Page 3 of Ghost Walk
Except, if it was all in her head, why was she still soaking wet from the storm?
Grace didn’t know.She didn’t know. She had no frigging idea what had just happened, except that her nice, normal life had just imploded. She looked down at the fresh blood covering her palms and did what any nice, normal girl would do in that situation.
She started screaming.
Chapter One
June 20,1789- The Summer Ball was as dull as I expected. Nothing in this town ever changes, so I’m not sure why I even bothered to attend. The same ordinary people and ordinary conversations…
How I long for something exciting to happen!
JMR provided the only distraction of the evening. He no doubt came to see me, but --of course-- he had to dance with a few other ladies too, else Father and Mother have conniptions. They detest him merely for being alive, when they’re dead inside. Still, it was good for a laugh to see him flirting with those foolish girls. I declare, the Pirate charmed even the unlikeliest of targets with his wicked smile. And Anabel Maxwell and Clara Vance could not believe their luck to be singled out by such a handsome and notorious man!
From the Journal of Miss Lucinda Wentworth
“You are --by far-- the worst tour guide I’ve ever seen.” The guy in the souvenir tri-corner hat shook his head in irritation and hoisted himself up onto the top slat of the split rail fence. “The Good Lord knows I’ve seena lotof them in my time, but you make even the bad ones seem grand. You’ve just no talent for this job, at’all.”
Grace pretended not to hear that, just like she’d been pretending not to hear his complaints for the past half hour.
…But it was pretty darn hard.
“Where’s your stage presence, lass?” He waved a hand like a frustrated director, trying to film a hopeless actress in her big scene. “These are supposed to beghoststories. Ya have to give them somefeeling. Ya won’t scare anyone if yousound like you’re reciting a dinner menu. Put somepizzazzinto it, for heaven’s sake.”
For the entire tour, the heckler had been hovering at the back of the group, making snide comments in a Scottish accent. He didn’t even bother to lower his (admittedly beautiful) voice, although the rest of Harrisonburg’s Official Ghost Walk had the decency to ignore his bitching. Grace couldn’t be so composed. She took this job to avoid stress and this moron was definitely beginning to stress her out. It was all she could do not to kick him right off the tour.
He wasn’t even looking her way, so he missed her angry glower. Instead, he was staring up at the night sky, the angles of his striking face reflected in the moonlight. The guy was incredibly, sickeningly handsome, which explained his lousy attitude. Good looking men always thought they were exempt from civilized conduct. He was probably used to acting like a dick and everyone accepting it, because he was so frigging pretty.
Peaceful green cornfields.
Think about peaceful green cornfields.
Dragging her attention away from him, Grace smiled determinedly at the un-irritating portion of the group. There were fifteen other tourists who’d paid to walk around the historic town by lantern light and hear spooky tales for an hour. No wiseass, too handsome, big mouth was going to ruin this for them.
Not that anybodyelselooked thrilled with the Ghost Walk, either.
That was what pissed her off the most. The wiseass, too handsome, big mouth was right. She sucked as a tour guide. Unlike the rest of her family, Grace refused to live her life inside of aSupernaturalepisode. Consequently, she talked about Harrisonburg’s significant places and noteworthy citizens, not ghosts and goblins. She tended to go off on academic tangents, which, her boss assured her, bored the tour groups senseless. They wanted to hear about monsters and mayhem. She told them about architecture.
Perhaps it was a different take on the Ghost Walkscript, but --Darn it-- shewasn’tboring. No matter what her family thought, she could be as exciting and fun as anybody. Besides, why would tourists find some cheap campfire stories more interesting thanactualhistory? It didn’t make any sense.
History books had gotten Grace through some of the darkest parts of her life. For the past year, she’d lived inside of them. She’d always read about Virginia history for fun and relaxation, but now she felt like it was keeping her alive. Ever since she lost her mind in that alleyway, she’d been struggling to rebuild her life. Without the refuge of her books, she’d be lost. If she could just instill that feeling into others, surely they would understand why they should care about her unflashy tours.
Grace took a calming breath, before she started getting stressed, again. Stress was the enemy, according to her shrink. It was what caused her hallucination. A skeptical little voice (that soundeda lotlike her aunt Serenity) asked how she could’ve hallucinated the blood on her hands, when everybody else at the scene had seen it too, but Grace didn’t like to listen to that voice. If she did, all the nice normal walls she’d built would come toppling down again.
“You’re standing in front of Virginia’s oldest tavern, The Raven.” She waved a hand at the building behind her. “Built in 1768…”
“1769.” Mr. Tri-Corner casually interrupted. Who the hell bought those stupid hats at the gift shop and actually lookedgoodin them, anyway? It was sooo unfair.
Worse, he was right about the date.
“1769.” She corrected, refusing to acknowledge him. “The Raven was the site of many clandestine meetings during the Revolution.” See?Thatwas interesting. She tried to infuse her voice with excitement. “A favorite tavern of luminaries such as Thomas Jefferson, George Wythe, Josiah Oliver, and even Gregory Maxwell, the hero of Yorktown…”
“Hero of Yorktown, my ass. The man was a bloody idiot.”
“…it served as the unofficial headquarters for the patriots in Harrisonburg.”
“That’s because it had the bawdiest wenches in town. Ach, Mistress Mary…” The jackass in the back gave a dramatic sigh. “Josiah could hardly keep his hands off of her long enough to lead his troops. Almost lost us the war.”
Grace’s teeth ground together, but she kept going. “The Raven was owned by Edward Hunnicutt, one of the Richmond Hunnicutts.”
