“Are not ghosts an asset in the world of bed-and-breakfasts?” he asked. “Were you asked here to prove it is haunted? And if youfree the trapped spirits here, won’t you be making their enterprise less successful?”
She smiled and relaxed a little.
Appreciating that we are letting her keep her distance, observed his wolf.But we are patient hunters.
Yes, agreed Asil, not at all certain he wanted to take this hunt the same place his wolf did. But he wasn’t certain he didn’t either.
Thiswasa date, no? He was careful not to smile at Ruby just then; she might notice his sharp white teeth.
“Well-behaved ghosts are welcome,” Ruby told him. “But apparitions who won’t allow guests to sleep are more problematical—and this house has a troublesome poltergeist, a spirit who throws things. My team and I aren’t here to provide proof of ghosts, we look specifically for trapped spirits and we find a way to let them rest.”
“So why the cameras and microphones if you don’t intend to prove anything?” He nodded toward the camera in the corner of the room.
“Ghosts aren’t like a mouse infestation,” she told him. “They aren’t always present. We’re going to try to contact something today, but we’ll also leave the cameras in here for a couple of days. If we find a particularly active spot, we’ll come back for a second try. We are looking, in this case, for a spirit who sobs brokenly or screams in the middle of the night. And whatever likes to throw sharp things like scissors, kitchen knives, and apparently, once, a hammer.”
She continued to educate him about what she and her team did as they strolled through the old, empty house, visiting formal and informal dining rooms, bathrooms, a billiard room and a modern kitchen, a laundry and an old-fashioned butler’s pantry. Not much of it was unknown to him. He disliked being ignorant and hadspent several days researching ghost hunting, watching several television shows because apparently this was a thriving industry.
But while she told him about this thing she loved to do, her body relaxed, her voice softened, and she forgot to keep him at a distance. And she forgot to be afraid of whatever it was Alan Choo had gone to great effort to save her from.
While she talked of EVP (electronic voice phenomenon), EMF detectors, and other alphabet soup devices, he took in details of the house. He’d always had a fondness for Victorian architecture—it was as excessively gorgeous as he. This particular house was a grand example of its kind. Every room, including the bathrooms, had a transom panel over the top of the door filled with etched amber glass. Plaster walls were worked into patterns covered with bronze leaf. Ceilings were painted or frescoed. Everywhere one looked, there was attention to detail.
“Our team has a ghost box,” she was saying, as they started up the narrow servant stairs in the back of the kitchen. “But we don’t use it much. We have better luck with dowsing rods and EVP. And all the static hurts Alan’s ears.”
She looked at him and then away as if mention of Alan reminded her that he was a werewolf.
On the first floor... ah, he was in America... on thesecondfloor, the excesses of the lavish ground floor gave way to common sense. There were two more bathrooms, one modern, one charmingly original with an odd spiral-shaped pipe that created a surround shower with rudimentary shower heads placed more or less at random all over the pipe. A person showering in such a contraption would find themselves uncomfortably deluged by water. It was a ridiculous thing—something he’d never encountered—for all he’d lived through the years when it had been built. Perhaps it had been invented for this house. The thought pleased him.
They returned to the hall and entered the library. The room was well-lit and lined with fumed oak, leaded glass-fronted bookcases. A Persian rug covered the red oak floors nearly wall to wall. A few comfortable-looking chairs provided places for visitors to read.
Ruby took a step into the room and paused. As she did so, Asil’s nose was flooded with rose perfume, of a variety he hadn’t smelled for years—ambergris perfumes were no longer common. Ruby’s face relaxed into a real smile and she reached out to touch something he could not see, though his wolf told him there was something... someone there.
“Well, hello, you,” Ruby said, her voice darker than it had been. Asil’s wolf wanted to roll in that voice. “We aren’t here to bother you and we should be out of your way soon.”
She glanced at Asil, who nodded. Yes, he knew there was someone here, too.
“Housekeeper, I think,” she told him. “She feels like someone who takes care of the house. She might be a maid, but she carries an aura of authority I don’t think a low servant would. Miranda and I have met her before.”
“Do they speak to you?” he asked.
She shook her head, her attention still mostly on the spirit who was starting to fade—if the perfume scent was anything to judge it by.
“There are people who can speak to them,” she said. “Peg can—you’ll meet her in a few minutes. But I’m not one of them. I get... a feeling. Emotions and stray memories mostly. Psychic impressions. I have a little psychometry, too. Just a touch, but it can be—” She paused. “Gone.” She turned her attention to Asil again and the softness he’d seen in her retreated as she completed her last statement. “Psychometry can be useful in some circumstances.”
She led the way out to the hall and opened a door to the master suite, which was, as most of the house had been, furnished in period furniture, though, as he recalled that era, the house lacked the authentic overcrowded feel.
Here, all the luxury of the ground floor had been allowed back in. There were etched ruby glass transoms over the doors, these tilted open to allow for better air flow. In the sitting room and bedroom the walls above oak wainscoting were covered in gold-embossed leather. The ceilings were frescoed nature scenes in the sitting room and bathroom. But in the bedroom there were naked nymphs and fawns dancing through the imaginary forests in a most un-Victorian manner.
“That is unusual,” observed Asil.
Ruby laughed. “I loved the Victorian period. All very proper in public, but hidden depths where no one could see.”
It might have been a crude remark—the Victorian era was famous for the pornography it produced. As if all the sexual repression needed an escape valve. But that was not what was in her face.
She loves the hidden things, his wolf told him.
“Like beautiful mahogany tabletops buried under runners, vases, figurines, and bric-a-brac?” he observed dryly.
She laughed. “All the clutter.” She smiled at him—and it was a real smile, mischievous and glorious. It made him understand exactly why Alan Choo, submissive werewolf, had snuck behind his Alpha’s back to pull the second most dangerous werewolf in the world to save this woman.
