Page 6 of Come A Little Closer

Lower Ward.

My frown deepened and my eyebrows shot up. Tallulah Pruette was at most five and a half feet tall—and that was being generous. Lower Ward was pretty rundown and kind of a dangerous place for anyone to walk around at night. I couldn’t imagine someone as small as her moving around there safely. She was way too much of an easy target.

She wasn’t kidding about not scaring easily.

“Would you be interested in living in the guest house on the plantation property?” I offered without any reservation. “It’s for sure haunted, but it’s clean. Uber won’t be reliable out that way, either, and if you take this job, the company does assume some of the risks to your safety.”

“It’s haunted?” she asked as if she hadn’t heard anything else I had said. A slow, excited smile appeared on her lips. “I accept. The guest house and the job.”

She stood up, immediately extending her hand toward me. I got up and shook with her, ignoring the apparent electricity that sparked between us when I put my palm against hers. There was something wrong with this woman but I couldn’t stop looking at her eyes.

It was like she had cast a spell on me. I found myself intrigued by her—and her eagerness to move into a haunted house. The only other person I knew who had been so enthusiastic about living in a place like that had been me when I’d bought the Rampart Mansion—and I definitely hadn’t bought it because it was haunted. I’d simply been willing to take the spirits with the property.

This woman, however, seemed to be doing the complete opposite, and the radiant smile on her lips said that she was thrilled about it.

3

TALLULAH

Iburst through the doors of the guest house on the sprawling Carmichael property, inhaling the dusty air and grinning. According to some quick research I’d done on the internet last night, this so-called guest house was not only two stories, but it also had four bedrooms, two and a half baths, a study, three living areas, and a parlor, and it was all freaking mine.

I still couldn’t believe it.

I also couldn’t remember a happier moment in my entire life than when I walked into that guest house. Niall Morrison had seemed so shocked when I’d accepted his offer of living here, and I had a feeling he’d been trying to scare me with the ghost thing, but I was more than pleased with the arrangement.

For months now, I’d been sharing a single bedroom apartment with three roommates, sleeping on a futon with all my belongings in a suitcase held together with duct tape. So ghosts or no, this was the high life. If nothing else, the spirits wouldn’t keep stealing my granola bars like that inconsiderate bitch Amanda.

I carried my broken suitcase into the foyer and dropped it with a dull thud on the hardwood floor. I ignored the tiny puff of dust it kicked up when it landed. Cleaning wasn’t a problem for me. I’d dust for a whole year if it meant getting to live here.

Grinning even wider, I looked around the house and wondered if I should be waiting for the other shoe to drop. He’d said I could live here and he definitely owned the property—I’d checked, just to make sure I wasn’t being scammed before giving up my futon—but this seemed too good to be true.

The ceilings were high and beautifully pressed, a few cobwebs visible here and there, but that didn’t bother me. Spiders ate other bugs. Beneath my feet, gorgeous, original wooden flooring stretched as far as the eye could see, and as I moved from the foyer, to the living areas, kitchen, and up the stairs, I almost forgot how to breathe, I was so excited.

This place was incredible, filled with antique furniture and old-world charm, with tons of dark, creepy corners and closets. I hadn’t seen the main house yet, but I couldn’t quite get my head wrapped around that this was a guest house. A secondary house.

It was amazing, and I suddenly couldn’t wait to see what the actual Carmichael place looked like. The place wasn’t as familiar to me as the Rampart Mansion. I was supposed to meet Niall there in a few hours after I’d gotten settled in, though, so I’d be seeing it soon enough.

Niall.

At the thought of his name, I slowed down on the sweeping staircase, my hand lingering on the smooth wood of the banister. In my excitement to become a tour guide after our first meeting, I’d neglected to look up the enigmatic man who’d inspired my new career path.

Having been summoned to his office on no notice at all, I hadn’t had the opportunity to Google my prospective employer prior to our meeting either. I’d had no idea I’d be interviewing with him until I’d walked in.

I had, however, finally done a search on him last night—after I’d already accepted his offer. Frankly, nothing I learned about the man made me want to back out, but I’d been curious.

As it turned out, Niall Morrison was an honest-to-God real estate mogul. At only thirty-two, he was a mere four years older than me, but he’d achieved a heck of a lot more. Known for being cold, a little mean, and iron-fisted, he’d gained a reputation for getting what he wanted, and as far as I could tell, no one messed with him.

Strangely, he’d been quoted in one of the articles I’d read as not being particularly fond of Halloween and yet he’d proudly hosted the Hallow’s Eve Festival for the last several years. He also lived in a haunted house, which made it pretty difficult to get a read on the guy.

According to every source I’d been able to find, it was about preservation, restoration, and rejuvenation rather than ghosts for him. Which was fair. He clearly had a lot of respect for the city and its history, and I respected that in turn.

I finally continued up the stairs. The four bedrooms were split evenly on either side of the staircase. Each pair of bedrooms shared a bathroom, and there was a guest toilet downstairs. I was looking forward to trying all of them at some point.

After checking them all out, I chose a cozy bedroom on top of the kitchen as my own and plopped my suitcase on top of the bed. Niall had told me that the house had been modernized, at least in terms of the plumbing and electrical. Aside from the dust and spiderwebs, the place was neat and ready for a new occupant. I smiled as I gathered a load of dirty laundry from the top of my suitcase to take downstairs with me.

“To any ghosts who might be listening to me right now,” I said out loud. “I’m a friend and I’m excited to meet you.”

The doors of the intricately carved wardrobe didn’t move, nor did I see the eyes in any of the paintings on the walls flick toward me. The queen-sized, four-post bed didn’t suddenly shift an inch, and the white drapes in the windows didn’t ripple in an inexplicable breeze. No drawers in the dresser rattled and no chains clanked.