NQP hired a struggling and aimless not-quite-young-adult who was supposed to learn that she’d bitten off more than she could chew. Telling the truth to reassure Maverick had been a rookie mistake. So, why did she do it? Why did shekeepdoing it?
A small, purple dot moved in her peripheral vision. She turned toward it, watching as the flower in the mason jar spun quickly in a circle at the bottom, moving faster and faster as if caught in a twister.
The hairs on the back of Lucky’s neck stood up. “Maverick,” she said with perfect, practiced calm. “I’m not afraid, but for the sake of the show, I think I need to hang up now.”
A beat of silence on his end, then, “Is something happening?”
Stephen wanted a story. As much as it pained her, this would have to be a part of that. “Good night. Don’t worry about me, okay?”
“We all live about an hour away,” he said quickly. “Promise you’ll call me or even Stephen if you need to?”
“I promise.”
“I’m choosing to believe you again.” He paused. “Good night.”
Lucky smiled softly. “I’ll see you at sunrise.”
The purple flower began to levitate.
5
To Lucky’s eternal disappointment, nothing more happened in Hennessee House.
She’d slid off the bed, hurrying to the dresser only to watch with complete devastation as the flower drifted back to the bottom of the jar. She’d stood there willing it to move, concentrating so hard she gave herself a headache. Confirming, once again, that telekinesis would continue to be her great white whale.
Eventually, she’d fallen into a dreamless sleep with her phone clutched in her hand. Hennessee House wouldn’t catch her slacking again, but the only action the phone saw was ringing.
“Lucky?”
It took a full three seconds before she remembered where she was, why she was there, and realized who was calling. “Maverick. Hi.” She buried her sleepy smile into her pillow.
“You’re okay?”
“I am. Wait, hold on, let me actually check.” Her full-bodystretch ended in a yawn. “My muscles are in working order, I can wiggle my toes and fingers, and I have all my senses. I think I just might have survived my first night.”
“Good. I wasn’t worried. Not even a little bit. Didn’t think about calling you again at all.”
She snickered. “That’s very sweet. Thank you.”
“Yeah. Well.” He cleared his throat. “We’ll be there in about an hour. Don’t leave your room until you hear the doorbell.”
Lucky glanced at the window. The first colors of rising dawn had barely crested over the horizon. Great. More waiting. She’d planned to use at least a few minutes of her sunrise-provided freedom checking things out solo. So much for that.
She started getting ready, from her usual morning journal session to agonizing over what to wear. Her picnic basket provided an assortment of snacks and prepackaged breakfast foods because theyreallydidn’t want her leaving the room a millisecond before she had to. With time to spare, she ended up sitting on the bed, bored and all but twiddling her thumbs while waiting to meet Maverick Phillips.
Beyond a Reasonable Doubt,BARDfor short, was entertaining, thoughtful, well written, award-winning, et cetera, et cetera. On the show, Maverick interviewed people claiming to have had paranormal experiences. Whether they’d been haunted, tormented, or comforted by their encounters, he gave them the space to exist free of judgment or ridicule. He asked questions that expertly exposed the hearts of their stories, allowing their truths to finally be seen. Afterward he attempted to investigate their claims with his team to support a larger narrative based around his character, but that was neither here nor there.
Those interviews with Maverick’s empathy, compassion, andrespect on full display were what captivated viewers. Lucky could easily binge-watch it for hours on end if she had a day off or was too sad to move. It honestly didn’t matter. She was always in the mood for it. But that was the show.
Maverick was a very real person whom she’d already seen up close, in night vision, being alternately pensive and playful, and even scared and seconds away from screaming. He exuded a protector kind of confidence and there was a keen, seeking intelligence behind his dark brown eyes—alert and focused, driven by his curiosity, and with an open mind constantly spinning with ideas to explain the unexplainable.
Lucky hoped he’d be like that in real life too.
She gnawed on her thumbnail as anxiety acted like a hook crocheting her organs together in disgusting knots. Getting overexcited and making mistakes was forbidden. No matter what or whom she encountered, she vowed to be the epitome of focused. She refused to let a celebrity disappointing her change that.
The doorbell rang and Lucky shot out of that suite like a runner at the start of the race. Common sense kicked in right as she touched the first dead bolt. She slid on her ability-blocking dark sunglasses in record time.
“Hi, good morning.” Lucky stepped to the side, gesturing for him to enter. “Welcome to my haunted house. Please come in.”
