Haunted Love: Love Possessed Series, #1

By Cali MacKay

Falling in love would be a whole lot easier if it weren't for all the damn ghosts getting in the way.

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I know my job is bizarre, and people think I'm crazy.  You see, I buy haunted houses since I can get them at rock-bottom prices. From there, I simply evict the ghosts, fix up the homes, and then sell them at a nice profit with a "no ghost, money back guarantee".  Normally I make a killing.  Except that I've sunk all my money into a massive seacoast mansion, and the ghosts haunting this place are not playing nice. They're in no hurry to cross into the light, and if I can't get rid of them, then there's no chance I'll be able to sell the place and get my money back, let alone make a profit.

 

The only thing going right at the moment is Kieran—a sexy science teacher who's spending his summer swinging a hammer on my job site.  I can't remember the last time I went on a date, let alone had anyone in my bed.  But Kieran's been damn hard to resist, and when the ghosts get violent, I'm glad to have him by my side.  Yet the spirits haunting this place are kicking my ass, and if I can't get them to cross over, not only will I never make it back to Kieran's arms, but we may all pay the price.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cali MacKay
• Release date: Oct 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9781940041582

Book preview

Chapter One

Maisy

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I walk around the living room of the old colonial, taking in all the original features that miraculously still grace the home—dentil molding, quarter-sawn oak built-in bookcases, maple flooring trimmed with mahogany details, a gorgeous marble fireplace. The Realtor is rattling off all the details as I peek at the listing sheet, though I already know this is one hell of a deal. Seven bedrooms, four baths, a large kitchen with a butler’s pantry, and it’s even got a widow’s walk with a view of the ocean and a private beach. All for a fraction of what the home would normally be worth—if it wasn’t haunted.

You won’t find another home in the area with this amount of space and water views—especially not at this price. It really is a steal, given all the original features and character. The Realtor is clearly trying to hook me into buying the place, since the house has been on the market for nearly two years. Yet it’s clear she’s gone down this road far too many times, and her sales pitch is falling just a little flat. Poor woman.

It’s my understanding that the previous owners only lived in the home for six months, before quickly moving out. Is that because the place is haunted? My eyes lock on hers, knowing that if I don’t ask her directly, she doesn’t need to tell me, even though the haunting is well documented.

Well…there was that write-up in the paper a few years ago, claiming that it was haunted, but really…it’s all a load of nonsense. She scoffs, waving away my concerns with a laugh that sounds far too fake, as if even she isn’t buying her own lies. No one really believes in that sort of thing, now do they?

Clearly people do, since the house is still on the market, despite the gorgeous ocean view and a price far below market value. And if I were to open myself up to the energies, I’d have real proof. But I won’t go down that road, even if I can hear the spirits clawing at the walls I’ve put up to keep them out, pleading with me to let them in.

A door slams down the hall and footsteps can be heard heading up the stairs, making it clear that whatever is haunting this place has a sense of humor and is determined to prove the Realtor wrong. "So what exactly would that be? You know…if the place isn’t actually haunted?"

The wind? The poor woman looks scared half to death and I can’t blame her, since not all ghosts are friendly.

I’ve dealt with my fair share of the nasty kind, but this is how I make my living. I buy haunted houses at rock-bottom prices, evict the ghouls, renovate, and then sell the properties at a profit with a no-ghosties-buyback guarantee. And given that my homes aren’t just gorgeous but reasonably priced in an area where affordable properties are hard to come by, I’ve yet to have a problem selling one of my projects.

That said, this home, even at a rock-bottom price, is going to cost me everything I’ve got saved, and that’s just for the down payment on the massive mortgage. But if I can buy it as cheaply as possible and then flip it, it’ll be worth the risk.

I’d like to make an offer.

I go straight from the closing to my new home and project, excited to get started, even if it’ll be a lot of work. I’ll do a good portion of it myself, but sometimes it’s good to have an extra pair of hands, especially on a job this size, and for that I have my trusty contractor. Eamon’s been with me from the start, and he knows all too well the sort of properties I deal with.

Speak of the devil, I watch the familiar blue truck pull into the long driveway, though he’s not alone. I give them a smile as they walk up to where I’m standing on the porch. Thanks for swinging by to have a look.

You sure did buy yourself a beauty. And I can’t believe you got it for one hundred grand under asking—though you’ll likely need every penny to fix her up. Eamon’s Irish lilt fills the air as he repositions the baseball cap on his head and looks up at the massive colonial, squinting at the sun. She’ll need work, but she’ll be gorgeous by the time we’re done. Hope you don’t mind. I’ve brought my sister’s boy with me to have a look. He’ll be helping me on this one, since he’s got the summer off and this project is a big one.

I don’t know what he’s taking the summer off from, but his sister’s boy is more like a full-grown man. And a damn good-looking one at that, especially when he gives me a crooked smile, reaching out and shaking my hand. Name’s Kieran. It’s a pleasure.

Ooo…another Irishman. And this one’s a redhead and sexy to boot.

Pleasure’s mine, since the faster we can get this project finished, the happier I’ll be. This area always gets a rush of tourists in the summer and the fall. It won’t be done in time for the summer crowds, but if I can get the place ready for the gaggle of tourists who’ll be around to go leaf-peeping when the autumn leaves change colors, then I’ll be one hell of a happy camper.

We climb the stairs to the massive front porch, and I can already picture what it’ll look like once I’m done—a few rocking chairs, some pretty flower boxes, maybe a chaise or a porch swing. It’ll be the perfect place to relax with a good book and a glass of wine after a long day. I unlock the front door, and make a mental note to strip down the layers of cracked and peeling paint off the solid oak door as I step inside, loving how the sunlight’s streaming through the windows.

Yet despite the light, there’s a heavy and oppressive energy weighing the place down.

I’m immediately bombarded with the voices and energy of the dead who are still lingering in this place, and do my best to reinforce the walls I’ve put up to keep the spirits out. I’ve always been sensitive like that. A medium. Able to communicate with the dead. Except that I do all I can to block them out, knowing damn well they’ll overwhelm me—and take over—if I let them in.

Eamon takes a tentative step inside, looking around suspiciously and crossing himself, as he mumbles under his breath. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Have you evicted the poor wee ghosties yet?

Sorry. Not yet. I know that Eamon doesn’t like to work on a project until I’ve worked my magic and cleared the place of any lingering spirits, but I only just got the keys.

It’s usually a fairly easy process. A bit of sage smoke to spiritually cleanse the place, and then I ask the spirits to leave, after I’ve informed them that they’ve passed and their loved ones are waiting for them on the other side. That’s all it really takes. But there are certainly times when it takes a good amount more effort to free the ghosts that are earth-bound, and actual magic and spell work needs to happen. My gran taught me the Old Ways, though I often think of myself as a witch of convenience, much to her vexation. Beyond observing the solstices and a handful of other important days, the only other spell work I ever get around to is out of necessity—like evicting ghosts.

I promise to take care of it as soon as I’m able to. I catch Kieran looking rather amused at the whole thing, and I know—he’s one of those. The non-believers. Who, curious enough, still won’t buy a haunted property. You know. Just in case. I toss him a questioning look. You think it’s a joke, don’t you?

He shrugs, giving me an easy smile that makes his blue eyes sparkle with mischief. "Not a joke, per se. But I’m a science teacher, and that means I believe in things that I can substantiate. I like facts. Not hocus-pocus and ghosties, as Uncle likes to call them."

A science teacher. I may have paid more attention in school if teachers looked like Kieran.

Don’t listen to the lad. Eamon shakes his head at his nephew. He’ll find out before long.

To each their own, right? I shrug. He can believe in ghosts or not. Makes no difference to me, as long as I’m able to buy my houses cheap enough to afford them and turn a profit.

And Eamon’s probably right. There’s a good chance Kieran will eventually find out that there are most definitely things that go bump in the night.

Chapter Two

Kieran

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I’ll admit, my uncle’s description of Maisy had left me thinking she’d be some sort of crazy flake. I mean, ghosts? Sure, the ole biddies in the rural parts of Ireland tell stories of banshees and the like, but I was born and raised in Dublin, where the only ghosts haunting you are your mistakes after you’ve had a pint too many.

Yet from what I’ve seen, Maisy’s no flake and she doesn’t seem crazy. She seems competent, smart, levelheaded, and absolutely gorgeous in a girl-next-door sort of way. Her long chestnut hair is pulled back in a simple braid, her plump ruby lips have no more than a bit of lip balm on them, and she’s in jeans, a simple t-shirt, and construction boots. In other words, she’s damn near perfect—even if she believes in ghosts.

I figure if we tear down this wall, we’ll be able to open up the kitchen to what will be the family room. Obviously, we’ll need to update the kitchen and all three of the bathrooms. Maisy’s leading the way as we get back to the matter at hand, going over what she has planned for each space. New light fixtures, maybe a simply patterned pewter wallpaper for the dining room walls above the wainscoting to make things pop. Keep it classic but modern. And of course, I’ll have to refinish all the wood floors and then re-tile the bathrooms.

I follow Maisy and Eamon through the home as we take notes and measurements. As she talks about the changes she’d like to make, I can see her vision for the home, which has great bones to start with. So, you’re going to flip this?

That’s the plan. Fix it, sell it at a nice profit, and then move on to the next project. She gives me an easy smile that lights up her light-brown eyes, making them come alive. It’s clear this is something she really loves. "I hate seeing homes fall into disrepair from neglect. It’s like the soul of the place takes a beating when that happens, and I know it sounds silly, but I want them to feel loved. They’re not just houses—they’re homes. A place where a family can make memories. A place to shelter in the storm. And the haunted ones? They’re the ones that need the most healing. But once they’re whole again, it’s a damn beautiful sight."

I bet it is. Her description, and the love she clearly has for these neglected homes, has me thinking about her and what she does in a whole different light.

Not that I believe in ghosts.

Yet the passion in her eyes has me leaning toward her, the air between us crackling with a tension I haven’t felt in a very long time—until my uncle clears his throat, tossing me an all-too-knowing look. Of course, I’m left feeling like a child who’s been caught ready to steal a bite of cake before Sunday dinner’s been served.

Eamon continues, saving us from any awkwardness. The bones of the place seem to be in good enough shape, though you know how it is. There’s always the chance of us coming across a slew of problems once we start opening up the walls. Like a can of worms, it is.

There was a slow leak in one of the bathrooms upstairs, so we’ll need new joists in that area, since the floor’s soft in certain spots. But I’m hoping that’s the worst of it. She leads the way up the stairs to the second floor. It’s that one there. There’s another bath off the master, but it’s in decent shape, though the fixtures will still need to be updated.

I take a step toward the bath with the rotted floor to get a feel for the scope of the work that’ll need to be done, but just as I’m about to step over the threshold, the door slams shut in my face. What the…

Eamon crosses himself as I refrain from rolling my eyes. Not that I have any sort of explanation for the slamming door, since all the windows and doors in the place are closed, and there’s no draft. Still, that doesn’t mean anything. There’s got to be a logical explanation, and with an old house like this, not only do you not need a window open for there to be a draft, stepping in one place can easily shift things enough to have a door swinging closed.

Maisy gives my uncle a look of apology. I swear, I’ll do my thing over the next few nights, so that it’s all sorted out before we start work.

You best get on it, girl. You know they only get worse if you start messing with the house. Eamon looks dead serious, which has me biting back my laugh. I can’t believe this is my levelheaded uncle.

What do you mean, they get worse? I want to take this seriously, but I’m having a hard time with it all.

Maisy shrugs, her eyes looking around the place before her gaze settles on me. "Usually any changes—construction and renovations, especially—tend to upset