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Popty held up another bunch of snowdrops and gestured with them towards me.

“You want me to give these to Ted?” I asked.

Popty nodded with a small, bright ping.

“That’s very nice, but we’re in the middle of a serious operation right now, Pop. Maybe after, we can…” I paused. “Wait, have you been picking flowers this whole time instead of looking out for Gerald?”

Popty froze and then shifted sheepishly.

I cringed. “So no one has been watching the back door?”

We both looked towards the back stairs.

“Surely not…” I said. “There’s no floor; it’s a sheer drop. He’d have to climb over…”

But Ted had said not to underestimate Gerald.

“Maybe we should check. Just to be safe.”

Popty nodded.

We crept toward the stairs, the floorboards creaking around us. It had never once unsettled me. Until now. The idea of Gerald poking around my B&B made my skin crawl.

We made it to the bottom floor and I saw Bronwyn on her patrol down the hallway by the front door.

The knot in my chest began to loosen, but it wouldn’t fully ease.

I opened the back door and peeked out. There was nothing but fog and chill air, Barth’s crew floating around and in the crow’s nest of their ship.

“Surely they would have seen something,” I murmured before closing the door again. “Maybe I’m being paranoid.”

“Psst!”

I glanced over to see Harold cowering in the kitchen. I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong but he pointed toward the living room with a shaky finger.

I swallowed and turned to Popty. “Go tell Ryan.”

He pinged at me in worry.

“I’ll be fine. Quick.”

Popty rushed off and I turned to Harold. “Go tell Bronwyn and the others that the plan is in motion.”

“ME?!”

I walked into the living room confidently. “Excuse me. I don’t think you have a booking with us.”

Gerald froze from where he was rifling through a drawer and turned slowly. He was a man in his later years with grey hair and milky blue eyes. The tips of his fingers were stained yellowish brown, suggesting a penchant for smoking that was confirmed when the scent of tobacco drifted toward me. He was dressed in a literal trenchcoat, but I was too tense to laugh at my own accurate analysis of him and his business.

“Ah. The psychopomp, I presume,” he drawled, smiling. A gold tooth glinted in the low lamplight.

I fought not to react. “My name is Owain. We’re closed right now. You’ll have to make a reservation and come back.”

“Fully booked?” Gerald asked lightly. “I can only presume by whom.”

“I’m afraid I can’t reveal the personal information of my guests.”

“Let’s expedite this a bit, shall we? I’ve never enjoyed prevaricating around the bush.” He smiled again, but this time it was cold as ice. “Ted. Where is he?”