Blood in the Mirror (Haunted Collection Series Book 3) Read online

  He had been surly when he had gotten a room, and in a foul temper by the time he realized they had given him a ‘dry room.’ There was no liquor bar to raid and to pay excessive prices for. He remedied that problem quickly and ruthlessly, with an angry trip to the front desk, and a whispered threat of violence. Members of the maintenance staff had actually carried a minibar from one room to his own, and the alcohol was still cold.

  Without any fear of a vengeful ghost seizing his body and taking it for an unauthorized trip, Stefan got incredibly drunk and passed out.

  When he finally woke, almost twenty hours later, it was to a dark room. The curtains were still drawn, and the only light was the red glow that indicated the large screen television was off. Stefan lay on his back for several minutes, soaked in sweat and curious as to where the blankets had gone. He was wrapped in a single sheet, and it was more of a shroud than cover.

  Struggling out of it, Stefan sat up and turned on the bedside lamp.

  A quick glance around the room revealed where the blankets had gone. They lay in a twisted path from the side of the bed to the bathroom, allowing Stefan a small sigh of relief. He considered a drink of water, changed his mind, and took the last full miniature bottle of vodka and drank it in a single, easy gulp.

  The pleasant, familiar burn of the alcohol made him smile as he dropped the empty container into the trash bin.

  When he felt capable of moving, Stefan got out of bed and went to the bathroom. He took a long, hot shower, his head swimming in the mixture of heat, humidity, and alcohol that swarmed around him.

  He let his mind wander as the hot water battered his head and shoulders, and when he finally felt as though he might be able to think rationally, Stefan washed up.

  After returning to the room, he dropped into the chair by the shaded window and considered his situation. It was, he knew, less than ideal. His father had succeeded in evicting him from his own house, and that was, as far as Stefan was concerned, completely unacceptable. He would need to retreat to one of his other houses, where he had less haunted items to disperse, but there was the benefit of avoiding his father.

  Theoretical, Stefan told himself bitterly. For all practical reasons his father should not have been able to leave the familial homestead, yet he had. Not only had he left it, but Ivan Denisovich had managed to establish himself in one of Stefan’s homes.

  That meant his father might be able to do it again.

  The thought both frightened and enraged him.

  Before he would feel comfortable in a new setting, Stefan would need to know where his father was, and certain that the dead man could not get to him.

  In silence, Stefan considered how his father might have been able to get out of the secured room hundreds of miles away, but he realized he had no idea how the dead man might have accomplished such a feat.

  He had never been one to immerse himself in ghost lore. It was mundane and reminded him of his parents.

  Two facts which were enough to turn him off any subject. Adding his hatred of his mother and father to the mix made it a certainty that he wouldn’t want to learn anything about the subject.

  Stupid, Stefan grumbled to himself. Some days he’s right. Some days I’m just too stupid.

  Closing his eyes, Stefan leaned his head back against the chair and thought about which home he should move to next.

  After several minutes, he made the decision.

  Fox Cat Hollow, he thought. I’ll move into Fox Cat Hollow.

  Chapter 6: An Opportunity Occurs

  She had seen him leave, and she waited. One hour had moved to two, two to four, four to eight, and so on until an entire day had passed.

  Stefan Korzh wasn’t coming back anytime soon.

  Shedding the poncho and the liner, Ariana stood up, stretched, and moved towards the back of the house. Her long legs covered the distance easily as she settled into an easy stride. Within minutes, she was in the backyard approaching the rear door. Once there, she hesitated, gloved hand on the doorknob. She moved her head close to the glass, glanced down through the visible gap between the curtain and the door, but saw nothing.

  Stefan had not set any traps before he left.

  Nodding, Ariana tried the handle, found it locked, and quickly picked it, listening with satisfaction to the dull snap of the deadbolt moving. She gave the knob a sharp twist, enjoyed the pop of the latch and entered the house.

  It stank of stale sweat, fear, old food, and cheap vodka.

  With ease, she stepped up onto the counter, found a gap above the sink where a piece of the molding had pulled away from the wall, and slipped the small mirror into it.

  In less than a heartbeat, there was a loud sigh from behind her.

  Ariana turned around, and with a dancer’s grace dropped to the kitchen floor.

  Ivan Denisovich Korzh stood in all his morbid glory by the small table.

  “Ariana,” he said, his voice purring from beyond the grave, “you never disappoint me, child.”

  She straightened up with pride.

  “Did you happen to see where young Stefan slipped away to?” Ivan asked, stepping over to the window and glancing out of it.

  “No,” she answered, shaking her head.

  “A pity,” he said, sighing.

  “Would you like me to find him?” Ariana asked.

  “No,” Ivan said, turning to smile at her. “He shall return eventually. Your task is far more pressing. I would have you go into his study and find what objects he has cast out into the cold, and to where they have gone. Yes?”

  She nodded.

  “Excellent,” Ivan Denisovich chuckled. The mirth was soon replaced by a dour expression as he shook his head. “It is a pity his mother did not listen to me in the matter of his inheritance. We should have left him nothing. But, as they say, it is water under the bridge. Now, off to that infernal computer with you, Ariana, and see where your wretched half-brother has cast his birthright.”

  Ariana gave her dead father a short bow and hurried out of the room.

  Chapter 7: In New Orleans

  Jeremy stepped out of the cab and paid the young woman, giving her a generous tip. He turned to face Leanne Le Monde’s house as the cab pulled away, and he wondered, not for the first time, what he might find within.

  Leanne had been exceptionally cryptic when he had spoken with her prior to his departure in Pennsylvania, and even more so after his landing in New Orleans. He glanced uneasily up and down her street, a small part of him still concerned with the pronouncement of his death by the voodoo priest decades earlier.

  Once he had settled his nerves, Jeremy approached the house, climbing the stairs to Leanne’s front door and knocked.

  She answered the door a minute later, her neck wrapped in a delicate, purple scarf that hid most, but not all of the bandages still across her throat. Her smile was beautiful, her eyes radiated power, and she motioned him in with a graceful gesture.

  Jeremy followed her into the house, pausing to wait as she took the lead. She did not, he noticed, bother to lock the door after she closed it.

  But there was a different sense to the house.

  The shadows seemed darker, and there was a bitter scent that lingered in the air.

  It took him a moment to realize what it was, and when he did, a shudder rippled through him.

  She sensed his discomfort, smiled an apology, and led him to the room where she had been cut by Stefan Korzh. Jeremy sat after she had done so, and accepted a cup of hot tea.

  “Your arm, what happened to it?” Leanne asked, nodding towards his shoulder.

  “I was shot,” Jeremy explained. “The arm is still stiff, though it is healing well, considering my age. A more important question is, how are you feeling?”

  “Better,” she answered. Her voice was rough, sounding as though she made a habit of drinking bourbon laced with glass.

  “You’ve added some friends?” Jeremy asked, keeping his tone neutral.

  “I have,”
she replied. “I must say, Jeremy, that I saw no other recourse in this matter.”

  He nodded his agreement, but the knowledge that foul beasts lurked within the woman’s house caused him to question his decision to return to New Orleans.

  “I assure you,” she said, sipping her own tea, “you will not be harmed. Do you trust me?”

  Jeremy did, and he said as much.

  “Good,” Leanne said. “Good. Now, I hope you do not mind, but I have a favor to ask of you.”

  Jeremy felt his eyebrows rise in surprise and he asked, “You do?”

  “Yes,” Leanne said, “and while I want to make you promise to do that favor without knowing what it is, I know that I cannot.”

  “Leanne,” he began, but she held up a hand, and he silenced himself.

  “I am not, by nature, a vengeful woman,” Leanne started, “but I find myself rather put out by Mr. Korzh’s attempt to end my life. I have been attacked before, and with good reason, I might add. But this, this was far too mundane. It seemed almost an afterthought, and that is unacceptable. I dislike knowing that such a man still breathes the same air I do. Thus I want, in my own way, to be there when you finally corner him, Jeremy.”

  “Leanne,” he said, “I don’t know that you can. You are a remarkably vibrant woman, but I fear that in this situation, even Victor is going to have far too much to handle when we confront Korzh.”

  Her smile was cold and hard.

  “You are right, my young friend,” she said, finishing her tea, “and that is why I had said in my own way. I cannot be there, but another friend will be there in my stead. I need you to bring him with you. And he, in turn, will find Korzh faster than either of you. He has some definite skills that we lack.”

  “And what are those?” Jeremy asked, confused.

  “Consider my friend to be a finely trained hound,” Leanne said. “Korzh will be hiding, of that we are all in agreement. My friend will be able to use his skills to root the man out. Now, is this course of action acceptable, Jeremy?”

  “Of course,” Jeremy said, nodding. “You needn’t have worried on that account, Leanne. So long as he can handle himself when the situation arises, I don’t think we’ll have any sort of issue whatsoever.”

  “I thought not,” Leanne said, nodding her approval.

  Jeremy finished his tea, placed the cup on its saucer on the table and asked, “Now, who am I bringing with me to Pennsylvania?”

  Leanne’s smile remained hard as she called out over her shoulder, “Jean Luc!”

  Chapter 8: Not Forgotten

  Mike Armstrong didn’t mind a little pick-me-up every now and then. Usually, he managed to get high from pills he bought from a dealer down in Norwich, but Mike’s regular guy had been arrested.

  And while there weren’t many rules Mike followed in life, one of them was firm and carved in stone.

  Never buy from someone you don’t know.

  Mike had a habit and a bad one at that. Within two days, he had burned through the meager stash at his apartment, and he realized he had to pick between two bad choices. The first option was to find another dealer. This not only violated a major foundation in his pill-popping life, but it also would prove to be difficult. Most people sold their drugs at an exceptionally higher cost than he was used to paying. The second option was just as miserable as the first, from what Mike could see.

  And that option was to steal from his place of employment.

  Robbing them would be almost as bad as finding a new dealer.

  Almost.

  Mike had landed his job at the Ledyard Mental Health facility after a strange death had freed up a position. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Mike had leaped at the opportunity to work there. He hated the smell of nursing homes he had been previously employed at, and he had a suspicion that the women who ended up in the facility would look a lot better than the old ladies he had dealt with on a regular basis.

  Not only that, but there was a better selection of drugs at the facility. On occasion, he had snuck a pill here and there, but only to tide him over until he could make a buy.

  But scoring a hit off his dealer wasn’t an option any longer.

  “Mike,” Dale said, causing him to jump.

  “Oh hell, you scared me,” Mike panted, his heart thumping wildly against his chest.

  She offered him an apologetic smile and said, “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to.”

  “No,” Mike said, smiling, “I know you weren’t. I’m sorry. I get a little jumpy sometimes.”

  Dale nodded. “You looked like you were wrapped up in some pretty deep thoughts.”

  “Did I?” Mike asked, surprised. “I usually don’t have anything going on in there. Not unless I’m worried about the point spread for the football game.”

  She gave him a grin that reminded him of just how pretty she was, and he felt his face redden.

  “I don’t believe that for a minute, Mike Armstrong,” Dale said, winking. “Anyway. Can you do me a favor in a little while?”

  “Sure,” Mike said, straightening up. “What is it?”

  “You know Tom?” she asked.

  Mike thought about it for a minute, then nodded. “Yeah. His parents were killed, right?”

  Her smile became smaller, and she said, “Yes. That’s him. He’s been having some sleep issues, and I’ve been trying to get him to take some Ativan to help him relax, but he’s pretty resistant to the idea. I don’t know if you could take it to him personally tonight. I’m hoping he might react better to a male. Well, to anyone other than me. He seems to feel the need to push back against any medication I offer.”

  “Sure,” Mike said, nodding, “you got it. I’ll bring it to him and try to get him to knock it back. He’s having nightmares or something?”

  “Or something,” Dale agreed. “Thanks a lot, Mike. I’ll talk to you about him tomorrow, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Mike said, grinning. “You got it, Dale.”

  She waved goodbye, and he did the same. When she had left, he started towards the secure wing, where Tom stayed, and then he had an epiphany.

  If the kid didn’t want to take his Ativan, then why make him?

  Mike had managed to get his hands on Ativan more than once, and he smiled at the memory of how the drug worked. It wasn’t as powerful as Oxy, nor did it have that sharp high of Adderall, but it would do the trick. At least until his dealer got out, and there was almost no way Mike would get caught.

  Not as long as Tom didn’t want the medication.

  Mike felt a little spring enter his step and he bounced on the balls of his feet as he made his way to the secure wing. He nodded to others he met, waved greetings to a few more, and by the time he got to Alison at the nurse’s desk, he was whistling.

  “What are you so perky about?” she asked with a raised eyebrow that was more eye-liner than eyebrow. She was a woman in her forties, who looked as though she was in her early sixties, and dressed as if she was a teenager just let out of a Catholic boarding house.

  But aside from all that, she was funny and handled some of the harder patients with surprising tact and ease. Her skin was pale; a testament to years of working the late shift, and her hair was a solid, peroxide blonde.

  “Life’s good,” Mike answered. Then, in a conspiratorial tone, he lied, saying, “I had a good run on some numbers with the last game.”

  “You need to stop gambling,” she said, jabbing a nicotine-stained finger at him. “And when you’re done doing the rounds, I need a break. Raquel left earlier, and I haven’t had a cigarette since nine. If I don’t get one soon, I’ll set the desk on fire just to get a little smoke in my lungs.”

  “Fine,” Mike said, chuckling. “Give me Tom’s meds first. Dale asked me to check on him. Once that’s done, you can get your smoke break.”

  “Good,” Alison grumbled. She went into the locked cabinet in the back of the nurse’s station and returned a minute later with a pair of white Ativan tablets. The small, white
pentagons stamped with an ‘A’ were contained in a clear plastic cup. “He hasn’t been cooperative, so I’m not giving you any water. You’ll probably just end up bringing them back to me.”

  “Yeah,” Mike agreed. “Dale said the same thing. What if he changes his mind?”

  “He has a plastic water bottle in his room,” Alison answered. “More power to you if you can get him to take ‘em though.”

  “Well, wish me luck,” Mike said, grinning. “I’d like to see the kid start to get better.”

  Alison nodded her agreement and Mike left the station. He wandered the hallway, keeping an eye on the cameras located in the corners. At a nook close to Tom’s room stood a water fountain, and Mike knew it was a blind spot. He quickly palmed the pills, popped them in his mouth, and washed the pair down with a gulp of cold water.

  Shivering with anticipation, Mike straightened up and continued on his way. In a few more steps, he reached Tom’s door and knocked.

  “Come in,” was the surly response, and Mike entered. As soon as the door closed behind him, he tossed the empty plastic cup into the trash bin against the wall and felt the first, pleasing wave of the Ativan high roll over him.

  “How are you, Tom?” Mike asked.

  The thin teenager, who insisted on shaving his head each day and had the demeanor of a political prisoner, looked at Mike warily. “Who are you?”

  “My name’s Mike,” he answered. “Dale asked me to check on you.”

  Tom closed the book on his lap, set it on the bed beside him and said, “You mean she wanted you to come in here and get me to take the Ativan.”

  Mike nodded. “You’re a bright one. I figured you didn’t want any more of that hassle, so I popped them in the trash on the way here. I’ll tell everybody you took them. That way you won’t get harassed anymore.”

  An expression of cynical surprise darted across Tom’s face, and Mike understood that the boy knew it was a charade.

  “And you’ll do this every night?” Tom asked, leaning back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest.