Mate Bond
Page 61
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“We’re just passing through,” Pierce said smoothly, moving to the long, polished wooden bar. He’d always been more diplomatic than most Shifters. “We’ll each have a beer, the best you have on tap. We’re wondering if you’ve seen this guy.” Pierce pushed a print of the photo of Gil from long ago across the bar’s top.
The bartender glanced at it as he pulled the tap and filled a glass, tilting it to let out a stream of foam. “Of course I’ve seen him. Most people who work here have, and so have some of the guests.”
“Great,” Pierce said. “Do you think we could talk to him?”
The bartender shrugged. He placed the filled glass, expertly topped with a small head, in front of Kenzie, and started on the next one. “Depends. Sometimes he shows up; sometimes he doesn’t. It’s been hit or miss lately. Too bad, because some of the guests drive miles for it. If he appears tonight, it will be out in the lobby, on the old staircase. Was there last night, though before that, he hadn’t shown himself for about a week.”
Kenzie gave him a blank look. “Shown himself?”
The bartender put the second glass down in front of Pierce, printed out a slip from the register behind the bar, and put the paper facedown by Pierce’s hand. “You know, manifest, or whatever it’s called.” The bartender tapped the picture. “He’s our resident ghost. Famous. This is the most popular haunted hotel in the Smokies.”
* * *
“Ghost, my ass,” Kenzie muttered to Pierce as they sat at a table in the corner. The older couple had sidled out, but the newlyweds had their arms wrapped around each other, their mouths meeting and parting, meeting again.
Kenzie had stepped out into the cold on the porch to call Bowman again while Pierce settled the tab. She’d explained to him where she and Pierce had gone. “Seriously?” Bowman had asked. He’d been slightly out of breath, as though he’d been running.
“We’re going to wait and see if he manifests,” Kenzie said. “Then I’m going to kick his ass.”
“Be careful.” Bowman’s rumbling voice warned her. “If he’s been lying to us, it means he’s dangerous. I’m coming out there.”
“No need,” Kenzie said. “Pierce is pretty good in a fight.” An understatement—he was one of the best fighters at the fight club, next to his cousin Jamie. “I promise if things go bad, we’ll back off.”
Bowman hesitated. She could tell he was torn—he wanted to come, but it was clear he was involved in things on his side. “All right, but keep in touch.”
“What are you doing?” Kenzie asked, worried.
“Stuff I should have done days ago. I’m taking over Turner’s house, holding him, and searching everything he’s got. He’s going to give me some answers.”
“You be careful,” Kenzie said, echoing his warning. Chasing Gil suddenly seemed like a picnic—a Shifter one, with plenty of food, drink, and sex. “I’ve read parts of Turner’s manuscript. He seems to know a lot about Shifters, I mean, back when they first appeared out of Fae gates. He speculates pretty close to the truth about how the original Shifters were created. He knows a lot about it, Bowman. More than anyone should.”
“Good. Then he’ll tell it all to me. I’ll wring the truth out of him.”
“And if you hurt him, he’ll call the police, and you’ll be arrested, caged, and probably killed.”
Bowman laughed with the snarling laugh he used when he was at his most angry. “In that case, I’ll let Cristian wring him in half for me. Don’t worry, Kenz. Turner will talk to me, not the police.”
Kenzie hung up, not reassured.
She and Pierce waited, restless, and sipped beers. They didn’t talk much. The honeymoon couple remained entwined, oblivious, their drinks untouched.
At around one, the bartender sent them a nod. “If you want to see the ghost, he usually shows up about now.”
Kenzie was on her feet and leaving the bar. She heard Pierce drop a tip on the table and follow her.
The hotel’s main staircase folded into the wall to the right of the front door. At the other end of the lofty main hall, however, behind the check-in counter, another set of stairs rose to a balcony. This staircase had an open balustrade with carved spindles and a polished railing. The gallery above it encircled the hall, with several doors opening off it.
Those were rooms in the original house, the woman who introduced herself as the innkeeper explained, and dated from 1840. The rest of the mansion had been added starting in the 1870s, with renovations continuing into the first decade of the twentieth century. The man who was now the ghost had lived here in the 1860s, adopted by the family when he was in his teens. He now returned to check on the place, it was said, to make sure the house his adopted family had left him was doing well.
Sure he does. Kenzie trained her glare on the balcony.
The older couple from the bar had been joined by two younger ones, and even the honeymoon couple emerged. All turned eagerly toward the staircase and gallery.
They waited. The large case clock in the hall struck half past one, then ticked on toward two.
One of the men behind her let out a long sigh. “He’s not going to show. I’m going to bed.”
He started to move, then his wife gasped, and Pierce said, “Whoa.”
Gil was there, on the balcony at the far end of the hall. He hadn’t been a second ago, but Kenzie blinked and then saw him in the shadows.
He was dressed in the old clothes he’d worn in the photo, including the rather battered hat, and stood so that the indirect light made his outline a little fuzzy. His smooth face was blank, his eyes strangely still as he gazed straight ahead, not looking down into the hotel. For a ghost reputed to be checking on his adopted family’s home, he seemed not to notice it.
“He’s really here,” a woman whispered. The click of a phone’s camera went off. “He’s so lifelike.”
Kenzie hid a snort and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hey, Gil,” she called.
He was good. Gil never looked at her, never moved his ghostly hand from where it rested on the railing, but Kenzie saw him start, saw his eyes flicker.
With a suddenness that had the rest of the guests jumping, she launched herself down the length of the hall, past the polished check-in counter, and up the gallery stairs.
The bartender glanced at it as he pulled the tap and filled a glass, tilting it to let out a stream of foam. “Of course I’ve seen him. Most people who work here have, and so have some of the guests.”
“Great,” Pierce said. “Do you think we could talk to him?”
The bartender shrugged. He placed the filled glass, expertly topped with a small head, in front of Kenzie, and started on the next one. “Depends. Sometimes he shows up; sometimes he doesn’t. It’s been hit or miss lately. Too bad, because some of the guests drive miles for it. If he appears tonight, it will be out in the lobby, on the old staircase. Was there last night, though before that, he hadn’t shown himself for about a week.”
Kenzie gave him a blank look. “Shown himself?”
The bartender put the second glass down in front of Pierce, printed out a slip from the register behind the bar, and put the paper facedown by Pierce’s hand. “You know, manifest, or whatever it’s called.” The bartender tapped the picture. “He’s our resident ghost. Famous. This is the most popular haunted hotel in the Smokies.”
* * *
“Ghost, my ass,” Kenzie muttered to Pierce as they sat at a table in the corner. The older couple had sidled out, but the newlyweds had their arms wrapped around each other, their mouths meeting and parting, meeting again.
Kenzie had stepped out into the cold on the porch to call Bowman again while Pierce settled the tab. She’d explained to him where she and Pierce had gone. “Seriously?” Bowman had asked. He’d been slightly out of breath, as though he’d been running.
“We’re going to wait and see if he manifests,” Kenzie said. “Then I’m going to kick his ass.”
“Be careful.” Bowman’s rumbling voice warned her. “If he’s been lying to us, it means he’s dangerous. I’m coming out there.”
“No need,” Kenzie said. “Pierce is pretty good in a fight.” An understatement—he was one of the best fighters at the fight club, next to his cousin Jamie. “I promise if things go bad, we’ll back off.”
Bowman hesitated. She could tell he was torn—he wanted to come, but it was clear he was involved in things on his side. “All right, but keep in touch.”
“What are you doing?” Kenzie asked, worried.
“Stuff I should have done days ago. I’m taking over Turner’s house, holding him, and searching everything he’s got. He’s going to give me some answers.”
“You be careful,” Kenzie said, echoing his warning. Chasing Gil suddenly seemed like a picnic—a Shifter one, with plenty of food, drink, and sex. “I’ve read parts of Turner’s manuscript. He seems to know a lot about Shifters, I mean, back when they first appeared out of Fae gates. He speculates pretty close to the truth about how the original Shifters were created. He knows a lot about it, Bowman. More than anyone should.”
“Good. Then he’ll tell it all to me. I’ll wring the truth out of him.”
“And if you hurt him, he’ll call the police, and you’ll be arrested, caged, and probably killed.”
Bowman laughed with the snarling laugh he used when he was at his most angry. “In that case, I’ll let Cristian wring him in half for me. Don’t worry, Kenz. Turner will talk to me, not the police.”
Kenzie hung up, not reassured.
She and Pierce waited, restless, and sipped beers. They didn’t talk much. The honeymoon couple remained entwined, oblivious, their drinks untouched.
At around one, the bartender sent them a nod. “If you want to see the ghost, he usually shows up about now.”
Kenzie was on her feet and leaving the bar. She heard Pierce drop a tip on the table and follow her.
The hotel’s main staircase folded into the wall to the right of the front door. At the other end of the lofty main hall, however, behind the check-in counter, another set of stairs rose to a balcony. This staircase had an open balustrade with carved spindles and a polished railing. The gallery above it encircled the hall, with several doors opening off it.
Those were rooms in the original house, the woman who introduced herself as the innkeeper explained, and dated from 1840. The rest of the mansion had been added starting in the 1870s, with renovations continuing into the first decade of the twentieth century. The man who was now the ghost had lived here in the 1860s, adopted by the family when he was in his teens. He now returned to check on the place, it was said, to make sure the house his adopted family had left him was doing well.
Sure he does. Kenzie trained her glare on the balcony.
The older couple from the bar had been joined by two younger ones, and even the honeymoon couple emerged. All turned eagerly toward the staircase and gallery.
They waited. The large case clock in the hall struck half past one, then ticked on toward two.
One of the men behind her let out a long sigh. “He’s not going to show. I’m going to bed.”
He started to move, then his wife gasped, and Pierce said, “Whoa.”
Gil was there, on the balcony at the far end of the hall. He hadn’t been a second ago, but Kenzie blinked and then saw him in the shadows.
He was dressed in the old clothes he’d worn in the photo, including the rather battered hat, and stood so that the indirect light made his outline a little fuzzy. His smooth face was blank, his eyes strangely still as he gazed straight ahead, not looking down into the hotel. For a ghost reputed to be checking on his adopted family’s home, he seemed not to notice it.
“He’s really here,” a woman whispered. The click of a phone’s camera went off. “He’s so lifelike.”
Kenzie hid a snort and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hey, Gil,” she called.
He was good. Gil never looked at her, never moved his ghostly hand from where it rested on the railing, but Kenzie saw him start, saw his eyes flicker.
With a suddenness that had the rest of the guests jumping, she launched herself down the length of the hall, past the polished check-in counter, and up the gallery stairs.
