Page 13 of With All My Haunted Heart

“I’m not going to shout across the table,” she says as she sinks into her chair. “I don’t want to be accused of yelling when I’m just trying to be heard.”

Her tone is matter-of-fact. I get the sense this is something that’s happened before, and she’s cautious to avoid it now.

We peruse the menu, but I’ve eaten here often enough that I’m not actually reading anything. Instead, I study this woman who wants me to haunt a bed-and-breakfast. Xander said the concept was hers, and I try to determine what about Elle made this idea so compelling to her.

Is she a thrill seeker?

Did she watch ghost-hunting shows growing up?

Or is it as simple as finding a hole in the market she can exploit?

Once the server has taken our order—a chicken Caesar wrap for me, a rustic BLT on honey wheat for her—I decide to find out. “Xander says the idea to haunt the B&B was yours?” I keep my voice light. Curious. All I get in response is a nod while she sips her lemon water. Okay then. “What inspired the idea?”

“Ms. Ainsley, I’m not here to divulge the source of my business ideas for you to belittle.”

“Then what are you doing, Ms. Thompson?” I snap back, matching her formality.

“Midnight Manor will open on Halloween, and it will be haunted. Alex is adamant that you’re the right witch for the job.” Elle swirls her straw through her water, the ice clicking against the glass. “I don’t care who we hire, but I promised Alex that I’d try you again before I moved on.”

“Fine.” I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “Let’s hear it. What’s your big vision for your haunted attraction?”

“No.”

Irritation quickens my pulse. “No?”

“You’re the one being interviewed, Ms. Ainsley. Not me.” Her lips twitch into the approximation of a smirk, and it’s criminal how someone so frustrating can be so damn attractive. “Pretend for a second you want this job. Convince me you’re the right hire.”

I consider storming out of the restaurant, but three things keep me in my chair. The absurdly delicious wrap being prepared for me in the kitchen. My long-standing friendship with Xander. And Dea’s voice, ringing in my ear: Do I need to start looking for a new job?

“Fine. If you were a prospective client, we’d start this conversation with a hard truth.” I lean forward, arms pressed against the table, until there’s only a few inches between our faces. “I’m not sure that what you want is possible. At least not in a way that’s both ethical to the spirits and safe for your living clients.”

Elle holds my gaze, but she doesn’t say anything. Just watches me with those pale green eyes.

“To consider a case like this,” I continue, channeling everything I’ve learned as a business owner these past few years, sidestepping all the mistakes I’ve made that I don’t care to repeat, “I’d require a fee structure that pays for my time and expertise, even if I’m ultimately unsuccessful.”

“Reasonable.” She leans back, swirling her straw through the glass again. “Continue.”

“I’d also recommend, again, that we pursue other options for creating a haunted environment without involving actual ghosts.”

She scoffs. “Not happening.”

“You haven’t seen what I can do.”

Elle crosses her arms, unimpressed. “It has to be a genuine haunting.”

“But why?” I press. “Mundanes care more about the spooky experience of a haunting than whether it’s actually real.” The way people have flocked to C3’s basic-ass witchcraft is proof of that.

The server returns with starter salads, and Elle digs into hers. For the first time since we sat down, her eyes are downcast, her brow furrowed like she’s battling an internal war with herself. I stab a tomato as she comes to a decision.

“I care that it’s real,” she says at last. “Despite whatever story you’ve concocted for yourself, I’m not in this for a quick buck. I’m not trying to screw anyone over, including the deceased, and I refuse to put out false advertising. Secondly, there’s the matter of our primary investor, a witch named Sloane McKinley.”

My mouth falls open, and I cover my shock by taking a long drink of ice water. “You got Sloane McKinley to invest?”

I’ve never met Sloane in person, but they’re well-known in the witching world. Growing up, I mostly heard about them through my mother’s furious rants about Sloane’s efforts to make magic more accessible to mundanes. If Sloane had come from a less respected family—or weren’t so beloved by the mundane community—NACOW would have shut down their work long ago. These days, Sloane is a highly sought-after teacher, in part because they don’t discriminate based on someone’s innate magical ability. Or lack thereof.

A victorious smirk tugs at Elle’s lips. “Sloane is growing their training program for witches and mundanes who want to improve spiritual communication. They want to use the B&B to host their quarterly retreats, which means we need actual ghosts in residence.”

I don’t want to be impressed, but I am. A little. Yet something doesn’t add up. “If Sloane’s already involved, why do you need me?”