Part III

By Angie Sandro

Dane lifted the lamp and studied the dusty marble for clues to his missing cameraman’s whereabouts. The trail of Pablo’s boot prints passed the broken staircase and entered a debris-cluttered hallway. From what Dane recalled from his tour of the asylum that morning, the rust-colored door at the far end of the hallway led to Alfred Nightingale’s wife’s library—the room the odd, little caretaker cheerfully declared had the highest number of spiritual manifestations—a.k.a, the lair of the Crimson Crone.

Holy crap! Why would Pablo explore that room solo? There must’ve been a burst of paranormal activity on an epic scale for his friend to go in without backup.

“Dane?”

The shaky voice of his adorable neighbor sent a pulse of protective heat through him, and Dane turned. His swift intake of breath caught in his chest at the sight of Everly, framed in the doorway by a flash of lightning, as she crossed the threshold. He blinked to clear his vision, but her image remained etched like a black and white photo behind his eyes, and probably always would. Forever immortalized in this particular moment in his mind.

A gust of wind whipped into the asylum, sending an explosion of leaves twirling around Everly, and she braced her feet on the slick floor. The wet, dark ringlets he’d fantasized about combing his fingers through tumbled around her shoulders and stuck to her cheeks.

Wide eyes landed on him, and the stark terror reflected in her gaze felt like a punch in Dane’s gut. Before she had a chance to call out again, he’d reached her side. She trembled, shuffling in the fallen leaves at her feet, clearly debating whether to take her chances in the storm and run back to her car. She clutched her dog’s carrier like a security blanket.

“I’m here,” Dane said, reaching out. Her cold hand slid into his and their fingers locked. With a gentle tug, he drew her closer. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Everly released a sigh. “Worried? Who’s worried?” A dimpled smile lifted her lips. “We’re not scared of spooky, haunted asylums. Are we, Napoleon?” An answering growl came from inside the carrier.

Dane decided to forgo mentioning the death-grip she had on his hand or complaining about the inability to feel his fingers.

Everly shivered, teeth chattering. “Okay, I lied. I’m freaked out, but I’ll be okay.” She sidled a bit closer, until their sides brushed. Her grip loosened, but she didn’t release Dane’s hand. “Did you find any sign of your friend?”

“The footprints lead toward the library.”

“Library?” Everly squeaked, then cleared her throat. “Well, I suppose we should check it out. Let’s go.”

Dane averted his face, hiding his disappointment when Everly released his hand. She set her dog’s carrier down beside his ghost hunting equipment piled up by the staircase, murmured, “I’ll be right back,” to Napoleon, and then jogged to Dane’s side. Their footsteps kicked up a cloud of dust.

“Ahh,” Everly said, waving her hand in front of her face. Her nose crinkled and a sneeze burst free, the sound echoing down the hallway. “Oops, I guess I ruined our stealthy approach.”

Dane chuckled and handed her a wad of napkins from the depths of his jacket pocket. “I’m sure the spirits sense our presence.”

“Not helping.”

“Have you heard the legend about this place?” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Her drying curls bounced on her shoulders as she shook her head. He grinned, holding up the lamp. “Legend says ol’ Alfred’s wife went insane and hacked up the male patients with a machete. Alfred locked Mrs. Nightingale in the library until her death. Now the Crimson Crone haunts the place, luring men to their doom.”

Everly sniffed. “Honestly, if given a choice of punishments, I’d choose being locked in a room full of books over prison. You asked earlier if I’m afraid of ghosts. You’re a big, bad ghost hunter” —the teasing lilt in her voice sent happy tingles down Dane’s spine— “do you believe the stories?”

Dane remained silent for a few seconds. How would she react to the truth? “I’ve seen things I can’t explain.”

Everly nodded. “Remember my not-so-pleasant history with this place? Well, not to seem mentally unhinged, but I saw things here as a kid that I still have nightmares about.”

“Really? Ready to share?”

“After we find Pablo and get out of here, I’ll tell you the whole crazy-pants story over a mug of tea and a bowl of chicken noodle soup.”

Dane grinned. “It’s a date.”

Everly’s flirtatious smile warmed her too pale cheeks, then faltered. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself. “Jeez! Is it just me, or is it freezing in here?”

Goose bumps rose on Dane’s arms. “We walked through a cold spot.” He pulled his EMF meter from his jacket pocket. The digital screen showed high spikes of electromagnetic fluctuations. “Something’s interfering with the magnetic field. We’re not alone.” Their icy breaths mingled in the air between them. “Sure you don’t want to go back?”

Everly shook her head. “First, Pablo.”

Insanely grateful he didn’t have to search the asylum alone, Dane lifted Everly over a broken chair. A full-spectrum camera rested on top of an overturned cabinet, as if deliberately left there for them. “It’s Pablo’s.”

Everly picked up the camera, then dropped it. “Sticky…” She stumbled backward, catching her fall against the wall. Her hand trembled as she frantically wiped it with a napkin. “Blood. It splattered all over the wall.”

Dane swallowed hard. He lifted the lamp, revealing a smear of gore, as if a body had been dragged across the floor. It ended at the library door. “Not funny, man!” he yelled. “Seriously, Pablo. Joke’s over. Come out!”

Dane reached for the doorknob. Locked.

Cursing under his breath, Dane picked up the camera and rewound it to the beginning. Everly slid under his arm, huddling against his side, as they watched the recording in horror.

A distorted woman’s voice issued from the camera. “Help me…”

The hairs on the back of Dane’s neck rose.

“Holy sh—” Pablo spoke this time, echoing his sentiments exactly. “Dane, get in here. I caught a voice on the EVP.” The camera view shifted to pan across the empty front yard. “Where’d he go?”

The camera turned back toward the hallway. A shimmering, human-shaped figure wearing a red gown flickered across the wall like an image displayed by an old-time movie projector, only to vanish when the projector shut off.

“I can’t believe this,” Pablo said, walking toward the hallway.

“Don’t,” Dane whispered, heart racing.

The image on the display paused, almost like Pablo heard him, and then he began to inch past the clutter piled in the hallway. The view became unsteady, and Pablo shouted a curse. He’d tripped, overturning the chair Dane had helped Everly over.

Panting, Pablo sat up, slow-panning the camera around the area.

The hall looked empty.

Dane slowly released the breath he’d been holding.

A split second flash—

—a machete slashed across the screen.

Pablo screamed, dropping the camera. It tumbled across the ground and went dark. Off-screen, Pablo begged for help.

Everly stifled a sob. “She killed him!”

A finger tapped the display, leaving a bloody fingerprint, and then the Crone’s face filled the screen. “Everly…you kept your promise. Welcome home.”

“No, I—” Everly twisted, breaking free of Dane’s embrace, and backed away. “Get out, Dane. Hurry. Grandma’s coming for you.”

“Too late,” the Crone whispered in his ear.

Arms like iron bars wrapped around his waist. His skin burned from the icy touch. He strained to break free, but he was yanked backward.

As he fell through the wooden door into the library, Dane’s last image was of Everly, stretching her hand toward him.

Reader favorite Angie Sandro returns to the South with a bewitching paranormal New Adult romance perfect for fans of Jennifer Armentrout’s Wicked and Cora Carmack’sInspire . . . 

Rescued from the brink of death by her cousin Mala, Dena Acker returns to the land of the living with a terrifying gift. Still connected to the darkness that almost claimed her, she can tell when someone’s about to die–but there’s nothing she can do to save them. Desperate to rid herself of this cursed ability, Dena has only one chance at peace . . . and two very different men willing to rescue her.

For centuries, Ashmael has seen more souls than he can count but he’s never been drawn to anyone the way he is to fragile, beautiful Dena. She fills the dark void of his days with light, and he would sacrifice anything – even his immortality – to cross over to her world and ease her suffering. But he can’t afford to be discovered by police detective Michael Anders, who is investigating the deaths that surround Dena. While Michael fights his growing attraction to her, the evidence still points to Dena as the killer. Both men have the ability to save Dena from her horrible fate, but which one can she trust with her darkest secrets?