3. Just a bunch of perverts
three
Just a bunch of perverts
JAMES
I’m a pervert , I think as I watch Ewan sleep.
It’s past noon, and the sun is shining through the small window, bathing him in a warm glow.
His back is to me, and his t-shirt has ridden up during the night, revealing a smattering of freckles across his back.
The comforter has slid down to his legs, giving me a perfect view of his biteable ass in his tight sweat pants. Fuck, he’s gorgeous.
I shouldn’t be staring like this. I think I misjudged him, and I’m pretty sure Ewan is straight.
He didn’t look at my cock once last night when we were naked in the showers.
Quite a feat, considering I made sure to stand proud in all of my glory.
God, I wanted to wrap my arms around him last night when he was shaking.
And his tears... fuck, his tears turned me on.
You’re a weirdo, James, and a massive pervert.
Blood pulses in my thickening cock. I always had a thing for bigger men, which makes dating complicated when you’re dominant like me. It’s difficult to find a large man who is willing to submit to me entirely, to let me unravel him like a knot.
But the ones who do... god... The feeling is addictive.
Against my will, my hand slides under my boxer briefs to stroke my erection. Immediately, I take it away and swear inwardly. No, James. You don’t masturbate thinking about unsuspecting partners. Especially not when they’re in the room. Down boy, down, I think as I slap my dick.
Ewan mumbles in his sleep, and I turn my eyes to the ceiling and sigh deeply.
We make our way to the staff kitchen for breakfast around 2pm.
It’s situated on the ground floor, at the back of the house.
The hostel is full of life and laughter, too much for my sleep-addled mind, and I can’t help glaring at all the guests.
My mood doesn’t improve when we’re welcomed in the kitchen by yet another cat.
It’s sitting pretty on the counter, meowing.
It has a soft-looking beige coat, brown ears, and piercing blue eyes.
Ewan gasps. “It’s a Ragdoll! Hello, beautiful,” he says, petting the little monster.
“She’s called Pearl,” Shirley says. She’s eating lunch at the wooden table with two other staff members, both men.
“An old lady on this street got sick, and she couldn’t take care of her, so Lana took her in five years ago.
Don’t be fooled by her looks, she’s a nasty thing.
” She pauses. “Or well, she usually is a nasty thing.”
The cat is purring like an engine and rubbing her face all over Ewan’s hand. His smile is blinding.
The staff kitchen is surprisingly large, with just a few mismatched appliances and a long wooden table in the middle.
It must have been where the cooks and the servants prepared the meals for the Earl and his guests back in the day.
They even kept the large, soot-stained fireplace.
The only window has a view of the narrow back street, and a door for deliveries.
“Coffee?” I ask.
Shirley points to an old machine by the fridge. It makes enough noise to shake the entire house as it makes my coffee.
Which reminds me...
“Did you hear the commotion last night?” I say.
Shirley finishes chewing and shakes her head. “No. This house swallows all the sounds. But we found the damage in the guests' kitchen early this morning, and saw the missing pieces of the chandelier. Let me guess, you met the Burning Crone?”
Ewan shivers at the mention of the ghost. I offer him my coffee—I can make myself another one.
“Sugar?” I ask him.
He nods, blushing. “Aye, please. Thank you.”
I grab a sugar from the bowl and drop it inside his mug. He looks so pleased, I want to grab him by the throat and kiss him.
“Yeah, it was an interesting first encounter,” I say to Shirley. “She came after me.”
Her eyes widen. “She attacked you?”
“Tried to get a hold of me.”
“Wow. The ghosts must know you’re here to deal with them. The Crone is usually only seen in glimpses. Or guests will swear they can smell something burning. You should report to Lana after breakfast. She’ll want to know what happened.”
“Is she going to be mad about the chandelier?” I turn on the machine again to make another coffee. It’s not less loud the second time around.
Shirley raises her voice to talk over the noise. “Nah. We’re used to occasional damage at the hostel. The ghosts are getting more aggressive over time. If you got rid of her for us, then it’ll be worth replacing the chandelier.”
We sit around the table with the other three, and Shirley places breakfast in front of us—fresh bread, butter, jam, ham, and fruit. I must admit, she’s growing on me like a tumour. Ewan falls on the food ravenously—it must take a lot of calories to maintain such an impressive body.
Once I’m sufficiently caffeinated, I feel human enough to function.
Ewan insists on cleaning the dishes—fuck, if I don’t want to bend him over the sink while he does it—and we exit the staff kitchen to go find Lana.
The cat, Pearl, leads the way. She runs up the stairs to Lana’s office, her fluffy tail like a flag guiding us.
The hostel owner and crazy cat lady is lounging on a chair by the window, reading what appears to be a romance. Monster romance, to be exact, judging by the tentacles on the cover. When we knock on the doorframe, she hides the book under a pillow before getting to her feet.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen! I heard you did some good hunting last night.”
I nod. “It was difficult, but we managed.” I see no point in lying. We got attacked by an old witch on fire, after all.
“The cats didn’t wake me, so it means you had the situation under control. Good job.”
“Sure,” I say, wanting to share a glance with Ewan.
The big oaf, of course, is still obsessed with Pearl, who’s rubbing her annoyingly pretty face on his legs. When she notices my attention, she stops purring and stares at me with her unnerving blue eyes.
“How did you manage to exorcise the Crone from the house?” Lana asks, walking around her mahogany desk. Today, she’s wearing a flowy silver dress with matching high heels and glasses. Her red hair is up in a fancy hairdo.
“Sorry, we can’t tell you that. Trade secrets,” I lie.
I just have no fucking clue how we did it, but we can’t really admit it. We’re supposed to be the experts. I realise I should probably have attended the ExorSquad training sessions. Did they even offer to train me? I don’t remember.
Lana smiles. “Of course. Don’t blame me for trying. I know a few of my ancestors tried to kick the ghosts out, but they are quite tenacious and attached to the house.”
“About that...” Ewan interrupts. “I was wondering if you knew more about why the ghosts are bound to this location and not the one where they died.”
I try my best to hide my surprise. Did Ewan get some training?
“I do, yes,” Lana says. She gestures towards a glass case by the bookshelf.
We get a closer look. Inside sits what looks like an old leather-bound handwritten journal.
“This is my great great great—I don’t know how great, really—grand-father’s journal.
Earl Fergus Lynch. He’s the one who summoned the ghosts to the house. ”
“The Ghost Tour bus is right?” Ewan says over my shoulder.
“Oh, yes. I’m the one who gave them that intel when they came around the house a few years ago and asked questions. I didn’t see the point in hiding this knowledge, and it’s good for business to have ghosts. People even talk about Lynch House in their paranormal podcasts now!”
I stare at the yellowed pages. “How old is this journal?”
“One hundred and eighty years, give or take.”
I whistle. “Bloody hell.”
“Older than the Titanic...” Ewan whispers.
I chuckle. What’s up with his interest for the Titanic?
“Indeed,” Lana says. “It took me a while, but I transcribed most of it. My ancestor was a massive asshole, and obsessed with the occult. He started dabbling in the dark arts not long after moving into the house. Seances were all the rage back then, and he was more than happy to oblige. He summoned ghosts from all over Edinburgh. Don’t ask me how he did it, his grimoires have been lost to time.
I found his journal in a hidden compartment in his desk.
” She points towards the massive desk in question.
“One of my cats kept scratching at it, and it sounded hollow.”
I stare at the centuries-old book, wanting to set it on fire. “So what we know about the ghosts is actually close to the mark?”
Lana nods. “Pretty much. Earl Lynch made sure to question them at length, even if they were often difficult to make sense of. I wrote all the important stuff in the notebook I gave you.”
I step away from the glass case. “Thank you. It makes our job easier.” I’m full of shit, of course. We have no fucking clue what we’re doing. “We’ll be off then. We have to prepare for tonight.”
“Of course. Thank you for your hard work,” Lana says with a gleaming smile.
Pearl gives a loud meow.
Ewan follows me dutifully outside, then up the stairs and to our cramped room.
I wait until he has closed the door behind us before falling on my bed. “Well then, we need a plan of action for tonight.” I make the grabby hands motion, and Ewan looks confused for a moment. “Lana's notebook.”
“Oh! Sorry.” He pulls it out of his bag, alongside the ExorSquad handbook.
I leaf through the notebook and open it to the page about the grabby ghost from the communal showers.
“The Urchin is a boy who was around age eight or nine when he drowned in the Water of Leith during the winter of 1795,” I read.
“He was a child of the streets, a thief and a survivor, but he crossed the wrong people and they threw him in the river. Holy shit, that’s depressing.
Due to the matter of his death, he seems to have a proficiency with water.
He’s the one who did water damage to the second floor a few months ago. ”