Page 9 of The Ghost of Christmas Present

Though it were ten thousand mile.

As she watched, something seemed to shimmer across certain phrases.

“I will love thee still, my dear, till a’ the seas gang dry...” Louisa repeated in a whisper.

Love is deathless. Every reader knows that.

He hardly knows me. I don’t know him.

And he’sdead.

I must be crazy.

“I’ll be back tonight,” Louisa whispered—and fled.

Chapter Four

Mortimer was used to spending the holidays alone. The people in Pine Ridge who were conversant with magic often stopped by the outside of his home, but public access to the interior was closed. In recent years, with the advent of a more powerful coven in Pine Ridge, he’d considered having a spirit bottle enchanted that would allow him to travel away from his home for a day or two at a time. Jakob Minegold, by no means a warlock, but still a conversant magic user, even had a bottle standing ready for him if he wished to claim it.

But that would require someone who could move freely in and out of the library and who he would trust to carry the spirit bottle with him inside of it, so at the moment, Mortimer was alone in the library and alone with his thoughts. He could, of course, call for assistance using the library phone or send an email using the computer.

Of course, if a person wasn’t conversant with the paranormal, they would hear nothing but static, and they’d assume a written electronic message was nothing but a prank. Still, there had to be a better way of talking to Louisa than dropping books and flapping pages.

The first Christmas I’ve spent with someone in decades, the first—and only—woman I’ve ever really loved, and she’s willing to give me a chance, give me her time, suspend her disbelief...

Tonight has to be something special...

I want it to be something I do, something I can give her, not something I have the living do to assist me. I want her to seethat I’m meant for her. Perhaps it’s why I’ve been waiting here so long—until my angel found me.

Well. Necessity is the mother of invention.

Mortimer grabbed an armful of books and then rummaged in the library’s emergency supply box under the main counter, pushing aside flashlights and weather radios until he came upon a box of long white emergency candles.

He’d replace them later. His one shot with Louisa wasn’t a natural disaster, but as far as he was concerned, it was a definite emergency.

LOUISA WALKED UP THElibrary’s snow-covered steps, pausing to look at the dark winter sky. It was clear and dark, deep blue with silver stars. The forecast called for a white Christmas, and Pine Ridge was certainly excited for it. In the distance, she could hear a local band playing in the park. She saw little throngs of carolers. Smells of heavenly baked goods came from every corner of town—including the insulated bag under her arm.

There was probably no ghost—only a hallucination brought on by a wacky dream, a bad sleep schedule, and one too many paranormal romances. But, spending Christmas Eve in the library attic was going to be better (much better) than spending it at home alone with or without a spectral visitor. She would read books in her cozy, comfortable hideaway, sipping from a thermos of hot cocoa and working her way through a whole plate of coquito sugar cookies covered in red and green sprinkles.

Common sense told her it was going to be a sad, lonely kind of night, the kind of night where she’d cry a few tears once the enormity of another Christmas spent single and without the family she wished for hit her. Common sense told her there was a logical explanation for falling books and flipping pages, likesmall earthquake tremors or passing construction vehicles, and a bug in the HVAC system.

“Go in, pig out, and have a good cry,” Louisa whispered and turned the key in the lock.

Louisa let go of the door and stood, gasping. “Wh-what??”

White candles floated up the polished wooden railing that led to the second floor. Small squares of white printer paper made a path of stepping stones.

It was too beautiful to look scary—although eerie, yes, it definitely made her think of a haunted space.

Duh, Louisa.

The paper closest to her began to skid across the floor, blown by a silent wind. She bent to retrieve it, still clutching her insulated bag like a weapon. That thermos would put a dent in someone’s skull—provided they still had a physical skull to hit...

Her eyes scanned the note.

My darling Louisa. Thank you for being my guest. You have nothing to fear.

“Yeah, right, buddy.”

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