His face clouded and I could see the hurt already forming in his eyes. “You don’t want us to be together?”
I shook my head. “No! I mean, yes, I want us to be together, but I can’t move in with you!”
“Why not?”
I tried to laugh, but it rang hollow. “Because you don’t even have a house anymore! Yours burned down, remember?”
Heath frowned. “They have apartments in Santa Fe, you know, Em.”
I sighed, a little exasperated. Why had he just assumed I’d be happy to leave my home in Boston? “I don’t want to live in an apartment,” I said maybe a tiny bit testily. “I have my own condo in Boston.”
Heath let go of my hand and sat back against the pillows. “Ah. I get it,” he said in that way that suggested he really didn’t.
I sighed heavily. “And what about Gilley? He’ll never want to move to Santa Fe.”
“I wasn’t asking him,” Heath said levelly.
That took me aback. “Wait. . . what? You want me to just. . . leave my best friend in Boston?”
“I thought it was better than leaving your boyfriend in Santa Fe.”
I looked down at my hands. How had this conversation suddenly taken us in such a nasty direction? I took a breath (or three) and said, “Heath, I really, really appreciate your offer to move in together, but for the past fourteen years my home has been Boston. And I don’t know how you can expect me to just drop everything and move with you to Santa Fe. I mean, if you think about it, doesn’t it make more sense for you to come to New England and move in with me?”
“You own real estate in Boston,” Heath said. “My family lives in Santa Fe, M. J. Family trumps real estate any day of the week.”
I bit back what I wanted to say, which was something like “Unless we’re talking about real estate trumping your family,” because I really didn’t care for most of Heath’s relatives. Instead I said, “Well, Gilley is my family, Heath. And so is Teeko, and Mama Dell. They all live in Boston. It would be just as hard for me to leave them there as it would for you to leave your family and your home.”
“So. . . what?” he asked me. “You want to break up?”
“No!” I said quickly. “It’s just. . .” My voice trailed off. This was an impossible conversation.
“There are no easy solutions here, are there?”
I stared again at my hands. “I guess not.”
Heath took my wrist and lifted it to kiss my palm. “Something tells me we’re gonna be racking up the frequent-flier miles.”
I felt a small smile tug at my lips. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Heath took hold of my head with both hands and pulled me forward to kiss me sweetly. “Don’t sweat it,” he said next. “If we’re both in this for the long haul, we’ll survive the geography.”
I looked into his beautiful brown eyes hopefully. “You’re in this for the long haul?”
He grinned. “I have been from the start, pretty lady. Or didn’t you know?”
Visiting hours ended at nine and I left the hospital only after I’d had a nice long chat with Heath’s nurse about his condition. She assured me that he would need to stay only the night, and that as soon as the doctor got to Heath on his rounds the next day, he’d be released with a clean bill of health. “Come round anytime after ten in the morning,” she said merrily. “He should be ready to go by then.”
I walked to the bus stop and realized I’d just missed the nine twenty. It would be another twenty minutes before the next bus, and I had a lot of time then to think about the fact that I hadn’t called the hotel to leave word with Gopher about where I was.
I looked around for a phone booth, but they were as scarce in Wales as they were in the States now that everyone and their brother had a cell phone. Everyone but me, that is. I grumbled some more while I waited on the hard cold bench and thought about the bad luck of having my phone stuck in a haunted castle probably for good. Had I backed up my contacts to Gilley’s computer? He’d been bugging me to do that, but I didn’t think I’d gotten around to it yet. I sorely wanted my phone, but Heath and I had talked about it, and he’d convinced me that going back into the south wing, even covered head to toe in magnets, was suicide.
That meant that the both of us would have to figure out how to get our stuff replaced, and then of course there was the added problem of getting a new passport without any form of ID. I’d probably have to go to the U.S. embassy very soon, which was no doubt in London, and I’d somehow have to get there on only the eighty pounds left in my pocket. Unless Gilley loaned me some dough, which he probably would, but then he’d never, ever, ever let me forget about it.
With a sigh I wondered if anyone would be worried about me back at the castle. I checked my watch. By now they’d have noticed that I wasn’t in my room, and someone from the crew was bound to raise a red flag when they couldn’t find me. “Smart, M. J.,” I muttered. Gilley was likely freaking out. If he’d managed to pry himself loose from the photo shoot, that is. Oh, who was I kidding? With a horde of beautiful flamboyant men in ready abundance, I’d be lucky to ever catch Gilley’s attention again.
The bus was late and chock-full of passengers, so it had to let people off at nearly every stop, which got me back to Kidwellah at close to midnight. I trudged up the road wearily; all I wanted was a solid night’s sleep. As I pushed through the door into the main hall, however, I knew that sleep was likely the last thing I’d get that night.
Gathered in the front hall and huddling close like frightened children were John and Gilley, along with Arthur Crunn, who appeared so tired he looked haggard.
“M. J.!” John called anxiously as he came hurrying toward me. “Where’ve you been?”
“I’m really sorry, guy. I was at the hospital visiting Heath and I forgot to leave a note and my phone is still stuck in my old—”
“Never mind about that! We’ve got bigger issues!” Gilley snapped, adjusting the collar of his magnetic sweatshirt, which I’d noticed he’d traded the fashionable outfit, fedora, and heavy makeup for.
“Boy, do we ever,” John said, his eyes pinched with worry.
“What’s going on, fellas?” I asked, hoping that if I adopted a reasonable tone, it would help to calm them down.
“I told them not to go,” John said to me, his face racked with guilt. “M. J., I swear I told them not to go!”
“Told who?” I asked. I didn’t know what’d happened while I was away, but the hair rising on the back of my neck told me it was something bad.
“There’s no sign of them,” someone up the stairs called down. I looked up and recognized Michel. “And the chest has been moved aside from the door.”
“No sign of whom?” I asked, sensing the mounting panic in the room, and when no one immediately answered me, I grabbed Gilley by the fabric of his sweatshirt and pulled him close. “Tell me what the hell is going on!”
Gilley’s eyes were wild and frightened and he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. “It was Gopher’s idea,” he whimpered. “I overheard John trying to talk him out of it, but you know how stubborn Gopher can be! I didn’t know he’d recruited Meg and Kim until John came to tell me! I swear I didn’t, right, John? I didn’t know he’d taken—”
I tugged again on Gilley’s sweatshirt to get his attention because my heart was now racing. Gopher had done something. Something bad, I was sure of it. “Land that plane, Gilley, and just tell me!”
It was John who answered me. “Gopher talked Meg, Kim, and one of the male models from Michel’s shoot into going on a ghost hunt. He wanted to send the networks some footage and, like an idiot, I told him all about our encounter with the Grim Widow. I think he and the girls went into the south wing to try and get her on film.”
The shock of what he’d just said made m
e feel light-headed. “Oh, God!” I whispered. “How long ago?”
Gilley gulped. “It’s been nearly two hours, M. J.”
I bit my lip as I thought about the spikes still in my room. Even if John had lent Gopher the six he’d been carrying when he’d come with me, that was hardly enough spikes for four people to fend off the Widow and whatever demon had chased after me and John. “Did they have any kind of protection?”
John cast his eyes to the floor. “I thought that by not giving Gopher any spikes he’d think twice about going on the stupid hunt. I had no idea he’d talk Meg and Kim into going with him!”
Meg was our production assistant and Kim was our assistant producer. They were really sweet young girls who tended to jump at Gopher’s every command.
“So, to protect them from the most dangerous spook we’ve probably ever encountered, they have nothing?” I shouted at him, losing my cool big-time. “How the hell could you be so stupid?!” John flinched like I’d just slapped him and I immediately put a hand on his arm. “Oh, John, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it like that!”
“No, you’re right,” he said contritely. “That was stupid. Kim and I broke up in Germany, so we haven’t exactly been talking. I should’ve known Gopher would order them to go with him. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
I turned away from him and focused on Gilley. Pointing to his sweatshirt, I issued an order. “Gimme that.”
Gilley’s eyes widened in alarm and he quickly crossed his arms over his torso and hugged himself. “No way!”
I grabbed hold of his collar again and pulled his face to within two inches of mine. I had no time for his stupid theatrics and I wasn’t about to go searching for my friends without some serious armor. “Gil,” I said levelly, “I am not kidding around here. Give up that sweatshirt before I rip it off of you!”
“No!” he shouted. “You know what happens to me when I’m not wearing this!”
Now, I love Gilley. He is my best friend, my brother, and more my family than my own family, but at that moment I desperately wanted to throttle him. I let go of his collar and reached down for the hem of the sweatshirt, giving several hard pulls up on it. “Give. . . it. . . to. . . me!”
“No!” Gil shouted, swatting at my hands. “Let go! Quit it, M. J.! I need it!”
Gil and I struggled for several seconds before John intervened. “Guys, guys!” he yelled, pulling us apart. “This isn’t helping!”
I glared hard at Gil while I focused my argument on the sound tech. “You saw what we were up against today! If I’m gonna go look for Gopher and the others, I’ll need some body armor—enough magnets to keep any spook at bay.”
“But what about me?” Gil protested, still hugging himself lest John be swayed to help me rip the garment off him. “M. J., if I give this sweatshirt to you, then I’ll be a sitting duck! You know how the ghoulies like to torture me!”
I crossed my own arms. “Fine, Gil, then you head to the south wing and bring back the crew!”
Gilley paled. “Maybe they’ll come back on their own,” he said weakly. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Michel watching us intently. I’m pretty sure he thought we were nuts.
Focusing again on Gilley, I rolled my eyes to show him how much of a drama queen I thought he was, but then I had an idea. For the most part, spooks are territorial, and if Gil wasn’t here, then he couldn’t be a target, now, could he? I pulled out my stash of twenty-pound notes and dangled two in front of him. “Here,” I said. “There’s a bus stop over the drawbridge and down at the end of the drive. If you hurry, you’ll make the last bus headed to town. Take it and find yourself a nice unhaunted pub to hang out in until later. Then hail a cab back here. In the meantime, let me borrow your sweatshirt. I promise to return it to you just as soon as I find Gopher and the others.”
“Oh, please,” he scowled, waving his hand at the cash. “How cheap do you think I am?”
I cocked an eyebrow.
He stuck his tongue out at me but made to grab the pound notes, and I pulled them away. “Ah, ah, ah. . . ,” I said. “Not until you hand over the sweatshirt.”
Gil’s scowl deepened. “Michel?”
“Yes?”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I was sure Michel would say no—especially after this display—but to my surprise the good-looking photographer stepped forward with an amused look on his face. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?” he asked me.
I smiled gratefully at him. He seemed like a nice guy. “Accompanying Gilley into town so that I can use his sweatshirt is all the help I need, Michel.”
The raven-haired man nodded and moved toward the door. Gil shimmied out of his sweatshirt and tossed it in my direction without looking, his eyes intent on Michel’s rear. The sweatshirt hit me in the face, and the magnets hurt. I made a move to whump Gil on the back of his head as he passed (snatching the pound notes out of my hand as he went), but John caught my arm. “Let’s just focus on the job in front of us, okay?” he whispered.
With a (gigantic) sigh I pulled the heavy sweatshirt on over my head and looked for Arthur. He was over by the telephone, depressing the switch hook again and again. “What’s the matter?” I asked, almost wearily because this was really turning out to be the most miserable twenty-four hours ever.
“The phone is dead,” he said.
I walked to him, holding out my hand, and he placed the receiver in it. After I put it to my ear and depressed the switch hook a few times myself, it was obvious he was right. “Great,” I said. “Were you trying to reach my producer?”
“No, Miss Holliday, I was actually attempting to alert the police.”
“I’m not sure how much help they’ll be,” I muttered, but turned to John and added, “Can you lend him your cell?”
John shook his head. “It got smashed today when I fell into that passageway. Even Gil says it’s toast. That’s why I was so late hearing that Gopher had gone ahead with the shoot. I had to wait to hear it straight from Gilley.”
“Will nothing go our way?” I snapped, thoroughly irritated with the constant obstacles we were being thrown. “Well, my phone is still back in the south wing. Arthur? Do you have a cell phone we can use?”
“No, Miss Holliday, I’m afraid I’ve no use for a mobile phone. That’s a contraption for your generation.”
Putting my hands on my hips in frustration, I looked to the door and shouted for Gilley, but he didn’t reply. “Wait here,” I told them. “I’ll see if I can catch him. He’s bound to have his cell on him.”
I dashed from the hall and out into the cool air. Making my way across the cobblestones, I kept my eyes peeled for Gilley, and that’s when I saw something very odd.
It was dark out, but the courtyard was well lit, and I could see all the way across it to the arch of the drawbridge, which appeared unusually dark, and what’s more, I couldn’t see the light from the lamppost that marked the bus stop. I ran faster until I was just under the archway, where I found Gilley and Michel standing in front of the massive wooden door of the bridge, which was closed. Gil must’ve heard me come up behind him, because he jumped and gave a little shriek, but when he saw that it was me, he put a hand over his heart and said, “Oh, M. J., thank God! We can’t get out and I’ll need my sweatshirt back.”
I made no move to shrug out of the sweatshirt. Possession was nine-tenths of the law as far as I was concerned; plus, I’d paid him for it, so in my mind, the sweatshirt was rightfully mine. “What do you mean, you can’t get out?” I asked (to distract him from the sweatshirt).
Gilley pointed to the massive door and looked at me like I was slow. “The drawbridge is up.”
I let it go because I was much more concerned with the exit being blocked. “But. . . how could it be up?” I asked. I’d w
alked over it not ten minutes earlier.
Michel pointed to something that looked a little like a fuse box to the right of the bridge. “I’ve already inspected the lever,” he said. “It’s mechanized and it looks like someone pushed the button to pull up the bridge, then sabotaged the system by cutting all the wires so that it can’t be lowered until we send for an electrician.”
A cold shudder ran along my spine. The phones were dead. The drawbridge was up and the mechanism had been tampered with. I didn’t know the castle that well, but I had a feeling that the only escape route we had at our disposal was through the same door that led to the tunnel-covered bridge where Heath had been hauled over the side by the Grim Widow. And now, even if we were able to get the police here, they couldn’t come inside to help us look for our crew, because the bridge was up. Still, I knew I needed to alert them and get an electrician out here stat.
“We should go back inside,” I said softly. I looked all around and up along the turrets. I had the most unsettling feeling that we were being watched. “And, Gilley, give me your cell phone.”
“Where’s yours?”
“In the south wing with the rest of my stuff.”
Gil felt his pockets. “I don’t have mine on me either,” he said.
“Well, where is it?”
“I loaned it to Franco.”
“Who’s Franco?”
“One of the models.”
I blinked. Gilley had loaned his cell phone to a relative stranger? Pigs must be flying. Or Franco must have been very cute. “What room is Franco in?” I pressed impatiently. I didn’t have time for all this. Gopher and the girls were quite possibly in serious danger and I had to brave the south wing either alone or with the police. I preferred it be with the police.
“He’s not in his room,” Michel said.
“Then where is he?”
“He was the one that Gopher talked into going on the ghost hunt.”
I shook my head. “Of course he was. Fine. Michel, can we borrow your cell phone, please? The landline inside is dead and we’ll need to call the police and an electrician for emergency service to the drawbridge.”