Sharon Ashwood - Unchained

A bead of sweat trickled down Ashe’s spine, making her shiver. Nerves and lust warred with each other. Ashe looked up the stairs. She could see more bookshelves. The second floor had always been the fiction section. The Nancy Drew books used to be kept by the narrow window that looked out on Fort Street. What would Nancy do? Would she ever jump her guy and forget the case?

No, by now Nancy would have found the owner hiding in a secret passage, tied up the villain, and driven away in her cute blue roadster without mussing a single Titian-red hair. Preppy bitch.

Ashe could feel the inhuman presence above, waiting with arachnid patience. It was starting to piss her off, and she had a pocket full of Holly’s charms. “I’m going to check upstairs.”

Reynard nodded. “I’ll investigate the shed and meet you up there shortly.”

“Okay.”

Reynard slipped away, quiet as a cat.

Ashe pulled a stake out of the side pocket of her pants—not that it would kill a ghost, but it made her feel better. She rolled her neck to relax the knot between her shoulder blades, and began mounting the steps. A-hunting we will go.

There was no handrail and the floor humped at the top of the steps, making for iffy footing. On the other hand, the second story was relatively uncluttered. She moved quietly through the romances to the mystery section, scanning the shelves and bookcases that lined each of the four upstairs rooms. The only light came from dirty sash windows, cords broken and frames painted shut. She saw Reynard outside, emerging from the shed. It didn’t look like he’d found anyone.

She kept moving, looking for signs of the ghost, but the second floor was far less spooky. In fact, not much had changed in this part of the store since she’d been a kid. There were still a handful of the old, yellow-spined Nancys where she thought they’d be. The sash window by that shelf—the only one that opened—was still the same, looking onto the metal fire escape that zigzagged down the side of the house. Mr. Cowan had let her sit out there and read sometimes. He’d been a sweet old guy.

She made a circuit of the upstairs, finding nothing. Ashe began to relax. On a nostalgic whim, she slipped a copy of The Sign of the Twisted Candles from the shelf. That had been the first one she’d ever read. She wondered if her old books were around and if Eden would like them.

“Have you found what you’re looking for?”

Ashe raised the stake as she jerked around, ready to strike. The book fell to the floor with a thunk.

A man stood there, his hands in the pockets of his chinos. “You must be the ghostbuster I called.”

“Yeah,” Ashe replied, feeling foolish.

He was a few inches shorter than she was, a few years older. He had curly dark hair, big brown eyes, and a day or two’s growth of beard. He smiled, showing white teeth and a set of dimples calculated to melt the female heart.

“I’m Tony,” he said. “Welcome to my mess.”

“You have a lot of stock.”

“I got a shipment from a huge estate sale, and I’m still trying to find a place to put everything.”

He gave off an easygoing, relaxed air. “I’m sorry I wasn’t downstairs to meet you. I’ve been lugging boxes up the stairs all day. I guess I didn’t hear the bell.”

Ashe slowly lowered the stake and crouched to pick up the book. “I’m Ashe Carver. My partner’s downstairs. You gotta ghost?”

Tony’s gaze wandered from the Nancy Drew to the stake, obviously trying to put the two together. “Yeah. In the attic. I was going to use that space for storage, but no way. Not until it’s cleaned out.”

Then the ghost was definitely the creepazoid presence she felt.

He gave her a curious look. “I thought your name was Holly?”

“That’s my sister. The agency’s a family business.” Not like she could say she was the second-stringer. Ashe looked around. “Where’s the attic entrance?”

“This way. Appropriately enough, it’s in the room with the thrillers.”

He started for the door, casting a look back over his shoulder to make sure Ashe was coming. She set Twisted Candles back on the shelf and followed Tony.

“So who is this ghost? The store’s been around for years. I’ve never heard of any spirit activity, and I used to come here all the time as a kid.”

“A child died in this house a hundred years ago. Don’t know her name. For some reason she’s acting up all of a sudden.”

“What does she do?”

“She sings. Bangs around. Makes noise.”

Ashe looked at him.

He shrugged. “It’s worse than it sounds. She knows just how to get to you.”

“Did something happen around the time the ghost first appeared? It’s rare for a quiet spirit to become active.”

“The old owner died. Maybe she misses him.”

The attic stairs were behind a door. The door was one of the bookcases that swung out on creaky hinges, forming the obligatory secret passage. Ashe had walked right by it twice. Nancy would have found it. Perky teen detective one, professional slayer zero.

Tony held open the door with the air of a nervous butler. “You don’t need me for this, do you?”

“Probably better you stay down here.”

He looked wobbly from relief.

“Are there lights?”

“Just this.”

He reached through the doorway and pulled a chain. It made a chink noise, and a single bulb lit a flight of painted stairs. Ashe slid the stake back in her pocket and pulled a Maglite from her belt.

“Send my partner up when he comes in, okay? He’ll be here in a sec.”

“You got it,” Tony said. “You’re set? Can I get you anything?”

“I’m set.”

“Good luck.” He looked worried.

Ashe ignored his expression and headed up the stairs. She’d wiped out whole vampire nests. This should be a piece of cake. She flicked on the flashlight and started up the steps.

Even though it was only April and starting to cloud up, the attic was hot and stuffy. It was unfinished—just a raw wood floor and a few piles of junk here and there. Someone had been busy with rolls of pink insulation, but had run out of supplies or ambition about three-quarters of the way across the roof. There were a couple of vents with screens to keep out the birds, but no windows. In some ways the lack of sunlight was good. Ghosts were easier to see in the dark.

Then she felt it. Fingertips against her cheek, so light they tickled. Annoyance flared. “Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

Wind huffed along the floor, stirring dust. Ashe heard a scampering of bare feet, quick and light as a child’s. A faint gurgle of laughter. Yes, it sounded like a girl.

Oh, great. She looked around for the obligatory china-faced doll, or the rocking horse that teetered back and forth all by itself. Ghosts loved their clichés.

There was a big captain’s chair shoved in the corner. Dollars to doughnuts, that was where the spook would appear. Ashe pulled a piece of chalk out of her pocket and drew a circle around the attic floor, making sure to touch each wall. Then she took out her packet of charms. Holly had used a Ziploc sandwich bag to keep the herbs fresh. Ashe pulled it open, getting a heady whiff of mint and something bitter. All she needed to do was position a few of these around the attic, light a spell candle, and she was finished. Prefab despooking even a broken witch could manage.

She felt the ghost’s breath on her cheek, as intimate as if she were peering over Ashe’s shoulder—which was probably true. The temperature in the place was beginning to drop. Ashe’s fingers fumbled as she pulled the first charm out of the bag. It was a cheesecloth bundle the size of a walnut. She wasn’t sure what was inside. This was Grandma and Holly’s special recipe.