Hallow Be the Haunt: A Krewe of Hunters Novella Read online

  “I didn’t want to be involved.”

  “In what?”

  Shelley waved a hand in the air. “Whatever it was that they were doing. We’d have all these ridiculous meetings—as if we were back in high school trying to pledge for some kind of a club. I wanted to do other things. I didn’t want to be a part of them.” She closed her eyes. “I guess that means they killed me.”

  “They?”

  “And the other two, Samantha Perkins and Emily Dupont. They told me they were part of the League of Reformation, and that I needed to be one of them. And to do that, I had to learn to behave and obey. I laughed them off a few times. I got angry a few times.”

  Ashley’s phone started ringing. She dug in her pocket for it. As she did so, the image of Shelley began to fade away. “No, no, no,” Ashley said.

  But Shelley was gone.

  She answered the phone.

  It was Beth. “Come on down. The gates are open. You’re helping out tonight, right?”

  “Yes, on my way.”

  She silently swore as she dressed hastily—in the witch costume—and hurried downstairs. She’d had Shelley with her. She was so close. And now she knew. She knew that the girls that Shelley had lived with were in on her murder. She called Jake as quickly as she could, heading down the stairs.

  “Jake, I saw her—I saw Shelley. And the women she lived with are in on it. I think that makes Nick Nicholson the head of it all.”

  “I’ll have them picked up. Right now… Right now we have a cop down. He isn’t dead. He was guarding Richard Showalter.”

  “Is Showalter dead?”

  “We don’t know. He’s gone. There’s a lot of blood. We—we don’t know if it’s his blood mixed in there or not. Ashley, be careful. Don’t leave the property.”

  “I won’t,” she promised.

  She reached the porch and quickly joined Beth in handing out little paper bracelets, colored for time and place on the haunted tour of the property.

  But then she looked up.

  And saw Shelley Broussard.

  Walking toward the family graveyard.

  “Sorry, be right back,” she promised Beth.

  And she hurried after the ghost, forgetting that she looked exactly like the dead girl herself.

  * * * *

  They were nearing the plantation when Jake saw that Parks was calling him.

  He answered.

  “We picked up the girls,” Parks said. “And Marty Nicholson.”

  “What about Nicholson himself?” Jake asked.

  “I don’t think he was part of it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s dead. His throat was slit.”

  * * * *

  “You didn’t tell her that we’re on our way to Donegal,” Jude noted.

  “You don’t know Ashley,” Jake said, shaking his head. “I’d hear about her being fine, and that I should be going where I was needed. This way, there’s no argument. I’ll just go there. And…” He paused.

  Jude looked at him. “And?”

  “Parks and the police are covering New Orleans right now—including anything to do with Showalter’s house and the injured detective. Maybe these killers are getting better at watching out for decent targets. We need to be at Donegal Plantation.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Ashley knows that the girls living with Shelley were involved. There are two of your witches.”

  “So that’s it—two witches?”

  Jake shook his head. “No, three witches—and some sort of a commander, priest, evil god—a man.”

  “Okay, so Nick and Marty Nicholson.”

  “Marty, yes. She’s the third witch.”

  “And Nick?”

  “Could be, though I doubt they killed their leader.”

  “It could be someone else. Thing is, Parks has to get those women behind bars. Tonight. Quickly.”

  * * * *

  The graveyard at Donegal Plantation was truly beautiful. A collection of funerary art, it covered mid-nineteenth century to the present. The Donegal family tomb was most grand, offering up angels and cherubs and gargoyles.

  The ghost walked right through the gate and the wall that surrounded the cemetery.

  Ashley had to unlatch the gate—she was afraid of hurting herself with a leap over the little wall in her elaborate dress.

  “Shelley, wait.”

  But as she walked in, she saw that the ghost of Shelley was crying out and running.

  And as she chased after Shelley, Ashley realized that someone was chasing after her.

  Jonathan Starling.

  Shelley was running, but…

  Did Starling see the ghost?

  Or was he running after her?

  Ashley’s heart began to thud.

  Jake had been afraid for her, angry because of this very costume. And now this man who had harassed Shelley, who had claimed to love her, was chasing her.

  Ashley turned back. He was wearing his bloodied costume and carrying a meat cleaver.

  She hopped over an in-ground stone and swung around a cherub before she was able to dive behind the Donegal family tomb. She saw an old brick that had fallen free from a planter and snatched it up quickly.

  When Jonathan Starling came around the tomb, she raised the stone high. And as she did, she remembered that she had clocked Cliff once long ago—afraid that he was a killer.

  She struck.

  Jonathan fell.

  And the ghost of Shelley Broussard appeared.

  “No, no, not Jonathan. Never Jonathan. He loved me. I love him.”

  “Then?” Ashley whispered the word.

  “Miss Donegal, I’m so sorry. So, so, sorry that you can’t let things go.”

  She turned.

  And found Richard Showalter stalking her way.

  He was alone, she saw. He hadn’t slit anyone’s throat—he’d had his followers do it for him.

  But that didn’t matter.

  He was a killer, through and through.

  “You are truly an idiot,” Ashley said. She was far enough away, and the brick was still in her hand. “You’ll definitely be caught now. You’re going to try to murder me—on my own property? Tonight?”

  ”You’re a meddler. And a traitor to good. You have to die.”

  “I’m a traitor? Because I want to stop you?”

  “I have been working for justice. You are a traitor to justice. Happy to let killers walk. I hunt down monsters.”

  “You killed Shelley.”

  “Shelley was a traitor.”

  “You can’t just kill people.”

  He continued walking toward her, smiling. “You’re going to hit me with that brick?”

  “You’re a hypocrite,” she told him. “You’re the monster.”

  Closer, closer. She kept her eyes on him while she spoke.

  “What did you do to get here? Kill a cop? The clowns weren’t coming after you to kill you—they were coming for instructions. Richard Showalter,” she sneered. “Known for his work against vigilantism. You hypocritical bastard. And you killed Shelley. Killed Shelley because she wouldn’t become part of your killing machine. You—God… You’re absolutely a monster.”

  “And you’re absolutely dead.”

  The closer he came, the greater the terror that filled her. She saw what he carried.

  He hadn’t killed before. But he planned to kill now. He had an ice pick. If he was able to get in just one good blow…

  Suddenly, the ghost of Shelley Broussard raced out, a cry of fury on her lips.

  The man paused, blinking. As if fog had gotten in his eyes, as if he’d seen something but didn’t understand what.

  He staggered, coming toward Ashley. She raised her brick and bashed him.

  He caught her arm.

  She screamed.

  And even as the sound left her lips, Jake was there. Pulling the man from her, throwing him to the ground. And Jackson was behind Jake, ready to wrench him up an
d handcuff him.

  But as she rushed into Jake’s arms, she dimly realized that Jackson wasn’t arresting him. Parks had arrived and was angrily reading Richard Showalter his rights.

  “You nearly killed my man—a good man!” Parks roared.

  “He killed Shelley,” Ashley said, staring at Jake. “He killed Shelley. Whether he drew the blade or not and— We have to get an ambulance. Jonathan Starling came out here and…”

  “And you clocked him?” he asked, but pointed to Jackson, who was already helping a dazed Jonathan.

  Jake was smiling, but his eyes were filled with concern, and she felt him shaking.

  He loved her so much.

  As she loved him.

  “You do seem to like to clock the wrong people,” Jake said and tightened his hold. “What am I going to do with you? I have to keep you out of danger.”

  “Well, you are marrying me, of course.”

  “Not so sure that’s really going to help,” he teased.

  And then he kissed her.

  * * * *

  In the days that followed, the horror of what had been going on for weeks began to become clear.

  Nick Nicholson had really just been a nice guy—trying to help artists. He hadn’t known that his wife started out having an affair with Richard Showalter—only to become so infatuated with him that she more or less became the mother for his cult of monsters recruited to kill monsters. He thought himself a genius. Use monsters at Halloween. Who would notice?

  But Shelley Broussard could not be coerced, brainwashed, or convinced in any way. And with the rest of the women in the household killing, she had to play a part.

  Or disappear.

  Ashley spent time with Jonathan Starling and hoped he was really going to be all right.

  He had seen or sensed something about Shelley. And the day after Halloween, when the cast came to help clean out and pick up their own belongings, she saw him in the cemetery. And she saw Shelley sitting next to him.

  Then Shelley was gone.

  Ashley went to talk to him. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “She told me I must move on,” he said. He looked at her. “I saw her. I really saw her.”

  “I believe you. And I believe that she’s moved on now—and that means that you must, too. You must move on.”

  They sat together for a while.

  And then she went back to the house, where Frazier, Beth, Cliff, and Jake were all debating if they should wait, if Ashley was all right with what had happened.

  “I’m getting married right here. In two weeks,” Ashley said. She saw Jake smile, and that was all she needed.

  And, two weeks later, they were back.

  The spiders were gone, along with the black draping, the ghosts, the demons, and all else that had been part of Halloween.

  Flowers were everywhere.

  The plantation had never looked more spectacular.

  Most of the Krewe were in attendance. Jackson and Angela, and Whitney and Kat and Will and so many others.

  It was splendid. Frazier was dignified, and he cried when he had to give a speech at the reception. She and Jake caught him in a sandwich hug, and she gave a speech back, thanking him for being the best grandparent ever.

  And that night…

  Well, the grounds thronged with Krewe. While the honeymoon beckoned come morning, for the night…

  They would never find a place so safe to abandon all and make love.

  And make love.

  Again, and again, and again.

  Even a lifetime might not be enough. Then again…

  It seemed that love could last forever, far longer than a lifetime.

  * * * *

  Also from 1001 Dark Nights and Heather Graham, discover Crimson Twilight, When Irish Eyes Are Haunting, All Hallow's Eve, and Blood on the Bayou.

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  Crimson Twilight: A Krewe of Hunters Novella

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  It's a happy time for Sloan Trent and Jane Everett. What could be happier than the event of their wedding? Their Krewe friends will all be there and the event will take place in a medieval castle transported brick by brick to the New England coast. Everyone is festive and thrilled... until the priest turns up dead just hours before the nuptials. Jane and Sloan must find the truth behind the man and the murder--the secrets of the living and the dead--before they find themselves bound for eternity--not in wedded bliss but in the darkness of an historical wrong and their own brutal deaths.

  When Irish Eyes Are Haunting: A Krewe of Hunters Novella

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  Devin Lyle and Craig Rockwell are back, this time to a haunted castle in Ireland where a banshee may have gone wild—or maybe there's a much more rational explanation—one that involves a disgruntled heir, murder, and mayhem, all with that sexy light touch Heather Graham has turned into her trademark style.

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  Salem was a place near and dear to Jenny Duffy and Samuel Hall -- it was where they'd met on a strange and sinister case. They never dreamed that they'd be called back. That history could repeat itself in a most macabre and terrifying fashion. But, then again, it was Salem at Halloween. Seasoned Krewe members, they still find themselves facing the unspeakable
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  It's winter and a chill has settled over the area near New Orleans, finding a stream of blood, a tourist follows it to a dead man, face down in the bayou.

  The man has been done in by a vicious beating, so violent that his skull has been crushed in.

  It's barely a day before a second victim is found... once again so badly thrashed that the water runs red. The city becomes riddled with fear.

  An old family friend comes to Danni Cafferty, telling her that he's terrified, he's certain that he's received a message from the Blood Bayou killer--It's your turn to pay, blood on the bayou.

  Cafferty and Quinn quickly become involved, and--as they all begin to realize that a gruesome local history is being repeated--they find themselves in a fight to save not just a friend, but, perhaps, their very own lives.

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