The Second-Best Haunted Hotel on Mercer Street

by Cory Putman Oakes

  “You both have a lot of explaining to do,” Mrs. Ivan said icily.

  Officer Myers stood up. “Yes, I should say they do. Mr. Ivan, you’re under arrest.”

  “What?” Willow screeched. “For what?”

  “Lying to a police officer, contributing to the delinquency of a minor, aiding and abetting truancy—take your pick.” Officer Myers made his way deliberately toward Mr. Ivan, even as Molly jumped up from her place at the table and planted herself between them.

  Officer Myers looked affronted. “If I have to, I’ll walk right through you, madam,” he assured the Horsewoman. “This is not your concern.”

  “Of course it is!” Molly said through clenched teeth, holding her ground and adjusting her head to sit more firmly atop her shoulders.

  “Wait a minute.” Mr. Renard stood as well, looking confused. “Do you mean that you’re a real police officer? This isn’t a part of the show?”

  “Mr. Renard,” Pierce spoke up. “Perhaps this would be a good time to take you on a tour of the kitchens?”

  Mr. Renard looked at Pierce as though the concierge had gone insane. Officer Myers and Molly remained squared off in front of a wide-eyed Mr. Ivan. The Ms. Loustrouses and Mr. and Mrs. Prescott all looked confused, as did Kylie. Bree, no longer filming, had lowered her phone. Across the table, Willow was looking frantically around the room.

  And suddenly, Evie knew exactly what to do.

  She closed her eyes and called up a sharp, cold wind. It flew through the room, wrapped itself around the table, and lifted the hair of everyone Living who was sitting or standing around it.

  “What’s that?” shrieked one of the Ms. Loustrouses.

  “It’s a Phantasm!” Willow shouted gratefully.

  “Not now, surely,” said Mr. Renard, looking uncertain. “Perhaps I should call my office—”

  “It’s too late,” Willow said ominously. “She’s here.”

  Evie posed dramatically in the doorway, allowing her wind to lick the edges of her black cloak.

  There was a collective drawing-in of breath from around the table.

  Bree raised her phone in Evie’s direction.

  “A Phantasm!” Officer Myers muttered wonderingly.

  “We’ve disturbed her,” Willow explained, and Evie locked eyes with Officer Myers, keeping his attention on her, allowing Willow to gesture frantically to her father.

  Mr. Ivan caught the hint and started tiptoeing toward the door to the kitchen.

  “You have disturbed me,” Evie whispered ominously.

  “We’re sorry!” Officer Myers squeaked.

  Evie gave him a devious grin, then launched herself into the air. She did a quick circle of the room, flying right above everybody’s heads, whipping up the wind as she went.

  Kylie screamed.

  Mr. Prescott fainted. He collapsed backward into the tea trolley, knocking it over and sending the fancy tureen holding the leftover chilled Italian ragout with sauce tomate crashing to the floor.

  Mr. Ivan escaped through the kitchen door with Mrs. Ivan gliding angrily after him.

  Evie, hovering now over the center of the table, felt satisfaction bubbling up inside her. The room was hers; every (open) eye in it was on her. Every soul, Living and dead, was watching her in rapt silence. Waiting to see what she would do next.

  This was exactly how she’d always imagined doing her act in front of a crowd would feel like.

  She was dizzy with joy. It was a struggle to maintain the terrifying expression on her face—a beautiful, wonderful struggle she would gladly endure for the rest of her death.

  “What—what’s it doing?” Mr. Renard asked shakily.

  “She’s going to scream!” Mrs. Prescott answered, stepping over her unconscious husband and wrapping her arms around her daughter, pulling her farther away from the table.

  Evie threw her head back. Before she unleashed the Phantasm cry that she knew would bring down the house, she paused, letting the tension build for a few seconds longer. Letting herself enjoy the moment. She wanted to commit to memory every beat of terrified silence, every bit of—

  —laughter?

  They were laughing. They were all laughing.

  Confused, Evie looked around the room. Mr. Renard and Officer Myers were both guffawing so hard they were holding each other up. Mrs. Prescott and Kylie were cackling. The Ms. Loustrouses were wiping their streaming eyes and hiccupping with mirth.

  Bree lowered her phone again.

  Willow, the only one besides Bree who wasn’t laughing, pointed to the large mirror that was hanging on the wall to Evie’s left.

  The girl in the mirror was wearing a black Phantasm cloak and a befuddled expression. She also had long furry bunny ears, a tiny twitching bunny nose, whiskers, and a poofy cotton tail. In the corner behind her, a girl in a ruffly pink dress was pointing at her and laughing along with the others.

  They’d laugh at you, she’d said.

  And Louise had made sure they did.

  Evie, who’d been floating a few inches above the table, lowered herself to the floor as the dining room burst into thunderous applause.

  “Greetings from the Hauntery!” her cousin hissed to Willow under the cover of all the applause.

  “The—the Hauntery?” Willow whispered.

  Louise turned to Evie. Evie felt her hair spring up into pigtails. She felt the whisper of ribbons against her cheeks. She didn’t have to look down to know that she was now wearing the dreaded pink dress.

  “That’s where Evie really works,” Louise informed Willow. “She’s nothing but a Spooky Little Girl.”

  “Evie?” Willow ventured. “Is that true?”

  Evie stared at the ground. She couldn’t think. The clapping was still going on—on and on and on, not stopping even when Francesca came through the kitchen door holding a tray of tarts.

  “See you at home!” Louise trilled before melting through the nearest wall.

  Unable to look at Willow, Evie wedged herself into the nearest corner.

  Francesca set the tray on the table, right in front of Mr. Renard.

  “Capital!” Mr. Renard was shouting, still applauding. “In all my years of inspecting haunted hotels, I’ve never had an evening end with comedy. How wonderful!”

  Willow took a hesitant step forward. “You—you liked it?”

  “Capital evening all around!” Mr. Renard pronounced as he picked up one of the tarts and stuffed the entire thing into his mouth. He chewed away happily for several moments, until a look of horror crossed his face.

  “Wuff—” he muttered through a mouthful of pastry. “Wuff ifff this?”

  Pierce cleared his throat. “That is a blueberry tart, sir.”

  Mr. Renard immediately spewed the half-masticated tart out onto the table. “I’m—” he gasped, clasping his hands to his throat. “Allergic. To. Blueberries.”

  Then the hotel inspector stumbled to the side of the table and tripped over the fallen tea trolley. He collapsed onto the floor, where his head landed with a loud splat right in a large puddle of chilled Italian ragout with sauce tomate.

  CHAPTER 19

  WILLOW

  Willow refreshed the Zagged site once, twice—

  “It’s up,” she announced.

  “Already?” Pierce asked, coming to look over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t have thought Mr. Renard would be out of the hospital yet.”

  Willow shrugged.

  It had been ten hours since the ambulance had arrived to take Mr. Renard—who was already conscious and breathing again, thanks to the EpiPen Officer Myers had jammed into his thigh—to the hospital. To add insult to injury, Mr. Renard’s fall into the “chilled Italian ragout” and the resulting kerfuffle had caused the hotel inspector’s blond curls (a wig, as it turned out) to come loose from his head. Willow was certain she would never forget the sight of Mr. Renard being wheeled out of Hotel Ivan on a gurney, wig clutched angrily in one fist and sauce tomate smeared all over his bald head.
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  Officer Myers had left as well in order to give the ambulance a police escort, but he had promised to come back in the morning “to sort out the truancy business.” After the rest of the guests had departed and the mess in the dining room had been cleaned up, the Hotel Ivan had fallen strangely silent. Like a condemned prisoner awaiting her fate.

  “Is it as bad as we thought it would be?” Pierce inquired.

  “Worse,” Willow assured him, turning the computer monitor so he could see it.

  Pierce narrowed his eyes at the article and began to read out loud.

  “The evening began with a tolerably entertaining whodunit-style murder mystery. The dinner contained several memorable, creative courses—

  “Well, that’s not so bad,” Pierce said hopefully.

  “Keep reading,” Willow said grimly.

  “But unfortunately, all of that was upstaged by management’s complete disregard of this guest’s food allergies, which I disclosed in writing to the head chef prior to my stay. It was only due to the quick actions of a law enforcement officer—who happened to be present at the hotel for unrelated but equally concerning reasons—that I survived the evening.

  “If it were up to this hotel inspector, no establishment displaying this appalling lack of concern for the health and safety of its guests should be allowed to remain in business. Readers are advised to stay at the Hotel Ivan at their peril.

  “Oh,” Pierce said dismally. “Well, you did say you wanted to make the Ivan scarier.”

  “I didn’t want to make us a health hazard!” Willow exclaimed, getting up from her chair and heading back toward the lobby. “It’s over.”

  There was a large package wrapped in brown paper sitting on the front desk.

  “What’s that?” Willow asked.

  “Someone from the Zagged Guide just dropped it off,” Pierce answered. “I—I thought you should be the one to open it.”

  Willow ripped off the brown paper, revealing a large wooden plaque.

  “It’s over,” Willow said again. “We’re through.”

  Pierce didn’t argue. Willow just stood there, holding the plaque, not sure whether she should throw it as hard as she could against the wall or use Antonia’s flambé torch to set it on fire. Before she could decide, she caught sight of Evie making her way cautiously into the lobby.

  “You!” Willow said accusingly. “How dare you show your face here? You—you traitor!”

  “Willow—” Evie tried.

  “How could you not tell me you worked for the Hauntery? You’ve been sabotaging us from the beginning!”

  “No! I haven’t! I—”

  “Liar!” Willow exploded, gripping the plaque hard. “It was all lies, wasn’t it? Meeting me at the library? Pretending to like the Deena Morales Mysteries? It was all so you could get inside our hotel and ruin our chances with the inspector!”

  “You’ve got it all wrong, Willow! I wasn’t—”

  “Oh, really?” Willow asked icily. “So, you don’t work for the Hauntery?”

  “I do, but—”

  “That’s all I need to know.”

  “It isn’t. What happened at the dinner—that was all my cousin’s fault. She hates me, you see. She—”

  “Do you think I care about your family drama?” Willow exploded. “This is about my family. A family I let you into! I trusted you! You were supposed to help me keep Pierce and Antonia and everybody from Fading!”

  “Willow—” Pierce tried as Cuddles ran between the two girls and started barking.

  “No, Pierce, you were right. She was hiding something. And we should have just been ourselves. I shouldn’t have listened to this . . . this lying snake!”

  “I was trying to help!” Evie insisted as Cuddles continued to bark. “I didn’t tell you about the Hauntery at first because you hated Haunteries, and I couldn’t tell you later because—”

  “Shut up!” Willow screamed. And threw the plaque directly at Evie.

  Evie raised her hands to protect herself.

  The plaque went right through her and landed with a clatter on the lobby floor.

  Evie lowered her hands and stared at Willow, wide-eyed with shock.

  “Get out of here,” Willow said dangerously. “Go back to the Hauntery, where you belong.”

  Willow thought she saw Evie’s lower lip wobble as she turned to go. The sight made something in Willow’s stomach ache. Which, in turn, made her even more angry.

  “You’re pathetic, Evie MacNeil!” she shouted at Evie’s retreating back. “You’re just a stupid little girl who thinks she’s a Phantasm!”

  Evie stopped with one foot out the door. “I’m pathetic?” she whispered in her best menacing Phantasm voice. “Look at you, Willow Ivan. You’re not even dead, but you have a library full of books you never read and a piano you never play. I would give anything for those things. But you have them, not me, and you ignore them. All you want to do is hide behind your ghosts and skulk around your haunted hotel. You moan about ‘saving your ghosts.’ But really? It’s obvious to everyone that they don’t need you to save them. You need them to save you.”

  Willow flinched. Pierce, who had caught Cuddles and was trying to keep him quiet, was staring between them, open-mouthed, as though he were watching a tennis match.

  “Go back to the Hauntery,” Willow told Evie. “You’re not wanted here.”

  Then she turned on her heel and marched out of the lobby.

  CHAPTER 20

  EVIE

  Pierce, with Cuddles in tow, hurried after Willow.

  Evie stood fuming in the doorway of the lobby, unsure of exactly what to do.

  She should leave. That’s what Willow had told her do. She should go back to the Hauntery before anybody realized she was missing. Back to the number-one haunted hotel.

  But she couldn’t make her feet move. She was still working on it when Bree walked in.

  “You probably shouldn’t talk to me,” Evie advised her. “I’ve been fired.”

  “I heard.” Bree drew in a breath. “Are you a spy?”

  Evie shook her head. “I do work for the Hauntery,” she admitted. “But I’m not a spy. I wanted the Ivan to win.”

  Bree nodded, to Evie’s relief. She seemed to believe her.

  “I never belonged at the Hauntery,” Evie continued, leaving the doorway and walking farther into the lobby. “I thought maybe I could belong here. With all of you. But I guess I was wrong.”

  “I don’t think you were wrong,” Bree said consolingly. “I think Willow is.”

  “Wrong for firing me?”

  “Wrong for blaming you.”

  “Thanks, Bree. I appreciate that. But it is my fault. Well, mine and the blueberries’.”

  “You sure about that? Because I smell a rat,” Bree said, walking over to where Willow had thrown the plaque. “That review came out awfully fast. And this?” She picked up the plaque and studied it carefully. “It’s already got the Ivan’s name on it. How could they have made this so quickly if they hadn’t known ahead of time that they were going to rank us number two? And in such a mean way too, with this ‘and that’s being generous’ nonsense?”

  Evie felt the gears of her brain starting to turn. “So, you’re saying the inspector already knew how he was going to rank us? Even before he showed up?”

  Bree nodded. “I think he was just looking for something to hang his decision on. If it hadn’t been the blueberries, it would have been something else.”

  “Blueberries,” Evie muttered. The word kept sticking in her head for some reason. Along with an image of Mr. Renard’s bald head after his wig had fallen off. “Who would have thought? I mean, who’s allergic to blueberries? It’s got be one of the rarest—”

  She stopped dead.

  “It’s a shame,” Bree said glumly, glancing down at her phone. “We were just starting to pick up a lot of social media traffic. I guess if this really is the end, I should just shut it all down—”

  “No!”
Evie exclaimed, bolting back toward the front door. “Don’t shut it down! Not yet. You’ve got to buy me a little time, OK?”

  “OK, but—Evie, what are you doing?” Bree called after her.

  “Exactly what Willow told me to do. I’m going back to the Hauntery.”

  Evie sneaked around the back of the Hauntery until she was standing beneath the large window that overlooked the gazebo. When she stood on tiptoe, she could see that Mr. Fox’s office was dark. It also seemed empty, but she couldn’t see through the thick blinds.

  She took one deep breath, then stepped through the wall of the hotel.

  The leather journal was in the same place on Mr. Fox’s desk as before, but it was closed this time. She paid it no mind and walked right through the desk until she was standing in front of the bookshelf where the one photograph was displayed. She was peering at it so intently that she didn’t hear the office door swing open.

  She didn’t look up until Mr. Fox turned on the light.

  “Ah, Ms. MacNeil. I was wondering if I’d be seeing you today.”

  Evie stared at him. She could practically feel her dislike of him oozing out of her every pore.

  Mr. Fox pulled the Handbook out of his back pocket and placed it on the desk beside the journal.

  “I suppose I don’t need to tell you that working for a competing hotel violates the terms of your employment agreement, do I?”

  “And I suppose I don’t need to ask who told you about that,” Evie retorted, turning back to the photograph.

  “Louise has proven herself to be a very valuable asset to the Hauntery Corporation,” Mr. Fox informed her. “Her position is secure. But I’m afraid that you and your parents have all been fired. And given what I heard happened at the Hotel Ivan last night, I shan’t think that you or any other souls shall be working there much longer, either.”

  He grinned widely at this.

  Evie grinned, too, but not for the same reason. “Was it Louise who told you about the dinner?” she asked. “Or was it your brother?”

  Evie pointed triumphantly at the framed photo. The one of Mr. Fox with his arm around another tall, bald man—a man whom Evie hadn’t recognized the two times she’d met him, because she’d been so distracted by his blond curls. Until they’d fallen off into a puddle of sauce tomate on the Hotel Ivan’s dining room floor.