Page 56 of The Legend of Lovers Hollow

Edwina has also drifted closer to Bertie, her expression troubled. Leona is now sitting up on the sofa, her fan and the camera forgotten as she stares at something on the stairs. My heart jolts and I grab Morgan’s arm, nodding towards the staircase. Is it just me or can he see a shadow there too?

Is it growing bigger?

The room seems darker now, and there’s a strange scent on the air, like a burnt smell.

“Can you smell that?” Thad whispers, looking over at Bez.

“Lady Clare? Clement St. John! I summon you!” Mrs Rose-Smythe’s voice rings out.

The second the words leave her mouth, I know she’s made a grave mistake. The tiny hairs on my arms rise and I feel a strange prickling sensation, like the air is filled with static electricity. Suddenly, the séance table starts rattling and shaking, and a loud, disembodied moan fills the air.

Several of the guests shriek in fear. I look over to Bertie, but her eyes are wide and she shakes her head frantically.

“It’s not us!” she shouts. “We’re not doing this!”

I look back to the staircase, and I can see it clearly now. Two large black shadows made of black oily-looking smoke are rising from the landing, but no one else seems to see any of it, only me and Bertie and the other ghosts.

The main entrance doors to the lobby burst open, letting in the freezing night air. I know I locked those. I twist to look, and a third shadow blocks the doorway.

“What the hell have you done?” a loud voice yells. I swivel back to see Stanley the Bureau Guy appear, his hair all mussed and his lips swollen. His tie is twisted and half of his shirttail is untucked, although he’s still clutching his clipboard. Roger is at his side, staring wide-eyed at the large, looming shadows.

“Holy fucking tennis balls! What the fuck is that?”

“You’ve woken them up!” Stanley declares frantically. “There was a reason they were left sleeping. Oh my god! How could you let this happen?”

He turns his accusing eyes on me, but I don’t know what to say, I’m not even sure what the hell is happening. I instinctively reach for Morgan’s hand, but he’s already grabbing me and pulling me into his side protectively.

“Can you see them?” I whisper.

“The shadows?” he answers breathlessly, and I nod. “Yes, I can see them.”

The machines in the room go haywire, their lights flickering on and off rapidly. Icy air blasts through the room, and the table rattles more. Then the room is plunged into complete darkness and someone screams.

My heart pounds, but Morgan’s arms holding me tight and the scent of him keep me from panicking. After what is in reality only a few seconds but feels like an eternity, the lights come back on. The table is still, the shadows are gone, the machines are silent, and everyone is in various states of shock as they take each other in.

Leona and Edwina both clutch Bertie, who has her arms around them protectively, and Artie has his arms wrapped around Bertie’s middle and his face pressed into her belly.

Roger and Stanley are open-mouthed, clearly not knowing what to say, and in the midst of all of this, there’s a loud snore. Then Warren sits bolt upright, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

He blinks blearily a few times, his brows creasing into a frown when he finds everyone now staring at him incredulously.

“What did I miss?”

14

Ihover in the doorway as Morgan strips his brother down to his boxers and T-shirt and tucks him into bed. Warren’s out cold before the quilt has even been pulled over him. It’s kind of adorable, actually, the relationship these two have.

Morgan gazes down at his brother and shakes his head before rooting around in Warren’s bag and pulling out a bottle of something. Giving his brother one last look, he creeps out of the room and closes the door behind him, leaving us both standing out in the hallway.

“What’s that?” I whisper, pointing to the bottle.

“Macallan.” He exhales slowly. “I think we’ve earned this after tonight.”

He reaches for my hand and leads me down the hall to his room. Once we’re inside, he takes off his shoes and sets them by the door.

“You might as well get comfy,” he says. “I’m going to be getting you out of those clothes anyway.”

I kick my own shoes off—not nearly as neatly as him—and loosen my tie. Slipping my jacket off, I lay it over the back of a chair, then remove my waistcoat and place it on top of the jacket. Next goes my belt, which I toss on the chair for good measure. I untuck my shirt and head for the bed, climbing up and falling on my back with a groan.