Page 10 of Haunt Me, Maybe

A giant carved pumpkin on the bench winked at me when I stepped closer, and I caught a look at the help-wanted sign posted behind it. A strong feeling of rightness looped around my heart and pulled. I was meant to be here. I was meant to take that job. I hadn’t come here intending to work, but I was getting low on funds. That attic room chiseled a chunk out of my savings.

Before I could take another step forward, the door slammed shut by an invisible force, creating a small gust of wind that disturbed the leaves on the sidewalk. I spun, instantly recognizing the cold aura. That damned ghost was still around. Searching the mildly busy street, my gaze finally landed on him leaning against a lamppost, directly across from the café.

His figure was slightly hazy, but solid enough for me to catch the glare he slung my way. With a slow shake of his head, he mouthed the word “no,” and my hackles rose. Who the hell was he to tell me what I could and couldn’t do? My face settled into a scowl, one brow raised, and I dared him to test me. His little ghostly tricks wouldn’t stand up to my magic if he really got me going.

Someone has a lot of audacity, Fenn commented from his place in my bag.

“You’re telling me,” I agreed, and hiked the strap more securely over my shoulder. “Do you think it will be a problem? I can’t exactly afford to go to war with him right now.”

I felt more than saw Fenn shake his head. He’s nothing but a bag of parlor tricks. They’ll run out soon, and then maybe we can get the attic to warm above the ice box it feels like now.

A charming bell rang over my head as I pulled on the café door and stepped inside, the rude ghost pushed to the back of my mind. Delicious scents hit me first—maple, roasted espresso, and vanilla—and I soaked them in before letting out a slow breath. This felt right. Warm. Safe-ish. Like the kind of place I could fade into without drawing attention.

The shelves climbing to the ceiling were free of dust and absolutely stuffed with books I couldn’t wait to browse. Soft golden lights emphasized the steam curling from mugs at the few occupied tables between the bookstore half and the café counter.

“Welcome to The Cozy Caramel!” a chipper voice called, and I ducked quickly into the stacks before I was forced to acknowledge it, or worse, respond.

You’re going to have to speak to people if you want to work here, Aven.

I was more than aware. Maybe working here wasn’t the best idea. How could I stay under the radar if I took a job that literally put me in front of people? I wandered deeper between the shelves, back to where secondhand books were stacked on the floor in haphazard piles, and shook my head. That would be the first thing I organized.

Fingers idly running down spines, I browsed the eclectic mix of genres and sighed. Books made me feel safe, and being surrounded by them like this was my version of heaven. I settled onto the floor, making sure to stay out of sight of any curious customers, and picked up the first book within reach—then snatched my hand back when my magic reflexively sparked.

Easy, Fenn cautioned. The shop is a little excited to see you, I think.

A small smile curled my lips; the feeling was mutual. Moving slowly, in case any stray illusions wanted to escape, I tried again. The paperback was warm in my hand, welcoming, and ordinary. When nothing else happened, I curled my legs under me and settled in a shallow corner to read. I swore the very walls hummed in content, and I ran an absentminded finger along the floorboard. Same, strange attentive shop. Same.

I didn’t want to leave the café, or the comfort I found there, but I was afraid it would look bad if I sat all day reading without buying anything. The walk back to the inn was just as beautiful in the afternoon light, and I found myself almost skipping back despite the gnawing hole in my stomach. Once again, I considered applying for that job; my stash of protein bars was wearing thin, and honestly, I wasn’t sure how many more of those I could eat.

Dust motes danced as I made my way through the foyer of the inn. Silence and my footsteps were all that echoed back—that and the scritch-scratch of Mrs. Haverly writing in her giant book at the front desk. Her head popped up at my approach, those glasses hanging on the tip of her nose for dear life.

“Welcome back!” she greeted, gaze set upon me. I had her full attention. “How was your tour of the town?”

“Short,” I replied, with a wry grin. “I made it to the main square and then got distracted by a bookstore.”

Fenn snorted, and I gave my bag a slight shake. So I found thick books and the smell of their paper distracting. Sue me. She didn’t need to know that it was an intentional distraction from my nerves and my still undecided idea to apply for a job. Mrs. Haverly scooted around the desk and took off, leaving me scrambling to follow.

“You haven’t seen nearly enough, dear,” she called over her shoulder. “Sunhallow Farm is at its best this time of year, and their corn maze is always a hit with the younger crowd.”

I’d had enough excitement for one day, but checking out the farm sounded like a fun idea. Maybe they had apple cider or some donuts for purchase. And Fenn loved anything outdoors; there were always plenty of bugs to be found and devoured without him having to hunt too hard.

“Is the farm within walking distance?” I asked, already dissecting how much gas was left in my tank and if it would be worth using some of it for a short day drive.

“Less than a mile,” she affirmed, before once again leading me into the dining room where tea and a treat were waiting.

I’d yet to see anyone else benefit from her hospitality like this, but not going to lie, being fussed over was kind of nice. The aunts were more reserved with their affection, and I’d arrived on their doorstep nearly an adult anyway. My age didn’t seem to register with the kind inn owner. She pointed at the plate of crumb-topped muffins and all but ordered me to dig in. This time, I didn’t skip the chamomile. My anxiety settled with the first sip, and I found myself wondering why I’d gotten so nervous in the first place. As long as I kept my head down and didn’t practice big magics, there was no reason I couldn’t work in that charming little café.

As the taste of roasted almonds settled on my tongue, I gathered the courage to ask what I really wanted to know.

“So, what’s up with the attic?”

My gaze automatically scanned the room for any signs of the ghost. He definitely wouldn’t like me gossiping about him, but where else was I going to get my information? Not from him, that’s for sure. Mrs. Haverly pulled out one of the side chairs and took a seat, a small, guilty smile creasing her face.

“I told you I’ve been having trouble renting that room, yes?” I nodded and took another bite of muffin. She sighed and grabbed one for herself. “There’s been some… complaints…that it’s…haunted.”

Fighting off a laugh, some muffin got stuck in my throat. My coughing fit panicked Mrs. Haverly for the wrong reason, and she hurried to reassure me.

“Old houses like these creak, dear. But with the stories the townsfolk love spreading, well, the idea seems to stick.”