Ghost (The Halloween Boys #1) (25)

After offering him a weak smile, I just wanted the conversation to be over. The sun was slowly sinking past the flaming red treetops. “I should go,” I whispered.

He stood for a long moment, arms still crossed, staring me down. It was as if he wanted to argue, like he didn’t want to listen to me. But after a breath, he inclined his head. “Alright, l’ll take you back to your car. But you know about October, here, yeah? The town goes a little kooky.”

I giggled, sliding into his white car with chipped paint. “You don’t say? No, I haven’t noticed anything at all.”

With a playful roll of his eyes, he made the engine roar to life, and we took off down the mountain. “As a someone who’s lived here forever, and a journalist, I bet you know a lot about this town’s history, huh?” I asked as we rounded a steep curve.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Do you want to tell me your version of Ash Grove’s ghost story?”

His masculine face remained impassive as he stared ahead. “Didn’t you get a good enough history lesson from Old Lady Marcelene?”

“How did you—”

His lazy smile caused me to shake my head. “Nosy townspeople,” I scolded jokingly. Was everyone here talking behind my back?

The rumble of his chuckle vibrated through the car. “You’re only getting a small taste of it now. Just wait.”

We pulled to a stop outside the church, which as expected, was even more unsettling at night as it was during the day. “Well, thanks for looking after me today. Are you going to Hallows, too?”

Wolf put a hand to his chest. “Me? I’m not allowed to go.”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Uh huh.”

I clicked open the door when his hand shot across the console. “Hey, think about what I said? I got three hundred and fifty square feet of happiness with your name on it at Fenrir.”

He was so sweet it was almost unbearable. I’d never met a man so kind. Very large and very kind. “I’ll think about it,” I said, stepping out. “Thanks again.”

He kept his car in park next to mine as I climbed in. I was going to have to change in the backseat if I was going to go straight to the festival. My pulse quickened in anticipation as I rifled through my choices. I landed on the fox corset and mask I’d tried on the other day. When I looked up, Wolf was still parked next to me, the blue light of his phone the only light inside. Clutching my costume, I knocked on the window. “I’m good. You can go. I, um . . . have to get changed.”

The window rolled down. “Go ahead. I’m not leaving until you’re rolling.”

“That’s not necessary,” I argued, not particularly wanting to change clothes in front of him.

He grinned. “Those are my orders. So change or don’t, but I’m not leaving until you do.”

“Orders? Who gave you orders?” I put my hands on my hips indignantly.

He pointed to his watch. “Tick tock, you’re wasting time, my dear. Hallows awaits.” He made a spooky ooooo and I tried to hide my grin.

“Fine, but don’t look at me.”

Retreating to the other side of my car, I opted to dress between the church and my trunk. I shimmied my corset up under my dress and buttoned the clasp at my pelvic bone. That was the hardest part. The stockings and everything else I could do in my seat. Finally, I revved the engine, giving Wolf a big wave in send off. He smiled a wolfish grin before finishing on his phone and shoving it aside.

As I drove away, I realized I hadn’t felt lonely with him. Not once.

Though I was wondering what Ames was doing. Why hadn’t he been the one to take me home with him?





CHAPTER 10





Ames





HELL AND HER THREE





War makes strange bedfellows.

Helen Thomas





The well-worn path snaked through the indigo tinged forest. The trees near this cursed place had already lost their leaves. Or perhaps even the foliage knew that any display of beauty was wasted here. Closer and closer I crept toward the cold, fog-soaked plot of despair. I arrived at the towering spikes of wrought iron. No rust or decay showed on the sharp enclosure, unlike what writhed within. When they didn’t immediately part, I growled. “Open.”

“For whom?” a female voice, too feminine and delicate for this place, asked.

“You know for fucking who.” I’d run out of patience. This was supposed to be an easy kill. A fun kill. A murder to blow off steam. The boys and I should have known the second that sack of shit crossed our borders. But the motherfucker probably slithered right by me and put a letter in Blythe’s mailbox. Now I was racking my brain, wondering who he may be, what he may be. The gates swung open with a high-pitched scream and I walked through. “Dramatic much?”

The gates slammed closed. No one in the stories include the part about Hell’s Gate being into melodrama. Once fully inside, I felt it, tasted it. I took a deep inhale of my favorite scent, especially here. Terror.

“Cat,” I called, leaning against a tomb. “I know you’re watching me from a tree or some shit. I’m not in the mood for games.”

Leaves rustled as Cat stepped out from behind a barren plot. Her black fur gleamed blue in the light of the rising moon as she jumped onto a gravestone. “How nice of you to stop by.” She licked a paw. “Come to make a deposit or withdrawal?”