13
“W hat’s that?” I ask curiously as I lean over and watch Thad set up a piece of machinery on the front desk.
He looks up at me with an easy smile. “It’s an EVP recorder or rather, an Electronic Voice Phenomena recorder. It picks up voices or sounds that aren’t audible to the human ear during the séance. We’ll then use these as backup in an attempt to identify messages from spirits during sessions like these.”
“I thought we had a medium coming to run the séance?”
“We are,” Bez says. I look over to see her setting up a small compact camera on a tripod aimed directly at the top of the staircase where Lady Clare and her husband were said to have quarrelled that night. There’s another aimed at the floor where her body fell and a third pointed at the makeshift table we’ve set up in the middle of the lobby for the séance.
“What Bez means is that we don’t take anything at face value. We’re investigators, so we like to have eyes and ears covering all the bases, then we’ll review the footage after the event to see if it captured anything.”
“That’s so cool.”
Thad grins. “It sure is. We get all the cool toys.”
“What else is there?” My gaze lands on another weird-looking piece of tech sitting on one of the console tables.
“That’s a Gaussmeter. It’s a more sensitive version of an EMF meter. These are designed to measure even smaller fluctuations in electromagnetic fields. We use them to detect subtle changes that might not register on standard EMF meters.”
“Okay, wow.”
“I know it might seem like we’re throwing everything and the kitchen sink at it. Usually, we’d choose several key locations and set up various tech to monitor. Depending on the property and the lore, we can sometimes spend one to two weeks on location, occasionally even longer. But we’re really short on time since we’re only here for a couple of days.”
“It’s a shame we can’t stay a bit longer this time,” Bez mutters, leaning over and squinting to make sure she has the camera set just right. “Sometimes on these short stopovers we don’t get much footage to work with.”
“I really don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” I murmur absently as I see Edwina drift closer, her eyes locked on Thad and a coy smile on her face, not that Thad can see her.
“He’s so handsome,” she coos dreamily. As she passes, one of the machines starts going haywire.
Edwina jumps in surprise and lets out a little squeal. “Oh my goodness, what is that noise?”
Thad jumps to his feet and checks the gassy meter or whatever it is. “Bez, look at this!”
Bez hurries over and grins when she sees the readings. “Looks like this place is going to be a goldmine.”
“Whatever it is, let’s hope the EVP recorder picked it up,” Thad says.
“It?” Edwina sniffs in disdain. “Well, I never! How rude.”
She disappears with a huff of indignation, and I sigh. Edwina has a tendency to mess with the heating settings in the bedrooms when she’s in a mood.
“You know, Thad,” Bez says thoughtfully, “maybe we could shift some things around in the schedule and come back later for a longer stay, perhaps even a full investigation. If things go well, we might even get a two- or three-part episode out of it.”
Thad nods. “Let’s see how this weekend goes.”
“Finished playing with all your little props?” an amused voice drawls.
We look over and Warren is leaning against the newel post at the foot of the stairs, casually sipping from a can of Red Bull, no doubt from Wally’s secret stash. His hair has lost some of its ruthlessly sculpted neatness and now falls forward, making him look sleep-mussed and sexy. He’s changed out of his suit and into jeans and a chunky knitted sweater, which is unbuttoned at the collar. But as my gaze gets to his feet, I stop and choke out a laugh.
“Are you wearing my unicorn slippers?”
Warren grins and lifts one foot, giving it a little jiggle. The bells sewn inside the sparkly silver horn ring out merrily. “Yeah, it was totally worth it just to mess with my brother.” He snorts. “You should’ve seen the colour of his face. I haven’t seen that shade in a while.”
“Your mother must have the patience of a saint.”
“No, she has the Prozac of a celebrity.” He takes another sip.
“You know that stuff’s no good for you,” Thad says as he eyes the energy drink.
Warren shrugs in response. “Yeah, well, some of us haven’t slept in thirty-six hours and are waiting for the jet lag to kick in.”
He seems to have gone from being irritated by Thad’s presence to casually indifferent, and I make a mental note to check in with him later and see if he’s okay.
Thad’s brow lifts. “Then shouldn’t you be getting some sleep, not getting wired on caffeine and chemicals?”
“That’s a regular breakfast for me,” Warren shoots back, both of his brows rising in challenge. “This ain’t my first rodeo, ghost humper. I travel a lot for work, so my body’s always in a constant state of flux. Some of us actually have real jobs instead of jetting around the world playing pretend in between facials and manicures for that extra-special, camera-ready look .”
Thad’s eyes glitter with amusement and his mouth curves. “You think this isn’t work?”
“Making sure your hair is silky perfect for your legions of online fans? No, I don’t.”
“THAD!” Kem’s dulcet Scottish tones ring out from somewhere close by.
“Go on.” Warren takes another sip of his drink. “They’ve probably booked you in for an eyelash perm.”
Thad crosses the room, crowding into Warren’s personal space like he has every right to be there. He’s a good several inches taller and a little broader, and seriously, they look gorgeous together. I’ll give Warren his due, he doesn’t give an inch, just looks up into Thad’s deep blue eyes, his expression one of cocky arrogance.
“Is there something you want?” Warren says lazily.
Thad looks Warren over, the heat in his eyes flaring as his lips curve. I almost need to light up a cigarette after that blatant eye-fuck, but I don’t smoke. “Maybe some other time.”
“Why?” Warren says dryly. “Need to go get your hair highlighted?”
“Thad! There you are!” Kem says in exasperation, holding a film camera in their hands. “Come on, we’re losing the light if you want to film the intro and outside shots.”
“I’m coming,” Thad says as he continues to stare down into Warren’s eyes.
“Jesus, if that’s not a fully loaded statement.” Bez rolls her eyes. “For god’s sake, Thad, you can flirt on your own time, we’re on a schedule. Go and film the openers.”
Thad’s gaze lingers on Warren’s lips for a moment before he finally steps away.
“Thad, you ready for the mic?” Faiz strides into the room with a small case. “Kem said you wanted to do the outside shots now?”
“Yeah,” he says, and she sets the case down on the main desk and opens it.
Thad lifts his T-shirt, revealing an eight-pack that looks like it’s been carved out of marble by a master and a sexy tattoo down his left side.
There’s a choked sound, and I look over to see Warren covering his mouth and coughing.
Thad smirks at Warren as Faiz attaches a battery pack to the waistband at the back of his jeans. “Need a straw?”
Warren’s eyes narrow as he draws in a breath. “Wrong pipe.”
“Usual problem for you?” Thad raises a brow.
Warren glares.
Bez sighs loudly and turns to Kem. “For fuck’s sake, get him out of here before I have to hose the pair of them down with the fire extinguishers.”
“Hang on, almost done.” Faiz chuckles and looks up at Thad, a small microphone in one hand. “You wearing a scarf?”
Thad grabs his peacoat off the desk and slips his arms into the sleeves, then loosely winds a plaid scarf around his neck. Faiz clips the microphone to his scarf and checks the signal.
“Okay, you’re good to go. Might want to do something with your hair though,” Faiz muses.
Warren snorts.
“It’s quite windy out there,” she finishes, clicking the now empty case closed. “I’ll just grab the sound boom and meet you out there.”
Thad nods and roots around in his pocket, coming up with a hair tie. I watch as he scoops his long honey-blonde hair up into a scruffy topknot, a few messy tendrils falling out and framing that impossibly gorgeous face.
Kem heads towards the main entrance, zipping their winter coat up. Thad shoots Warren a wink and follows his teammate out the door.
Shaking my head in amusement, I head over to Bez. “Is there anything I can help with?”
“You mean apart from keeping your brother-in-law away from Thad so they don’t end up sneaking off into a closet somewhere while we’re supposed to be filming?”
“As if,” Warren scoffs.
Bez looks at him dryly. “My feet are practically sticking to the floor with the amount of sexual tension you two sprayed all over the place.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Whatever. Take your self-denial and your Red Bull and go find your brother to annoy. I’m busy and I have zero tolerance for bullshit.”
“It’s like you were born to work in the corporate world.”
“No thanks, I’d rather poke out both of my eyeballs with the needle from a gris-gris doll than work for whiny nepo babies and CEOs that spend all their time snorting coke off rent boys’ asses.”
Warren grins. “I like you.”
“Great. Now go away.”
Warren chuckles and shuffles in the direction of the dining room, the unicorn horns jingling with every step.
“He’s not my brother-in-law,” I say once it’s just the two of us. “Morgan and I haven’t been together that long. We only met about a month and a half ago.”
“Huh.” She starts setting chairs around the table, so I move to help her. “Wouldn’t have guessed it. You guys look really natural together, you complement each other.”
A warmth spreads through my chest at her words.
“Okay, so Thad and the others are going to be out there shooting for the next hour or so, which fits perfectly with dinner. Then we have the medium arriving at about eight. We found someone local, so she shouldn’t have far to come. Harold said they’d been out and cleared some of the roads when he brought our van up to the hotel.”
“That’s good.” I nod. “We don’t usually get this much snow, but it’s been consistent ever since New Year’s.”
Bez shrugs. “We’re used to all types of weather. We’ve camped in tiny settlements in the desert and hiked up snowy mountains to remote villages. It’s all an adventure to us.”
“You must have seen some pretty awesome stuff.”
“We have.” She gives the setup one last look, checking that everything is where it should be. “I know this all looks like a load of hooey. Most people want to believe but don’t deep down. Honestly, we’ve seen things you couldn’t imagine.”
I glance across the lobby and see Leona flounce and spin around the room with a huge black ostrich feather fan like she’s a burlesque dancer before disappearing through a solid wall.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I could,” I mumble.
* * *
“Welcome, Mrs Rose-Smythe,” I say politely to the austere-looking woman.
“Hmm,” she huffs, unbuttoning her duffle coat and sliding it off. She dumps it on me, showering me with a fine dusting of snow. “Haven’t been here in years. Not since I was a girl. Doesn’t seem like much has changed. It’s very shabby, isn’t it?”
I hold my smile in place. “Well, we’re very proud of our heritage here at the Ashton-Drake.”
She looks around the dimly lit lobby, her lips pursing when she sees all the equipment set up. “What’s all this?”
“This is for the séance,” I reply, wondering if she’s forgotten why she’s here.
“No I mean all this–” She waves her hand at the lobby in a rather vague gesture. “I consented to being filmed, not to being some sort of science experiment.”
“Ah, Mrs Rose-Smythe.” Thad approaches. “We spoke on the phone. It’s so great to meet someone of your talent. I’m afraid your gift with spiritual communication will overshadow our humble little show.”
“Oh.” She blushes and fluffs her neatly curled grey hair. “Dr Dalton.”
I watch the crotchety old medium literally melt in the presence of Thad. I’m beginning to wonder if he naturally exudes pheromones that leave a trail of dazed people in his wake regardless of age, gender, or orientation.
He just has a way about him, so relaxed, like nothing could bother or shock him, which I suppose is a good thing in his line of work. But when he looks at you, it’s like he is giving you his whole undivided attention, and it’s not that he’s just paying lip service either. He seems genuinely interested in people. I can see why his show is so popular, he’s a great guy.
Doesn’t hurt that he’s hot as hell too.
“What is all this machinery for?” Mrs Rose-Smythe asks.
“Just a few sensors and extra cameras,” Thad replies. “I’m afraid our production company insists upon it. We have to be seen to provide an objective and unbiased investigation.” He leans in and whispers to her conspiratorially, “Some of them just haven’t experienced the things we have and don’t see the world the way we do.”
“Hmm,” she huffs. “Sceptics.”
“Exactly.” Thad hits her with a smile that has her looking a bit flushed. “Now, may I steal you away from Ellis here for a moment, Mrs Rose-Smythe? I’d love to introduce you to my team. They’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
She gives him a gracious smile and takes the arm he offers. “Please, do call me Daphne, Dr Dalton.”
“I’d be honoured, and please feel free to call me Thaddeus.” He shoots me a wink over her shoulder and leads her away.
“Quite a good turnout, eh?” a voice booms next to me, and I jump, barely resisting the urge to press a hand to my chest as my heart begins to gallop.
“Will you stop doing that, Bertie?” I whisper, lifting my hand in an attempt to casually cover my mouth so no one can see my lips moving. “You practically gave me a heart attack.”
“I don’t know why people say that. A heart attack feels nothing like that. More a feeling of being hot and clammy, bit of a pain in the jaw.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask quietly.
She turns to look at me with a puzzled expression. “It’s a séance,” she says, as if that explains everything.
“Yes, but what are you doing here?”
“Ghosts are meant to put in an appearance at one of these shindigs. That’s the whole point of it, isn’t it? Be jolly rude not to.”
I sigh, because she’s sort of got a point, but it’s time to head this off before we end up with a repeat of this morning. Or even worse, a repeat of the murder mystery weekend.
“Bertie, we really appreciate all the dedication and effort you and the others are putting into the whole haunting theme, but I really need you to take a step back and tone it down,” I say and shift my hand to my chin momentarily. I hope I simply look pensive and not nauseous to anyone watching.
“By Jove, lad, why on earth would we do that?” she says incredulously.
“Because if you go to over the top, especially on camera, people will think it’s fake,” I explain, still keeping my hand over my mouth. “Can you just dial it down from a thousand to maybe a two point five?”
“Golly. That’s very boring.” She frowns and then sighs. “But I must admit, you might have a point. Maybe.” She ponders that. “Very well, we’ll be on our best behaviour.”
“Who’s we, exactly?” I ask, and Bertie nods in the direction of the table. Edwina is back to following Thad around like a very polite Edwardian stalker. Artie sits on the edge of the main desk, swinging his legs, and Leona is reclining on one of the sofas in the direct line of a camera. She’s fanning herself with her giant ostrich fan and making very coy eyes into the lens.
“Alright, four of you. That’s not too bad, I suppose.” My eyes narrow as a thought occurs to me. “Where’s Roger?”
“Oh, he’s on a top secret mission.” Bertie gives me a very exaggerated wink.
“What mission?”
“He’s keeping that Stanley fellow busy so we don’t get into trouble. I’m not sure exactly what they’re doing, but I haven’t seen either of them since yesterday at teatime.”
“What’s this?” Artie pokes at the EVP recorder next to him.
“Please don’t touch that.” I edge closer to him, hoping no one notices.
“But what does it do?”
“Apparently, it records spirit activity that the human ear can’t detect or something,” I explain. He grins wickedly and bends closer to it.
“Helloooooo,” he says directly into the device. The little light flickers. “Helllloooooo. You’re going to dieeeee.”
“Artie!” I say sharply.
“What?” He giggles. “I was only jokin’.”
“Ooh, that does look fun. Let me have a try.” Bertie leans in so close her mouth is almost pressed against the microphone. “The lottery numbers are seven, nine, eleven, twenty-one, forty-three, fifty-twooooo,” she says in a spooky voice.
“You forgot the bonus ball,” I say in amusement.
“Oh.” She returns to the mic again. “Annnnd the bonus ball is twenty-ninnnneeeee…”
I snort. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Okay, everyone, if I can have your attention,” Thad calls out. “We’ll be beginning shortly. Those of you who wish to take part, please take a seat at the table.”
I watch as Thad pulls out a chair at the large round table for Mrs Rose-Smythe to sit first.
“Oh, bloody hell,” Bertie scoffs. “Who invited Daphne?”
“You know her?”
“When she was a girl. She was a stuffy bore even then, not like her mother.” Bertie wiggles her brows. “Her mother was a firecracker. We had a helluva summer the year we both turned eighteen.”
I chuckle. “Good for you. But remember, best behaviour tonight, please.”
She gives an absent wave of her hand and drifts off.
“Are you okay?” Morgan appears beside me, looking concerned. “You’re not feeling sick, are you?”
“No, why?”
“You keep holding your hand to your mouth.” He frowns. “Do you want a glass of water or something? Maybe you should lie down.”
“The only time I’m lying down tonight is when I can be naked with you on top of me.”
His mouth twitches. “I don’t think that’s what they had in mind when they set up the cameras.”
I laugh and shake my head. “I’m fine, Morgan. I was having a word with Bertie.”
“I saw you talking to her, but why the hand?”
“There are just so many cameras and people tonight. I didn’t want anyone to inadvertently catch me talking to thin air.”
He nods. “Good thinking. Maybe we should—oh my god, what is he doing now?” Morgan sighs, and when I follow his line of vision, I see Warren take a seat directly opposite Thad. He looks exhausted, his eyes are red, and he’s trying to stifle a yawn. “He should be in bed.”
“I don’t think it’s his bed he wants to be in,” I mutter as I watch Warren and Thad in some kind of stare-off.
“Christ.” Morgan rubs his forehead. “He always makes the worst decisions when it comes to men.”
“Thad’s such a nice guy.”
“He’s Canadian,” Morgan says dryly.
“Oh, that explains a lot.” I turn my attention back to the table. The Sch?fers are seated alongside the Taylor-Joneses, and Amelia is also there with Haru, who seems to have adopted her, much to her obvious amusement. Essie and Martha are also seated. Even though they are fully aware of how haunted the hotel is, they never pass up a chance for drama and mischief. They say it keeps them young.
Cedric and his new friend Victor have opted out, and I have no idea where either of them are. However, I wouldn’t be surprised if Dilys gave them a bottle of brandy and they’ve gone off to Cedric’s apartment to look at his model railway which takes up nearly an entire room. I’d overheard Victor telling Cedric earlier that he’d been a railway guard from when he’d left school all the way up to retirement.
Mr Pennington, never one to pass up fodder for his latest writing project, has also joined in. Morgan and I are not taking part, we’re just here in case anyone needs anything and also to try and keep the resident ghosts under control.
Jules stands off to the side, talking in low, hushed tones with Bez, while Kem and Faiz both stand just outside of the view of the static camera. Kem has a handheld one they’re filming with and Faiz is holding a sound boom, which looks like a big fluffy sausage on a stick.
“Shall we begin?” Mrs Rose-Smythe asks in a ringing voice. “Everyone, please place your hands on the table and join them with the person to either side of you. Once the circle is complete, please don’t break it.” Everyone does as they’re asked, joining hands in one continuous circle. “Please close your eyes and empty your minds.”
“She won’t need to try too hard. Her mind’s always been a bit empty.” Bertie sniggers.
Mrs Rose-Smythe peeks one eye open and frowns. “Did someone say something?” She opens the other eye and looks around suspiciously. When no one speaks up, she closes her eyes once again and everyone who opened their eyes follows suit.
Be quiet, I mouth to Bertie.
“Close your eyes,” Mrs Rose-Smythe repeats in a low, singsong voice, as if trying to lull the people in the circle into relaxing. “Empty your minds of all conscious thought, feel your body start to relax. The tension is draining from your–”
“SNNNNNNNKKKRRR.”
Everyone’s eyes snap open at the sudden loud, garbled noise, and Thad grins at the sight of Warren holding the hands of Mr Pennington on one side and Haru on the other. His head rests against the high back of his chair and his mouth hangs open as he snores loudly.
Morgan steps forward with an apologetic look. Reaching around, he gently places his fingers under his brother’s chin and closes his mouth. The noise is instantly muffled, going from a loud snore to a low vibration.
“He’s always been a noisy sleeper,” Morgan whispers. “Sorry, as you were.”
Mrs Rose-Smythe glares at him as he retreats and then at Warren, who slaps his lips a couple of times, mumbles something incoherent, and settles back into a quiet hum.
“Let us try again,” she says irritably. “Close your eyes and breathe…”
I’m not sure if she’s telling the assembled group or herself, but I bite my lip as Morgan gives me a look like a naughty schoolboy who’s just been told off.
“Spirits! Spirits, are you there?!”
Bertie draws in a breath and opens her mouth, but I shake my head firmly.
“Speak to us! Lady Clare, are you there!”
Silence.
Then a faint repetitive clip-clop sound.
Mrs Rose-Smythe gasps. “Can anyone hear the sound of a horse approaching? Perhaps it is her lover!”
I look back to Bertie, who now has two half coconuts in her hands and is making horse hoof sounds like she’s part of the Monty Python ensemble.
Stop it! I mouth.
Bertie rolls her eyes and sighs, the halved coconuts disappearing from her hands.
“Spoilsport,” I hear her mutter.
“Lady Clare, I implore you, come to us, awake!”
There’s a sudden blip, and one of Thad’s machines starts lighting up. Bertie glances over, her lips turning down and her brows rising as if surprised.
Jules crosses the room to check the machine, but it settles down once again. Shaking his head, he motions for them to continue.
“Lady Clare!” Mrs Rose-Smythe calls out in a firmer voice. “Please speak with us, or let us know you are here. We know a terrible wrong was done to you by your husband Clement St. John.”
One of the machines makes a loud, high-pitched noise, one that sounds almost angry. The lights throughout the lobby begin to flicker, and I turn to Bertie, who holds her hands up in an I don’t know, don’t look at me kind of gesture.
I see Artie suddenly edge closer to Bertie, his eyes darting about nervously. I turn to look at Morgan, and his expression seems to mirror exactly what I’m feeling. Something isn’t right.
“Lady Clare! Is your husband here now? Is he stopping you from communicating?”
What is she doing? I really don’t think she knows. She’s nothing like my friend Tristan. He’s a medium—well, sort of. He’s just so down-to-earth and lovely. He sees spirits and knows they’re there even if they’re trying to hide themselves. He has the—what do you call it? The Sight. But Mrs Rose-Smythe just seems to be making it up as she goes along and hoping for the best.
I get the feeling she’s a bit of an old fraud. If she had even half of Tristan’s gift, she’d know Lady Clare isn’t haunting the hotel at all, but she’d realise Bertie and the others are standing right here.
I thought it would be harmless to let them hold a séance here, that a few of the machines would light up and beep around our ghosts, and they’d get some footage for their show and a bit of background on the house. I was even prepared to let the ghosts do a little light haunting, the odd creaking door, cold spots. All the things that are kind of expected of a paranormal show, but this… this is something else.
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?”