Page 11 of Bonded to The Boo Hag

I followed the ghost down the hall. Palmer had explained that Prudence was a gray lady until mating with the love of her afterlife. Once she did, her color returned. Prudence was like a soft oil painting; her dress was a deep midnight blue, a black ribbon choker was wrapped around her neck, and her hair was styled in a soft bun.

“I hope,” she said, stopping at the staircase, “that you will like dinner. Mer doesn’t eat as much as she used to, so Cook got a bit excited with the preparations.”

“I’ve heard a few of the others call her Mer. Is that something she prefers?” I asked, walking down the steps as she glided alongside me.

“Oh no,” she laughed, a high tinkling sound that echoed around me oddly, “You don’t have to call her that unless you want to. It’s just a way to mesh both names, Merewynn Palmer, though I can’t imagine having so many birth names. Though I’ve always thought Palmer was a bit odd.” She nibbled her lip, which must be a hold-over habit from when she was alive. “I think it's because her mother knew she’d have to use a few in her lifetime; corporeal beings still have to pay taxes after all. Being dead has its perks.”

She gasped, placing a cool hand on my arm. I could feel a chill through my charcoal Henley. “I’m sorry, sir, how insensitive!”

I stifled a grin; patting her hand was a mind fuck, feeling something that should be solid and was not at all at the same time. “It’s fine, ma’am. My sister is doing better.”

How could I be mad at a ghost for enjoying being a ghost?

“Thank goodness for that,” she agreed as we hit the landing in tandem. We followed the new wallpaper, a textured fabric in eggshell. I tried not to gawk at the detailed molding, elaborate crystal chandeliers, and gold wall sconces. The walls were dotted with paintings in styles from multiple periods, not just Georgian, and I wondered if there were any reproductions or if they were all real––I had a feeling I already knew the answer.

“Here we are. If you need anything, let me know; it is literally my and my staff’s job to serve.” She passed me a card. Printed on it was her name, Prudence Galling, her position as head of housekeeping, the Wi-Fi password, and her phone number.

“You have a cellphone?” I asked, shocked.

“Oh yes, I do like to text! Juni says I take the emojis too far, but they are quite fun!” She giggled. “Text me whenever, and I’ll let whoever is on the clock know. If it’s after midnight, you might have to wait to the morning.”

“That’s fine,” I agreed, still stuck on a ghost having a phone number. How does a touch screen work for a spirit?

“Excellent, off you go!” She shooed me into the dining room.

I think I expected something like in Sense and Sensibility—candelabras everywhere, dark wood furniture, and pale fabric padded chairs. I didn’t expect the modern whitewashed oval table with plain white china set for two at the end, or the popular white, scoop-style dining chairs. The rest of the house had adapted the old, for instance, the lighting to electricity. I’m not sure why I pictured candles everywhere. It was already dark, but I imagined that in the spring and summer, the room would still be flooded with natural light. Right now, the curtains were drawn, the pale robin’s egg blue damask-patterned walls still vibrant in the warm light. Another fireplace was on the back wall, and a white three-piece living room set was arranged around a coffee table in front.

My heart beat a little faster at the thought that Palmer most likely could eat and feed in the same room. Of course she can. It’s her home; it should be set up for her needs.

I dragged my eyes away from the setup to the two settings and no Palmer.

A cough behind me had me turning to a thin, waif-like man, his skin pale like a corpse. He was dressed in skinny jeans with a chain looping from his belt loop to his back pocket and a black chef's top. His blue hair was pulled back, a black fitted ball cap on his head.

“Hey, man, I’m Cook by name and by trade. I wanted to introduce myself before you ate dinner.” He walked to me, hand extended.

We shook, his hands warmer than I expected.

“I’m Gatlin. It’s nice to meet you,” I replied, releasing his hand and taking a step back.

“I know it doesn’t look like it, but I am all about food. I’m a bit more health-minded than my brethren, but considering the big changes in your life, I thought we might go for a favorite? I’ve got fried chicken, lacy cornbread, green beans, baked macaroni and cheese, corn on the cob, dill pickle potato salad, and a peach cobbler for dessert.”

I felt my mouth flood with saliva.

Cook laughed knowingly. “I feel I should be honest. I am a gluttony demon, and food is my vice. Knowing you are going to enjoy this meal really makes me feel appreciated.” He raised his hand, and I automatically gave him a high five, even though I was curious as to how he was supposed to be a demon and a glutton as well.

“Not everything is as it looks, and not everything is as history portrays, my friend. Enjoy your dinner, and if you have any requests, just shoot me a text.” Cook reached into his pocket and handed me another of those business cards.

His card read Cook Valentine along with his number and email address. This one was more of a business card as he offered himself as a “personal chef for special occasions and catering.” I slipped the card into my jeans alongside Prudence’s, wondering if everyone had business cards in the magic world.

Though, come to think of it, my Aetherian Council representative had a card too, but I thought it was because he was like a lawyer of sorts. He gave me Councilwoman Oxendine’s card for the Nyxian Council on the downlow. Does Palmer have a business card?

As if they’d been waiting for a signal, two women brought in a silver cart with covered dishes, the gentle clinking of lids bringing me from my thoughts. They placed the covered dishes in the middle of the table settings with serving utensils resting on each dish’s lid.

“We don’t usually stand on ceremony here, and we thought you’d be okay serving yourselves?” He raised a brow.

“Oh yeah, I’m used to family-style dinners unless we are eating at a sit-down restaurant,” I assured him.

“I knew I liked you. This is Diana and Hannah, and they help me in the kitchen.” He introduced the two women.

---