10
“T hat’s the ghost nerd?” Warren says incredulously.
“Actually, it’s Thaddeus,” he says with an easygoing smile. “Good to meet you.” Seeing Warren’s hands are full, he lifts his perfectly sculpted cleft chin in greeting.
“You’re Dr Thaddeus Dalton, PhD?”
“That’s me.” He nods, amused. He clearly gets this reaction a lot.
Dropping the overstuffed duffle bag he has slung over one shoulder, he sets it on the ground along with a heavy-looking case he had brought in.
“Dr Dalton.” I step forward and offer my hand. “We spoke on the phone. I’m Ellis Sparks, the manager.”
He grasps my hand and shakes it. “Call me Thad.”
“Call me Thad,” Warren says in a whiney mimic.
I glance over my shoulder and see Morgan mouth to his brother, “What is wrong with you?”
“I’m glad you made it. We were worried about you with the snow,” I say as he releases my hand.
He waves off my concern. “Sorry we’re late. The roads did get a bit impossible to navigate, so we had to park up and hike the rest of the way.”
“Hike?” Warren repeats slowly.
Thad shrugs. “It wasn’t too far, only through a couple of fields and a small woodland. Found a pretty little chapel and graveyard along the way.”
“Whoopee,” Warren mutters and rolls his eyes.
“You hiked across two fields and through the woods? In this weather?” I stare at him.
“Oh, this is nothing,” Thad replies. “You should have been with us in Tibet when we were investigating a preta that was pestering a remote village of Buddhist monks. Now that was snow. The village was halfway up a mountain and we had to hike up there with all our gear.”
“What’s a preta?” I ask.
“It’s a Tibetan spirit that remains unsatisfied after death and wanders the land, seeking to satisfy their desires,” answers a woman’s voice from behind Thad.
“Sounds like someone we know,” Morgan mutters beside me. “Speaking of which, where is Roger?”
The owner of the other voice is a beautiful dark-skinned woman. She enters the lobby and sets down two bags next to Thad’s, then slides a huge pack off her back. She’s dressed in a heavy winter coat, dark combat trousers, and hiking boots, and her long hair is bound neatly in tight box braids decorated with tiny silver cuffs at defined intervals.
Nearby, Bertie straightens, pulling at her sweater and smoothing down her hair as she watches the young woman.
“By Jove, who is this gorgeous Nubian beauty?” She nudges me so forcefully I almost trip over. “Ellis, ask her name.”
But before I can correct her use of language, a man comes in and sets down more bags and cases. He dusts snow from the beanie covering most of his jet-black hair and takes in the wreckage of the lobby and the various guests standing around. His piercing blue eyes sparkle with amusement.
“Did we miss a party?” he asks in a thick Scottish accent, which isn’t surprising considering he’s wearing a kilt beneath his black military-style coat. Knee-length socks cover most of his legs, and he’s wearing similar hiking boots to the woman.
“Aren’t your legs cold?” Martha pipes up from the back.
“Nah, this is nothin’. I’m Glaswegian, it’ll freeze your balls off up there. This is practically balmy.”
“Where’s the rest of the team?” Thad asks them.
“We’re here!” shouts out a woman’s voice with a north London twang.
Two more people come stalking in through the open doors, dumping more military-style duffle bags and cases. One is a striking woman with short teal hair that’s quaffed in front and shaved to the scalp on one side to reveal an intricate mandala tattoo. She also has more tattoos spilling down the side of her neck and disappearing into the collar of her coat. Beside her is a pretty young man with his dark brown hair tied up in a topknot and a neat goatee.
The five of them cluster together in various sexy poses as a wind blows through the open front door and whips their hair and clothes about. The effect is stunning.
“Holy cow, they’re gorgeous.” Haruto sighs reverently. “It’s like they don’t even realise they’re doing it. No wonder they have their own show.”
“Their own show?” Warren frowns.
“Well, online. YouTube, TikTok, Insta—they have a massive, and I mean massive , social media presence. I heard they’re being offered a Netflix deal.”
Haruto looks to Thad hopefully, who neither confirms nor denies. Instead, he simply smiles and gives him a wink.
“You’re cute.” Thad tilts his head and studies him. “CosmoHaru7?”
Haruto looks like he’s going to expire on the spot. He’s practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh Em Gee! You know who I am?”
Thad’s mouth curves. “Loved the Demon Slayer cosplay you wore to Anime Con last year.”
“This is insane!” He lifts his phone and wiggles it. “Do you mind? For my Insta?”
“Sure,” Thad replies. Haruto taps his screen a few times and then lifts it up. “Hey there.” Thad smiles into the camera. “I’m Deuce Dalton, the Ghost Hunter, and I’m here at the Ashton-Drake Manor House Hotel in Yorkshire, England, with my team.”
They all crowd in close and wave and call out into the camera. “And my boy, CosmoHaru7.”
The woman with the teal hair breaks away, takes the phone, and shoves Haruto towards Thad, who slings his arm around the tiny pink-haired younger man. Haruto looks like he’s died and gone to heaven as Thad continues to speak. “We’re here to investigate the Legend of Lovers Hollow, so stay tuned, and don’t forget to hit follow on Cosmo.”
The teal-haired woman clicks end and hands the phone back to Haruto, who cradles it like it’s his first-born child.
“Thank you so much!”
“No worries,” Thad replies. “Anything for a fellow content creator.”
“Oh, please,” I hear Warren huff, and I just know he’s rolling his eyes. I wonder what his problem is with Thad, but before I can ponder it further, Thad starts speaking again.
“Let me introduce you to my team.” He points to the woman with the braids. “That’s Faiz, our sound tech, and beside her in the kilt is Kem, who’s on camera. They’re non-binary and go by they/them. Bez, our producer slash editor, is the one with the cool hair and tattoos. And last but not least, the looker with the topknot is Jules, my long-suffering assistant.”
“Yeah,” Jules snorts. “It’s been a real hardship.” Thad grins at him.
“Why do dey all have such cool dames?” Wally asks.
“Because we’re too lazy to use our full names,” Bez says easily.
Not realising Wally had joined us, I glance over to find him standing by the door to the bar. His voice is muffled from the ice pack he’s holding to his nose and he’s now sporting the beginnings of two very black eyes.
“What happened to you?” Bez asks.
“I god hid in der face wid a serving tray,” Wally says, his nose clearly still swollen beneath the ice pack.
“This place is wild.” Kem whistles. “Hope you came off better than the other guy.”
“Nod really.” Wally’s embarrassment is obvious. “I did id do myself.”
“Hey, it’s all good, man,” Thad says kindly. “I once lost my grip when I was climbing a cliff face and slid down twenty feet. Finally landed on a rocky outcropping.”
“Yeah, that’s totally the same thing,” Warren murmurs under his breath, but Thad hears him anyway and doesn’t seem offended. Instead his grin widens.
“Yeah, but I broke my ass.”
“You broke your what?” From beside me, Morgan chokes out a laugh.
“Fractured my tailbone.” He chuckles and turns his attention back to Wally. “Spent weeks in bed face down with my ass in the air.”
“Really?” Wally says hopefully.
“Oh, yeah. These assholes”—he hikes his thumb over his shoulder to his sniggering team—“have the photos to prove it.”
“Okay,” I interject brightly. “Let’s get you all booked in and your gear taken up to your rooms.” I look around the lobby. “Where’s Rosie?”
“Over here!” She pops up from behind the Taylor-Joneses.
“Do you want to get everyone back into the bar and serve some more cocoa?” I ask her before I turn and address everyone else. “Lunch will be served soon, and afterwards we’ll meet back in the bar for the Legend of Lovers Hollow welcome talk where we’ll answer any questions and go over the weekend’s itinerary.”
There are a few nods and mumbles, and everyone with the exception of Warren, Haruto, and the film crew follow Rosie back to the bar. As I look around, I notice some of the ghosts have disappeared too.
Lady Violet has most likely gone back to bed, but Rear Admiral Hilary is also gone, along with Artie and Skid. The only ones that remain are Edwina, who is making heart eyes at Thad, and Bertie, who is doing the same but towards Faiz.
Morgan was right. The person who has remained conspicuously absent throughout the whole thing is Roger. Which is very strange because he’s always attached to Bertie. They’re like a double act at this point—wherever you find one, you’ll find the other.
“I’m Morgan Ashton-Drake.” Morgan holds out a hand to introduce himself properly to Thad. “Welcome.” He looks around at the mess Bertie and the others have created. “My apologies, you’re not exactly catching us at our best.”
Thad shakes his head and continues to grin. “This is perfect. I’ve been looking forward to this trip, to the point that, if we didn’t already have commitments next week, I’d be staying longer. This building and the history of it is fascinating.” He pauses and sniffs. “Can you smell that?” He sniffs again. “Lily of the Valley.”
“Oh, that’s me!” Edwina exclaims in delight. “That’s my perfume!”
Thad sniffs again, his eyes focused as he takes in the portraits hanging at odd angles, the still swinging chandelier, and the sofa with the bunched-up rug beneath it.
“There’s a lot of spirit activity in here. Looks like we missed all the excitement,” Thad mutters. Warren scoffs loudly.
Morgan and I watch as Thad’s gaze sweeps slowly over Warren, from the top of his neatly cut and styled light brown hair, down his lean body in an expensive suit, to his thousand-dollar shoes, then heads back up to his gorgeous face.
I can see the interest flare in his eyes and the corner of his mouth quirk as he crosses the room to get closer to Warren.
“And you are?” I’m sure I’m not imagining his voice dropping a little lower, and by the looks of Warren, he didn’t miss it either. Warren’s back stiffens and his eyes narrow.
It’s odd. I mean, I don’t know him all that well yet, but from the few interactions I’ve had with him and the stories Morgan has told me, Warren’s always happy and funny, the one that puts everyone at ease. Instead, he’s practically glaring at Thad, a man he’s never met and knows nothing about.
Still, I’m sure Morgan will get to the bottom of it. He knows his brother better than anyone.
For now, Morgan smoothly does the introductions. “Thad, this is my brother, Warren. He arrived this morning from the States.”
“It’s a pleasure.” Thad holds his hand out.
For a moment, it looks as if Warren isn’t going to take it; instead, he stares at it as if it’s a poisonous snake. Finally though, his manners win out and he tentatively clasps Thad’s hand. Even from where I’m standing, I see an actual spark of electricity when their palms meet.
Warren sucks in a sharp breath and pulls his hand back.
“Looks like we’ve got a lot of residual psychic energy in here,” Thad says. His voice is calm and easy, but his gaze is intent as he watches Warren.
“Yeah, right,” Warren scoffs.
Thad looks amused. “Ah, a nonbeliever.”
“A realist.”
This time, it’s Morgan who scoffs.
With a shake of his head and a smile tugging at his lips, Thad turns and walks back to the pile of bags and gear. His team are having a quiet conversation with Haruto, who’s buzzing like he’s been wired into the mains.
Sorting through the bags quickly, Thad finds the one he wants and unzips it, rummaging inside for something. A noise behind me has me peering over my shoulder, and I see John the Maid has quietly made a reappearance. Without a word, he begins sweeping up the sugar that Edwina flung everywhere from the floor, pausing long enough to straighten the rug on the floor and heave the sofa back into place.
“Ah, there it is!” Thad pulls out some kind of handheld device resembling a Geiger counter.
“What’s that?” Morgan asks curiously.
“An EMF detector. It measures disruptions in electromagnetic fields, which can often be attributed to spirit activity.” Thad stands and switches it on, and it immediately flares to life, lighting up and making a loud noise. “Whoa! Check this out. These readings are off the charts.”
His team hustle over to his side, looking impressed.
Bez whistles when she sees the numbers. “Haven’t seen a reading like that since the Chateau de Brissac in France.”
Thad smiles warmly, looking around the room and up at the vaulted ceiling. “That’s why I love these old buildings, especially the ones that haven’t had too much modernisation.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, completely fascinated by this whole process.
“Less tech means less to interfere with all the readings.” Faiz flicks her long braids over one shoulder and unzips her coat to reveal a well-worn sweatshirt with the words Deuce Dalton - Ghost Hunter - CREW scrawled across it. “Plus, they come with lots of history, and with history, more often ghosts and other paranormal phenomena.”
I can’t help my smile as Faiz talks about finding ghosts while one stands right next to her.
Thad shifts. “Whoa, Faiz, don’t move. The reading just spiked even higher. Even the Eastern State Penitentiary in Pennsylvania didn’t peak this high. I think there might be something close to you.”
Yeah, there is. Bertie . Who is gazing up at Faiz in awe, like she’s Naomi Campbell. Although it doesn’t look like Edwina is in much better shape. She’s following Thad around the room, making calf eyes at him. I don’t have the heart to tell her that the look he was shooting Warren suggests she’s probably barking up the wrong orchard.
“So, is this what you’re going to be doing while you’re here?” Morgan eyes the bags. “Set up all your equipment and what, film some sort of footage?”
“We have a web series called Deuce Dalton, Ghost Hunter . My team and I travel all over the world in search of the paranormal and film episodes to air online. I did check first with Ellis that it was okay.”
“He did,” I say eagerly. “I just haven’t had a chance to tell you since you only got back yesterday.”
“No, it’s fine.” Morgan steps closer to me, his gaze softening. “I don’t have a problem with it. You’re in charge, Ellis, you know that.”
I smile up at him. “He has hundreds of thousands of followers, Morgan. Just imagine how much exposure that will give us.”
“It’s true.” Thad nods as he once again gives the lobby an interested look. “Most of the hotels we’ve stayed at that had a measurable spirit activity have seen a massive rise in bookings after their episode aired on our show.”
“Hear that, Morgan?” I practically bounce on my toes. “This could be just what we need.”
“Of course, that does depend on how many paranormal experiences we can detect, but given the opening readings just on the EMF detector, I’m extremely optimistic. I wish we could stay longer. This place has been on my bucket list for a while, but our other commitment can’t be moved.”
“The ghosts have a full diary and couldn’t fit you in anywhere else?” Warren says dryly.
“Actually, it’s more a case of it being the anniversary of a specific event, which makes our chance to detect certain spirits more likely,” Thad replies, not taking the least bit of offence at Warren’s surly attitude. “It’s the same with this weekend. Valentine’s night is the exact anniversary of the Legend of Lovers Hollow, so we’re far more likely to be able to experience their presence then or, if we’re really lucky, maybe even see them.”
Thad’s eyes fall on the huge portrait which hangs on the wall at the top of the staircase and looks out over the lobby.
“That’s Lady Clare, isn’t it?” Thad heads towards the stairs and I follow him.
“Yes, it is. There was a Tudor portrait hanging there until recently, but as we’re doing the Lovers Hollow weekend, which is Lady Clare’s story, we brought her down from the upstairs gallery so she could hang in pride of place.”
“I’ve seen this before,” Thad mutters as he reaches the small landing where the stairs fork left and right. “In a history book of the local area.”
“This is where the poor cow died, isn’t it?” Kem asks as they look down at the flagstones at the foot of the stairs.
“There have been a lot of variations of the legend,” I reply. “Most of them agree that she died in this house, but there are different theories as to where and how.”
“Thad here has done extensive research.” Kem raises their chin in Thad’s direction as he wanders back down the stairs towards us.
“This isn’t the original house where Lady Clare lived, is it?” Thad asks. “Part of it was rebuilt?”
I nod. “The original house was built back in 1580 and owned by a family closely aligned with the Tudors, but during the Interregnum, it was seized and the family executed for their loyalty to the crown. During the Cromwell years, it remained empty until The Restoration. When Charles II came to the throne and the monarchy was restored, Augustus Ashton, who had been a devoted royalist and instrumental in the execution of Cromwell, was gifted the land and house by the king in 1661.”
“I thought Cromwell died of natural causes?” Bez says.
“He did.” I chuckle. “But Augustus Ashton dug him up and executed him posthumously.”
“They dug up and killed a guy that was already dead?” Warren says incredulously.
“Yep.” I grin. “They hanged Cromwell’s body, then cut his head off and placed it on a pole which was displayed at Westminster hall on the twelve-year anniversary of the death of Charles I, whom Oliver Cromwell had executed. ”
“You Brits know how to hold a grudge, don’t you?” Warren’s mouth twitches as he turns to his brother. “Morgs, your ancestor literally dug up a dead guy and cut off his head to earn this house.”
“I admire a man with ambition who’s not afraid to think outside the box,” Morgan says mildly.
“His ancestor?” Thad says curiously. “Is he not–”
“Half brother.” Warren shrugs. “I’m a hundred percent American, born and raised. Morgs is only fifty percent at best, but we don’t hold that against him.”
Morgan snorts.
“Go back to the story about Lady Clare,” Bez says. “The house was rebuilt, wasn’t it? But after her death.”
I nod. “Lady Clare died in 1686. The house was partially rebuilt in 1740. There was a fire. Apparently, the house was struck by lightning during a summer storm. The blaze tore through the east wing, but luckily there was a downpour too. The rain became so heavy, it doused the flames and saved most of the house. They rebuilt and expanded, but the heart of the house remained intact, just with a different facade. This”—I lift my hands to encompass the whole lobby—“was part of the original house, including the flagstone floors. So yes, this probably was where Lady Clare died.”
“Well, I think that’s enough of a history lesson for now,” Morgan interjects, and I look down at my watch.
“You’re right. Aggie will be getting ready to serve lunch soon.”
“If Wally can get it to the tables without catapulting it at the walls,” I hear Morgan murmur.
“John the Maid will help you get your bags up to your rooms.” I see John straightening all the portraits and dusting them with a pink feather duster. He looks over at my request and tucks the duster into the waistband of his frilly apron before heading towards the bags.
“Not all of them need to go upstairs.” Bez looks down at the massive pile of gear. “There’s also a few more in the car that we couldn’t carry, so we’ll have to hike back and get them.”
“I can call Harold,” I offer. “He’s local and has a tractor. He can tow your vehicle up to the house.”
“Thanks, Ellis. That would be great,” Thad says warmly.
Warren scowls. “Christ, you’re staying for three days. How much stuff can you actually need?”
Thad gives him an easy grin. “The search for the dead is a serious business, and it comes with a lot of cool accessories.”
“Ridiculous,” Warren mutters and shakes his head.
“Why don’t I show you the library?” I suggest. “It’s currently closed to the guests, so you can store your equipment in there until you decide where you want to set up.”
“That would be great.” Bez picks up a couple of bags.
“Ellis.” Morgan stops me before I can head in the direction of the library. “Why don’t I show them where to store their gear and you organise getting their car up to the hotel in case it starts to snow harder?”
“Well, it looks like you guys have got everything under control,” Warren interrupts. “I’m going to go and have a brandy with Pops.”
“It’s too early for–” Morgan breaks off and sighs when Warren disappears through the bar door.
“Is he always like that?” Thad asks, staring at the door.
“Like what?”
Thad turns his attention back to Morgan. “Scowly and sarcastic.”
“No, actually,” Morgan mutters, his eyes now fixed on where his brother made his escape. “He’s usually completely the opposite. He normally annoys the hell out of me with his perpetually optimistic outlook and his ridiculous sense of humour. I don’t know what’s got into him today. This isn’t like him at all.”
Thad’s mouth curves slowly. “Is that so?”