Chapter Seven #2
With my legs pressed against the floor, I picture the excess energy leaking out of me.
A rush of wooziness makes the room spin, and I’m forced to lie on my back, the same way I was when Xander found me.
Shielding four rooms in one day is too much.
Deep down, though, I know quantity isn’t the problem.
It’s casting magic while distracted that left me in this state.
The door behind me creaks. “Are you okay?” Elle’s voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it before, and I squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t get a peek at something I shouldn’t see.
“I’ll be out of your hair in a second.” I focus on the press of my back against the floor. “Just a little magic overload.”
“Meaning what?” Gentle footsteps inch closer. “You overstretched your silicone straw?”
The laugh that bursts out of me forces my eyes open, and I find myself staring straight up at Elle.
She’s already dressed, her T-shirt clinging to her stomach where she didn’t dry off fully, and there’s concern etched into her brow.
Her wet hair drips water on my face. I wipe it away as the last of the excess energy drains out of me.
“It’s less an overstretched straw and more an overfull cup.” I roll onto my side and push to a seated position, settling there a second to make sure all the dizziness has faded. Elle reaches out a hand to help me up. “Thanks,” I say, her hand lingering in mine a moment after I’m standing.
“Did you finish the room before you needed to lie down?”
“I did.”
“And do you need a break before you do the rest of the guest rooms?”
The smart answer to her question is yes. A nap and a meal would provide a fuller reset for my energy before I continue working magic. The way she’s looking at me, though, the curiosity and challenge in her gaze, has me shaking my head. “Not necessarily, no.”
Elle runs her hands through her hair and begins twisting the ends into a quick braid. “Can I watch the next one?”
Warmth rushes through my middle, and I find myself nodding. “Sure.”
Friday night, Xander throws me a curveball.
“I know Sloane wants to run their fancy psychic seminars here, but what about us normies?” He points his fork at me, currently loaded with swirled pasta. “What if I want to talk to the ghosts myself?”
“I’m not finding you a ghost boyfriend,” I deadpan, forgetting for a second that Elle is with us at the table. She nearly chokes on her drink.
Xander glares at me, but there’s no real fire to the look. “You know I was kidding about that.”
“Do I?”
“I’m just saying, what if you find ghosts who led inspiring lives? Or salacious ones? We should be able to talk to them.” He tips more wine into his glass. And mine. “Even if they’re boring, they’ll still be our roommates. We should know who they are.”
I’m about to dismiss the idea, when Elle chimes in.
“Actually, I agree with Alex. If we could communicate with the ghosts, that would be ideal.” Her voice is heavy with emotion that I don’t understand, but it’s gone when she continues.
“It would add an interesting element to the marketing. Sloane obviously won’t want their people to have easy access to seeing the ghosts, since the whole point of the retreat is growing their own skills at spiritual communication, but for other guests, it could be a huge draw. ”
“I’ll add it to my list. No promises I can figure it out before your grand opening, though.”
“I’d like to show a sexy ghost my grand opening,” Xander quips, causing both Elle and me to groan.
“And that’s my cue to call it a night.” Elle gathers up our plates and disappears into the kitchen.
I watch her leave, wondering what exactly her deal is.
Though I keep trying to squash the thought, deep down, I want to know everything.
What kinds of people she’s dated, if she likes to date at all.
What happened to change her from the carefree girl Xander talked about to this reserved, stubborn woman?
I don’t ask, and I don’t see Elle the rest of the night.
Xander and I stay up late reminiscing about our college years. We put on an action movie but talk through most of it. About the first girl I dated. The boy on the swim team Xander pined for from afar.
We avoid the sensitive topics. Like Barrett.
Like the time I found out my grandma had died, and no one bothered to let me know until months after the funeral since I wasn’t an Erikson anymore.
We keep it light and fall asleep together in my bed until I have to kick Xander out because of his snoring.
Saturday morning, I head for the manor’s library with a stack of books.
I’m starting to go stir-crazy spending so much time in the same room.
The moment I step into the library, I know I’ve made the right choice.
It has several huge windows with intricate molding that let in massive amounts of light.
One window has already been opened a crack to let in a cool breeze that smells like crisp leaves and pine and a touch of far-off woodsmoke.
Then there are the books.
The space isn’t full, not by a long shot, but someone—Xander, probably—has arranged the shelves with a designer’s eye.
There are hundreds of books, and from a glance, I imagine some of them came with the house.
Massive decorative old tomes sit on high shelves while rows of hardcovers and well-loved paperbacks are placed at eye level and lower.
Books that must have been read and loved by past guests.
According to Xander, the previous owners also ran a B&B from this manor, but the property hasn’t been in use for years, not since they retired to Florida.
There are armchairs in corners, nestled in groups of twos and threes, and a long, thin table at the center of the room that could easily seat eight people.
I make a beeline to the table with my books and spread out to prep for my trip today.
Unable to fall asleep after I kicked Xander out of my room, I found a local couple in an online forum who have been struggling to banish an aggressive ghost. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to test out the B&B’s safety measures.
I reached out to offer a pro bono clearing, and I woke up this morning with an invitation to go to their home this afternoon.
I pull my experimental grimoire out from under my pile of books to take notes.
This grimoire, a thick leather-bound notebook spelled to be both fireproof and incapable of being lost, contains a full record of my magical trial and error.
I have a second grimoire, protected by the same set of spells, that holds all the finalized, functional versions of my new sigils and spells.
That one, I left in my room. I won’t have anything new to add until the B&B is fully haunted and the protections thoroughly tested.
Working my way through the research texts, I collect various theories on why some people’s spirits are trapped while others move on, and what tends to attract ghosts to particular locations.
Many gravitate to abandoned spaces where they know they won’t be banished.
When ghosts do inhabit lived-in spaces, they’re usually drawn in by sensory experiences, familiar scents, sights, and sounds.
“Mind if I join you?”
My startled yelp fills the otherwise silent library. “Holy shit, Elle! You need to wear a bell or something.” I press a hand to my chest, heart thundering beneath my palm at her sudden appearance. She was only a few feet behind me when she first spoke.
The corners of her lips tilt, for just a second, before she smothers the smile. Elle moves with fluid grace, her laptop pressed against the stomach of her heather gray hoodie, as she crosses to the other side of the table. “Are you always this jumpy?”
“I don’t know. I don’t usually have women creeping up on me while I’m reading about ghosts.”
Her nose crinkles with amusement, and she types a password into the laptop she’s set across from me. “Is it okay if I work with you? I need to run an updated profit and loss statement for the investors and figure out if our budget can sustain hiring a real chef.”
“It’s your house,” I say, then tip my head considering. “Or your B&B, I guess. Is that weird? Living where you work? Knowing you’re going to have strangers staying in what’s effectively your home?”
“I don’t know. I don’t usually have strangers sleeping in my house,” she says, an imperfect echo of what I said moments before.
“Hmm.” I let the noncommittal noise hum in my throat like she has so many times in the week that I’ve known her.
Elle doesn’t rise to the bait, which is just as well since I shouldn’t be baiting her.
We fall into a companionable silence, her typing and clicking while I flip pages and scribble notes.
My already slow research screeches to a halt.
I can’t get through more than a page or two without glancing up at Elle, watching her work.
The way her brow furrows when she sees something she doesn’t like.
The way she has to keep brushing her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ears only for the rosy locks to fall forward again.
The way the light from her laptop screen reflects off her green eyes.
In a rare moment of actual focus, when I’m writing down a list of flowers believed to attract spirits, Elle breaks the silence. “What exactly are you researching? And what do lilacs have to do with it?”
When I glance up, her head is tilted to read the notes I’ve scratched for myself. “The lilacs are a possible incentive for any spirits who agree to haunt this place. According to this author, they find the smell immensely rewarding.”
“We’re going to pay the ghosts in smells?”
I lean in, my forearms resting on the books. “Do you have a better idea? It’s not like ghosts use money. Our best bet is to make their afterlife as enjoyable as possible.”