Hallow Be the Haunt (Krewe of Hunters #22.5)(37)

“I won’t,” she promised.

She reached the porch and quickly joined Beth in handing out little paper bracelets, colored for time and place on the haunted tour of the property.

But then she looked up.

And saw Shelley Broussard.

Walking toward the family graveyard.

“Sorry, be right back,” she promised Beth.

And she hurried after the ghost, forgetting that she looked exactly like the dead girl herself.





They were nearing the plantation when Jake saw that Parks was calling him.

He answered.

“We picked up the girls,” Parks said. “And Marty Nicholson.”

“What about Nicholson himself?” Jake asked.

“I don’t think he was part of it.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s dead. His throat was slit.”





“You didn’t tell her that we’re on our way to Donegal,” Jude noted.

“You don’t know Ashley,” Jake said, shaking his head. “I’d hear about her being fine, and that I should be going where I was needed. This way, there’s no argument. I’ll just go there. And…” He paused.

Jude looked at him. “And?”

“Parks and the police are covering New Orleans right now—including anything to do with Showalter’s house and the injured detective. Maybe these killers are getting better at watching out for decent targets. We need to be at Donegal Plantation.”

“Why?”

“Because Ashley knows that the girls living with Shelley were involved. There are two of your witches.”

“So that’s it—two witches?”

Jake shook his head. “No, three witches—and some sort of a commander, priest, evil god—a man.”

“Okay, so Nick and Marty Nicholson.”

“Marty, yes. She’s the third witch.”

“And Nick?”

“Could be, though I doubt they killed their leader.”

“It could be someone else. Thing is, Parks has to get those women behind bars. Tonight. Quickly.”





The graveyard at Donegal Plantation was truly beautiful. A collection of funerary art, it covered mid-nineteenth century to the present. The Donegal family tomb was most grand, offering up angels and cherubs and gargoyles.

The ghost walked right through the gate and the wall that surrounded the cemetery.

Ashley had to unlatch the gate—she was afraid of hurting herself with a leap over the little wall in her elaborate dress.

“Shelley, wait.”

But as she walked in, she saw that the ghost of Shelley was crying out and running.

And as she chased after Shelley, Ashley realized that someone was chasing after her.

Jonathan Starling.

Shelley was running, but…

Did Starling see the ghost?

Or was he running after her?

Ashley’s heart began to thud.

Jake had been afraid for her, angry because of this very costume. And now this man who had harassed Shelley, who had claimed to love her, was chasing her.

Ashley turned back. He was wearing his bloodied costume and carrying a meat cleaver.

She hopped over an in-ground stone and swung around a cherub before she was able to dive behind the Donegal family tomb. She saw an old brick that had fallen free from a planter and snatched it up quickly.

When Jonathan Starling came around the tomb, she raised the stone high. And as she did, she remembered that she had clocked Cliff once long ago—afraid that he was a killer.

She struck.

Jonathan fell.

And the ghost of Shelley Broussard appeared.

“No, no, not Jonathan. Never Jonathan. He loved me. I love him.”

“Then?” Ashley whispered the word.

“Miss Donegal, I’m so sorry. So, so, sorry that you can’t let things go.”

She turned.

And found Richard Showalter stalking her way.

He was alone, she saw. He hadn’t slit anyone’s throat—he’d had his followers do it for him.

But that didn’t matter.

He was a killer, through and through.

“You are truly an idiot,” Ashley said. She was far enough away, and the brick was still in her hand. “You’ll definitely be caught now. You’re going to try to murder me—on my own property? Tonight?”

”You’re a meddler. And a traitor to good. You have to die.”

“I’m a traitor? Because I want to stop you?”

“I have been working for justice. You are a traitor to justice. Happy to let killers walk. I hunt down monsters.”

“You killed Shelley.”

“Shelley was a traitor.”

“You can’t just kill people.”

He continued walking toward her, smiling. “You’re going to hit me with that brick?”

“You’re a hypocrite,” she told him. “You’re the monster.”

Closer, closer. She kept her eyes on him while she spoke.

“What did you do to get here? Kill a cop? The clowns weren’t coming after you to kill you—they were coming for instructions. Richard Showalter,” she sneered. “Known for his work against vigilantism. You hypocritical bastard. And you killed Shelley. Killed Shelley because she wouldn’t become part of your killing machine. You—God… You’re absolutely a monster.”