Page 2 of The Ghost of Christmas Present

“I know you will, Mortimer. She’s a very intelligent woman. The more observant people catch on quicker.”

Mortimer huffed at Jakob’s thinly veiled hint. Louisa had lived in Pine Ridge for four years and still hadn’t noticed himor, indeed, anyone of the paranormal persuasion. “Some of the most intelligent never notice us at all, Jakob, as you well know.”

“I—” Jakob’s protest died away, and he pointed up at the attic’s small window under the eaves. “She’s putting up Christmas lights.”

“My home is becoming her home,” Mortimer sighed.If only...

Jakob shook his head. “I’m going to go home—and so should you. You needn’t be a lonely ghost, Mortimer. It’s Christmas Eve, a time for miracles.”

Mortimer watched his friend drive off, sinking back into the walls of the library.

Maybe he’s right. It couldn’t hurt to simply spend the evening with her, even if it’s just sitting in silence. Life—or whatever passes for it—is better just because she’s near me.

LOUISA WAS A FIRM BELIEVERin escaping reality within the pages of a book. Right now, reality sucked. Pine Ridge was a great place to live, but maybe not if you didn’t want to be reminded of holidays, family, or cozy festive vibes.

“Like Norman Rockwell time traveled to the twenty-twenties,” she muttered. When all the libraries in the country were shut down or on life support, this place had been hiring. Pine Ridge needed someone to come on board and create a digital lending library, manage subscriptions, figure out virtual programs and story hours... It had been a freaking dream come true to leave Richmond in sweltering August and relocate to this charming old period piece and spend her days in a friendly town surrounded by books. Company was there if requested.

But... Deep friendships hadn’t really formed.

“Social life, zero. Shy introvert who hates leaving the house? One million. Okay, what’s next on the TBR? They’re going tohave to bury me with my e-reader. Or maybe they’ll set me out in the middle of the lake on a barge filled with books. Forget Viking funerals, librarian funerals should totally be a thing.”

Louisa froze as she sank into her poofy chair, AKA the Perfect Puff. Had something fallen over downstairs?

The little string of Christmas lights she’d strung over the attic window was swaying.

Drafty. Wind must be picking up.

Louisa shoved aside the cute Christmas rom-coms and literary masterpieces she’d been squirreling away in favor of her e-reader and her curated content of romantic distraction—sometimes downright filth. “Oooh.A Countess of Bleakmoore Manor. That sounds nice and miserable. And...” She scrolled through the reviews and sighed in satisfaction. The five-star reviews raved about the spice overload and the dark, brooding vampire love interest. The one-star reviews were ranting about the same thing.

“‘This book was pure debauchery.’ Sold! Thank you, Lady-Who-Clearly-Didn’t-Read-The-Blurb-Before-Buying.”

Louisa settled into her nest, snuggling down until her hips wiggled the perfect deep indent and her legs floated out as if elevated by a recliner’s footrest. She sprawled shamelessly, comfortable with her privacy and consoling herself that she got a secret rush from having this little attic hideaway. It didn’t do anyone any harm, and it always gave her strength to go home and face her apartment, which seemed far too empty most nights.

She cast a glance out the window. Snowflakes were falling thick and fast. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and the library would be closed anyway. Her brother and sister-in-law wouldn’t be coming, her nieces and nephews wouldn’t be coming... Why bother with home?

Fantasy was better. “Okay, Lady Calpurnia Bulostrode, let’s see what happens when your servants refuse to stay in the gothic monster-piece you inherited and leave you alone with your fangy new roommate...”

MORTIMER SAT BEHINDLouisa, perched comfortably on the old whistling radiator, pretending the warmth he could feel was coming from the voluptuous cinnamon-colored beauty who was alternately giggling and moaning as her fingers slid across the screen.

Louisa had almost heard him this time, he knew it. When she mentioned being buried at sea with her unread books, he had chuckled in appreciation, knowing exactly how she felt. She heard his laugh and looked for him. Pity, she hadn’t seen him, although he’d been nearby, smiling in delight at a kindred soul.

If he were entirely honest, his decision to stay on this mortal plane was largely because he had an unfinished stack of literature to imbibe. Catching pneumonia and pleurisy in 1909 at the age of forty wasn’t going to stop him from finishingThe Man in Lower Tenby Mary Roberts Rinehart. It was only after he passed that he realized that Pine Ridge was home to other paranormal beings—and that dedicated (dare he say brilliant?) ghosts could easily manipulate the world around them. Well, thebooksaround them.

As of late, he’d been enjoying re-reading several old Miss Marples, but he shunned them at the moment. The vampiric erotica Louisa was reading was far too tempting to ignore.

Eros pinned her wrists to the arms of her chair, his pale white hands like iron bands as he bent his head. His long, forked tongue caressed the flesh of her throat, but his fangs never marked her virgin skin. Instead, hemet her gaze with dark black eyes and knelt before her, willing her skirts to rise and shroud him as he dove between her legs.

Heavy-handed writing, Mortimer thought, but there was no denying that he was picturing himself kneeling between Louisa’s legs, proving that ghosts still had the ability to touch. The author probably wouldn’t know that.

“Vampires have red eyes—but only when hungry. And forked tongues. Telepathic powers over clothing, what nonsense.”

Louisa paused, sitting up.

She heard me. She heard me! What do I do?

But Louisa hadn’t heard him. Instead, she put her slender black tablet down on her ample chest and undid the zipper on the side of her flowing black skirt.

Mortimer froze. This was new. Louisa had occasionally allowed her hands to wander while reading, and that was always his gentlemanly cue to leave.

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