Page 20 of The Legend of Lovers Hollow (Crawshanks Guide to Mischievous Spectres & Spirits #2)

20

“W e need to find Morgan,” I say to Bertie. I cross the Ballroom as calmly as I can, smiling at all the guests as I pass. All the ghosts start drifting closer to me.

“Can you smell that?” Skid says as he joins us, holding Edwina’s hand. She looks close to hyperventilating.

“Smell it?” Admiral Hilary says gruffly. “Can you feel it?”

“What’s going on?” Artie appears by my side. “Are the bad ghosts coming?”

“I don’t know, Artie,” I tell him, knowing no-one can hear me over the music.

“I ain’t gonna let them hurt my sister,” he says bravely.

“Oh, sweet boy,” Bertie says to Artie. “You have the heart of a lion, don’t you.”

“Unlike Professor Plume, who has the personality of mouse,” Skid scoffs.

“Where is he?” I ask. “I thought I saw him in the corner a moment ago.”

“Did a runner at the first sign of trouble, didn’t he?” Skid rolls his eyes.

I see Morgan over in the corner by the exit into the bar area and beside him is Sam, who looks very serious. They beckon me over, trying not to attract too much attention.

“What’s going on?” I ask Sam, stepping in close to Morgan.

“Remember what I said earlier?” Sam says. “About keeping everyone together in one place so we can protect them?”

I nod.

“Well this is what we’re going to do.” He shoots a look to Morgan, who nods.

“Lock them in here? Are you crazy?” I whisper. “You can’t do that.”

“You really need to trust me on this,” Sam says urgently. “My skin is crawling, and every instinct and supernatural gift I have is on high alert. Something is coming and I can’t get a handle on how dangerous it is until I see what we’re dealing with. In here, they’ll be safe and they’ll have the ghosts to protect them.”

“Say what now?” Bertie says, staring at Sam.

“We’re going to divide and conquer. Pick a couple of your people to stay in here and keep anyone from leaving.”

“It’s perfect, actually, Bertie,” I tell her. “Give them a haunting.”

“What?” Morgan blinks.

“Give them a haunting in a safe, controlled environment. They still get their ghost hunt, kind of, and we’ll deal with Lady Clare and the other two.”

Sam nods. “Perfect. It’ll keep everyone out from under our feet who could potentially get hurt, like a diversion tactic.”

“Okay,” Morgan says to the ghosts. “Artie, stay here with your sister, and Pops. I’m trusting you to keep them and Victor, Martha, and Essie safe.”

Artie puffs out his chest and lifts his chin.

“Gotcha,” he says, saluting like a little army cadet.

“Edwina, you’d better stay.” Morgan looks at her, wide-eyed and trembling as she clutches onto Skid’s arm. “Skid, you too, seeing as you seem to be her emotional support punk right now. Also, Admiral Hilary, you and Leona too. Bertie, you come with us. Where are Roger and Stanley? If it gets out of hand, we may need the Bureau to step in again.”

“The what?” Sam says.

“Never mind that now.” I wave him off. “Bertie, where are they?”

“Out in the lobby keeping watch,” Bertie says.

We look up as the lights flicker again. “Okay, Skid, you’re in charge of everyone in here,” I tell him, seeing as he seems the most sensible of the lot, despite his usual anarchic appearance. “Give them a mini haunting. Remember, we don’t want any heart attacks or anyone requiring medical attention. Barricade the doors, and if it gets too much for them in here, you can open up the secret passageway into the dining room. Just don’t let them get further than there. Keep them out of the lobby.”

I look to Sam, who nods. “Whatever is about to go down is going to happen in there, I know it.”

“You might want to warn the people who already know about you,” Morgan says. “Pops, Essie, Martha, John the Maid, Aggie. They can help try and keep all the new guests calm.”

“Does everyone know what they’re doing?” I ask. The ghosts all nod and I grin. “Okay. Go forth and haunt, and have fun!”

Morgan slips his hand into mine, holding tightly, and with Sam in front and Bertie bringing up the rear, we head for the doors, hoping no one notices. The lights start flickering wildly, and we bolt the last couple of steps out the door, then slam it shut behind us.

Suddenly, the light cuts out completely, plunging us into darkness. Screaming begins in the ballroom, and I wince, feeling a little bad, but this really is the lesser of two evils. We’re probably going to have to give everyone refunds on their rooms after this.

The doors rattle, but no one’s getting out of there just yet. The air around us thickens, and that strange burned scent sharpens. My skin is pricking uncomfortably now, and my hair feels like it’s standing on end.

The lights flicker back on, and I have an intense feeling of being watched. “It feels exactly like it did the other night when we had the séance,” I gasp to Morgan.

“We need to get to the lobby. They’re coming!” Sam says, and we rush through the bar area.

“I can’t believe we are running towards three possibly homicidal, definitely pissed-off, and not necessarily friendly ghosts,” I pant as we burst into the lobby.

“Trust me, I’ve had weirder!” Sam shouts.

“What the hell is going on?” Roger squeaks. He runs towards us, brandishing a tennis racket like a club, and Stanley follows him, looking pale and shaking, still clutching his clipboard.

The front doors blast open, exploding inwards and showering us with shards of glass and wood. Morgan grabs me and shields me with his body, and all I hear is a vast roaring. We collapse to the floor as a cold icy wind rushes over us, crashing through the lobby and tearing everything to shreds. The coffee table explodes, vases fly across the room and smash into walls. Painting and portraits are ripped from the walls. It’s what I imagine it would be like to be caught in a tornado. All we can do is hang on for dear life while the lobby is devastated by three oily-looking black funnels of smoke.

Across the lobby, I see Sir Devron step off his plinth, stumbling in his heavy suit of armour against the wind. He raises his sword and cries out in a ringing tone, “For honour and glory, I shall defend our keep from thee foul creatures of fury!” But before he can take another step closer, he’s picked up and flung clear across the room, smashing into the heavy stone wall at such a velocity that his armour flies apart, sending pieces of it in all directions.

Sam is lying on the ground next to me and Morgan. I don’t know where the hell Bertie, Roger, and Stanley are. But I do see Sam pull out his phone and its screen light up. He hits a couple of buttons even as the wind tears at our hair and clothes and makes our eyes tear up.

“CHAN!” Sam yells into the phone, plugging his other ear with his finger and trying to keep his head down.

I don’t know who Chan is, but I really hope they can help.

“Chan!” Sam yells again. “We have a code pink! I repeat, we have a code pink! Need immediate assistance!... WHAT? No, that’s not what I meant… okay, a code purple?... No, it’s not that either!… I DON’T FUCKING KNOW… code fucking leopard print or something.” He pulls the phone away from his ear and yells loudly in frustration before putting it back. “You and Dusty need a better system. Just send fucking help now!”

I blink, and a man appears in the middle of the raging chaos. He’s beautiful and impeccably attired in an expensive suit, with black hair that’s almost blue and piercing blue eyes. He stands in the middle of the roiling funnels of smoke, calm and unruffled, not a single hair out of place.

“Stop,” he says simply.

He doesn’t even raise his voice, and immediately, the roar silences, the wind dies down. The wreckage of the room falls harmlessly to the ground, and the three vast funnels shrink down until they’re each maybe five foot in height.

“Right here, if you please,” he says courteously, indicating the space directly in front of him.

The three whirling funnels line up in front of him like surly teenagers, and we climb to our feet, dusting the splinters and glass from our clothes. I look around at the complete destruction of the lobby. It really does look like a natural disaster has torn through, leaving nothing but debris in its wake.

“We’ve only just cleaned this from last time,” I say miserably, and Morgan wraps his arm around me.

“Impeccable timing as always, D,” Sam greets the stranger.

“Good evening, Samuel,” he says, his face showing no emotion.

“I wonder who he is,” I mutter.

“Oh my god!” Stanley gasps, his eyes wide and his clipboard trembling. “That’s the Grim Reaper, that’s Death!”

I snort. “No.” I blink and see Roger and Bertie both standing open-mouthed. “What, really?”

Sam shrugs. “Morgan, Ellis, this is Death. Death, this is Morgan and Ellis.”

“Pleasure,” Death says politely, then turns back to the three churning funnels of smoke. “Explain,” he commands.

The wind suddenly picks up and a crackle of electricity snaps loudly in the air.

“Ah, one at a time, please.” He holds up his hand and then points to the first one. We watch in stunned silence as he nods slowly, humming or lifting a brow every now and then, until his eyes narrow. “They. Did. What?” he says coldly, then turns to Stanley. “I will be having very stern words with your Bureau. Nothing gives them the right to imprison souls. Do not think there won’t be repercussions.” His voice drops. “Very serious repercussions.”

Stanley squeaks loudly and his eyes roll back in his head. He drops to the ground in a dead faint, and I can’t even judge him for it. If Death looked at me that way, I can’t say I wouldn’t do the exact same thing.

“Alright, that’s enough now,” Death says to the three whirling clouds. I watch in fascination as the smoke solidifies into three figures.

The first is a beautiful woman in a heavily jewelled gown, with long dark hair coiled into tight ringlets. Beside her is an average-looking middle-aged man with a rather beaky nose. He’s wearing a three-quarter-length coat with a matching waistcoat, a white shirt, and dark breeches. His legs are covered by hose and on his feet are heeled and buckled shoes. On his head is a long dark wig set in neat sausage-like rows of curls.

Finally, the third of their little ensemble is a hooded figure wearing a heavy cloak, dark breeches, and riding boots.

“Now, you’ve all had a chance to air your grievances. It’s time to put aside your differences,” Death says diplomatically.

“Differences?” The one I presume is Lady Clare yells. “He pushed me down the stairs and broke my neck!”

Her husband, Clement St. John, rolls his eyes and drawls in a lazy tone, “It was an accident!” He huffs and points accusingly to the hooded figure. “Your lover ran me through with a sword! And this was my best waistcoat too!” He sticks his fingers through the bloodied hole in his waistcoat.

“Me!” The third voice exclaims, and Lady Clare’s lover throws their hood back. A long tumble of golden blonde hair falls free, and I suck in a surprised breath at the face of a pretty young woman with a coarser, more common accent than the other two.

“You trampled me to death with your horse!”

“I was gravely wounded at the time!” He shows her his waistcoat again in case she missed it the first time.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Death says firmly. “The past is the past. It’s time to move on. Now apologise.”

The three of them look up at Death and mumble an apology. He sighs and looks up as if searching for his patience. “Not to me… to each other.”

They turn to each other and even though they’re squinting, they all mumble sorry, some more sincerely than others.

“Good.” Death nods. “Now, moving forward, you have the choice to remain here or cross over.”

“I think I’ll stay here,” Clement says. “I’ve been cooped up for over three hundred years.”

“I’m not staying married you though,” Lady Clare declares hotly. “I married you under duress and the marriage wasn’t even consummated.”

“Glad to hear it.” Her lover glares at Clement.

“Your marriage is null and void,” Death tells her. “You are free to do as you please.”

Lady Clare lets out a delighted whoop and, shoving her ex-husband out of the way, flings herself into her lover’s arms. They twirl around laughing before engaging in a very NSFW kiss.

“Splendid!” Bertie claps her hands loudly, and Lady Clare and her lover break apart. Bertie sidles over to them with Roger skipping along at her heels. “How do you do?” She reaches Lady Clare and shakes her hand, then her lover’s, and lastly Clement’s, who turns his nose up a bit. “I’m Beatrice Ashton-Drake, call me Bertie. This is Roger and the chap unconscious on the floor is Stanley. On behalf of the ghosts of the Ashton-Drake, I’d like to welcome you all. Lady Clare, you and I are related, and this is your former home, although it might look a tad different from what you remember.” Bertie dusts some of the splinters off the end of the newel post. “Once you get settled in, there’ll be an orientation and you can meet the others.”

“Hi there.” I give a little wave and, taking Morgan’s hand, step over the wreckage and approach them. “I’m Ellis and this is Morgan. He owns this place with his grandfather. Lady Clare, they’re part of your family tree too. I run the hotel and, like Bertie, I’d like to welcome you.”

“That’s very kind, young man,” Lady Clare says graciously. “This is Osyn,” she introduces her girlfriend, who gives me a little wave. “And that’s Clement.” She huffs and points over her shoulder.

“Well, welcome to all of you. Like Bertie said, we’ll give you tonight to get settled in and then we can acclimate you to your new situation. After all, three hundred years have passed, and things are very different. We do ask that you don’t show yourself to the living until we’ve had a chance to go over all the rules.”

Lady Clare nods. Osyn grabs her and pulls her in close, kissing her neck. “Come, Clare, we haven’t been together properly in three centuries. I say we go find a bed.”

Clare giggles and the pair of them disappear.

“What am I supposed to do?” Clement wails indignantly.

“Come on, old chap, we’ll introduce you to the others,” Bertie says.

There’s a loud groan from the corner of the room, and Sir Devron suddenly sits up, holding his head.

“What happened?” he slurs. “Did I win?”

“You were marvellous, dear fellow!” Bertie calls out. “Top notch.”

“Oh good,” Sir Devron murmurs as his eyes roll and he falls back once more.

“Well, if you don’t need anything else,” Death says, picking an unconscious Stanley up off the floor and hauling him over his shoulder easily. “I’m going to stop by and have a word with this Bureau. I get the feeling they’re overstepping.”

Before anyone can say anything, they both disappear.

“I do hope he brings Stanley back,” Roger pouts.

“Come on.” Morgan tugs my hand. “We better check on the others.”

Nodding in agreement, we head back to the ballroom with Sam in tow. As we head through the bar and approach the ballroom, the doors open in front of us, and we stop dead in the doorway. Party streamers are everywhere. A massive glitter ball has appeared from somewhere, and it’s twirling high up on the ceiling, bathing the whole room in sparkling lights.

The whole room is mellow, that’s the only way to describe it. It’s like they’re all stoned. Several of the guests lounge on chairs and sofas that weren’t in the room earlier. Chris de Burgh’s Lady In Red is playing loudly and on the dance floor are Essie and Cedric, slowly shuffling in a circle. Leona is still gliding around by herself. Edwina is draped over Skid like she’s incredibly drunk, and they’re not so much dancing as swaying in place.

I snort loudly at the next couple on the dance floor. It’s John the Maid, and in his arms is Wally, who John’s holding like a sleeping toddler as they move in circles, Wally’s arms and legs dangling loosely. As John turns, I see Wally’s face. He’s smiling in contentment with his eyes closed, one side of his face mashed into John’s huge shoulder.

Morgan digs me in the side and when I turn to look, my mouth falls open. Thad and Warren are making out furiously on a couch.

“What the hell did we miss?” I mutter in shock.

“This has Death’s fingerprints all over it,” Sam says, wandering over to the buffet table and pouring himself a glass of champagne and picking up a sausage roll. “He’s been hanging out with Chan for way too long. Hence the glitter ball.” He points up to the ceiling.

I laugh helplessly and look at Morgan, who shrugs and laughs too. Then he holds out his hand to me.

“Want to dance?”

I take his hand and smile as he spins me around and then glides me smoothly onto the dance floor.

“Well, I guess our lives will never be boring,” he says.

“As long as it’s me and you, Morgan,” I say, looking up into his eyes as we sway to the music, “I can live with that.”

He chuckles and leans in. “Me too.”

Then he kisses me boneless.