Page 36 of Looking for Love in All the Haunted Places
“But ultimately, Hennessee is a means to an end. I want people to take me seriously. I know what I’m up against. Skepticism, sexism, racism, people like my family thinking I’m weird for wanting to work on supernatural cases because that’s white people stuff. But it’s not. It’s foreveryonebecause these kinds of phenomena happen all over the world. I’m respectful, smart, inquisitive, talented…and I really think I can make a difference, not to mention that I have a unique perspective to offer the field. I just needed a chance to prove it to private investors.”
Maverick remained quiet for a handful of rapid heartbeats. “Why didn’t you sayanyof that during your interview?”
“They wouldn’t have hired me.” She truly believed people only liked her when she strategically hid parts of herself. As a result, she’d gotten pretty good at figuring out how to blend in for most situations, but it was hard to keep it up for long periods of time without burning out.
“That’s not true,” he said. “A TV show is admittedly a great way to get your foot in the door, but you’ll need to start thinking about next steps to cement your name and what you can do into the public consciousness.”
Lucky’s eyes widened. Was Maverick giving her career advice? “Like what?”
“What about writing a book? Nothing says respectable like getting published, especially if you can pull it off without a ghost writer.” He laughed. “No pun intended.”
She chuckled. “Oh, no. I’m not that kind of writer. I’m not like you. I don’t think I could do that.”
“I was suggesting nonfiction. Once the show airs, I can help you develop your social platform,” he said. “But since you brought it up, why not? You can do whatever the hell you want.”
“Because I already tried and it was really bad,” she said. “I used to love it when you read guest stories on your podcast. I wanted to submit one for consideration, so I shared it with a creative writing workshop. They met weekly on campus and…were not interested.” She laughed against the memory. “My ideas just weren’t very good, I think. After that, my creative well dried up. I stick to factual essays and blog posts these days.”
Peppermint swirled underneath Lucky’s nose. She pushed off the wall ready to follow—the kitchen.
“They were wrong,” Maverick said, firmly. “You can tell a person who they are after meeting them once. You’refullof stories waiting to be written.”
Hennessee led her directly to the walk-in pantry. Inside, she clicked on the overhead light. Everything seemed to be in place. “But that’s not interesting. Not compared to what you were doing.”
“Sure, it’s not.”
Lucky scoffed, shaking her head. “Most of the time, I can’t even translate what I’ve read in a way that matters. You said it yourself—it should be specific. Anyone can say ‘you’re stubborn’ or ‘you have a good heart’ but I read all the pieces that make them into the person that they are. I can’t even articulate just how dauntingthatis, never mind trying to turn it into a story comparable to what I’ve seen.” And because that felt a little too vulnerable, she added, “I’m exceptional at a lot of things and I have no shame in claiming that. Not being able to translate is just one of the many ways my ego succeeds in keeping me humble.”
“You did it with me and Rebel.”
“Twice out of thousands. Not exactly the best odds.” Since the peppermint hadn’t faded, she began inspecting the shelves one by one. Moving things out of the way, tapping the wall to check the sound, inspecting the baseboards for gaps. “How does it work for you? You said you pull your stories out of your dreams, right?”
“I can’t tell the future, and no, I don’t know what you’re going to do next, but I am a lucid dreamer.”
She snorted. “Cute. Go on.”
“That was brilliant, by the way. Stephen’s soul left his body when he watched that footage. He thinks you’re perfect,” he said. “I always know when I’m dreaming. I can manipulate things. Iremember everything that happens. I take pieces from there and turn them into my stories.” He laughed, dryly. “I had a severe case of dreamer’s block for the past couple of weeks. As luck would have it, seems to be gone now.”
Lucky thought of his supernatural story time podcast,Hypnopompic Remnants, the first thing that ever connected her to him. “Those dreams must be intense.”
Somethingclicked directly above her head. Startled, she hopped to her feet, searching for the source.
“They can be, but like I said, I’m always in control. They don’t affect me. They creeped everyone else out, though.”
“Not me.” She found it hidden behind the pasta. A red handle had been embedded into the wall.
“Because almost nothing scares you.”
“I listened to every episode of your podcast. It was my absolute favorite.”
“What did you like about it?”
It took some trial and error to find the trick for the handle, but she did. Push in on one side, grip the other, and then pull out. The entire wall moved forward, revealing a narrow staircase leading upward. Cold air slowly flowed into the house, chilling her almost as much as the discovery.
“I found something,” she whispered, knowingly breaking the rules. “Abigsomething.”
Lucky closed her eyes, once again using the sound of Maverick’s rhythmic, steady breathing to help her stay calm and distracted. She didn’t decide to answer so much as the words found their way out of her. “I liked how your podcast made me feel.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “And how was that?”
