Chapter 13
Valerie
By the time the inn came into view, I’d already listened to the same radio loop of holiday carols ten times, and my voice was hoarse from singing about silent nights and joy to the world at volumes you can only get away with inside your car.
Silverpine Inn rose from the hillside just beyond the bustling town center and its rows of storybook shops, the Victorian gables sharp against the gray horizon.
The place was beautiful, in a spooky, are you sure this is the hotel we booked?
kind of way—equal parts gingerbread and haunted house.
Frost feathered the tall windows, wreaths hung from every balcony, and the crooked weather vane on the turret creaked in the wind as if it might snap off and add another ghost to the guest book.
Icicles lined the eaves of the porch like crystal teeth ready to sink their fangs into unsuspecting tourists.
The railings were wrapped so tightly in garland, it was as if they were trying to chain the house to its foundation.
Sage was right. With my horror-movie-meets-holiday-special commentary, and my crippling fear of ghosts, I was never making it to the sequel.
I should’ve come armed with a garlic-dipped wooden stake and one of those ghost-trapping gadgets you see in the movies.
Unfortunately, my bank account didn’t allow for novelty equipment.
The brass bell over the door jingled when I stepped inside. Warmth and the smell of pine wrapped around me in a suspiciously normal hug. I scanned the lobby for telltale signs of a haunting, refusing to let my guard down.
No ghosts… yet.
A fire crackled in a marble hearth, casting an amber glow over velvet chairs. In the corner, a massive Christmas tree dripping with old-fashioned glass ornaments stood like a sentry. The room was silent except for the logs snapping and the wind rattling the windows.
I huddled inside my puffy coat, an overstuffed suitcase at my feet, and called out, “Hello? Is anyone here?”
A woman appeared behind the carved oak reception desk.
Tortoiseshell glasses hung from a silver chain around her neck, and she slipped them on as she smoothed a strand of silver hair back into her bun.
Her charcoal cardigan fit snugly over a willowy frame, the only bright color coming from her candy-apple-red lipstick and gleaming gold nametag that read Edith.
“You must be Ms. Spellman, from the Agency,” she said, her voice creaky but warm.
“That’s me.” I forced a smile that probably looked as stiff as it felt. “Charming place. Lots of… unique character.”
Edith’s red grin widened, revealing a tiny smudge of lipstick on her teeth. “Yes. They filmed one of those black-and-white vampire pictures here in the forties. But that was before—” She folded her hands. “Well, before the Presence made itself known.”
“And this Presence… it’s not currently, uh, present, is it?” I asked, ducking my head as if I expected it to swoop down like a bat.
Her lips twitched. “No. The ghost prefers to haunt the guest rooms.”
“Oh, wonderful. That’s not terrifying at all.”
“I feel I should warn you what you’re in for, but I assume you’ve read the file.”
I tapped the top of my suitcase. “Right here. I’m ready for anything, and on behalf of the Agency, I will do my best to finally close this case.”
“I wish you luck.” Edith slid an ornate brass key across the counter and opened a worn ledger.
“We don’t take guests in December, and most of the staff stays off-site after the first snowfall.
There’s a groundskeeper who lives in the gatehouse, and a housekeeper who comes in the mornings.
You’ll find staples in the kitchen, but no cook. You’ll be on your own.”
I signed my name on the yellowed page and pocketed the key. “That’s fine. I can go into town for meals.”
“Room Eleven is yours,” she said. “Second floor. It overlooks the lake.”
“A room with a view. My favorite.” I hefted my suitcase and started toward the stairs.
The steps groaned beneath my boots. Oil paintings of unsmiling strangers watched from gilded frames. Their eyes seemed to follow my progress. I glared back, hoping to show them who was boss. A draft whispered through the hallway, and somewhere in the shadows, a door creaked open, then clicked shut.
Probably just the housekeeper.
Room 11 was small but cozy. There was floral wallpaper, dark paneled wood, and a stunning view of the frozen lake ringed by towering, snow-dusted pines. A heavy quilt layered the four-poster bed, and a candelabra with half-melted ivory tapers sat on the nightstand.
No TV, which was fine. I had my tablet and, supposedly, the inn had decent Wi-Fi. If things got super spooky, I had noise-canceling headphones and a streaming subscription.
I exhaled and stared at my reflection in the frosted window. “All right, Silverpine. I’m not leaving here without winning that key. So get ready to be miracled.”
***
Check-in was the last time I saw Edith.
It was past lunch, so the housekeeper was long gone, leaving me essentially alone in the historic inn.
The place was larger than it looked from the outside.
Long, narrow halls branched off into parlors and little nooks lit only by flickering sconces.
The inn had electricity, but either they were saving on the bill or really committed to the ambiance, because most of my tour was courtesy of open flame.
The floorboards creaked with every step, and I’m not proud to admit it, but I nearly jump-scared myself into oblivion when I turned a corner and saw my reflection blinking back at me from a gigantic gilt mirror.
If a cat had chosen that moment to screech across my path, my heart would have flatlined, and I’d be a weird byline in the local paper.
Tourist dies weeks before Christmas in haunted hotel from their own reflection. In lieu of flowers, donate to your local cat shelter.
After sketching a mental map of the inn, I fixed a cup of tea and settled onto one of the velvet chairs in front of the fire to reread the case file.
A year ago, I was sitting at a tropical bar, sipping a frozen cocktail.
Now here I was, drinking lukewarm Earl Grey while the wind howled outside like the ghost’s banshee twin.
The contrast was startling. But it felt good to be working a case again. Even one that gave me goosebumps.
I flipped through the pages, skimming the notes from past agents. There were interviews that went nowhere, theories that aged badly, and even a few transcripts from when a medium had been brought in. She'd claimed the ghost was bound to something inside the walls.
Yeah, probably its skeleton, entombed behind all this gaudy wallpaper. A shiver wracked my spine as I imagined a similar fate for eternity. Maybe if I ended up behind the walls, Grant would feel guilty for ignoring me.
Though probably not, judging by his bored look when I’d slapped the case file onto his desk.
That was the first time since our accidental beach nuptials that I truly lost it.
I wished I’d seen his face when he opened my card.
It was a petty move, but I’d been in the aisle picking out a box of Christmas cards when I saw the wedding section.
This wave of sadness just sank my heart, and when it receded, it left behind this gritty feeling as if I’d been cheated out of something special.
And nothing says you suck like a passive-aggressive greeting card.
I stared into the flames, those same restless waves coming again. Unless by some stroke of luck, I saved a malicious spirit in record time, I’d be spending this holiday season alone. The ache of that thought settled deep in my bones, dimming even my recently recharged magic.
Sage had Leo and their ski lodge; the perfect happily-ever-after, thanks in part to me. My aunt was touring the Alps with boyfriend number infinity. She went through partners like a fruit-of-the-month club. But at least she had someone.
Honestly, I’d been this close to asking Tom from Logistics to be my ghost-hunting sidekick.
Even Nancy, who’d taken way too much pleasure in our tug-of-war downfall last year, had made the tag-along list. She could’ve taught me how to make her signature spiced Linzer cookies with homemade raspberry jam in the inn’s kitchen during the quiet hours.
The truth was, I was lonely. Moving had been harder than I'd expected, and even months later, I was still finding my footing.
And then there was Grant.
He hadn’t made my list. Okay, I may have doodled his name once while I was stuffing my suitcase with bundles of ghost-repelling incense.
But he’d surprised me. He was actually running Snowbelt well.
The division was thriving, and so was our new team.
Agents listened to him, even if they cringed at his new “boss” persona.
It was as if the charismatic prince had turned into a grouchy polar bear.
However, I refused to dwell on why that bothered me. I could almost hear his infuriating voice now: See, Spells? Some of us can multitask without glitter explosions.
In my imagination, he still called me Spells. I used to hate that nickname. Now, I missed it. More than that, I missed that spark between us. Without it, I didn’t feel entirely like myself.
I groaned loudly enough to wake the dead. Or so I thought. Still no ghost. But my tea was cold, and deepening shadows were settling over the property. I wanted to be snug as an elf in fuzzy slippers, inside my room, before night fell.
The fire crackled lower, the embers slowly dying as I pushed out of my chair and stifled a yawn.
Tomorrow, I’d start my investigation. I needed to interview the housekeeper, check the banquet hall for cold spots, and try to figure out who this ghost was so I could pinpoint its final wishes.
There was a lot to do in two and a half weeks, and I had to do it all while dodging an active haunting.
My boots squeaked faintly over the runner in the hallway, and from deep in the house, an old clock chimed. The gongs reverberated with sinister undertones, making me pick up my steps as I careened into my room and shoved the door closed.
The air inside was colder than the hallway, and if binge-watching paranormal investigation shows had taught me anything, it was that the Presence was lurking close by.
I struck a match to burn a stick of incense, hoping it would ward off the spirit long enough to get a few hours’ sleep, then I changed into my coziest pajamas.
“Let’s make a deal,” I said, holding up the candelabra like a heroine in a gothic novel.
“I’m going to watch some holiday reruns with my headphones on, and you—” I gestured vaguely toward the air, “—are going to keep your spectral shenanigans to a minimum. No bumps. No rearranging furniture. If you behave, I’ll leave out a plate of Christmas cookies. ”
Apparently, I assumed ghosts operated on the same wavelength as Santa. A chilly draft swept through the room, snuffing out one of the candles.
“F-Fine,” I stammered, trying not to dive under the covers. “I’ll throw in a bottle of mulled wine, too.”
The air warmed until I was downright toasty. I let out a shaky breath. It seemed we’d reached a tentative agreement.
I really should've brought more wine.
Relighting the wick, I climbed into bed, queuing up one of my comfort shows. The jingle-bell theme song filled my headphones, muting the creaks of the old house settling around me. My eyelids drooped. I had myself convinced I’d get a solid eight hours, until I heard the thud.
The headphones hadn’t canceled that noise.
Or the next one.
I lowered the headphones around my neck and listened. Heavy footsteps. Unmistakable. They paced back and forth in the next room. Just a thin wall separated me from my nightmares.
Another thud. A long creak. Then a muffled, deep voice.
“We had a deal,” I whispered, wiping my clammy hands on the quilt. “No wine for you.”
Moving so slowly, I barely made a sound, I pressed my ear to the wall. My chest was a vise, the air wheezing in and out in short, shallow gasps.
What was I doing here?
The key. The key. The key.
Three knocks rattled the wall. I flinched so hard my tablet jumped. A whimper caught in my throat as I slapped both hands over my mouth.
The knocks came again. Every hair on my arms stood at attention. I swung my legs out of bed, the candelabra trembling in my hands.
Okay, fine. Minding my own business hadn't worked. If the ghost wanted a meet-cute, I’d give him one—then run screaming to the next hotel in town. Preferably one with a hot tub.
The knob turned easily beneath my fingers, the hinges joining the creaks from the other room. I crept toward the closed door of Room 12, my heart racing so fast I felt dizzy.
This was it. This was how I died. I always thought I’d be old and gray, holding hands with my soulmate as we watched the sunset. But no. My time would come while wearing a candy-cane sleep shirt and fuzzy slippers, holding a candle so the ghost could admire my terrified expression.
The door to Room 12 creaked open, eerie light spilling into the hallway.
My heart stopped.
And then a very human, very smug voice cut through the stillness.
“Hey, Spells. Come for a nightcap?”