Page 9 of The Legend of Lovers Hollow

“If you and your companions would be so good as to step into the library, I would appreciate a word.”

“With you, it’s never just one word,” I grumble and stalk out of the cupboard. Roger skips up to my side and flutters his eyelashes at Stanley.

One by one, the rest of the ghosts exit the cupboard, lining up beside me like we’re about to face a firing squad.

“Good afternoon.” Stanley nods to us. “I’d just like to inform you that your licence to haunt has in fact been approved.”

“Really?” I blurt, my brows rising.

“Believe me, Miz Ashton-Drake, no one was more surprised than I.”

“It’s Bertie,” I correct him.

He lifts a brow in challenge. “I’ll call you by your correct name when you get mine right.”

I wave him off, my mind already racing over the possibilities. “Roger, this is going to make things a lot simpler. I’ve got so many ideas for this weekend, and now that the blasted Bureau has given us a licence we can–”

“It is temporary and subject to certain terms and conditions,” Stanley interrupts.

“Of course it is,” I grouse. “Well? What are they?”

“It has come to my attention that new guests are arriving today and that Mr Sparks has scheduled an event based on the unfortunate demise of Lady Clare St. John, formerly Ashton, her husband Clement St. John, and her lover Osyn Swaine.”

“Ah, so the lover’s name was Swaine. Marvellous!” I clap. “Roger, make a note of that.”

“Wait a minute,” Roger says. “How do you know about them?”

“The Bureau knows about everyone who has passed over in violent circumstances within the boundaries of this estate. I’m not sure if you’re extraordinarily unlucky or a magnet for supernatural misfortune.”

“Where are they, then? Lady Clare, Clement, and Swaine?” Why haven’t we seen them haunting the grounds?”

“They’re dormant,” Stanley explains.

“What do you mean, dormant?”

“As in not active.”

“But they didn’t cross into the light?” I ask. I don’t really understand any better than Roger seems to. Some sort of clarification wouldn’t be amiss.

“Can we please focus on the matter at hand?” Stanley sighs. “I have a meeting with my department head in twenty minutes.” He glances down at his clipboard. “As I said, there is an event this weekend, which obviously means new guests. Under your new licensing, you are allowed the following. Moaning–”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” Roger whispers under his breath.

“Whispering, wailing, weeping, chain-rattling, footsteps, and door-slamming. Cold spots, flickering lights. Dragging sounds. Draughts, rippling curtains. Movement of objects is permissible as long as the actual movement is not directly visible by the living, and you are not—I repeat,not—to show yourselves to the living under any circumstances.”

“Killjoy,” Roger mutters.

“I mean it, Mr Palmer,” Stanley says firmly.

“Alright,” I reply.

His eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”

“It means alright.” I shrug. “We’ll be on our best behaviour.”

He stares at me for several long seconds, then gives a quiethmmmsound before disappearing.

Roger blows out a dramatic breath and pouts. “What are we going to do, Bertie?”