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He appeared in his bathroom, which the aggravating little wench downstairs had purloined. He was not using the tiny cubicle in the room she’d assigned him. Benedict’s pride was stung twice over. And she’d seen him! He hadn’t wanted to be noticed by her because he preferred her to be frightened of his invisibility and not his looks. Benedict washed the flour from him, cursing as it clumped up and turned into a sticky mess. Angrily shucking his clothing into a damn heap, he scrubbed his hair and body until it hurt.
Not caring if she interrupted him, he stepped out of the shower, grabbed his sticky mess of clothes, and transported to his new room. He hurriedly dressed and materialised in the kitchen. Benedict could hear voices and guessed there was a guest. He’d been gone twenty minutes at the most, and she had someone in his inn! Dear God above! She’d be the death of him. Benedict angrily asked the Black Cat to monitor their prisoner and shoved his clothing into her machine that washed them and then turned himself invisible again.
Benedict rushed out of the apartments, found Mariah in the bar, and paused. The sun hit her face, giving her a glow, and a look of intent happiness shone upon her expression. She was talking animatedly to an older guy, who was nodding and taking notes. Benedict crept closer and listened.
“Those awful radiators must go. They ruin the Black Cat. Can underfloor heating be used? And the walls there, if we tear them down but leave the framing up,” Mariah said as the stranger nodded.
“And new electrics and plumbing throughout, including the apartment?” the guy asked.
“Yes, please, Mr Evans. I wouldn’t like to risk piling too much on the current utilities,” Mariah replied.
“Yeah, these look to have been installed in the early twenties and using them could cause a fire,” Mr Evans said. “I would only plug minimal appliances in and then unplug them until I can get an electrician in.”
Mariah nodded.
“That makes sense. Would you like me to show you the apartment and upstairs?” Mariah asked, and Mr Evans agreed.
“Yes, we need to be thorough. This inn has beautiful bones like your friends. I like the idea of keeping four private parlours and leaving the exposed frames while tearing down the plaster. Not much else requires doing down here apart from the kitchen, which, as you said, is an unmitigated disaster. My designers, Bea and Melisandre, will recreate a workable kitchen but will keep with the style of the Black Cat. Those toilets are a disgrace and will require serious renovation, but the pipe work is already done. Just needs updating. So let’s take a gander at the rooms you wish to rent,” Mr Evans replied.
Benedict frowned. Was Mariah planning to renovate his inn? Without his input!
“The audacity!” Benedict exploded.
Mariah merely lifted an eyebrow, and he realised she had known he was there. He checked for the blasted ball of fluff but did not see it. To his surprise, Mr Evans didn’t react.
“You can either be polite and show yourself or be rude and be discounted,” Mariah said snottily, and Benedict’s eyes narrowed.
He opened his mouth to blast her, and the infuriating woman strode past him and marched towards the stairs. Mr Evans followed. Benedict chased after them as Mariah showed Mr Evans the ruined rooms. He bellowed insults at them, slammed doors in their faces, and blew icy winds as they stubbornly ignored him. Benedict was completely befuddled by the time Mariah finished the upstairs tour.
He recognised all too well the signs of a woman digging her heels in, and his eyes narrowed. There was a reason he didn’t show his face anymore, but maybe that was what it would take to frighten her to death. As he stomped downstairs after them, he resisted the urge to shove her down them. Benedict had never hurt anyone and didn’t intend to start now. An hour later, he found himself nodding alongside Mariah as Mr Evans laid out his plans despite his angst.
The Black Cat kept poking at him, and Benedict could feel her yearning for the repairs. He hated to deny her anything, his one constant companion all these lonely years.
“New thatch,” Benedict grunted, and Mr Evans and Mariah paused.
Mariah’s mouth slowly opened, and Benedict waited for her sharp tongue.
“And please add a new thatch, something pretty that will show the Black Cat in all her glory,” Mariah said gently.
Benedict smiled before he could catch himself.
“Leave!” he bellowed. He could not allow himself to soften.
“Oh, just wait!” Mariah quietly threatened.
“Begone!” Benedict retorted, but his heart wasn’t in it. The Black Cat wanted these repairs and wished to be beautiful again. He sent out a loving feeling, and the inn responded.
For a moment, Mariah lifted her head and searched around herself. Benedict wondered if she’d sensed the inn react before discouraging the thought. The Black Cat belonged to him. She was his. And he was hers, two lonely companions on a never-ending road.
Mariah
She waited patiently. Two days later, the devil finally appeared again. The last two nights, he’d plagued her with slamming doors and rattling pots and pans. She’d had little sleep, but it hadn’t stopped her from trying to clean the inn. The downstairs now gleamed, cobwebs were gone, dust bunnies had been mopped up, the floor shone dully, and the bar looked magnificent. Mr Evans was sending ladies to her in the next few days, Bea and Melisandre. He promised her they’d have plans to show her, and Mariah was looking forward to it.
Fluffers was hissing at something, and Mariah pretended to ignore the cat as she swept the floor. She sniffed the air carefully, not wanting to alert Benedict that she was onto him. There it was, the smell of sandalwood. Whistling as she continued sweeping, Mariah guided Benedict with the broom to the sheet she’d placed down. Her sharp eyes caught sight of a slight crinkle as he stepped on it out of her way.
Bingo!
Mariah reached up and yanked on a cord, and a bag full of flour fell over and rained down on her invisible ghost. Benedict yelled and then sneezed. Mariah screeched happily as she saw the flour mixed with indigo flakes cover him. Benedict cursed loudly, and she noticed indigo footsteps stamp across the old, yellowed sheet towards the apartment. Her giggles erupted because she knew where he was heading. Quickly, she gathered up the sheet and carried it outside before opening it and allowing the wind to blow the flour and dye away.
