Page 15 of With All My Haunted Heart

The case in front of me won’t be like that, though. Xander is there, and he loves who I am, not who he thinks I’m supposed to be. He loves that I experiment. That I push against the boundaries of magical tradition. And if things get messy along the way, we’ll laugh about it once it’s all cleaned up again. And Elle…

Well, it doesn’t matter what she thinks. She’s a client. She’s Xander’s friend and business partner. She’s nothing to me personally. As long as I give this my best shot, I get paid. And if I successfully haunt Midnight Manor, it’ll open doors that have been closed since my parents threw me out of the house without a penny to my name.

My knuckles crack as my hands tighten on the steering wheel, and I shove away everything that reminds me of the family I lost. I have a new family now. One I’ve chosen. I get to spend the next thirty-two days living with that family again. A month with Xander is a dream scenario.

Even if living in close quarters with Elle is less than ideal.

Gravel rumbles under the tires as I turn up the B&B’s driveway, and when the trees part to reveal the building, the same sense of wonder I experienced the first time washes through me again. The grounds are beautiful, even in the transition of seasons—no longer the lush, vibrant green of summer but not yet the riot of orange and red and gold of full autumn. I bet winter will be beautiful, too, white snow clinging to bare branches, glittering like diamonds.

Once this ghost business is behind us, I’ll see if Xander wants me to winterize the driveway so it doesn’t ice over or collect snow. It’s a short-lasting spell that needs to be renewed often—depending on the weather—but I wouldn’t mind the excuse to see Xander more regularly.

I park in the same spot from the weekend, and when I climb out of the car, my back screams at me. On second thought…maybe I don’t want to make this drive every week. The ninety minutes to Oak Spires is nothing compared to visiting Xander when he lived in Brooklyn, but it’s not a quick jaunt, either. Especially with a back like mine and less than eight months until I’m thirty.

Those are future decisions, I remind myself. One thing at a time.

Worry circles my throat as I grab my bags from the trunk. I packed light as far as personal items, but even with the Lucente-Cole bag to carry my crystals and other magical supplies, I needed a whole separate suitcase for all the texts I could find on interacting with ghosts. If NACOW weren’t obsessed with tradition—and keeping magical secrets out of mundane hands so we seem as nonthreatening as possible—this information could be online by now. While there are some witch-only spaces on the internet, they’re not allowed to include the level of detail I need for something like this.

Which leaves me lugging fifty pounds of old books to make sure I don’t tear a hole in the veil between our world and the spiritual plane.

Once I’ve dragged my things up the front steps, I use my elbow to press the doorbell, and deep chimes echo beyond the door. It takes a few minutes, my back aching under the weight of all my luggage, before the wide expanse of wood swings open and reveals Xander’s smug smile.

“I knew she’d talk you into it.” Xander leans against the doorjamb, looking like the picture of perfect fall coziness. Well-worn jeans hang on his hips, a cozy sweater settling along his broad shoulders.

“Yeah, yeah.” I push the bags forward, and Xander scoops them up, transforming in an instant to the perfect host. “Elle said I could stay here while I figure out how to haunt this place.” Crossing the threshold brings a symphony of scents: Xander’s usual summery mix of bonfires and cleansing rain, the brightness of natural cleaners, and the sugary sweetness of something delicious baking in the kitchen.

Xander drags my bags up the stairs, and I follow diligently behind him. “I’m glad you’re here. It’ll be like when we shared an apartment in college.”

“It’ll definitely be less depressing than when you took me in like a stray cat.”

“Pippa…” His voice is tinged with pity, and it settles like a pit in my stomach.

“Come on, Xan, let a girl get in a few self-deprecating jokes without treating her like a wounded butterfly.”

He laughs so hard he snorts. “You are not a wounded butterfly.”

“Exactly.” I hurry up the last couple of steps and nudge him with my shoulder. “So, which of these rooms is mine for the month?”

“You must have made quite the impression. Lou gave you the best room in the house.” Xander leads me down the hall to the last door on the right. “This is more of a suite than a room. You’ve got your own bathroom plus a little office space.”

The light flicks on, illuminating the room in a soft glow. I remember this space. It was the first room I cleansed when I was here last Saturday. Drenched in sunlight and filled with vibrant green houseplants, the suite doesn’t have the vibe I’d expect for a haunted B&B. It’s warm and bright and lovely.

Shouldn’t it be spookier?

Since my original visit, someone has added a few finishing touches. There are fresh flowers on the dresser. The windows are propped open to let in the crisp fall air. A welcome basket with croissants sits on the little table, and even from here, I can smell the butter.

My stomach grumbles.

Xander drops my things and grabs one of the croissants from the basket. “You’ve got to try these, Pip.” He bites into the flaky treat, and the delicate crinkle of the crust has me dropping my final bag and snatching one for myself.

The first bite explodes with flavor across my tongue, airy and still warm from the oven. “Fuck me, these are good.”

“Thank you.”

I whirl around at the sound of Elle’s voice, and the sight of her sends my stomach swooping. She looks like she came straight from the kitchen, her hair pulled back into a messy bun, little tendrils of red hair stuck to her face. There’s the tiniest bit of white flour brushed along the left side of her hip. Her cheeks are flushed with heat, like she’s spent the day near the oven.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.” I hold up the croissant, and while I want another bite, it feels weirdly intimate to take one while she watches. It shouldn’t, it makes no logical sense, but it does.

“I needed to test the recipe anyway.” Elle glances around the room, one eyebrow quirking up at the bags piled on the floor. “Bring enough supplies?”