Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
JOSH
Isink onto my couch with a deep sigh and a low-grade headache.
Three weeks into my new job, I’m still loving it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wish some guests to hell.
Who complains because the cutlery at dinner isn’t the same pattern as one picture on the website?
I had to zoom all the way in to even see the pattern, since the photo was of the dining room, not the cutlery.
But apparently it matters to some people, so I had to go and find the right set before the man would eat his dinner.
Thankfully, the meal is done, the after-dinner scavenger hunt through the house is done, and most of the guests are in their rooms. There were only two couples left in the parlor when I checked before coming upstairs.
Glancing at the clock, I try to decide if I’ll stay awake long enough to watch a movie, or if I should just go to bed.
It’s only nine thirty, but Saturdays at Mannix Estate are chaotic, and Sundays not much better.
We haven’t had a big weekend event since I started, but there’s a murder mystery retreat coming up, and Skye told me it’ll make me want to cry.
Then he laughed and assured me it would be fun too.
I think whatever he uses to dye his hair might have affected his brain.
I told him that, and he just laughed harder.
Skye and I have become good friends already.
He’s fun to talk to, open-minded, and really sweet.
He’s also got a mind like a steel trap, though he hides it behind a sometimes ditzy facade.
I think he might have a crush on Daniel, but he hasn’t said anything, and I don’t want to risk our friendship by asking…
yet. If he does, it’s doomed to be unrequited.
Much like my thing for Ewan.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty sure Ewan would happily go to bed with me if I gave him a sign.
But what if it made things awkward between us after?
Things are so good for me here. I don’t want to mess that up.
He’s been such an amazing friend to me since I got here, right down to buying me a new bottle of nail polish last week when he went to the drugstore, just because I whined about having broken one of mine.
Without fail, he notices every time I change the color and always comments.
I’ve never had anyone notice me like that before, and I don’t want to risk it.
Even if I do get tingles every time he catches hold of my hand to inspect my nails.
So I’ll keep having dinners and driving lessons and coffee breaks with Ewan (and the others, but I don’t want to strip them naked and lick every inch of their skin), and we’ll be friends, and nobody has to know that for the first time ever, the imaginary boyfriend of my wistful dreams now has a face.
Wow, I’m so good at killing my own mood.
Hauling myself off the couch, I’m turning toward the bed—that’ll kill this headache better than a movie—when someone knocks on the door.
I groan. It has to be one of the ghosts.
The guests can’t get up here. I guess it could be Ewan or Daniel, but they’ve never just dropped in before, and if there was an emergency, they’d call.
The knock sounds again. Dragging my feet, I go to open the door. I’ve learned that the ghosts won’t go away if I ignore them. Yes, they respect my space by not just coming in, but they’ll stand there knocking all night.
To my surprise, it’s not just one, or even a few, but all six crowded around the door, reminding me of my first night here. Maybe Joe wants to question me some more? I’ve seen him the least of all the ghosts, although Kieran tells me that’s not unusual. There’s a reason he’s called Grumpy Joe.
“Hey,” I say warily. “Something wrong?”
Hattie smiles, but it’s a little unsure. “Of course not, dear. We just wanted a word.”
Hesitating, I study them. I’d like to tell them to come back during work hours, but they seem… edgy. Something’s going on, no matter what they say. I sigh and hold the door open. “Just a quick one. I was about to go to bed.”
None of them comments about how early it is as they file past me, and my worry escalates.
Since I got here, they haven’t hesitated to lecture me on my sleeping habits, my eating habits, my clothes, my choice of nail polish colors, whether I should flirt with people, who I should flirt with, whether I should exercise, what kind of exercise it should be, and so much more.
I was certain they’d have something to say about me going to bed at nine thirty on a Saturday night.
When I turn back from closing the door, they’ve all found seats and are staring at me.
“So… what’s up?” I ask.
“Have you had a nice day?” Hattie counters.
I sigh again. “A busy one. And tomorrow will probably be the same. I’m tired. What was it you needed?”
“You’ve been here nearly a month now,” Freddie says congenially. “How are you liking it?”
Oh my god, do they seriously want to chat? “It’s great. I love it.” Maybe if I keep my answers short, they’ll get the hint.
“We like you too,” Maisie assures me. “You’re nice to us.”
Hello, guilt. “Um… thank you. I mean, it’s easy to be nice to you.”
She smiles weakly and looks away, solidifying my certainty that something is wrong.
Maisie stood toe-to-toe arguing with me when I told her she couldn’t hook up with guests anymore without telling them she’s a ghost. She’s not the type to look away because of a compliment.
Her clothes are remarkably subdued tonight—skinny jeans and a gauzy black blouse over a bright blue bra, and a normal amount of jewelry.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wearing an outfit from a single time period.
I glance at Johnny. He has no tattoos, and his hair is only half an inch long all over his head… and brown.
“Okay, I don’t know what the issue is here, but you need to tell me. Now.”
Hattie sighs and glances over at Joe. “It’s a long story, dear. We were going to wait until you’d settled in more and we could get a better idea of your mettle, but you have such a nice aura.”
“Just tell me what you want.” I sound tired.
Hattie leans forward. “It’s simple, dear. We want your help saving the world.”
Half an hour later, my headache has become a dozen angry men with hammers pounding at my skull.
“Okay, wait, let’s go over this again,” I insist from where I’m sitting on the coffee table, rubbing my temple.
Joe heaves a sigh. “We’ve been over it already.”
“Yeah, and it’s still as wild as a motherfucking acid trip,” I snap, “so we’re going to go over it again.” Then I wince. “Sorry for cursing.”
Hattie snorts. “Don’t you worry your motherfucking mind about that.”
A laugh bursts from me. It sounds kind of like a sob, but I promise, it’s a laugh.
“So… the land this estate is built on is mineral rich.”
“Yes,” Hattie agrees.
“And the particular combination and… I don’t know, density of minerals makes it a good place for ghosts.”
“Oh yes,” Maisie says. “That’s why so many of us chose not to cross over. It’s lovely here.”
I nod. “So you all died here on the estate, enjoyed the energy the minerals give, and decided to hang around for a while.”
There’s a flurry of agreement. Except from Joe, who just glowers.
“And you were just… here, haunting the hotel guests and staff in a low-key kind of way, back in the 1970s when one of the guests decided to hold a séance.”
“We don’t know for certain,” Freddie interjects. “I don’t think it was a séance. Séances don’t have that kind of result. But she definitely did something.”
“That resulted in her death,” I clarify. That information didn’t show up in my research, and Kieran didn’t mention it. “And the hotel closed a few weeks later.”
“Yes.” Hattie frowns, sadness written all over her face.
“Why?”
They all blink at me in unison. It’s creepy.
“What do you mean, why?” Carter asks.
“Well… if the death of one guest was enough to close a hotel, there would be no hotels left open. The only reason I can think of is if it could be shown that something in the hotel caused her death. You’re telling me she died because of whatever ritual she conducted, right?”
They just stare.
“If that’s the case,” I continue, “why was the hotel closed?”
“Because of the dark spirit,” Freddie says, as though it’s obvious.
“The…” I stand and pace away, rubbing the back of my neck and praying for patience.
“What’s he doing?” Maisie whispers.
“Probably thinking it all over,” Freddie says sagely. “He’s a smart one. He’ll think about it, then come back with a brilliant solution.”
I snort. Brilliant solution? I don’t even know what the problem is yet.
“Okay.” I pace back toward the coffee table but don’t resume my seat. “This is why we’re going over things again. Because you left out the dark spirit the first three times.”
Johnny makes a tsking sound. “We did, didn’t we? Darn it.”
“Language!” Hattie snaps, and I try not to choke on my own saliva.
“Tell me about the dark spirit,” I insist, not wanting them to get off track. “The guest who did the ritual died—do we know her name?”
They all shake their heads. “I barely remember her,” Maisie volunteers. “She just wasn’t very interesting. Until the vortex opened.”
I close my eyes for a second. “Vortex?” Another thing that didn’t come up during the first telling. “Why don’t you walk me through exactly what happened the night she died?”
They trade dubious glances, then turn as one to look at Joe. Oh, joy.
He shrugs. “The first sign we had that something was wrong was when the whole hotel was filled with dark energy.”
“It was like cold slime all over us.” Maisie shudders. “And it sticks. You feel like you can never be clean again.”
“It was easy enough to find the source. The air on the second floor was so thick with evil, the guests could feel it. One of them went to get the manager, convinced there was something wrong with the ventilation system,” Joe continues.
“We knew it wasn’t the air-conditioning causing it, though, and we followed it back to her room. ”