Page 39 of With All My Haunted Heart

Chapter

Twelve

I don’t understand how someone so hot and so smart can be so profoundly frustrating.

“You’re going to lose your investors if you don’t lower your standards!” My voice echoes back at me, my breath an angry puff of white in the cold between us. We’ve been interviewing ghosts all day, and no matter who’s come forward into the half dozen summoning circles I’ve drawn, Elle always finds a reason they’re not right for Midnight Manor.

The ghosts have been too gruesome. Too boring. Too sexist—which, fair on those ones. Plus, some of the ghosts, especially those already indoors, didn’t have any interest in moving into the B&B. Some seem to like the solitude. Of the ghosts who turned us down, most of them asked me to help them move on, while a handful were content to continue haunting their current location.

“That last one was perfect, Elle. I don’t know what else you could possibly want!” The most recent ghost I helped cross to the other side was an attractive gay man, early forties when he died, and he was a conversational delight. He’s been haunting this baseball field for the past eight years, cheering for his still-living teammates on the recreational team he’d founded.

“He was close,” Elle says, her hands tucked under her arms to keep her fingers warm. “But he was far from perfect. I can’t deal with Alex trying to hook up with a ghost for the next ten years.”

“Xander is a professional. If the ghost didn’t want to flirt with him, Xander would back off. And I’m sure he’d keep it together in front of you if you asked.”

“Still—”

“Still nothing!” I snap, exhaustion making my emotions jagged and sharp. I’ve never spent this many hours channeling new-to-me magic, and the energetic overload is getting intense. “I don’t know who High School Xander was that makes you think he’d let his libido ruin your business, but that’s not who he is now. Don’t blame him for your cold feet.”

“Cold feet?!”

“I don’t know what else to call it. It’s like you’re intentionally sabotaging this whole thing! How am I supposed to haunt the B&B if you turn down every single ghost we encounter?” I drag my freezing fingers through my hair and pull hard. The sting against my scalp grounds me back in my body. “Do you have any idea how fucking incredible it is that I’ve gotten us this far? You should be kissing my ass right now, not making my job impossible!”

“Uh…sorry to interrupt,” an unfamiliar voice cuts in before Elle can respond. “But I got pulled here?”

With a final withering glare at Elle, I turn my attention to the summoning circle, where an androgynous ghost with teal hair is watching Elle and me with a look of amusement. The ghost is wearing baggy jeans with holes in the knees and an Oak Spires University sweatshirt that matches their college-age appearance.

I offer a smile and breathe deep in an effort to bleed some of the tension from my body. “Hi. I’m Pippa.”

“Laney.” The ghost looks from me to Elle. “They/them pronouns.”

“Great to meet you. We both use she/her. I’m sorry if the summoning dragged you away from something important. My…” I gesture at Elle without looking at her, searching for the right term. “My colleague and I are looking for spirits interested in moving into a ghost-friendly bed-and-breakfast.”

“Neat,” Laney says, a smile quirking up the corner of their lips as they consider Elle. “And you’re the one who decides which ghosts get to live in this B&B?”

I can’t see her, but I can feel the furious glare that Elle shoots my way before she addresses Laney. “If you’re open to the idea, I have some questions for you.”

“Naturally. About my life or my death?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable sharing,” Elle says, soothing her tone into something gentle and warm.

Laney props their hands on their hips. “There’s not much to tell. I was only twenty when I died. I’d just finished my sophomore year of college, which got all fucked up with the pandemic. I died that summer, unrelated to said pandemic. I was born with a genetic heart issue.” They thump their chest with a fist. “Damn thing stopped beating on me.”

“That sucks,” I say, and my interruption earns me a fresh glare from Elle. As if I’m the reason we’re out here in the cold. If I were in charge of picking the ghosts, we’d be halfway back to Midnight Manor with both pieces of lepidolite carrying perfectly pleasant spirits.

“What were you studying?”

“Seriously, Elle? You’re can’t reject them based on their major.”

She whips around to glare at me. “I’m paying for this service. I get to decide.”

“Hell,” I mutter to myself. “I’m in hell.”

“I suggest you cool off before you say something you regret, Miss Ainsley,” Elle snaps, and it’s like all the rapport we’ve built over the last few weeks has shredded to nothing. Like the camaraderie of last night never happened. Clearly, everything I interpreted as flirtation was simply a ruse to make sure I followed through on my job.

“Whatever you say, Miss Thompson.”

It’s petulant and petty and a little childish, but I turn and storm away from the summoning circle. I make my way to the dugout and slump on the metal bench. The cold pierces through my jeans, and I trace a warming sigil along the metal, funneling magic until the seat is cozy beneath me. My own makeshift butt warmer, the kind I wish my shitty car had built in.