The Wayfare Hotel for Restless Spirits was every bit as spooky as he remembered.
MacMillian wedged his dark green Plymouth Fury into a spot alongside The Panhandle, and stared across the street at the vast old Victorian. Was it him, or had it expanded since he’d last been here? That was impossible, of course. Even so, he could have sworn several of the turrets were new.
Lena waited until he had hoisted himself from the car, then started across the street. MacMillian headed after her with a wince. He should have known better than to sit for so long. Now he was paying for it. Lena glanced behind her. He schooled his face to a neutral expression. Judging by the way her eyebrows drew together, she wasn’t fooled.
She didn’t mention it, merely metered her steps to match his as though it were the most natural thing in the world. They climbed the steep front steps together, crossed the stoop to the massive front door.
Lena turned to him. “Before we go inside, there’s something you should know.”
MacMillian shifted his weight to his cane. “All right.”
She twisted the strap of her purse. “You’re going to meet someone. He’s…not like anyone you’ve seen before.”
MacMillian snorted. “Since I’ve known you, I’ve met ghosts, witches, a knight, and a librarian for God. So unless you’re telling me vampires and werewolves are real too…” He trailed off at the look on her face. “They’re not. Are they?”
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