Chapter 11 #3
“Just enjoy your night off, dear,” Hattie says. “We’ve stocked you up with everything you’ll need.”
Those words send chills of dread through me, and I let go of the door handle and look around.
Sure enough, over in the corner are two chairs from the dining room and the end table from the library.
On the table are two steaming bowls of the chunky soup Arissa left for us to eat tonight, half a loaf of crusty bread, butter, cutlery and napkins, and a bottle of wine with two glasses.
It’s all kind of jumbled together, but then, the table isn’t that big.
“This can’t be happening.” I’m caught somewhere between a moan and laughter.
Connor’s smirk is firmly in place. “What, no condoms?” he calls. I backhand him in the chest.
“Don’t encourage them.”
“Kieran’s on the PrEP,” Carter calls helpfully. Are they all out there? And how the fuck do they know that?
“How do you know that?” I yell. “Have you been snooping through my stuff?”
No answer.
Shaking his head, Connor calls, “Ask someone to take dinner up to Gabe.”
Someone blows a raspberry. “And let them guess what we’ve done? Nice try.”
“Gabe needs to eat,” Connor insists. “Uncle Norval, he’s building the guard on the gateway. You know he needs to eat.”
There’s the sound of hushed, urgent conversation, and then Norval says, “We’ll make sure he gets dinner.”
Unconvinced, Connor says, “It’s important, Uncle.”
“I promise,” Norval swears. “If it takes limb and life, I will ensure Gabe gets dinner.”
“That’s not as reassuring as he thinks it is,” I murmur to Connor, “since he doesn’t have limbs or life.”
Connor snorts. “What’s your goal here?” he asks the ghosts. “What do we have to do to be let out?”
There’s a round of dirty-sounding snickers from the other side of the door.
“We’re not doing that in here while you listen,” I warn them.
“We would never,” Hattie declares piously. I don’t believe her. She looks like a saintly grandmother, but last year she asked me to have a pole installed so she could learn to pole dance. “If you decide to have relations, we’ll cover our ears.”
Uh-huh.
“You still haven’t said how we get you to let us out,” Connor reminds them.
“Just relax, boy,” Norval says expansively. “Enjoy an evening of fine companionship. You work too hard.”
I sigh. “So you’re not letting us out until you’re ready,” I surmise, and the responding silence is all the confirmation I need. “I hope you know there are going to be consequences for this.”
“Consequences of luuuurrrrve,” Johnny sings, and I’m torn between laughing and dying of embarrassment.
Connor gives up on getting the door open and heads for the corner with the chairs and food. I cast one more fulminating glance at the door and follow. At least we’ll get to eat. I plant myself in one of the chairs and reach for a bowl.
“Do you have your phone?” Connor murmurs, clinking cutlery together loudly.
Hope surges in me, only to plummet when I put my hand on my pocket and remember.
“No. I left it on the desk so I could eat without interruptions.” See?
This is what happens when you take people’s advice and try not to be a workaholic.
If I’d kept my phone with me like always, I could be calling for help right now. “You?”
He shakes his head and hands me a spoon. “Same. Guess we’re stuck here for the duration. Don’t know why they couldn’t pick a more comfortable room.”
“Because they all have windows,” Maisie calls through the door, “and you’re both lovely and fit. Especially you, Connor. I bet you could climb out a window with no effort at all.”
“Maisie, stop sexually harassing Connor.” I shovel in some of the soup. It’s good. Would be better if I was in the break room.
The ghosts break out in another argument, and we ignore them while we eat. By the time our bowls are empty, the last of the soup mopped up with the bread, there’s quiet outside. I don’t let that fool me, though.
“Tell me, Connor, is there a way to corral ghosts other than with salt?”
He quirks a brow at me. “What do you mean?”
“Well, guests would notice if I started laying salt lines in all the rooms, plus I’m pretty sure it’s an OSHA issue. But I’d love to be able to shut the ghosts out of the house.”
There’s a chorus of gasps.
Connor’s outright grinning now. “There isn’t anything as effective as salt, but some herbs make ghosts pretty uncomfortable. Plus, they smell really nice. You could turn them into a decorative thing.”
“That’s the kind of creative thinking we need around here,” I muse. “I bet Skye knows someone who can do decorative herb wreaths or something.”
The sound of furious muttering reaches us.
“You know this isn’t going to make them let us out,” Connor murmurs, and I shrug.
“Yeah, but it makes me feel a little better.” I hesitate. “Uh, just so we’re clear, I had no idea—”
He holds up a hand. “I know. For starters, you’ve proven you have no issues coming to, uh, ‘talk’ to me in private.” He slides a glance toward the door so I know the euphemism is for the ghosts’ benefit. “But also, you wouldn’t have picked a storeroom.”
Truth. And I would have made sure there was lube handy. Though I’m pretty sure there’s olive oil somewhere in here. We order it in bulk and there isn’t enough room to keep it all in the kitchen.
Not that we’ll be using it with a bunch of nosy ghosts listening in. Plus, it’s totally against my own rules for anyone to fuck in here. I’d fire any staff member who did it, and knowing my luck, I’d be right in the middle of breaking that rule when someone rescued us.
Sighing, I stretch out my legs and lean back in my chair. “Tell me three things about yourself.”
He smirks, but I don’t find it annoying anymore. Well, not much. “Is this a job interview?”
I shrug. “Just killing time. I’m curious… what made you decide to be a hunter? What even is a hunter?”
“It’s exactly what it sounds like. Hunters track down any beings that come through a gateway and either send them back or destroy them.”