Page 6 of Last Resort

With his focus on Ben moving in, Erik had forgotten that he was due a shipment from an estate auction in a nearby town. Susan watched the front of the store while Erik worked his way through the crates, making sure to wear gloves in case any of his new purchases held more mojo than he expected.

Most of the items were mundane—a mantle clock, bookends, a vase by a noted local potter, and other decorative pieces dating to the late 1800s or early 1900s. He sighed with relief as he neared the bottom of the crate, then frowned as he saw a small item wrapped in brown paper he didn’t remember purchasing.

Holding his hand above the package made it clear there was resonance, although Erik didn’t sense a threat. He reached for the silver tongs he used for just such an occasion, pulling at the wrapping until the paper tore to reveal the item inside.

“Shit.”

The dessert plate bore the insignia of the Commodore Wilson Hotel.

“Something wrong?” Susan ventured into the break room, standing so she could still keep an eye on the outer door. For the moment, no customers milled about inside.

“Have a look.” Erik stepped back, and Susan peered into the crate.

“Uh-oh.” She managed a brave smile. “Maybe it’s just a plate. Nothing special.”

Erik shook his head. “No, I can feel the energy. I should bring Alessia Mason in on this. Maybe her coven has an update on the hotel.”

“The hotel that’s been gone for almost thirty years?” Susan raised an eyebrow.

“I think we proved the last time that the Commodore Wilson isn’t an ‘average’ hotel. Or really gone.”

The grand hotel was intended to attract wealthy families who usually summered in the Hamptons or Nantucket. At the time it was built in the early 1900s, it was the largest in the world, designed for luxury. A Tiffany ceiling dome, marble floors, and a sweeping staircase welcomed visitors to the ornate lobby. It boasted an indoor pool, a bowling alley, a grand ballroom, and more than three hundred guest rooms.

Yet the project seemed snakebit, an albatross that pushed every owner into ruin. Construction ran late and well over budget. The Stock Market Crash of 1929 depleted the fortunes of its owner and the high-end customers it sought. The Commodore Wilson changed hands again and again, often owned by dreamers and scoundrels, including some with ties to the Mob. More than one murder or tragic death left a stain on its energy as neglect wore away at the structure. The old hotel had been deemed too expensive to repair, and explosives turned it into rubble.

The problem was the Commodore Wilson Hotel never actually left.

The land remained empty since deal after deal fell through despite its prime oceanfront location. On nights when the veil between the normal world and the supernatural thinned, those with abilities saw the “ghost” of the old hotel, like an image burned into the space it used to inhabit.

The whole thing gave Erik the creeps, especially since he and Ben had already dealt with unhappy ghosts, unfinished Mob business, and unsettled grudges from the glory days of the infamous hotel.

Erik wasn’t thrilled about a rematch, but it looked like one was coming.

“Okay,” he said. “Let me work through the ‘special’ pieces in the back, and then I’ll give Alessia a call and see what she knows about this whole mess.”

“What about the man who used to own Trinkets, the one you bought the store from?” Susan asked. “He was older and might know about the Fun Factory, even if it was before he lived here; it would be closer to his time.”

“You’re brilliant,” Erik said with a grin. “That’s a great idea.”

Susan went up front when the bell above the door jingled, and Erik headed to the back room, closing the door behind him. He poured another cup of coffee and closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths to settle his nerves and center his psychic ability. Then he pulled on cotton gloves that had silver threads running through them to help blunt supernatural mojo and set a locked wooden box on the break room table.

The box had runes and sigils from a variety of magical traditions carved into its wood and silver. Erik worked the lock and opened the lid, no longer remembering what pieces he had set aside for later inspection.

Anything that triggered his touch magic went into the box until he could verify whether it was dangerous and if so, whether it could be cleansed or needed special disposal.

Erik grabbed a canister of salt and put down a line across the doorway so nothing could leave the room, then he made a circle around the table and chair, a protective barrier that would keep ghosts and some magic from leaving the warded area. He set down another, smaller circle around his chair for his own protection, in addition to the silver, agate, and onyx charms he wore as a matter of course. He didn’t think the items in the box were particularly dangerous, but he had been wrong before, so he didn’t take chances.

The first item Erik withdrew was a gold locket on a chain. The initials “C R” were etched on the front in a filigree font. Erik closed his eyes and let his senses read the piece. He picked up sadness and longing but nothing malicious. A note he’d placed with the locket reminded him that it had been sold to the shop by the granddaughter of the owner, a woman named Catherine, who had recently passed away in her nineties.

Erik opened the locket to reveal two black and white photographs of a young man and woman. From their hairstyles and clothing, he guessed the period to be the early 1950s.

“I know you’re there, Catherine,” he murmured to the ghost he sensed just out of sight. “Why have you stayed behind?”

The air grew cold enough for Erik to see his breath. His skin prickled, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up, warning him that the spirit had drawn closer. She wasn’t strong enough to make herself seen, but Erik glimpsed her image in his mind. Catherine appeared as she must have looked when she died, old and fragile, not the young woman in the locket.

“Stay behind? Where should I go? I just went to sleep, and when I woke up, everyone was gone. Do you know the way?”

Erik felt a pang of compassion for the woman’s spirit. Despite the energy that clung to the locket from her revenant, she posed no threat.

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