“So, you and Ari really got trashed last night?”
“Majorly. I can’t remember much of it, and neither can Ari. We did a wishcraft ceremony and…hell, I’m not even clear on what I wished for. There was a matchbook, a perfume bottle, and a book of ghost stories on the altar when I woke up.” I grinned, handing him a mint as I popped one in my mouth.
“Matches, huh? You’re not taking up smoking, are you?” Killian kissed my forehead.
“No, goofball.” I paused as Xi jumped up on my lap, then crawled over to Killian. While Klaus liked Killian, Xi adored him and whenever he came over, she made a beeline for his shoulder, where she liked to hang out, staring over the room like a parrot on a pirate.
He laughed, stroking her chin. “Well, I’m gaining clients. Apparently, word of mouth is that I’m a regular Dr. Dolittle.”
“I’m glad,” I said, twisting around so that I was lying with my head in his lap, staring up at the ceiling. “So, tonight things felt very odd. Did you notice?”
“Odd? Hmm, the only thing I noticed was the way that waiter was looking at your boobs. I was about ready to faceplant him.”
“Then I wasn’t imagining it?” I still had a hard time acknowledging that men could notice me, especially when I was around women like Ari and Caitlin. It did help that neither of them thrived on the attention—Ari was gay and couldn’t care less if men noticed her, and Caitlin was engaged, but had a secret crush on our boss, Tad.
“No, you were not. He was trying to look down your dress all evening. And thanks to the dress, he managed to get an eyeful.” Killian laughed, stroking my hair. “Never mind about him, though. Did you have a good birthday?”
I nodded. “Yes, actually. I haven’t had a birthday this good since I was…well…since before I met Ellison. Even when he truly loved me, he was never one for celebrations. We never kept track of the holidays, other than fulfilling obligatory expectations. I wanted to, but he wasn’t much for it. And it didn’t help that my holidays and his were different.”
“Did you like your gift?” Killian asked. He had bought me a gorgeous messenger bag I’d had my eye on, but hadn’t been able to bring myself to buy. Made of rich black leather, it was an elegant shoulder bag, big enough for my laptop and everything else, and so blinged out with silver studs and chains that it met all my aesthetic needs.
“I love it,” I said, rolling over and pushing myself to my knees. I picked up the remote and turned the TV off, then straddled his lap, my knees resting on the sofa cushions. I lowered myself to where I was sitting on him and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I’d like another present, now, if you wouldn’t mind.”
He caught his breath, staring into my eyes. I was five-nine, just short of his height, and the feel of him hardening beneath me made my nipples stiffen. He slid his arms around my waist and pulled me closer and I met his lips with my own, my tongue playing against his. I kissed him, long and low and deep, and every fiber of my body stirred as my pulse quickened.
Killian broke away. “Upstairs or here, on the sofa?”
“Here. Take me here. Now. I want you inside me,” I whispered, nibbling on his ear as I rubbed my breasts against his chest. “Undress.”
He lifted me off his lap and stood. As he dimmed the light on the end table next to us, I pulled off my night shirt and dropped it on the floor. Yes, I was ready for a birthday present that didn’t involve bows and ribbons, but only the soft slide of flesh on flesh.
Monday morning, I was ready for work again. Killian and I had spent all Sunday together, taking a drive out into the country. The temperature had dropped again and as the snow level lowered, the rain stopped, and cool, bleak skies covered the skies. We were supposed to see a round of snow by Tuesday morning, and forecasters warned it might last for a while.
I was wearing a pair of new jeans that hugged my curves, a black tank top with a matching drape-lapel cardigan, and a pair of high-heeled ankle boots. I had gathered my hair into a ponytail and I was carrying my new messenger bag.
As I set my bag by the side of my desk, I saw that Tad was talking on the phone, and Caitlin and Hank were both monitoring the websites that belonged to Urban Legends, Inc., the umbrella group housing Conjure Ink as well as its sister sites.
Wren was watching the front desk. Conjure Ink was in an office complex located in a strip mall, and we were right on the edge of Mystic Wood State Park—a huge copse that ran through the backside of Moonshadow Bay. My house also bordered the park, and very few people wandered through the wood without taking a friend along, or some other sort of protection.
We had a large office that had a reception area and then the back rooms, which were kept locked due to the tens of thousands of dollars of equipment we had—computer equipment up the wazoo, and electronic monitoring gadgets for when we went out on cases.
Conjure Ink was a paranormal investigations agency. Our main focus was to study paranormal activity around Western Washington, and we often went to check out haunted houses and other urban legends, many of which actually proved to be true. But we also took cases on, where we were hired to take care of ghosts and other such mysteries by people who couldn’t handle matters themselves. My first case, the month before, involved a haunted asylum, which also had a guest in residence—a massive land wight. That had been loads of fun…not.
Tad was the brains behind the company, as well as the creator of Urban Legends, Inc., which consisted of about a dozen sites, all independently run, and all with similar focuses. Urban Legends kept a database for paranormal activities from ghosts to UFOs to Bigfoot to devil dogs, and all the sites reported their findings to the database so we had a comprehensive encyclopedia of activity. Sharing information made the job easier for all of us.
I had been hired to write the articles for the website, and to be the main investigator for the company. While we all went out on cases, I was the front woman, so to speak.
“Meeting!” Tad called out as he set his phone down on his desk. “We have a new case, and it’s urgent.”
I poured myself a cup of coffee and headed to the table where we held all of our meetings.
“Wren, put up the sign and come in,” Tad said, sticking his head out the door to the reception area.
As we settled ourselves around the table, Caitlin slid a plate of cookies onto the center. “I made chocolate chip cookies last night,” she said, glancing at Tad. Everybody knew they were his favorite.
But he just gave her an absent nod and opened his laptop. “They smell great. I just got off the phone with Louise Haymer, who owns the Spit & Whistle Pub down near the marina. She’s noticed some paranormal activity, and is convinced the restaurant is haunted. She told me that it’s been getting worse as the days go on. She just renovated part of the basement, and the hauntings started after that.”
“What kind of hauntings?” I asked.
“Chairs moving with nobody around. Glasses flying off the shelves every now and then. One morning the range was on when the cook came in. It could have easily caught something on fire. Customers have seen apparitions over the past month or so. One guest complained that he was touched in the bathroom, but nobody was there. Auditory components too—footsteps upstairs in the bedrooms, the elevator sounds like it’s moving on its own…”