaper for the lobby. But there hadn’t been enough to pay a professional to put it up. Thank goodness for DIY videos on YouTube.

  Willow watched as Cuddles paused to lift his leg against the wall in the corner, then shot off in the direction of the kitchen.

  She frowned. Was she imagining things, or had Cuddles suddenly developed . . . fangs?

  Pierce’s angry voice rang out from the library again. “I draw the line at Cuddles!”

  “But he looks so adorably menacing!” answered Evie’s voice.

  “He looks ridiculous!”

  Willow climbed down from the scaffolding. In the library, she found Evie in full Phantasm costume squared off against Pierce . . . who was sporting a high-collared cape, a chalky-white complexion, and vampire fangs.

  She and Evie had finished the script the day before yesterday, and since then, they’d had rehearsals almost nonstop. They’d had a fairly successful run-through that morning, but Evie had insisted on a final costume check that afternoon, just to make sure everybody would be picture-perfect for the inspector’s arrival tomorrow. Willow had begged off in order to finish the wallpaper, but it seemed that no one else in the hotel had been spared from Evie’s attentions, even Cuddles.

  Molly stood beside Pierce. She was headless and dressed in a smart business suit, which Evie had deemed appropriate for a murder victim. Bree was in front of the mirror, wearing a long white wedding dress with a huge red stain on the chest. Francesca was wearing a mad scientist lab coat and adjusting the collar of Antonia’s matching one.

  Everyone seemed happy except Pierce, who looked to Willow like he was about to explode.

  “Willow!” Evie clapped her hands together. “Good! What do you think of everyone’s looks?”

  “They’re . . . um . . . I . . .” Willow stammered, desperately trying to avoid Pierce’s glare.

  “We’ve got to finish your detective outfit today as well,” Evie said thoughtfully. Willow had been cast as Detective Ivan, who was heavily based on the character of Deena Morales. “Trickier, since you’re not a ghost and you have to use real clothes. Your dad said he’d have a look in the attic and see what he could find for you.”

  “Dad said what?” Willow exclaimed. He’d been notably absent for several days now, and Willow had thought it best to leave him alone. “You’ve seen him today? He’s helping?”

  “You can see him yourself if you turn around,” Evie said, and winked.

  Willow spu
n on her heel and practically fell over as her father strode, very businesslike, into the room. He was wearing head-to-toe black with a police badge on one shoulder and a police cap on his head to match.

  “Will this do for the Hapless Police Officer?” he asked. “I’m sorry I’ve missed so many rehearsals. But I memorized all of my lines.”

  Willow and Evie exchanged glances. They’d written only two very short lines for the Hapless Police Officer, and they’d given Mr. Ivan the part because they’d pretty much assumed he wouldn’t be participating.

  “That’s great, Dad,” Willow said heartily as a warm feeling started to spread through her chest.

  Mr. Ivan fiddled with his sewn-on police badge, suddenly looking a tad anxious.

  “I—I was going to find some things for you, too, Willow. In some of your mother’s old boxes. But . . . I . . . I couldn’t—”

  “That’s all right,” Willow put in quickly. “Don’t worry about it, Dad. I’ll find an outfit myself later.” Then, because discussing her mother appeared to have deflated him, she added enthusiastically, “You’re going to make a great police officer.”

  Mr. Ivan nodded, muttered something about practicing his lines, and shuffled out of the room.

  Willow was practically floating as she exited the library and made her way back toward the scaffolding. Pierce trailed after her, still scowling.

  “Pierce, did you see that? Dad was out of the office. Fully dressed!”

  “Yes, I saw. But Wil—”

  “He even memorized his lines! I wonder if—”

  “Willow!”

  Willow jumped, tore herself from her thoughts, and faced the concierge, who had already transformed his clothes back into his usual black suit and impeccably neat muted tie.

  “Is it the outfit, Pierce? Because you don’t have to be a vampire, you know. I’m sure Evie could—”

  “I don’t care what kind of outfit it is. I care that I’m being required to wear a costume at all. Never, in all of my years at the Ivan, have we entertained such ridiculousness.”

  “It’s only for one night, Pierce. It won’t kill you, it—”

  Pierce raised his eyebrows, and Willow cut herself off.

  “I’m sorry,” Willow muttered. “That’s not what I meant to say.”

  Pierce took a deep breath. “I know I promised I’d give all of this a chance. But vampires? Corpse brides? Mad scientists in the kitchen?”

  “I don’t know, I think the mad scientists are kind of cool—”

  Pierce’s scowl deepened, and Willow swallowed her attempt at levity. “Is it Evie?” she asked him. “You haven’t been very nice to her, you know.”

  “She’s no Leo.”

  “No, she’s not Leo,” Willow agreed. “She’s not supposed to be Leo. She’s supposed to be Evie. She’s great.”

  “She’s hiding something. There’s something she’s not telling us.”

  Willow rolled her eyes. “What could she possibly be hiding? She has good ideas. This whole whodunit thing is—”

  “It’s in poor taste,” Pierce fumed. “It’s undignified.”

  “Honestly, Pierce, you can be so old-fashioned sometimes.”

  “Good taste never goes out of fashion! And taste aside, this is not us. This is not how we do things at the Ivan! I don’t see why we can’t just be ourselves—”

  “We can’t be ourselves right now, Pierce.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we can’t.”

  “But why—”

  “Because being ourselves isn’t good enough!” Willow exploded.

  Pierce’s eyes widened, and he took a small step backward.

  Willow took a deep breath. “If being ourselves were enough,” she said, trying to rein in her temper, “then Leo and Alford would still be here. We’d have a hotel full of guests. We wouldn’t care about the stupid Hauntery, and my mother wouldn’t be half-Faded and wandering around the hotel like a—” Willow broke off, shocked at herself.

  “Like a what?” Pierce asked carefully.

  “Nothing, I—”

  “Like a ghost?”

  “No!”

  It sounded so shameful when Pierce said it like that. Shameful, and not even accurate. There was still some debate about whether her mother was a WISP or not—Willow still wasn’t ready to admit that possibility to herself. But whether she was a WISP or not, her mother was definitely a ghost. Willow wasn’t sure she had allowed that thought inside her head before.

  “What I mean,” she continued, “is that if we want to beat the Hauntery, we have to adapt. People want scary. So we’re going to give them scary! Even my dad seems to understand how important this is, Pierce. Why can’t you?”

  “All right,” Pierce said, throwing up his hands in surrender. “I’ll wear the vampire outfit, if that’s what you really—what? What are you staring at?”

  Willow swallowed, suddenly at a loss for words. She was staring at Pierce’s left hand.

  Or, more specifically, at the area above the stump of his wrist, where his hand used to be.

  “Oh.” The concierge quickly tucked his arm behind his back.

  “You—you’re Fading?” Willow could barely breathe.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Pierce tried to assure her, but Willow felt like somebody had kicked her in the stomach.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to worry you,” Pierce said gruffly. “It’s all right. Really.”

  “No,” Willow said emphatically, blinking back tears. The strain of knowing that she couldn’t throw her arms around Pierce’s skinny waist and hug him as tightly as she could was almost unbearable. “It’s not all right. It’s not all right at all!”

  “We still have time,” Pierce reminded her gently. “I’m not Faded yet.”

  “I can’t lose you,” Willow said. “The Ivan wouldn’t be the Ivan without you!”

  Pierce smiled. Not his usual pinched, barely tolerant smile. A tiny, honest grin. It transformed his entire face while somehow also being the most Pierce-like expression Willow had ever seen. “Then we’d better get to work,” he said, clearing his throat. “For the Ivan.”

  “For the Ivan,” Willow echoed. Then, after a moment, “I’ll ask Evie to get rid of Cuddles’s fangs.”

  “Thank you,” Pierce said quietly.

  CHAPTER 14

  EVIE

  Before Willow and Pierce’s argument, Antonia and Francesca had managed to slip out of the library and make themselves scarce. But when the argument really started to heat up, Evie, Molly, and Bree had found themselves trapped. Not wanting to eavesdrop but unable to keep from overhearing the entire exchange, they stood quietly behind the library doors until the silence on the other side told them that both Willow and Pierce had left the lobby.

  Evie looked warily at Molly and Bree, wondering if they’d caught Pierce’s accusation of her.

  She’s hiding something . . .

  To Evie, it was as though Pierce had said those words over a loudspeaker. But neither of the others seemed to have heard them the same way. Bree sat down with her back to the still-closed door and pulled out her phone. Molly wandered over to the big mirror. She kept changing her clothes back and forth from her murder victim outfit to her Medium robes—she was playing both roles. She was headless, so Evie wasn’t sure why exactly she needed to be in front of a mirror, but at least she was occupied.

  Evie lingered near the door.

  “Um, Bree?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You said something before about how it took longer than usual for you to touch objects on the Living plane?”

  Bree looked up from her phone. She’d been scrolling through her Instagram feed. “Yeah. It took me twenty years.”

  “Do you know why it took so long?”

  “I have an idea, yes. And I’m glad it did.”

  “You’re—you’re glad?” Evie sputtered, certain she couldn’t have heard Bree correctly.

&n
bsp; “Sure.” Bree put her phone down and shifted so she was sitting cross-legged. At some point during the argument, she’d exchanged her corpse bride outfit for normal clothes: skinny jeans and a T-shirt that read WALLS TURNED SIDEWAYS ARE BRIDGES. —ANGELA DAVIS. From the little Evie had learned about Pierce, she was pretty sure he’d have a fit if he saw Bree (or any employee) wearing denim in the workplace. Then again, since there were no guests in the hotel, the whole staff had been pretty casual lately. Evie was still wearing her Phantasm cloak over a black leotard and leggings, but part of her was itching to change into jeans herself.

  “I had a hard time coming to terms with my death,” Bree explained. “I had a lot of plans for my life, you know? I was a bit in denial about being a ghost, which made it difficult to master ghost skills. During those years when I couldn’t touch anything, all I could do was observe. I got really good at it. It got to where I would notice things that not everyone else did. That was how I developed my photographer’s eye. I’m not sure that would have happened if I’d been able to touch objects right away.”

  “Oh,” Evie said. She slumped down to sit on the floor beside Bree, her Phantasm cloak settling around her like a blanket.

  “What’s wrong? Are you having a little trouble in that area?”

  “I’ve been practicing,” Evie said quickly, lest the Ivan’s office manager think she was just lazy and whining. “On books, and pencils, and anything else I can find. Sometimes it works. Other times, I think I’m getting close, but then my fingers just go right through it!”

  Bree nodded and picked up her Nikon. She handled it delicately. Her fingers, nails bright with sparkly silver polish, played over every inch of its matte black surface.

  “My cousin thinks I’m stupid to even try to pick things up so soon,” Evie confessed. “My parents, too.” And Mr. Fox, she added silently.

  “Practice helps,” Bree offered. “The very first thing that I touched was a camera. Not this one.” She held up the Nikon. “An older model. Willow’s grandmother, Winifred Ivan, bought it for me. The second I saw it—I’d never wanted to hold something so badly in my life. Or in my death. To touch it. To use it. To express the way I’d learned to look at the world.”