“I thought the society sent a telegram letting you know we would be arriving today,” Oliver said tightly from behind Gwen’s trunk.
“They did, but unfortunately, they didn’t say there were three of you. We only have two rooms available. The others aren’t fit for habitation, and I assumed, like the last bunch, there would only be two of you. One of you might be able to stay in town with Mrs. Fleming or someone could sleep in the parlor.”
“We don’t mind sharing a room,” Felipe replied, nodding to Oliver.
“If you’re sure?” When Oliver murmured in agreement, Mr. Allen let out a relieved puff of breath. “All right, then, here are your room keys. Do you mind finding the rooms yourselves? My leg is acting up today after too many trips up and down the stairs. Your rooms are on the upper floor. The room with the larger bed is the second on the right, and the other room is directly across from it. The outhouse is behind the stable, and there’s a water pump in the kitchen. Dinner is served at six every night, and we can discuss breakfast and give you the tour once you get settled. Just holler if you need anything.”
The stairs squeaked as they filed up the narrow stairs to the second floor. The room Felipe found behind the second door was cozy andclean, even if the furniture was worn. As far as hotel rooms went on cases, it was a decent one. When Felipe set his and Oliver’s valises down, Gwen levitated Oliver’s gladstone over Felipe’s head and onto the dresser.
“Little help here?” Oliver peeped from the hall. Gwen ran to unlock her door, opening it in time for Oliver to stumble in and set the trunk down in front of the single bed with a stifled grunt. Shaking out his arms, Oliver drew in a tremulous breath. “Gwen, what did you pack? Bricks?”
“No, just my clothes, some books, a few stakes of different wood and a mallet, just in case, and… actually, there is one brick, but some believe a well-placed brick can stop a vampire. Don’t look at me like that. I can smell what’s in your gladstone.”
“What’s in the gladstone?” Felipe asked, fearing he already knew the answer.
“Cheese and jerky.”
“Andall the equipment I might need for an impromptu autopsy,” Oliver added.
“I’m sure you both overpacked, but before we get too far, a few more ground rules,” Felipe said quietly. “Don’t unpack everything in case we need to make a hasty exit. Essentials only, everything else as necessary. And do not go off anywhere without telling someone else, even to the outhouse. We can’t afford to lose sight of each other. Got it?”
“Yes,” Oliver and Gwen replied in unison.
“Good, now, let’s get unpacked and cleaned up as quickly as possible. I want to talk to Mr. Allen and get the lay of the land before it gets too dark.”
Leaving Gwen to deal with her belongings, Felipe fell back into the familiar routine of unpacking his valise in a strange place. He hated how after nine months, it felt like he never stopped taking these sorts of cases. He wasn’t sure Gwen and Oliver could fully understand how dangerous cases were that took them far from the protection of the society. If anything went wrong, there would be no one there to savethem. Going on a case with Oliver added a layer of fear he hadn’t felt with his previous investigative partners, but Gwen being there made it so much worse. She was Oliver’s oldest friend and had grown to be an integral part of Felipe’s life. He had caught a glimpse of what losing them both could be like back in January, and he couldn’t do it again.
Felipe’s hands stilled on a box of ammunition. If anything happened to either of them, he would never forgive himself.
Chapter Eight
The Plight of Aldorhaven
As Mr. Allen gave them the tour of the inn, Oliver tried to focus on the layout of the building instead of catching the attention of the dog that trailed at the older man’s feet. The brindle mutt was built like a hippopotamus with a wide snout and a rounded body, though much like a hippo, he moved quickly when he wanted to. Argos zipped from Mr. Allen’s side to the tree line to boof at a squirrel when he opened the door in the kitchen to show them the outhouse and clothesline should they need them. The inn itself was rather small with a cramped kitchen, a dining room large enough to accommodate half a dozen people, a locked room off the entrance that may have once been a front parlor but had been converted into Mr. Allen’s bedroom, and a sitting room tucked at the back like an oversight.
Oliver couldn’t imagine many people used it. It had the distinct look of a shared space that had been slowly taken over by one person. The walls were decorated with too many paintings of dogs and horses, and while the furniture was in decent shape, it was far too big for theroom and the cushion on the chair nearest the fire was stacked with books and a magnifying glass. Years ago, the parlor may have been meant to be used by guests, but over time, it had gone from cozy to cluttered with knickknack shelves stuffed with ceramic and wooden creatures that creeped onto the mantle along with photographs and several racks of decorative pipes.At least the man chose pipes over cigarettes, Oliver thought as he eyed the pipe with a grinning green man’s face; of all the tobacco smoke, pipes were the least offensive.
“You’re a veteran, Mr. Allen?” Felipe asked, nodding toward a tintype of a young man in a union calvary uniform as Mr. Allen paused to poke at the banked fire.
“I was seventeen when I joined the War Between the States. First Ghost Regiment of the Pennsylvania Cavalry.” Mr. Allen’s features flushed with pride as he straightened. “That painting up there is of my horse. If it wasn’t for him, I don’t think I would have gotten through the war.”
In pride of place above the mantle was a framed pastel drawing of a large, brown horse with a white diamond on its nose. The horse stood in an encampment littered with tents, looking far more regal than it ought on a battlefield. Beneath the painting hung a Henry repeating rifle with a horse etched into its stock.
“The ghost regiments… Those were special all paranormal units, weren’t they?” Gwen added as she took a seat on the sofa.
When Mr. Allen picked up the pile of books and sank into the spindly chair near the fire, Oliver and Felipe sat a safe distance apart on the loveseat. “Yes, ma’am. Everyone in my regiment had some power or other. I have a touch of invisibility, so they sent me on reconnaissance missions or to deliver messages. I didn’t see much in the way of actual fighting and killing, but they kept me busy. Those missions had their own dangers,” he replied, patting his injured leg.
“I can definitely see that. You know, the New York Paranormal Society has made a point to record the stories of soldiers who were in the ghost regiments to preserve them in our archives. Before we leave, would you be willing tell me about your time in the army, Mr. Allen?”
“I would be happy to.” Looking between the three of them, Mr. Allen’s smile faltered into a frown as he fingered the pipe in his hand. “With all of you here, I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you why I sent a letter to the paranormal society.”
“That would be helpful.”
No matter how many times Oliver watched Felipe shift from his life partner to his investigative partner, the subtle change never ceased to fascinate him. He was the same person, yet he felt more present and focused but also guarded. It was like seeing him through a prism or a pressurized version of him. Pulling out his pencil and notepad, Oliver waited for him to begin.
Leaning forward in his chair, Felipe cleared his throat and leveled his gaze at the innkeeper. “We read your letter and the scant report left by the second group of investigators from the New Jersey Branch of the Paranormal Society, but we couldn’t glean much from it.”
“The second pair, ugh. A bunch of ninnies. The first pair barely did anything, but the second— I know Aldorhaven isn’t the norm, but they had already made up their minds they weren’t staying before they even got here. They took one look at what was going on, packed up the other investigators’ stuff, and flew out of town like the hounds of hell were chasing them.”
