Page 18 of Accidentally Vacationed with an Incubus

“... Uh, ghost?”

A loud clanking noise broke the stillness, and then, with acrack, a wooden sign materialized on the door. In bold, blocky letters, it read:NO VACANCIES.

“I know there are no vacancies,” I said dryly, “becauseI’mthe one who booked this place for the next two weeks.” Or, technically, Jasper’s packmate Cassandra had. I briefly wondered howhisgroveling was going, considering she’d been stuck on the waitlist for years.

The bedsheet ghost appeared in the window, arms crossed and cutout-eyes narrowed. It glared at me for a moment, then angrily jabbed a sheeted arm at the sign.

Sighing, I ran my fingers sheepishly through my hair. “I’m sorry for punching you, buddy.”

The ghost brought a finger to its face and issued a silentshhhhh.

In a much quieter voice, I continued, “I got a present for you to show how sorry I am.” The ghost seemed totally disinterested in my peace offering and turned its back to me. “Please?” I practically begged. “Help an incubus demon out?”

The ghost slowly turned to face me, its head tilted in curiosity. It flicked its eyes upward, as if it could see into the rooms above, then slowly brought its creepy gaze back down to meet mine. A second later, the sign disappeared, and the front door creaked open. For a long moment, the ghost looked me up and down. Finally, its eyes softened, and it floated backward, allowing me inside, its hands raised out in front of it expectantly.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the novelty Samhain-themed snow globe—a tiny, grinning sheet-ghostfloating amid swirling, viscous glitter. With careful deliberation, I set it into the ghost’s outstretched hand.

For a long moment, the ghost simply stared at it, before suddenly clutching it to its chest and quivering with excitement. The ghost zoomed up the stairs and a second later, I heard the door to the attic squeak open as the ghost presumably stashed its new possession away.

I exhaled, shoulders sagging in relief. At least I’d have a roof over my head for another night.

A fire crackled merrily in the woodstove, filling the room with the rich, resinous scent of smoldering pine. The warmth seeped into my skin as I sank into the couch, lazily scanning the pile of board games stashed beneath the coffee table. Unfortunately, they were all designed for a family-sized group, and none suitable for a bored, single demon.

I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth, the weight of boredom settling in. Had I had the foresight, I would have stopped by the Sinclair Bookshop I’d spotted earlier to pick up a smutty romance to sink my teeth into. But I’d been too distracted, and now I was stuck in a house that, for all its eerie charm, didn’t even have a TV to mindlessly rot my brain with.

The sound of running water broke through my boredom, pulling my attention toward the hallway.

I frowned. Was the ghost...running a bath for me?

Pushing off the couch, I made my way toward the bathroom, curiosity getting the better of me. As I stepped through the doorway, I froze.

The ghost stood proudly in the center of the room, its arm outstretched and urging me inside. The large clawfoot tub was already full, the water rich with soft, glistening bubbles. Ghostly wisps of steam curled into the air, carrying the scent of lavender, a faint scent of amber and jasmine lingering in the air. Tiny candles flickered in a perfect circle around the tub, their goldenlight casting gentle shadows that danced along the tiled walls. A hand-carved wooden tray was balanced neatly across the tub, holding a single candle, a glass of deep red wine, and... a notebook.

I raised an eyebrow, my gaze flicking from the ghost to the notebook and back again. “Did you... want me to write something for you?”

Even though it wasn’t physically possible, I could feel the ghost rolling its eyes at me. With a sharp wave of its sheeted arm, the notebook vanished from the tray, only to reappear in my hands a second later. The cover was smooth, worn soft with age, and beneath my fingertips, it thrummed faintly with an energy I couldn’t quite place.

Curiosity piqued, I made my way across the room and perched on the edge of the tub, the heat from the steaming water curling around me. I flipped open the notebook, skimming the first page.

“Knot Your Average Witch,” I read aloud.

A flicker of excitement danced over my skin. A romance novel—or at least a draft of one. And with a title like that? Yeah, I definitely would’ve picked it off a shelf.

“Draft One, Jen Myers.”

The moment the name left my lips, the ghost gave a visible shudder, practically vibrating with pride.

A grin tugged at my lips. “So, you’re a fan of this Jen Myers, huh?”

The ghost clasped its hands to where a heart would be and nodded its head.

“Is she a guest who left this behind?” I asked.

The ghost raised a hand in front of it and wobbled it back and forth in the universal sign ofeh, kinda.

I ran my finger over the name, and an odd sensation of familiarity washed over me. The sensation was fleeting,vanishing before I could grasp it. I wondered if I’d read any of her other books before. The name didn’t immediately ring a bell, but something about it itched at the back of my mind. I made a mental note to ask Jasper if he could help me hunt down the author to return her notes to her.

The ghost glided to the door, turned, and made a get-on-with-it gesture with its sheet arms, before gliding out of the room.

---