How to Claim an Undead Soul Page 7

  “I can do that.” I would have to run it past Neely first, though. I didn’t want to get him in trouble if I caught Voorhees mid-shenanigans. “Thanks for the opportunity.”

  “Don’t thank me.” She rolled her unlit cigarette to the other side of her mouth. “Assigning you there won’t cause a staff shortage here if you vanish. That’s the only reason I’m giving you one last chance. Blow this, and you’re done. You’ll never work for me again.”

  I reined in the impulse to keep from asking if I might climb the rungs back up to tour-guide status. She had agreed to let me work on the Cora Ann, and that was the closest to full-time employment as I was likely to find with my available hours. Plus, I had to admit, I was more than a little curious about the ghost boy.

  The haunting must be an old one, or the papers would have splashed the story of recent tragedy across the pages complete with stomach-churning pics of his parents attempting to cope with his loss and sudden fame. What had riled a stable entity up to poltergeist levels? And could it also be to blame for the disappearance of the B&B ghost? Something hinky was afoot downtown. I might as well investigate while I was there, right?

  “I won’t let you down,” I promised, backing toward Jolene.

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” She spun on her spiky heel and clip-clopped into the building.

  “I deserve that,” I mumbled as I mounted my bike and sped toward River Street. Jostling over the cobblestones while my teeth chattered was never my favorite thing, but it was worth it for the prime parking spots usually vacant this time of night.

  I found the Cora Ann in the same spot as always, right off Rousakis Riverfront Plaza, her berth easy to spot from the street while shopping the vendors crowding the market. Two other steamboats docked behind her, the rest of Voorhees’s fleet, but the bustle surrounding the Cora Ann told me I was in the right spot.

  A long metal walkway—a gangway?—stretched over the water and up through a gateway in the railing where several men and women hurried about on their own errands. Two older men stood apart from the chaos, carrying on a conversation while gesturing toward the wrought-iron railing circling the upper deck. I walked right up to them and smiled in the face of their bewilderment. “Hi. I’m Grier Woolworth.”

  “Cricket send you?” the taller one, whose handlebar mustache tickled his jawline, asked. “You’ve the look of one of her girls.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Told you the old bat wouldn’t settle until she had eyes and ears onboard.” He belted out a hearty laugh the other man shared. “I’m Sean Voorhees.” He indicated the man standing beside him, who sported a rather impressive beard that frothed around his mouth in tight curls. “This is Captain Dale Murray.”

  “It’s nice to meet you both.” I craned my neck to see what I was walking into, but Mr. Voorhees cleared the deck with an imperious sweep of his hand. “I’ll take you up to the dining room. You can help pull out the old carpet and padding.”

  The dining room. Straight into the heart of the haunting. They must really want to spook me away.

  “Wear a mask,” Captain Murray called as I was led away. “Water breeds mold.”

  “We’ll provide you with a mask and gloves tonight,” Mr. Voorhees said, “but tomorrow I expect you to show with your own supplies. You might also want to invest in a chisel, a hammer, a Phillips screwdriver and a straight edge too. The work will go faster if you’re not waiting on someone to finish up with the tool you need, and I don’t have to tell you Cricket wants this done yesterday.”

  “I can do that.” Though my unused debit card winced away from the cost of such supplies, minor as they were to me these days, I convinced myself I would be able to use them during Woolly’s renovations as well. And that was assuming I couldn’t find all I needed in the tool chest out in the garage. Gus, Maud’s driver, had kept all sorts of supplies out there. “I’ll get a list from one of my coworkers on the way out.”

  “Good idea.” He sounded amused, like he never expected to see me again, as he led me into what must usually be an elegant dining room but now resembled a haunted house ride at a theme park. Wallpaper peeled in curling strips, sections of the floor revealed battered hardwood and steel beneath their carpet coverings, and one square of the ceiling exposed dangling wires. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Klein vogeltje, I’ve got a new girl for you.”

  A brunette about my age popped up from under one of the few remaining tables. Dirt smudged her cheek, and sweat glued her bangs to her forehead. A vibrant red birthmark covered her chin and lower jaw, spreading down her throat where it disappeared below the neck of her tee. “Why must you insist on embarrassing me in front of the new hires?”

  “I do it to remind you you’ll always be my little bird.” A fond grin creased his cheeks as his eyes cut to me. “And to warn them who they’re working for, what the consequences will be for ruffling your feathers.” He shoved me forward as he stepped back. “Marit will set you to rights.”

  “Thank you.” I drifted over to her as he strolled away. “Hi. I’m Grier.”

  “Marit.” She held up her gloved hands in apology then jerked her chin in the direction her dad had gone. “Don’t let the old man get under your skin. He’s harmless, really.”

  Uncertain I believed that, I surveyed the wreckage, surprised when it appeared she was solely responsible for the entire mess. “Where do you want me?”

  “Give me a hand with the carpet. I need it gone so I can prime the floor.” She abandoned whatever task she’d been attending under the table to walk me across the room. “It’s called a salmon patch.”

  Puzzled, I glanced around, expecting to see fish-patterned wallpaper or themed kitsch. Neither of which belonged on a steamboat on the Savannah River. “What is?”

  “My birthmark,” she said without breaking stride. “People call the ones on your face angel kisses, or the ones on your neck stork bites. Cute names, right? Mine looks like I dribbled a mouthful of wine down my chin.”

  “Oh.” Articulate as always. “Do you have gloves I can borrow?”

  “You really don’t care, do you?” Marit sorted through a toolbox until she found a pair of scarred leather gloves then tossed them to me. “Most folks gawk and wonder, so I tend to get it out of the way.” She met my stare, unflinching. “Sorry if I came down hard on you.”

  “It’s a birthmark. Most of us have one somewhere.” I yanked on the gloves and flexed my fingers. “I have one shaped like a cowboy boot under my left butt cheek if you’d like to make us even.”

  “I’ll pass, for now.” Marit chuckled under her breath. “Maybe we can get drinks after work sometime. Get enough liquor in me, and I might change my mind.”

  The chorus from the country song “Bad Boys Get Me Good” started playing, and I wrangled my phone from my pocket. “Do you mind if I take this?” I yanked off one glove. “I’ll make it quick.”

  “Take twenty-five, but it counts as your first break. Just so you know.”

  “That’s fair.” I flicked the green circle on the screen. “Hey.”

  “Hey back.” A smile warmed Boaz’s voice. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

  Uh-oh. “Really? That’s nice.” I smothered a grin. “I’ve been thinking about you too.”

  About how Taz claimed he was coming to town, and he hadn’t said a word to me.

  “Missing me already, Squirt?”

  “I always miss you when you’re gone,” I said truthfully. “It’s when you’re around that you annoy me so much I look forward to you leaving again.”

  “Brrr.” He chattered his teeth for effect. “That’s cold.”

  “I’m at work, Boaz.” I bit back a laugh. “Did you need something in particular, or were you just calling to harass me?”

  “As much as I enjoy harassing you, I do need something in particular.” He hesitated. “You.”

  “Um.” Heat flooded my cheeks, and I turned my back on Marit. “Can you be more specific?�
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  His husky chuckle warned me I’d made a fatal error. “How specific? Are we talking pics or drawings or…?”

  “Boaz,” I groaned. “Please behave.”

  “Never.”

  “Then please stop wasting my first break terrorizing me. What’s the favor?”

  A pause lapsed during which I counted five beats of my heart.

  “Go out with me,” he repeated his earlier plea. “Just me and you. No sister to hide behind.”

  Always so quick to accuse me of hiding from him. How it must annoy him that I no longer ran headfirst into his arms every time he opened them. And that thought was exactly why I worried about the attention he paid me. I worried what he wanted was what he couldn’t have and not, well, me.

  “Earlier you said you’d give me time to see the error of my ways before you asked again. I figured I had a solid twenty-four hours at least.” I gazed through one of the windows out at the darkened river. “Why the rush?”

  “I’ll be in town tomorrow,” he admitted at last. “I thought about surprising you, but I didn’t want to drop in and assume you’d have time for me.”

  “See me as in put eyeballs on me or see me as in go out on a date? Dates end with kissing.” I ground the toe of my shoe into the plaster-covered carpet. “You’ve never been satisfied stopping there.”

  “No one said anything about a date.” He wisely refrained from pointing out that since he hadn’t asked me out until now, I had no idea what satisfying him entailed. “I’m asking my best girl to keep me company while we eat good food and maybe go dancing.”

  “What happens if I ask for more time?” Teasing him might not be the wisest idea I’d ever had, but I had never been smart where Boaz was concerned, and the idea of whirling the night away in his arms appealed to the starry-eyed teenager in me who would always idolize him just a little.

  “Then I’ll ask you again tomorrow night, and the next, and the next, until you cave.”

  I hid behind closed eyelids. Asking questions was safer in the dark, especially where my heart was concerned. “Why do you want this so much?” He had given me the easy answer, but I didn’t want easy. “Telling a girl she’s a convenient pit stop on your way through town is not the way to get her to say yes.”

  “I shouldn’t have kissed you goodbye that night in your front yard. Or stolen your first kiss without asking.” Gravel churned in his voice. “I can still taste you, Grier, and I want more. I can’t stop thinking about you. Have mercy on me. Say yes.”

  Stolen kisses, no tongues involved, had brought Boaz to heel? I couldn’t believe it. In fact, I didn’t believe it. But goddess, how I wanted to. “Okay, Boaz Pritchard, I’ll give you one date to prove yourself.”

  “Grier Woolworth, you won’t regret it,” he vowed. “And, since you called it a date, expect me to cash in on the kissing you mentioned.”

  “No tongue,” I said, just to be contrary. “And no touching below the shoulders.”

  His pained groan lifted gooseflesh down my arms. “Cold, cold woman.”

  “You must like it.” I couldn’t stop my grin. “You’re still talking to me.”

  “The thing about ice…” He lowered his voice to a growl. “When you hold it in your hands long enough, it burns.”

  Delicious shivers coasted down my arms. “You’re assuming you’re going to hold me at all.”

  The chuckle he gusted across the receiver spoke of bad intentions and melted my kneecaps.

  “I have to go.” I cleared my throat when I noticed Marit eavesdropping. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Satisfaction rang through his voice. “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes.” I sighed, defeated. “That’s a yes.”

  “Good girl,” he murmured.

  Coming from a bad boy, the praise wasn’t all that comforting.

  Five

  “You’ve got a boyfriend? Bummer. I should have taken you up on the offer to moon me when I had the chance,” Marit grumbled. “Do you know how hard it is to find girlfriends who aren’t attached to their man at the hip?”

  “Don’t worry.” Boyfriend was a loaded word, and I wasn’t ready to pull the trigger. “We can still get that drink sometime, and I can’t promise you a full moon won’t be in the forecast. I haven’t hit a bar since I turned legal, and I’ve never really drank much of anything, so I’ll be trusting you to protect my virtue.”

  A rakish glint sparkled in her eyes. “I can do that.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I teased. “I recognize that look. Maybe I’ll bring a friend along just in case.”

  “As long as it’s not your boyfriend, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  Explaining all the ways Boaz wasn’t my boyfriend would take longer than it was worth, so I let it slide and ignored the illicit thrill that came with imagining he was mine, even for a moment, even if it wasn’t true.

  “Unless he’s got a single, morally ambiguous friend.” A calculating gleam lit her eyes. “Then I might be convinced to make an exception.”

  Pretty sure anyone who hung out with Boaz checked the morally ambiguous box, but still.

  “I was thinking about my bestie, Amelie. We’re starting a new tradition. Girls’ night once a week. No boys allowed.” I grasped the edge of the carpet where Marit indicated, and we started tugging. “Amelie is Boaz’s little sister, so that has more to do with the no boys allowed ruling than anything.”

  “You’re dating your friend’s big brother?” She whistled. “I hope for your sake that you guys stick.”

  I winced but hid it behind a fierce yank on the carpet. The fallout of a breakup would get ugly. Amelie and I would survive it, that much I had no doubt. But my friendship with Boaz? It would crash and burn if I didn’t guide us through this exploration carefully.

  The sound of our voices echoed throughout the room as we exposed more of the steel underfloor, and it drove home the absurdity of one girl demoing this entire deck. “Are we the only two working this level?”

  “It’s The Haunted Dining Room, and yes. You heard that in all caps.” She bent to tuck the frayed ends of the carpet so we made a tight roll. “No one wants to be in here. I’ve done most of this myself.”

  “That’s right.” I acted like my interest was casual instead of sparking hot in my chest. “A friend of mine was telling me about the ghost boy scaring people away.”

  “How did you miss the news coverage? Do you live under a rock?”

  “I was out of town for a few weeks.” Locked in an ocean-themed room and drugged out of my mind. Ah, just like the good old days. “I’m not current on all the local happenings.”

  “I bet you were kicking yourself for that, huh? Papa mentioned you work for Ms. Meacham. That makes you a Haint, right? Tips must have been amazing with everyone all revved up for ghosts.”

  Another time, yeah. I would have bemoaned the missing of an opportunity, but I was too grateful to be here at all to regret I’d missed the surge. It helped, too, that I was no longer dependent on tips to feed myself.

  “Well, I’m back now.” I grunted when the carpet snagged on a bolt that would have to be ground smooth before the new flooring was laid. “And I’m on the boat in the heart of the action, right?” We finished crossing the room then sat on the roll to catch our breaths. “Have you seen him?”

  “The guys are calling him Timmy.” She scrubbed her forearm across her cheek, scratching an itch. “Have you ever noticed all the bad things happen to guys named Timmy?”

  “I can’t say that I have.” Bad luck seemed pretty equal opportunity in my experience. There was no person too high to be brought low, and no person too low to sink farther. We crossed back to the starting point and picked at the next seam. “So, have you seen Timmy?”

  “No.” She paused for a quick breather. “He doesn’t bother me, and I’m in here most nights. Alone. Maybe he likes girls. His victims were mostly guys.”

  Or maybe an audience of one wasn’t large enough to make manifesting worthwhile. Poltergeis
ts were known for moving objects, touching people, causing mischief. All that required energy, and when you were a ghost who didn’t eat, drink, or sleep, you had finite amounts of it before your tank emptied for good.

  The nature of poltergeists was yet another reason why the Society couldn’t be bothered with banishing any but the most violent souls. Left to their own devices, except in the rarest of cases, they burned their rage or grief or whatever remnant of emotion fueled them, and the problem took care of itself without intervention. Eventually, all poltergeists became lamppost flickers like the one on Whitaker Street.

  Cricket wasn’t going to be thrilled with the reason why it was taking so long to update her new toy. Then again, if rumors spread that not even workmen could finish their jobs thanks to the ghost, that might boost the spook factor right there.

  “What’s next?” I surveyed our efforts and grimaced at the tacky clumps of foam padding left behind. “Let me guess. It involves a lot of kneeling and scraping.”

  “You catch on quick.” Marit presented me with a chisel that had seen better days, a match to her battered tool, and we knelt on carpet scraps she’d had the foresight to save, which protected our knees from the hard floor. “You’re not a bad worker. Will you stick around if Timmy pops in to say hello?”

  “Not much choice if I want a paycheck at the end of this week.”

  “For pretty girls like you in a tourist town, there are always opportunities.” She burst out laughing at the expression on my face. A High Society dame working a street corner? Maud’s heart would roll over in its box. “You should see your face. I wasn’t suggesting prostitution. Though, I mean, that is an option.”

  The virgin prostitute. Boaz would bust a gut laughing if he could hear us. And then he would bust anyone else in the gut who hinted they might be interested in taking me up on the offer.