Page 23 of The Legend of Lovers Hollow

“Roger! Will you be serious?” I hiss. “I cannot wander the hotel looking like a pimp and smelling like I’ve been mummified.”

“Relax, darling.” He waves his hand. “No one will see you. All you need to do is sneak down to the hotel reception and grab the key to your room.”

“Why can’t you do that?” I ask. “You can literally disappear and reappear anywhere you want. Why can’t you get me the key?”

“Oh, I don’t need a key,” he says with a shrug.

“What?” I say flatly.

“I don’t need a key.”

“Roger.” I clench my jaw so tight I’m afraid I might crack one of my teeth. “Can you unlock my bedroom door?”

He smiles brightly and nods. I can feel my blood pressure rising and my eye begin to twitch. When I finally speak, my voice is tight and controlled. “If you can open my door, why are we up here with me dressed like Harry Styles?”

He gives a loud giggle, then winks yet again and disappears.

Fucking ghosts.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and take several deep breaths, searching for my patience as I resist the urge to punch something—myself mostly, for being too trusting.

Fuck, I really am going to have to sneak downstairs and steal the key to my room. It’s that or hide up here for the rest of my life.

Shaking my head, I retrace my way through the room, hoping I remember the way back. It’s still early and with any luck, none of the guests will be roaming free. Although my luck certainly hasn’t held up so far this morning. In fact, I’m almost certain I’d probably get struck by lightning if I dared to wander outside.

I exit the room and head down the corridor. Several staircases and hallways that look the same later, I wonder if I’m lost, but just when I’m about to lose the will to live, I turn a corner and see the main forked staircase that leads to the lobby.

“Yesss,” I hiss under my breath, and I pump a fist.

Creeping down the first flight, I pause where it curves into the last small set of steps that empty out to the ground level. I pause and listen for any hint of guests and then, when I don’t hear anything, I peep around the corner to make sure no one is in the lobby.

I tentatively descend a few steps until I’m level with a suit of armour, which is usually inhabited by the ghost Ellis calls Brad.

I mean, I mentally correct myself,Sir Devron or something.

As I try to peer around where the armour is mounted on a decorative plinth, I hear a grinding sound as the helmet of the suit slowly turns in my direction. I stare as the visor flicks up with a tinny clack and a pair of ghostly eyes stare back at me.

“Mr Ashton-Drake the Younger? Why art thou dressed as a court jester?” Sir Devron’s voice echoes inside the metal capsule.

I wince. “Please don’t ask.”

“As you wish.” His visor clanks down and his head turns back to face the lobby.

Suddenly, I hear voices behind me. Scrambling down the last few steps, I round the curve of the banister and crouch down between the staircase and a console table containing copies of today’s newspapers.

Ducking out of sight, I wait. Through the banisters, I can just about make out a middle-aged couple bickering as they head down the stairs. To my horror, they turn in my direction, clearly aiming for the dining room.

I stand up and search around frantically, then grab a copy ofThe Guardianand unfold it, holding it in front of my face.

“Morning,” they both mumble in my direction, then resume their argument.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, I move the paper to cover the side of my face and scurry past the back of them in the direction of the main desk. I’ve almost made it when I hear Ellis’s voice, laced with humour.

“Morgan?” He chokes out a laugh. “What on earth?”

I turn around and find him standing right behind me. The scent of coffee hits me, and I moan, leaning forward and inhaling the fumes from the full mug he’s holding in his hand.

I groan obscenely.