Chapter Five
I’m standing in front of the old house, its hulking silhouette cloaking me in its shadow.
The air has a bitter chill, and I wrap my arms around myself and shiver.
Stepping cautiously onto the uneven stone path, I make my way past the dried-up flower beds, stopping at the steps that lead up to a wide porch.
I consider the shuttered windows, peeling paint and worn boards.
The house appears to be empty – as dead as the plants that surround it.
But I can sense life behind its walls. Energy pulses through every crack.
Pain seeps through every fissure. Old pain. A torrent of pain .
A wave of agony slams against me, sucking the breath from my lungs. I lurch backward, gasping as I stumble into a man – tall and striking, his hair glistening like cords of silver and his skin aglow with the moonlight .
‘Don’t listen to what they tell you, Holly,’ the man says. ‘The witches all lie.’
I shrink away from him. There’s something terrifying in his pale, golden eyes .
‘W-who are you?’ I ask. ‘What witches?’
A hand rests softly on my shoulder, and I spin around to find Callum smiling down at me .
‘Don’t be scared, Holly,’ he whispers. ‘No matter what happens, you can trust me.’
I stare at the buzzer to Callum’s apartment.
My insides vibrate with anxious energy. I had another dream last night.
This time it was at the Western house. Which makes sense, given I was thinking about it before I went to sleep.
It also makes sense that dream-Callum would ask me to trust him, because I don’t know if I can or ever will again.
But what was that horrible pain that ripped through me, and who was that man?
I shudder at the memory of his strange-coloured eyes and how scared of him I was, as if an old fear was rising inside me.
Everything was so clear; more like a vision than a dream, just like the dream of the murdered girl in the windowless room a few nights back.
Except I don’t have visions, I’ve never had a vision, I’m not that kind of psychic, not in the same way my grandmother was.
Still, I can’t stop feeling as if there’s more to it.
I flick out my hands to shake off my nerves, then press the buzzer, chewing on my thumbnail as I wait for Callum to answer. The intercom comes to life with a beep.
‘Yep?’ His voice crackles.
I yell into the speaker, ‘It’s me. Um. It’s Holly.’
‘Come on up.’ The door buzzes beside me.
When the elevator slides open on Callum’s floor, he’s waiting for me in the hallway.
His hair is wet like he’s just jumped out of the shower, and his hands are shoved casually into his pockets as he lounges against his doorframe, smiling easily.
My gaze trails his body before I can stop it.
Black T-shirt snug on his arms, black jeans low on his hips, tattoos popping against his skin.
My heart is suddenly doing all sorts of manoeuvres it shouldn’t. Damn heart. Damn him.
‘Welcome.’ He says it with a sweep of his arm.
I nod and slip past him, ignoring the smell of soap and something else that makes me want to stop and take a deep whiff of his skin.
I’ve got to get it together. This is a job, and I’m determined to focus on only that today.
None of the other us stuff. That’s done with.
It’s ancient history. Then I step into his apartment, and I have to stop from awkwardly gasping, ‘Wow!’
The room is huge, and surprisingly elegant, with two overstuffed couches and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with books piled in every direction, propped up by an assortment of curiosities.
An eclectic art collection adorns the walls, modern splashes of colour, paintings from other cultures and even some religious iconography.
‘This is… very… nice.’ I struggle not to sound shocked.
‘What were you expecting? That I lived like some frat boy sleeping on a futon surrounded by empty pizza boxes and beer bottles?’
‘No! I don’t know what I was expecting, but not that. Besides, you’re way too old to live like a frat boy.’
His eyebrows shoot up. ‘How old do you think I am exactly?’
‘I don’t know, I haven’t actually thought about it. Same age as me? I turned twenty-eight in January.’ I’d celebrated on my own with egg rolls and the latest season of Outlander .
‘Damn,’ he says. ‘When did I start looking my age? Close. I’m thirty. Do you want a coffee?’ He pads across the room in his bare feet, his back flexing beneath his T-shirt. ‘And take off your ruby slippers, please,’ he calls over his shoulder. ‘The rug is over four hundred years old.’
I untie my cherry-red Docs, slip them off, then tiptoe across the rug. I’m standing in front of his bookshelf when he returns with two coffee mugs featuring his show’s logo on the front in spooky green lettering: The Debunker .
‘Is that a monkey paw?’ I point to an ugly black thing that looks as if it was dismembered from a chimp.
He places the mugs on the coffee table. ‘Yep,’ he says, moving in to stand beside me. I reach up to touch it. ‘Don’t touch it! It’s cursed.’
I quickly pull my hand away. ‘Really?’
‘No. I think the guy I bought it from 3D printed it. But he spun a good story, and I thought it looked cool.’ I frown up at him and he laughs.
‘And what about that?’ I point to an unusual ceramic jar.
‘That is an antique spirit jar. My aunt’s in there.’
‘You have your aunt on the shelf?’
‘No.’ He laughs again. ‘I scattered her in Central Park. Were you always this gullible?’
I bite my tongue, so as not to say, ‘Apparently. I fell for you didn’t I ? ’
‘That ouija board is interesting though,’ he says. He pulls it off the shelf to show me. ‘It was used by a famous spiritualist who conducted seances in the mid-1800s. Madam Morana.’
‘You know ouija boards are just toys. They don’t work.’
He carefully puts the board back with a drawn-out sigh. ‘Let’s sit down, the coffee’s getting cold.’
I spot a series of frames balanced on the very top of the bookshelf as I plop onto the couch. ‘Are those degrees up there?’ I ask.
‘Yep.’
‘And they’re all yours?’
‘Yep,’ he says again and hands me my mug. ‘This might be a bit strong. I use an old-style percolator I picked up in Italy.’
I take a sip. It is strong, and exactly what I need. ‘What did you study?’ I ask. ‘I don’t think we ever discussed it.’
‘No, we never got around to that.’
He flicks me a side-eye and I quickly glance away. Not going there today.
‘Let’s see,’ he says, ‘European and Mediterranean cultures in classical civilisations – I did not want to do that one, but my aunt insisted. It turned about to be interesting, though, especially the mythology. Medieval and modern languages – so far not very helpful, except for the Latin. Theology and religion – obviously handy, especially the doctrinal mythology. I really love that stuff. Behavioural science – purely for the parapsychology element of the degree. And that last one is a Diploma in Psychic Phenomena and Modern Demonology from the Paranormal Studies Center here in New York.’
‘No way. You’re teasing me again, right?’
‘Gee Holly, way to make a guy feel good. I skipped ahead a couple of years in high school, which meant I got the jump on college. That made things easier.’
‘It made things easier to get…’ I quickly count them. ‘ Four degrees?’
‘And a diploma. It’s really no biggie,’ he says. ‘I never did a doctorate or anything. Not even a masters.’ He waves his hand towards the certificates. ‘They’re just your average degrees.’
I think about my one measly ‘average’ degree in anthropology and religion which I barely passed.
‘And you collected all of this?’ I gesture at the various pieces of art in the room, beginning to understand just how little I know about Callum.
He shifts on the couch and our shoulders touch. He’s solid and warm, and just that brush of him sends a jolt through me. I wiggle away up the cushions a little.
‘Some of it I picked up while travelling. The religious pieces are from a deconsecrated church on the Lower East Side that was having a yard sale. The rest I inherited. My mom and dad died when I was a kid. I think I told you that.’
I nod. He did. He shared that with me one night over greasy burgers and fries.
‘Some of the art belonged to them,’ he says. ‘And some to my aunt.’ He shrugs. ‘The rug I bought on a trip to Turkey. It really is over four hundred years old, so please don’t spill anything on it.’
‘I… wow… I didn’t know. I mean, I remember you mentioning your parents. But how did I not—’
‘You never asked.’ He arches a brow.
I glance away again, and studiously examine the logo on my mug.
‘The truth is,’ he says, ‘I didn’t get much choice on the education thing.
My aunt Aideen took me in after my parents died, and she was pretty firm on me studying.
I think she spotted my potential straight away, and I didn’t want to disappoint her.
She was also interested in a lot of eclectic stuff.
That’s where my interest comes from. I spent my childhood learning about Irish legends, various religious mythologies and all sorts of paranormal creatures.
She had me memorising incantations when I was way too young for that kind of thing.
Not that I’ve ever used them. I don’t have those kind of skills.
But I did have the most bizarre reading list of any kid I knew.
’ He chuckles. ‘I loved it though, and it just clicked. It seems I’m…
naturally attracted to the spooky.’ He quirks a brow.
‘Wow. Callum, I had no idea you—’
‘Were so smart?’
‘No! I was talking about the other stuff. You’re obviously smart.’
He shrugs. ‘I don’t know, I do tend to hide that part of me. When you’re a kid, being into weird stuff and being smarter than anyone else is not a great combo. It’s easier to pretend that’s not who you are, so you fit in, you know? Turns out that’s a hard mindset to drop.’
I nod. I know exactly what he means. But I’m shocked to learn he ever felt like that.
‘Anyway,’ he says, slapping his thighs and standing, ‘we’ve got ghosts to bust.’
‘Do you need to call Mr Rosing to let him know what’s happening?’ I ask as I go to grab my boots.
‘Already have.’
‘You’ve confirmed with him that I’m on board?’
‘Yep. Did that after our breakfast the other day.’
I look up from my laces. ‘You mean the morning we argued?’
‘Mm-hmm. I was betting your curiosity would get the better of you, and the money of course.’
‘That was… presumptuous.’
‘Or maybe I’m psychic too?’ His lips quirk.
‘Hilarious. Did he… okay the money you asked for?’ I’ve been thinking I could call Maggie and surprise her. Or maybe even go and see her. Are giant novelty cheques really a thing?
‘Without hesitation,’ he says. ‘Which makes me think I should have asked for more. We can add some holy water expenses or something.’ He slings a duffle bag over his shoulder. ‘I don’t suppose I need my “useless gadgets” if I have you.’
I wince. ‘Probably not. But bring them anyway.’
‘In case you disappear on me again?’
Is this how it’s going to be? ‘No,’ I answer tersely. ‘Because this is your job, so you should bring your tools.’
Our eyes lock. My heart pounds.
Then Callum relaxes.
‘Okay, Daniels. What do you say, are you ready to do this?’ He grins now.
I’m not sure if the sudden thrill that surges through me is excitement or nerves.
I never do anything spontaneous, and here I am about to go out of town with Callum Jefferies.
The man I had no intention of speaking to ever again.
On a spooky getaway to a haunted house. I hunt ghosts for a living, and this is still probably the scariest thing I’ve ever done.