Page 11 of The Haunted Hotel

Roger sighs. “He fancies him.”

“Are you sure?” I eye him suspiciously.

“Oh, trust me. I know when a man’s interested, and our little ray of sunlight is a delicious treat. We just need to figure out how this can work to our advantage.”

“That’s awfully devious, Roger.” I chuckle.

“Why thank you, Bertie.”

“A-hem.”

We both turn at the unexpected sound of someone clearing their throat. I blink in surprise to find a tall, broad fellow wearing a brown pin striped suit and standing by the closed door to the library. His hair is medium-brown and he has a nice-looking if unremarkable face. There’s a clipboard in one of his hands and he has a brown leather satchel hooked over one shoulder by a thin strap. His form flickers, momentarily transparent, before he re-solidifies.

“Who the devil are you?” I scowl at him. “This is private property. We can’t have just any old spirits wandering around the place willy-nilly.”

The intruder raises a subtle brow and tuts disapprovingly. “I’m from the Bureau of Domestic Hauntings,” he announces. “Stanley Fitzgerald Longbottom.”

“Roger Palmer… Bossy Bottom,” Roger introduces himself with a saucy wink.

“I know exactly who you are, Mr Palmer,” Stanley says as he withdraws a pen from his breast pocket. “And you too, Miz Ashton-Drake.”

“Bertie,” I correct.

“Indeed,” he murmurs. “I’m afraid I have to inform you that you are in quite a bit of trouble.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It has come to the Bureau’s attention that, on the night of the thirtieth of December, you and the other ghosts residing here at Ashton House did, in fact, expose yourselves.”

“Ooh, that does sound ever so naughty when you put it like that.” Roger licks his teeth gleefully.

“You have broken article three-fourteen, sub paragraph six-b, in reference to the bylaws governing interaction between corporeal and noncorporeal entities.”

“Pardon?” I blink.

“You let the living see you,” he elucidates, his dark brows drawing down in disapproval.

“Oh, that.” I shrug. “I’ll admit in the spirit of things we may have got a little carried away.”

“A little carried away?” he repeats. “You showed yourself to no less than”—he glances down at his clipboard and flips up the front page, scanning down the notes beneath it—“nine guests, five actors, and four members of staff. Not to mention the destruction of property.”

“It was technically my property,” I reply.

“Not anymore, it’s not,” he states. “The moment you died, it passed to your next of kin. There are rules for a reason. Do you have any idea what would happen if everyone knew about the existence of the spirit realms?”

“Less séances?” I offer.

“I’m afraid you are now under a full investigation. All of you,” he adds, staring at Roger, who has simply lit another cigarette and is watching in amusement.

I scoff. “What do you mean investigation?”

“I mean there are laws governing our interactions with the living, laws all ghosts must adhere to. You’ve already broken several of them, and I’m here to ascertain the level of damage done. I will be conducting a full audit of the house and its deceased residents.”

“I say,” I splutter indignantly. “You can’t do that.”

“I can assure you I do have the necessary authority,” he says in a tone that brooks no nonsense.

“And what happens if we don’t pass your little audit?” Roger waves the hand holding his cigarette nonchalantly.