Spellbound: Ghosts, Inc., #3

By Bethany M. Sefchick

Ghosts, Inc. – where the paranormal is normal!

Josh Winston hasn't exactly had an easy time of it in recent months.  Some of the decisions he's had to make during his temporary tenure as acting-president of Ghosts, Inc. have been life or death - literally - and for a man who makes his living seeing auras, that's saying something!   Now, however, his old boss has returned from her honeymoon and his life is smooth sailing once again.  Even if he's currently being followed around by a television crew hoping to make him into the newest ghost-hunting reality star.  And even if he feels so off-balance that he doesn't even recognize himself in the mirror any longer.  Things will return to normal.  They have to.  Anything else is unacceptable.  Especially for a man used to being the strong and stable one of the organization.

Accountant Regina Cantor has been happily living with a ghost in her house for well over a year.  In fact, the ghost even seems to be taking care of her, turning on lights and generally being helpful and protective.  Until one night when it's clear that something has changed and that Regina's ghost isn't quite so friendly any longer.  In fact, it's downright dangerous.

Seeking help for her little "ghost problem," Regina turns to GI for a quick and easy solution, and immediately, Josh can tell that she's had a brush with a very different kind of ghost, one that's far more evil than any he's ever seen before.  Complicating matters is the intense attraction that sparks between him and Regina whenever they're in the same room.  Can they possibly work together to find out who or what is behind the nasty entity now haunting Regina's house?  And can Regina's love help to heal whatever is broken inside Josh before it's too late for him to be anything other than the bitter, remote man he's quickly becoming?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bethany M. Sefchick
• Release date: May 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781386371038

Bethany M. Sefchick

Making her home in the mountains of central Pennsylvania, Bethany Sefchick lives with her husband, Ed, and a plethora of Betta fish that she’s constantly finding new ways to entertain. In addition to writing, Bethany owns a jewelry company, Easily Distracted Designs. It should be noted that the owner of the titular Selon Park - one Lord Nicholas Rosemont, the Duke of Candlewood, a.k.a. "The Bloody Duke" - first appeared in her mind when she was eighteen years old and had no idea what to make of him, or of his slightly snarky smile.  She has been attempting to dislodge him ever since - with absolutely no success. When not penning romance novels or creating sparkly treasures, she enjoys cooking, scrapbooking, and lavishing attention on any stray cats who happen to be hanging around. She always enjoys hearing from her fans at: [e-mail]

Book preview

Prologue

March 2013

Josh Winston sat stiffly in front of his computer waiting for the other man to speak and doing his best not to twitch or fidget.  Showing any kind of fear might make him appear weak; he couldn't afford that, even if it was true.  He was also thankful that this meeting - though he silently referred to it as an inquisition - could take place via video chat rather than in person.  He'd been to the International Paranormal Committee's, or IPC as it was more commonly called, offices in Switzerland twice already this year and had no desire to visit those dark, dreary halls again.  If he did, he wasn't certain that he'd be allowed to leave, a thought that chilled him to the bone.

Finally, Henri Lundquvist, a special advisor to the current IPC president, looked up from the papers he'd been perusing and looked at Josh with tired eyes, making Josh frown.  There was a weariness present that hadn't been evident a few months ago, as if something had aged the man many years in only a few weeks' time.  Is there something wrong, Henri? Josh asked, not liking the look on the other man's face.  Even though they weren't on the best of terms, Josh didn't wish the man any harm.  Henri was a friend, in his own way.

Shaking his head, Henri removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, a mangled hand slashing across an even more ruined face.  Once more, Josh wondered if Henri was really as old as he appeared or if the injuries added unintended years to his visage.  No.  Not this time.  At least not with you.  He gestured towards the thick stack of papers spread out next to him.  You did what you could and what was necessary.  That's not always an easy thing.  Briefly he bowed his head in silent acknowledgement of Josh's accomplishments.  Please accept my condolences on behalf of the IPC for Mr. Fulbright's passing.  He was a good man, but I believe we all know that it truly was his time to pass on.

So the IPC accepts my actions?  Josh found that very difficult to believe.  He'd taken a life.  Or rather, Josh had encouraged one life to be swapped for another.  The life of someone among the living in exchange for that of someone among the dead.  It just wasn't done.  Which was why Josh was having his fourth IPC hearing since the beginning of the year.

Henri shrugged as if the matter was of little importance, shocking Josh, though he did his best not to show it.  Some among our membership are probably not as accepting, as I am, but, at the moment, I am the one whose opinion matters.  And even if I was not, your friend Mr. Frost has ensured your safety for years to come.  The secrets he knows about our organization are damning indeed.  Then Henri leaned forward, a true light of curiosity burning in his faded blue eyes.  How is our mutual friend, the dark reaper, if I may ask?

Busy.  Very, very busy, though I suspect you know that.  Josh was careful in his answer, not wanting to give away too much.  All dealings with the IPC were the equivalent of chess matches, even when merely chatting with someone reasonable, like Henri.  Chess, or rather chess-like diplomacy, was among Josh's many talents, which was why he was the one assigned to deal with the infamous organization.  Ryan and Anya have been tasked with caring for some of Karanak's more deadly creations, so it's going about as well as you'd expect.  Which is to say, not very well, I'm afraid.

Josh didn't have to remind Lundquvist that Anya Belkov, Ryan Frost's fiancée, had been one of the mad scientist's horrible creations until Ryan had literally risked his life to pluck her from certain madness and, using his reaper's abilities, broke through to the woman trapped within.

Nodding, Lundquvist's lips twisted in what might have once been a smile.  The series of scars bisecting his face now made it almost impossible to tell.  He is a good man.  Too good, which is why he left us.  Then Henri shrugged again, one shoulder rising while the other remained still.  But our loss is your benefit.

It is, Josh agreed amicably, not wanting to anger the other man.  So far, things were going far better than he had anticipated.  He's my friend.  Both of them are.

Friends.  Lundquvist seemed to mull over that word, as if seeing how it felt on his tongue.  It is good to have friends.  And you, my dear Mr. Winston, seem to have quite a few of them.  Reapers, Confessors, Arbiters, Mimics, and so many more.  You have collected quite a group there in your fair city, haven't you?

Now it was Josh's turn to shrug, again not wanting to risk giving too much away.  Or unintentionally placing his friends in danger.  Mia has.  I had nothing to do with it.

An odd light lit Lundquvist's eyes then, making them almost glow, which unsettled Josh a bit.  Perhaps, but you hold them all together.  You see what others cannot.  If not for you, some would diverge, break away.  No, you see and you understand.  You offer them a safety that they cannot find elsewhere.  That is a good thing.  A very good thing.  Henri paused, as if pondering something.  Yet you seem unbalanced at the moment.  As if not everything is right in your world.  Unrest, perhaps, is the word I am searching for.

Josh stiffened again and swallowed, biting back the automatic denial that came so easily to him these days.  He'd never hidden the fact that he was a Reader, but then, he didn't exactly broadcast it either.  That this man knew so much about him was a bit disturbing.  I'll take your word for it.  Is there anything else?

Lundquvist seemed to hesitate for a moment before clasping his gnarled hands in front of him.  Josh's eyes were drawn to the scarred oak desktop in front of the other man, the only object visible in the darkened room, and for a moment, he wondered what Henri had seen in his lifetime, what he had lived through.  Probably a good deal more than Josh ever would.

As I said, Joshua, it is good to have friends.  You will need them.  Henri waved a hand to silence Josh, who would have interrupted just then.  That is no threat, at least not from us.  Believe it or not, I would also like to be counted among your friends.

Thank you.

But realize that you have made some very unpopular decisions these last few months.  Henri was clearly a man who liked to get precisely to the point.

Then again, this was nothing that Josh hadn't heard before, including from his boss.  They had to be made, Josh countered evenly, trying to keep his voice steady.  Of that he was certain.  On the other hand, that didn't mean he had to like the consequences.

Perhaps, Lundquvist agreed, but that still does not mean that everyone agrees with your actions.  There are those who are angry - on both sides of the veil.

It was Josh's turn to lean forward.  This was new information, and he didn't want to miss a word.  Do you know of a specific threat?

Shaking his head, the other man looked away for a moment, as if deciding how much information to reveal, an air of resignation wrapping around Henri like a cloak.  No, not at the moment.  But forces are at work, ones I cannot quite read.  Your fate is already in play, though I cannot be certain as to what extent.  Still, these forces, they will come for you.  Of that there is no doubt.  You made the decisions.  You changed the course of things.  It is your responsibility.

Lundquvist wasn't telling Josh anything that he didn't already know.  Those months that Mia and Tim had been away on their honeymoon had been some of the most difficult of Josh's life.  He'd been faced with choices he'd never imagined he might have to make.  But he had made them.  It had been his job.

I'll deal with it.  I'll be prepared.  Then he let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.  But thank you, Henri.  I do appreciate the information.  It's nice to have a warning if something or someone is coming for your head.

The other man laughed a bit at that, the earlier tension in him gone for the moment.  Ah, you and your sense of humor.  Then he sobered once more.  Now, do you have anything for me regarding the book?

It always came down to this with the IPC.  The damned Artemis Book.  Published by an unknown group, the book assigned names from Greek mythology to paranormal investigators with a price on their heads.  Each entry was followed by a list of names, some short and others quite long.  Theoretically, if one could decode the book, then that person would know the identity of every individual with a bounty available for their death or capture.  If that person was also so inclined, they could become very rich very quickly.  Bounties on some of the names in the book were outrageous, to say the least.  Among those with the highest bounties were Nyx, Chaos, Hypnos, Hades, Persephone, and near the absolute top, a woman named Selene, a dark man called Erebus, and a demon killer named Charon.

The only problem was that the book was extremely convoluted, and purposely so.  Written like a cipher, there was no real starting point, and the names looped back on each other endlessly until it was impossible to tell who was linked to whom without a chart.  A very big one.

When Josh had been in Switzerland for another IPC inquisition a few months before, he'd bargained for his freedom with tidbits about Ghosts, Inc.'s investigation into the book.  No one in the paranormal community had more information about the book that GI did, making it a powerful bargaining chip.  However, Josh had quickly learned that once favors began to be traded, there was no stopping the flow of them.

A little.  Josh wasn't about to give Henri all of the information that GI had collected recently, but he knew he needed to offer the other man something if there was any hope of preventing the IPC from interfering in the lives of the GI investigators.  We think that the mysterious 'A. McKnight,' the man who gave us our initial information, is now in the book himself.  Probably because of the help he gave us, which means that he's not affiliated with the group that publishes the book.

Go on.  Henri was clearly fascinated by the revelation, evidenced by the sparkle in his eyes.  Again, Josh wondered if the other man really was as old as he appeared.  How do you know?

Josh shrugged and ran a hand over his face, the only sign that the conversation was wearing on him.  We don't.  Not for certain.  But there's a name in the new book that wasn't in the old one from last year.  It only appeared in February when the new book was issued - well after McKnight gave us the information regarding the identities of Perseus and Andromeda.  

Even though the book had been studied for years, without a concrete place to start, everything had been a series of educated guesses at best.  Then, a letter from McKnight had arrived at the GI offices, indicating that Perseus was really Martin Scott, an investigator already on the staff, and that Andromeda was Hope Tanner, a psychic living in Wheeling, West Virginia, who was in desperate need of rescue.  When Martin had, in fact, saved Hope from a cult who wanted to use her talents for their own gain, it had confirmed the information in the letter.  Not to mention given the GI researchers concrete evidence and a new place to start.

I see.  Henri grinned, or at least as much as he was capable of, clearly savoring the new information.  Is there any other reason you suspect this new entry is McKnight?

Nodding, Josh slid his finger along his own copy of the book, which had been sitting on the desk beside him the entire time.  There was no reason not to give Henri the information, because chances were, the IPC would figure it out soon anyway.  It was an obvious clue.  But a little advance information might do quite a bit to ensure some goodwill with Lundquvist in the future.

The new name is Orion, the hunter.  McKnight's letter hinted that he might be some kind of hunter, not to mention that the Orion name is only linked to that of Perserus and Andromeda.  At least so far.  We're hoping that when the new version of the book is released next month, there will be more names listed after Orion, more people that he's interacted with.  Or will, if a Seer is contributing to the book.  Josh paused, giving Lundquvist time to digest the new information.  It's not much, but it's a start.

Henri's eyes lit with delight once more.  It is indeed.  Thank you very much, Joshua.  He inclined his head, the skin of his neck twisting and puckering, though Josh tried not to stare.  You did not have to offer that, but I am thankful that you did.  It has bought you a few more favors.  And not just from me, though, I believe, that in the future, those will be the most valuable.

I thought it might.  Josh smiled but it didn't reach his eyes.  He hated this game more than anyone knew.  Anything else?

Shaking his head, Lundquvist reached forward, and Josh knew he was getting ready to deactivate the chat session.  Not at the moment.  But be careful, Joshua.  There are creatures that inhabit the night that not even you can see.  My sources tell me that they are coming.  And that they will demand blood.  Yours.

Understood.  And thank you.  For everything.  

Josh waited until Henri ended the chat before turning off his own computer.  He let out another long breath before sinking back in his chair, his head swimming with pain.  He didn't want this.  This wasn't the kind of life he had imagined for himself - one where secrets and information were traded like currency.  All he had ever wanted to do was investigate ghosts.  At the moment, that seemed like another lifetime.

He also wondered what he would have to be able to go back to that simpler time.  Or if he ever could.

Chapter One

April 2013

Regina Cantor looked around her living room nervously, wondering if she was going to make it out of here alive.  That was her goal, anyway.  Just ahead of her, she could see her back door, which she prayed she'd forgotten to lock.  Again.  The only problem was that to reach it, she would have to cross through the kitchen – which housed drawers full of knives and other sharp instruments – before she could even hope to find safety in the backyard.  If that place was even safe.  Still, it was her best chance at escape.  However, she wasn’t certain she could make it that far without some sort of bodily injury, maybe even losing a limb.

This wasn’t how her life was supposed to be.

She’d known, of course, that there was a ghost in the house since almost the minute she’d moved in.  Really, it hadn't bothered her much; it was a just a ghost.  Until recently, they had existed side by side, each one respecting the other.  Regina had considered the ghost friendly, and perhaps even a bit protective of her.  It would turn on lights for her if she was unexpectedly working late, or gently nudge her in the direction of a lost item.  Almost as if she had an unseen, but extremely helpful roommate.

In turn, Regina had allowed the ghost the peace and quiet to go where it liked in the house, never attempting to restrict its movements with spells or portions, or worse yet, trying to have the entity exorcised.  Even for someone like her, who wasn't inclined to believe every story about ghosts and their habits, exorcism seemed a bit extreme.  The occasional bump in the night or phantom footstep really didn’t bother her one bit.

Truthfully, she had been more than a little comforted by the unseen presence, and all of her research had indicated that, for the most part, spirits like the one that inhabited her house were harmless.  If anything, there were still curious about the world they had left behind.  It had made Regina feel less alone, as if there was someone else in the world who cared about her.  It was a nice feeling.

Last week, that had all changed.

Regina had come home from work one day to find the atmosphere in the house very different from the way she'd left it that morning.  Now, it was dark and almost dangerous, so unlike the cheery warmth she normally experienced.  At first, she had attributed it to the spring storm that had been raging throughout the day, lashing her small but snug house with a mix of wind, sleet and rain.  As the storm wound down, however, the air in the house had become inexplicably thick, the warm, friendly feeling she’d come to associate with her resident ghost gone.  In its place, she felt violence and anger, not to mention something that bordered on sheer hatred.

She had done her best to ignore the change, but over the last several days, the situation had become much, must worse.  Today, she’d even gone so far as to look up the name and address of a local ghost investigation company, thinking they might be able to offer her some advice.  Regina had sworn never to do anything like that, since she had enjoyed her resident ghost.  That morning, however, she had made the decision to call them the next day, and see if they would at least talk to her about her potential problem.  Now, she just hoped she lived to see the next sunrise.

Only a few hours ago, she had thought that the day couldn't possibly get any worse.  She had been very, very wrong.

Regina had left work early with a pounding headache and a briefcase full of budget reports, thoughts of ghosts dancing in her head only serving muddle things further.  The budget numbers for the trucking company that she worked for weren’t balancing, and she had no idea why, though she suspected that it had something to do with the expense reports that were never turned in on time.

The junior accountants who worked under her were well qualified and shouldn’t have had any problems with basic addition and subtraction.  Yet for some reason, every form she examined was riddled with errors, probably due to the missing reports that none of her coworkers were brave enough to demand from the truckers.  To make matters worse, Regina's mind wasn't clear enough to think properly.  She couldn't concentrate on numbers when all she could think about was ghosts.

Taking the work home with her had been a rash decision, something she rarely did, even on her worst days, but the conditions in her office weren’t really helping her concentration either.  Managers, drivers, warehouse workers, and the other accountants had been streaming through her door all day, demanding to know why their paychecks were short, and why purchase orders weren’t being paid in a timely manner.

She honestly had no idea, and every time she tried to sort through the mess, someone else interrupted her until her head hurt so badly that she could no longer see clearly and the numbers literally swam in front of her eyes.  So she’d done the only thing she could think of – she had packed up everything and taken it to the quiet and comfort of her home office.

Well, that had been the plan, anyway.

Ideally, Regina would have rested a bit, had something to eat and then gotten right to work on the books in the blessed silence.  If all went well, she would have the mess fixed by morning, paychecks restored, and the business running smoothly once more.  Now, she knew that was clearly no longer going to be possible.  She’d consider herself lucky if she even made it to work the next day.  Heck, she would consider herself lucky if she lived through the next ten minutes.

She had just placed her briefcase on her desk when the first object – an engraved letter opener with an ornate wooden handle – had come flying at her head, just barely missing her when she ducked out of the way.  The opener had become lodged in the wall, the force of its entry shattering the glass in two framed photos that hung nearby.  

Regina had crossed the small room to try to remove it when another object, this one her deck prism paperweight from Mystic Seaport in Connecticut, had hurtled across the room, smashing into the wall next to her and shattering into millions of tiny shards.  The splintering glass sliced her face in numerous places, and she had turned around in a blind panic only to see a veritable army of objects floating in the air around her, each one potentially more deadly than the next.

After that, it had become a free-for-all, with small objects and furniture flying at her with lightning speed, chasing her from her office and forcing her to hide in a small alcove under the front staircase.  The protection wasn’t much, but the opening to her cubbyhole was thankfully too small for the larger pieces of furniture to reach her.  She’d had to leave her hiding place and flee to the pantry when the entity switched to flinging small, breakable objects at her.

Reaching up to touch her shoulder, Regina could feel the sticky wetness of drying blood along with the sharp prick of shattered pottery.  She knew she’d been cut when the entity had flung a flowerpot at her, but she hadn’t realized exactly how deep the ceramic shards had been embedded in her skin.  They had apparently gone deeper than she had realized and caused quite a bit of damage, at least if the pain she was now feeling was any indication.  That was going to require medical attention.  She was also fairly certain that the rest of her injuries, which included cuts and bruises to her face and body, as well as a potentially dislocated shoulder, would also need to be treated.

She had no idea how she would explain her injuries at a regular hospital, and she briefly wondered if Ghosts, Inc. the local paranormal service she’d found in the phone book earlier, had a medical staff.  She prayed they did because they were going to be her first stop.  If she was lucky, someone there could patch her up and spare her the hassle of going to the local emergency room at St. Teresa’s.  The last thing she needed right now was to face a police inquiry as to how a woman who lived alone could come to be so badly beaten.  She didn't think the cops would accept ghosts as an answer.  To be fair, until tonight, neither would she.

However, at the moment, that was the least of her problems.  First, she needed to get out of the house alive, something that was looking less and less likely.  Her grandmother’s heavy antique sofa was currently barricading the front door, preventing her escape.  The windows were sealed.  She wasn't certain how she knew that, but she did.  That left the back door, which she was now eyeing with desperation.

Regina was brought back to the present when a crash sounded in the living room.  She suspected it was one of the large floor lamps, the stained glass shade smashing as it hit the floor.  The spirit, or whatever it might be, was on the move, headed for the kitchen.  Her last escape route.  She had to get out of there.  Now.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Regina launched herself toward the back door.  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the knives from the knife block, a gift from her mother when she'd bought this house, rise into mid-air.  With a calm certainty, Regina knew they were all headed right for her.  That only left one thing for her to do - run.

Chapter Two

Josh Winston sat at his desk pretending to read the file that was open in front of him, but instead, he found his gaze continually wandering across the open space that made up the bullpen area of the Ghosts, Inc. offices.  Really, it was difficult not to stare into the office of his boss, Mia Thorpe-Hawthorne, especially when it was made of nothing more than a few panels of glass.  He was also trying very hard not to stare at the office's occupants.

The high-backed antique guest chair was occupied; he could tell by the way Mia leaned forward at her desk.  However he couldn't see the person in the chair, which made him uneasy.  He wasn't certain what was going on in there, but he was also fairly certain that he wasn't going to like it, especially when he noted the bit of purple that flared up over the chair ever so often.  Josh was supposed to be getting ready to go on a well-earned vacation, but he had the feeling that plans were about to change.

Just like he had a feeling his plans regarding the Alternate Reality crew that had been dogging his every step for the last three weeks were about to change.  That, on the other hand, would be extremely welcome.  He was tired of living his life in the public eye.  He honestly had no idea how other paranormal investigators tolerated it.

Oh.  Right.  The money.

Though at the moment, he needed a vacation more than he needed the cash.  While he wasn't wealthy, at least not by the standards of some of his fellow investigators like Martin Scott and Damian Easton, Josh was fairly well-off, thanks mostly to his grandfather, who had left him a sizeable