Chapter 3
Scotty
It had been another odd day out at Willowhope Manor. So the norm. Buck and Stevie had been up to their usual hijinks, haunting the customers with harmless pranks that kept them wondering if the B&B was haunted.
As luck would have it, none of our guests planned on dining in tonight, even though it was included in the price of their stay. They all had plans elsewhere, so I was able to have a quick sandwich and come to the library.
As I jogged up the stairs to the main doors, I pushed aside the fact that no one would miss me at home tonight.
Ending up with a job at Willowhope Manor was the best thing that could’ve ever happened to me. When my asshole of an ex had taken me there, and I realized he’d only booked at the B&B to try and win back his boyfriend before me, Chance, I’d been heartbroken.
Not because I liked the asshole all that much, but because I’d been so excited someone actually wanted to spend enough time with me to take me away.
Liked me enough to take me down the shore on a vacation.
I’d been so lonely since my big brother died, so it had felt like something good was finally happening.
I’d expected the bliss of going to the beach, for dinner, and drinks. Boy, had I been wrong.
I never would’ve guessed that what Niles did so selfishly was going to open my world to wonders beyond my imagination.
Even more importantly, it gave me my brother back.
Yes, he was in spirit form instead of being flesh and blood, but he was here. An ever-present part of my life—someone I could now see and talk to.
But lately, my brother was creating his own life—afterlife—and I was happy for him.
I truly was. Happy that he’d formed a connection with the newest ghost, Trixie, who’d found her way to Beckoning Pond—a place that spirits gathered if they didn’t go into the light or whatever it was after they passed.
It almost seemed like a waiting area or something.
But Trixie, the same age as my brother, so lost and unsure, so heartbroken that she’d passed away, had found solace in Stevie’s presence and given him something I hadn’t realized he needed. Companionship.
I didn’t know why I hadn’t realized he still wanted a potential girlfriend or friends his own age who were living the truth of his experience, too.
Someone who would understand him, and in Trixie’s case, someone he could be there for.
My brother had always been a caretaker, and they needed each other.
It had also become obvious pretty quickly that he enjoyed spending time with someone he could touch. Not that I really understood how ghosts were able to feel each other, but that wasn’t the point.
It took Stevie too much energy to hug me or even touch my hand. I missed my big brother’s bear hugs. I missed them so much, and I knew he missed giving them to me. So yeah, it was good he had Trixie.
As for me? Maybe the spirits at the manor couldn’t touch me, but I had the heartbeaters.
Good grief, I was starting to sound like Buck, the funniest spirit I’d met yet, differentiating between the living and the dead by whether they had a heartbeat.
The point was, I had human contact again and no longer felt so damn touch-starved.
Chance and Sky were constantly leaning into me or bumping shoulders with me.
Jetty fist-bumped me every time he passed by the desk, and Kingston often patted my shoulder awkwardly when he noticed me getting lost in my thoughts.
And then there was Chance’s mom, Elyse, Jetty’s grandma, Rosie—our resident High Priestess, and the aunts I’d found in the wives, Carli and Cassi, who owned Witch’s Brew coffee shop. Those four women made a habit of hugging on me like it was their job.
Really, I was lucky. The only thing any of them had—the living and the dead—that I didn’t was someone special.
My brother was the last person to couple-off, not that he’d admitted anything was happening between them yet, but I saw it.
We all did. I’d heard all the wistful sighs as Stevie and Trixie were spotted around the property, spending time together.
As I opened the glass door to enter the library, I shook off my wayward thoughts before they turned melancholy.
So what if they all had another half? It was great that they all had someone to spend their evenings with, watching TV or reading or sitting out at the pond and talking.
That was no reason to feel sorry for myself.
Besides, the only person left who knew all of our secrets was Ego, and there was no way in hell we were compatible. I’d taken a hard pass on Sky’s famous, gorgeous cousin the second I laid eyes on him—before he opened his mouth and was a complete diva.
Besides, I enjoyed coming to the library, and the last thing I needed was someone digging into why I spent so much time here.
This was my secret.
“Scotty,” Lysandro said as I came around the corner. I approached the large front desk where the librarians guarded knowledge like the shelves of books were their personal dragon hoard.
“Lysandro. Hi.”
I dug into my duffel bag and pulled out the plastic-wrapped double pastrami, Swiss cheese, lettuce, and tomato sandwich I’d made him on the Daily Knead’s sourdough bread.
“I made this for you.”
Lysandro smiled softly. “You really don’t have to keep bringing me dinner.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “I know, but you work such long hours, and I like to make sure you have a snack.”
He clasped his hands under his chin. “Thank you. I can’t tell you enough how much I appreciate you.” Tilting his head, he gave me a big, sweet smile. “I’m so happy you moved to Willowhope and made your way into my library.”
I grinned back.
Lysandro was an interesting character. He wore bright, flamboyant clothing full of different patterns—stripes, polka dots, shapes, and flowers—like he wanted his appearance to scream as loudly as he hushed the patrons in the library into near silence.
When he was outside, he always wore bright yellow galoshes, a purple raincoat, and carried a rainbow umbrella. It didn’t matter the time or the season. He walked around exactly the same. My favorite thing had to be how he wore sunglasses, day or night, whether he was inside or outside.
I’d never asked Jetty or King if they knew anything about the eccentric librarian because I really didn’t want to know anything about his reputation or any other town gossip.
No matter what anyone else thought of him, he’d become my friend. The only person in my life not obsessed with the paranormal or linked to the supernatural in any way. The only friend I’d actually made all on my own, who had nothing to do with the family I’d found since I moved here.
Lysandro leaned his elbows on the desk and cupped his face in his palms. “So tell me, how’s the studying going?”
So, one person did know why I made my way to the library as often as possible.
I’d let Lysandro in on the secret that I wanted to earn my GED because I kinda hadn’t had the first idea of where to begin.
I knew my brother and the rest of our friends would be so proud and supportive if they knew what I was up to, but I wanted to do this for myself by myself.
It had been a long time since Stevie and I had access to the latest electronics and resources, even before he died. So after…after, it had been a struggle just trying to keep myself safe with a roof over my head.
“Honestly, the English section is still kicking my ass.”
Lysandro clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I can try to help you more, but really, math has always been more my forte.”
I shook my head. “No, you’ve helped more than enough. According to the practice tests I’ve done, I’m going to ace that section.”
Lysandro smiled brightly. “You do have quite the mind for numbers.”
I grinned. “Which is good since I want that bookkeeping certification.”
Lysandro’s smile turned fond. “I think it was so smart for you to pay attention to what’s needed in town and match it up with your own skills.”
I wasn’t sure if smart was the right word or if it was really more desperation. I loved working for Chance and helping him run the B&B, but the truth was, I was bored a lot of the day.
With the property’s resident butler and manager, Harry, and his soon-to-be ghostly husband, Buck, they took care of all of the cleaning and most of the cooking.
As the owner, Chance was around more often than not, so all he really needed from me was a person to check people in and out. I helped with some of the cooking, but I was the live body who was able to serve it to our guests since Harry and Buck were invisible to them.
Recently, we’d also hired a teenager, Theo, a cute freckled redhead who loved all things paranormal and was willing to help out with anything.
Training him and spending time with him had been a lot of fun, but with him taking on so many of my duties, it left me at loose ends more often than not.
I didn’t want to leave the manor, but I wanted a career that I built on my own instead of it low-key feeling like a handout.
As I drove up the long road to the manor, I admired all the lights and candles twinkling in the windows. From the outside, I could definitely see why this place was so appealing to paranormal enthusiasts.
To me, it had become home.
After grabbing my bag, I quietly made my way into the house. It was only eight thirty at night, but by now, Jetty and Chance were most often in the great room, hanging out and watching TV. Harry and Buck had taken to retreating to their room in the evening after all the dinner dishes were put away.
I knew they generally got up early because Buck loved to make fresh breakfast pastries for our guests—and for all of us, honestly—so he liked them to be warm and ready to serve.
If I had to guess, I suspected that Stevie was probably out at the pond with Trixie and the other ghosts, which was good.
If we hadn’t been separated for so long by his death, I wouldn’t be so clingy anyway. Now, if our lives had proceeded normally, without the loss we’d experienced as teenagers, we’d probably both have been living very independent lives by the time he died on my behalf.
It was fine.
Not wanting to disturb anyone or stop for conversation, I crept up the stairs carefully, stepping over the creaky spot halfway up the staircase.
Going into my room, I got ready for bed. I quickly grabbed a bottle of water from my mini fridge and settled down on my mattress with my laptop.
I wasn’t a big reader, but I liked to scroll YouTube to wind down before going to sleep.
You mean you like to see what Ego’s up to, that pesky voice in my head said.
Ignoring it, I settled in to scroll.
I managed to look at a few accounts before I found myself typing in Ego’s personal page.
Not the fan or professional ones that had been set up for his press-type things or even canned stuff, but the one the arrogant showboat started where he actually posted videos of himself at night, just tinkering on his guitar or showing his skincare routine.
Not that he’d have to show his skincare routine if he didn’t wear so much make-up all the time.
Always such a diva.
When I got to his page, it was still on his last video from weeks ago of him going through his closet and pulling out his favorite designer wear, talking about where he got it and what impressive event he’d worn it to.
Such a douche.
And yet, here you are, looking for his latest stuff, that damn voice in my head said again.
“It’s only because it’s been so long since he posted, and I’m curious what big, stupid thing he has planned next,” I said aloud into the empty room.
Aha. Admit it. You’re worried about him.
Sighing in frustration at myself, I went back to scrolling. I mostly stopped for good music or inspirational stories. I’d never admit it, but I was a sucker for true stories of the underdog coming out on top.
I’d donated more money than was probably wise—for someone without their own place—to people who’d been struck by tragedy and were trying to rebuild their lives or help other people.
Unfortunately, nothing was holding my attention tonight.
I went down further when I came across an almost entirely black screen, dimly lit, with a figure mysteriously sitting in the center of the room.
I’d run across the same guy about ten days ago, and when I’d gone to his profile, Dead Air, I found there’d only been one other video the night before.
He sat by himself, shrouded in darkness, plucking and strumming his electric guitar and crooning a melody of heartbreak. Somehow, the name Dead Air suited him, though I wasn’t exactly sure why.
It was impossible to make out his face or even what he was wearing. All that was visible was the outline of his slim body, his guitar, and the amp that sat next to him.
As usual, it looked like he was sitting crisscross on the floor, possibly leaning against something. I paused and let his music wash over me.
There was something so sad and despondent about his lyrics, and they struck something deep in my soul. A feeling of loss that I carried with me every day of my life.
Glancing at the subscribers, I saw that he was up to twenty-five thousand, and I wasn’t surprised. When I’d first found him, I would’ve been the tenth subscriber if I did things like follow accounts.
I knew it was stupid that I didn’t. It wasn’t like anyone would ever go looking for my name, or like I’d ever be important enough for anyone to steal my laptop or hijack my account to see what I was into.
But my life hadn’t been easy, and I refused to give anything away—to let anyone know anything about me unless I revealed it myself.
The song lyrics penetrated my brain, and that husky voice said the same things I was thinking.
Why couldn’t the universe ever leave me alone?