Chapter Thirteen
Chapter
Thirteen
“This is for you.”
Elle leans over me, smelling like cinnamon, butter, and warm bread, and places a piece of paper on the table beside my bowl of oatmeal. She lingers a moment, the heat of her body warming me through my flannel. I shiver when she steps away.
I swallow the oatmeal in my mouth, nearly choking on a thick clump of it in my haste. “What is it?”
“Ghost parameters.” Elle sits in the chair beside me instead of her usual spot on the other side of the table. The green sweater she’s wearing slips over one shoulder, highlighting the curve of muscle and smooth skin. “Organized by order of importance.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.” I tear my gaze from her collarbone—and the sudden urge to press my lips to the hollow of her throat—and focus on the list she’s put together.
Nonnegotiable
A decent human (queer-friendly, not racist, etc.)
Not terrifying to look at (no decapitations)
Happy to interact with guests
Knows how to be appropriate around children and teens
Highly Preferred
Had an interesting life / good stories to tell to guests
Good roommates—someone Alex and I will be glad to see on a daily basis
Extroverts?
Possible to find ghosts who lived in a variety of historical time periods?
Would Be Nice If
Nurturing / good with kids
Varied areas of expertise / interests (appeal to different types of guests)
Good sense of humor
“This is…surprisingly realistic. Especially if you’re willing to focus on the parts that are nonnegotiable and get flexible with the rest.”
“I want to be offended by your surprise,” Elle says, tracing her finger around the rim of her coffee cup, “but I suppose I deserve that. Our last outing was less than ideal, huh?”
“Yeah, I think ‘less than ideal’ sounds about right. But!” I shift in my chair to face her, the heady excitement of a solution coming together rising up inside me.
It’s the same feeling that comes right before a big breakthrough, and it warms through my chest. “I already know where we can start. I talked Laney into hanging out to wait for us. I think they’d be a great fit. ”
The way Elle holds my gaze feels like an undressing. Like she’s searching for something, peeling back every layer. “Laney was the one at the baseball field? But they don’t like kids.”
“They said they were awkward around kids. I think they can handle the occasional young guest.”
“But—”
“Come on, Ellie.” I reach for her hands, ignoring the tightening in my chest at the contact. “The list says the ghosts need to be appropriate. Laney will be great, and they don’t have to stay here forever.”
She stares at our joined hands. Bites at her lower lip. “Ellie, huh?”
Heat flushes into my cheeks, and I pull my hands back. “Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. It won’t happen again.” I shovel another spoon of oatmeal into my stupid mouth.
“No, it’s…I like it, coming from you.” Elle reaches for her coffee, and I’m transfixed as she brings the cup to her lips, her words warming me as surely as her coffee warms her.
That has to be flirting. Right? Elle swallows, the delicate line of her neck flexing, and then she sets the cup back on the table. “Fine. We can start with Laney.”
The doorbell rings, the chimes echoing through the home. I swallow the last bite of oatmeal. “Expecting someone?”
Elle shakes her head and stands. “Not that I know of.”
“I’ve got it!” Xander calls from upstairs, and by the time Elle and I make it to the hallway, he’s pulling open the door.
His back straightens when he sees who’s on the other side.
“Sloane,” he says, surprise laced through the name.
He recovers quickly and motions for their biggest investor to come in.
“What brings you out here this morning?”
A heavy weight of magic follows Sloane McKinley into Midnight Manor.
They carry themselves with an air of importance that immediately sets me on edge.
Not in a they’re an asshole way, though.
I’ve done more research on Sloane since I learned they were the primary investor here, and by all accounts, the nonbinary witch is well-liked outside of traditionalist circles and has a warm reputation.
It’s not that Sloane is power hungry or one of those rich people who look down on the rest of us. No, the problem is me. There’s no way I could ever measure up to someone that self-assured. Even the way they dress has I know exactly who the fuck I am written all over it.
Sloane is a late-forties white person with the coolest salt-and-pepper hair, the top curling down past the shell of their ear with the sides buzzed into a long fade.
They’re taller than me, dressed in a custom-tailored charcoal suit, and they take in the entryway of Midnight Manor, appraising every inch of the place.
Finally, Elle steps past me and smiles up at Sloane. “What a wonderful surprise, Mx. McKinley. What can Alex and I do for you?”
“I was in town and thought it prudent to check on your progress.” Their voice is husky and low, but it fills the space. Sloane tips their head to the side and closes their eyes. A wave of magical energy passes through me, and their brow knits. “It seems you’re behind schedule, Miss Thompson.”
From my place behind Elle, I see the flush of red work up the back of her neck. “Schedule? We didn’t—”
“There aren’t any spirits on the property yet,” Sloane interrupts, though not unkindly. “With only a few weeks until the opening, I expected there to be a few ghosts in residence.”
“Oh. Well. Um.” Elle trips over her words, and it’s so unlike her that I find myself stepping forward.
“That’s my fault,” I say, coming to stand beside Elle and Xander.
Sloane assesses me, taking in my black joggers, white scoop neck T-shirt, and plaid button-down. “And you are?”
“Pippa Ainsley. I’m the witch they hired to haunt the property.
” I pause, but Sloane doesn’t say anything.
“I found a way to bring ghosts here, but I was unable to work most of last week after an injury. I’m better now, and we should have spirits in the home within the next day or two.
We already have a lead on a spirit who could be a good fit for the manor. ”
“A good fit?”
I glance between Xander and Elle, who both stare back at me with unreadable expressions.
But I know how to handle witches like Sloane McKinley.
Important witches. Powerful, influential, wealthy witches.
My upbringing under Nanette Erikson and the years I worked at NACOW made sure of that.
“It’s my understanding that your retreats focus on helping participants connect with the ghosts on the property.
Elle thought we should provide spirits who will make interesting conversationalists for those successful at contacting them. ”
Sloane merely nods. Waits.
“I’m also working on a way to make the ghosts visible to the manor’s other guests throughout the year.
We’ll deactivate this function while you’re training your clients, but for the mundanes who stay here, it will increase the allure of the B&B.
” I muster up a confident smile. “No one else is doing anything like this. Mr. Owens and Ms. Thompson will be able to charge a premium and ensure the highest possible consistent occupancy, which will further protect your investment.”
“Who did you say you were again?” Sloane asks, their gaze assessing.
Cold sweat pools at the small of my back. I can’t tell if I’m impressing the older witch or irritating them with these explanations. “Pippa Ainsley.”
“I’m not familiar with that family name.”
“Pippa is an exceptional witch,” Xander says, saving me from the need to lie about my origins.
The Erikson name carries weight that Ainsley doesn’t, but it also carries the shame of my banishment.
And, given Sloane’s particular magical interests, I doubt they’d hold the daughter of Nanette Erikson in high esteem anyway.
“I wouldn’t trust anyone else with this job.
Pippa is the only witch capable of pulling this together. ”
“It is a tall order,” Sloane agrees. “But until there are actually ghosts in residence, I’ll reserve judgment.”
“I’ll update you as soon as we bring our first ghost here,” Elle says, having found her voice again. “By the end of the week at the latest.”
“For your sake, I hope so. My financial involvement is predicated on a fully haunted B&B. I don’t have time for delays.” Sloane’s phone goes off. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to take this. It’s my assistant.”
“Let me walk you out.” Xander slips away from me and heads outside with Sloane, his charming smile already in place.
When the door closes behind Xander and Sloane, Elle reaches for me. Her fingers curl around my forearm, and when she meets my gaze, there’s panic in her eyes. “How soon can we leave to get Laney?”
“As soon as you can bake a batch of brownies.”
Taylor Swift and freshly baked brownies are a truly effective summoning pair.
Laney came into the summoning circle right away, and after twenty minutes of listening to their favorite songs, they slipped easily into the piece of lepidolite.
Xander was already out by the time we got back—dealing with the landscapers for the snow removal contract—so Elle and I took over the kitchen and have been preparing to release Laney ever since.
“How much longer until we can let them out?”
I glance over my shoulder and find Elle sticking a fork into the pan of brownies. She’s sitting on the table, her legs dangling in the air, and the sight of her drags my brain far, far away from my work.
I’m drawn into a fantasy world I have no right imagining.
Elle baking in this kitchen, her hands working some new recipe that flexes her forearms. Then she’s sitting on the table like she is now, beckoning me forward while the dough rises.
She lets me settle between those strong thighs, lets me kiss her as she hooks her ankle around my waist and pulls me close and—