Chapter One

L ouisa put down her phone, eyes stinging.

Gabriel: Danielle’s mother fell and broke her hip. We’re going to have to drive out once she’s settled, but it’ll probably be next week...

The text was long and heartfelt. Louisa knew her brother and his family were just as disappointed about missing their Christmas together as she was.

But at least Gabriel and his wife and kids would be together. Stressed, probably sniffly, and taking shifts at the hospital, but together .

Louisa was alone with her job. Oh sure, Pine Ridge was friendly enough. She had people who would gladly invite her over as soon as she let it slip that she’d be spending Christmas alone, but she tended to be an introverted bookworm who would rather curl up in the library’s “storage space" in the cozy attic than mingle with the residents—even after four years.

“Are you all right, my dear?”

Louisa smiled at kindly old Mr. Minegold—although she supposed that he was actually only a dozen years older than her. “Some bad news. I’m fine.”

“Nothing to do with the library?”

Louisa shook her head, her dark waves bouncing on her plump shoulders and her poofy champagne-colored blouse. “This library is a dream. You guys actually take care of it, fund it, run programs here... This place is thriving, even though residents have access to the much larger NYU Pine Ridge campus library. Not many librarians can say they feel like they have job security, but I do. The library is one thing that’s going right in my life at the moment,” Louisa forced a chuckle and a smile. Mr. Minegold was a generous benefactor at the library’s yearly fundraiser, and he was a frequent volunteer. She had heard he was a widower and thought he might be lonely. She caught him muttering to himself as he reshelved the books sometimes.

“I’m pleased to hear that at least that much is going right. Well. Happy holidays, Louisa.”

“You, too.” Actually, just you. My holiday is going to suck.

“MORTIMER.”

“Shh. Come upstairs, Jakob.”

“I can’t, the library is about to close. Meet me outside by my car.”

Mortimer easily floated through the brick walls and into the frosty darkness of a December night. Jakob Minegold moved to his car with vampiric speed, a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

“Louisa is going to be spending the holiday alone. I saw her phone on the counter. Her brother’s family won’t make it in time for the holiday.”

Mortimer Ashfield, Pine Ridge’s first librarian from the time of the library’s creation in the 1890s, smoothed down his trim waistcoat and jacket. His translucent skin stayed a flat, misty white, but he could still feel heat rushing to his cheeks. He had carried a torch for his short, pleasantly plump, many times removed successor since the moment he met her. Over the years, some of Pine Ridge’s paranormal residents had learned of his foolish affection, but no one ever encouraged him to act on it.

Except Jakob. The elegant vampire smiled as snow settled on his dark frock coat and silvery locks. “If I know Louisa—and thanks to your pining sonnets, I feel as though I do, I would not be surprised if she spends Christmas Eve in the library. Make your move tomorrow night. She’s an intelligent woman with an open mind.”

“If I talk to Louisa, she’ll leave. She’ll never come back if she thinks the place is haunted!” Mortimer hissed. Watching Louisa was one of the greatest joys of his afterlife.

“The place is haunted, and very capably, too. The shelves are always immaculate, the windows sparkle, and the brass bell in the cupola is a masterpiece. Louisa loves her job. She loves books. You two have such a lot in common. You’re both quite lonely, though you try to hide it,” Minegold said with an arching eyebrow.

“Mm. Maybe.”

“Look. She turned off the library lights, but she didn’t come outside.” Minegold slid into his car. As it was still on the library property, Mortimer joined him, taking the passenger’s seat. “She’s going to the attic.”

The attic was Mortimer’s home. In the early days of the library, the town librarian (and part-time mathematics and geography teacher) had lived in the drafty attic flat above the then three-room library (which was also the town’s schoolhouse). Time had seen the building grow and change functions, and the attic was no exception. It became a storage area for records, VHS tapes, cassettes of audiobooks, and older books not in circulation but still able to be borrowed with the touch of a button and a request form. It wasn’t until Louisa arrived that it became a home again. She brought the lamps and the electric kettle, the stack of old paperback romances, and the big teal chair that looked like a monstrous marshmallow—no arms, legs, nor back, just four feet of foam.

“She’s started falling asleep there sometimes,” Mortimer confessed, hoping the vampire couldn’t read the hint of lust in his voice.

Louisa liked to read her romance novels and recline on the cushiony puff of teal velveteen. Her red lips would part, and she’d close her eyes. She always wore buttoned blouses that looked silky soft and black skirts that fluttered just at her knees. The longer she read, the more buttons she would undo and the wider her legs would spread.

Mortimer knew he should be ashamed. His innocent infatuation had turned to depravity. He enjoyed watching Louisa’s hand move frantically over top of her skirt, pushing hard between her legs to reach the sensitive spots through layers of fabric.

He’d usually leave at that point, panting and desperately trying to control the urge to manhandle his manhood while he watched. When he returned, Louisa would either be gathering her things to go home or curling up in the center of the cushion to fall asleep.

“Yes, I’ve seen her car here until very late on a few occasions. I’d worry about her if not for the Night Watch,” Jakob muttered, nodding as his eyes stayed on the lit attic window and the curvaceous silhouette flitting in front of it.

“The Night Watch is wonderful, Jakob, but you know I protect this library. And I will always protect her. Like... Like a gentleman should.” Oh, cursed be the rules of chivalry and deportment! A faithful soul, bound to this plane... Why is it becoming hellish to look at her heavenly form?

“I know you will, Mortimer. She’s a very intelligent woman. The more observant people catch on quicker.”

Mortimer huffed at Jakob’s thinly veiled hint. Louisa had lived in Pine Ridge for four years and still hadn’t noticed him or, indeed, anyone of the paranormal persuasion. “Some of the most intelligent never notice us at all, Jakob, as you well know.”

“I—” Jakob’s protest died away, and he pointed up at the attic’s small window under the eaves. “She’s putting up Christmas lights.”

“My home is becoming her home,” Mortimer sighed. If only...

Jakob shook his head. “I’m going to go home—and so should you. You needn’t be a lonely ghost, Mortimer. It’s Christmas Eve, a time for miracles.”

Mortimer watched his friend drive off, sinking back into the walls of the library.

Maybe he’s right. It couldn’t hurt to simply spend the evening with her, even if it’s just sitting in silence. Life—or whatever passes for it—is better just because she’s near me.

LOUISA WAS A FIRM BELIEVER in escaping reality within the pages of a book. Right now, reality sucked. Pine Ridge was a great place to live, but maybe not if you didn’t want to be reminded of holidays, family, or cozy festive vibes.

“Like Norman Rockwell time traveled to the twenty-twenties,” she muttered. When all the libraries in the country were shut down or on life support, this place had been hiring. Pine Ridge needed someone to come on board and create a digital lending library, manage subscriptions, figure out virtual programs and story hours... It had been a freaking dream come true to leave Richmond in sweltering August and relocate to this charming old period piece and spend her days in a friendly town surrounded by books. Company was there if requested.

But... Deep friendships hadn’t really formed.

“Social life, zero. Shy introvert who hates leaving the house? One million. Okay, what’s next on the Tbr? They’re going to have to bury me with my e-reader. Or maybe they’ll set me out in the middle of the lake on a barge filled with books. Forget Viking funerals, librarian funerals should totally be a thing.”

Louisa froze as she sank into her poofy chair, AKA the Perfect Puff. Had something fallen over downstairs?

The little string of Christmas lights she’d strung over the attic window was swaying.

Drafty. Wind must be picking up.

Louisa shoved aside the cute Christmas rom-coms and literary masterpieces she’d been squirreling away in favor of her e-reader and her curated content of romantic distraction—sometimes downright filth. “Oooh. A Countess of Bleakmoore Manor . That sounds nice and miserable. And...” She scrolled through the reviews and sighed in satisfaction. The five-star reviews raved about the spice overload and the dark, brooding vampire love interest. The one-star reviews were ranting about the same thing.

“‘This book was pure debauchery.’ Sold! Thank you, Lady-Who-Clearly-Didn’t-Read-The-Blurb-Before-Buying.”

Louisa settled into her nest, snuggling down until her hips wiggled the perfect deep indent and her legs floated out as if elevated by a recliner’s footrest. She sprawled shamelessly, comfortable with her privacy and consoling herself that she got a secret rush from having this little attic hideaway. It didn’t do anyone any harm, and it always gave her strength to go home and face her apartment, which seemed far too empty most nights.

She cast a glance out the window. Snowflakes were falling thick and fast. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and the library would be closed anyway. Her brother and sister-in-law wouldn’t be coming, her nieces and nephews wouldn’t be coming... Why bother with home?

Fantasy was better. “Okay, Lady Calpurnia Bulostrode, let’s see what happens when your servants refuse to stay in the gothic monster-piece you inherited and leave you alone with your fangy new roommate...”

MORTIMER SAT BEHIND Louisa, perched comfortably on the old whistling radiator, pretending the warmth he could feel was coming from the voluptuous cinnamon-colored beauty who was alternately giggling and moaning as her fingers slid across the screen.

Louisa had almost heard him this time, he knew it. When she mentioned being buried at sea with her unread books, he had chuckled in appreciation, knowing exactly how she felt. She heard his laugh and looked for him. Pity, she hadn’t seen him, although he’d been nearby, smiling in delight at a kindred soul.

If he were entirely honest, his decision to stay on this mortal plane was largely because he had an unfinished stack of literature to imbibe. Catching pneumonia and pleurisy in 1909 at the age of forty wasn’t going to stop him from finishing The Man in Lower Ten by Mary Roberts Rinehart. It was only after he passed that he realized that Pine Ridge was home to other paranormal beings—and that dedicated (dare he say brilliant?) ghosts could easily manipulate the world around them. Well, the books around them.

As of late, he’d been enjoying re-reading several old Miss Marples, but he shunned them at the moment. The vampiric erotica Louisa was reading was far too tempting to ignore.

Eros pinned her wrists to the arms of her chair, his pale white hands like iron bands as he bent his head. His long, forked tongue caressed the flesh of her throat, but his fangs never marked her virgin skin. Instead, he met her gaze with dark black eyes and knelt before her, willing her skirts to rise and shroud him as he dove between her legs.

Heavy-handed writing, Mortimer thought, but there was no denying that he was picturing himself kneeling between Louisa’s legs, proving that ghosts still had the ability to touch. The author probably wouldn’t know that.

“Vampires have red eyes—but only when hungry. And forked tongues. Telepathic powers over clothing, what nonsense.”

Louisa paused, sitting up.

She heard me. She heard me! What do I do?

But Louisa hadn’t heard him. Instead, she put her slender black tablet down on her ample chest and undid the zipper on the side of her flowing black skirt.

Mortimer froze. This was new. Louisa had occasionally allowed her hands to wander while reading, and that was always his gentlemanly cue to leave.

But she’d never stood up before and let her skirt fall to the floor, revealing thin, lacy fabric stretched taut over her plump cheeks. If he were to move to the front—

He’d best not move to the front. She’d be repulsed by such an invasion of privacy.

As if you aren’t already doing that?

She invaded mine first! I’ve lived in this attic for years. Well, not lived, perhaps. Dwelt.

“Wish you were here right now. Well. Maybe not you , Eros,” Louisa chuckled to the screen of her retrieved tablet, nestling back into the cushion, this time with her legs spread. “You’re all bloodlust and sex. Gimme a man who’s got a brain and is willing to learn.”

“Me! I’m willing to learn! I’m an excellent student!” Mortimer burst out—then clapped his hands over his mouth.

Louisa didn’t hear him over the sounds of her own heavy breathing, now coming short and hard as her hand slid under her panties.

I’ll leave.

No. I’ll... turn my back.

Mortimer staunchly obeyed his own orders, turning—and closing his eyes so he could hear every sound she made.

Soft sighs. Loud moans.

Slick sounds that came with the heavy, cloying aroma of wet sex and heat. His body was translucent, but far from insubstantial. He was in his semi-corporeal state, pulsing plasma that was hot and pliable.

Like her sweet womanhood must be.

I want to make her come. I want to help her.

I could rub her shoulders.

Her breasts. Her nipples get so hard, they make luscious little tents under the fabric of her shirt.

“Ah! Ahhh, ahhh, God...” There was a keening cry, then a crash.

Mortimer turned in alarm just in time to see the small table beside the poof falling to its side.

Oh, no.

The table had always been carefully arranged over a loose floorboard, and that floorboard held a few special items.

Newspapers clippings. Photographs. Letters.

One of Louisa’s slender gold hoop earrings that he promised he would give back one day. The red silk scarf she wore to keep her hair off her neck in the summer that bore the same promise.

Louisa didn’t move at first, her orgasm winning out over the crashing table and the scattering books.

In a few moments, she rose, adjusting her underwear and sinking her fingers into her mouth.

My God.

To be those fingers. Or that mouth...

“Well, the book may read like an Austen cosplayer got drunk and watched Dracula , but it got the job done. I—ow!” Louisa stopped mumbling to herself as she knelt on the wooden floor and the edge of the board flapped up, pinching the skin of her palm as she balanced, reaching for a book.

“What’s this?” Louisa whispered to herself, digging her fingertip along the loose edge.

Mortimer held the breath he no longer used, long, slender fingers knitted anxiously under his chin as the woman of his dreams found his secret hiding place.

LOUISA’S brAIN WAS hungry for distraction. That was probably why she switched from erotica to mystery without a second thought.

“‘Mortimer Ashfield, Pine Ridge’s First Librarian and Beloved Educator Laid to Rest.’”

That name was familiar.

Yes! His black and white portrait hung downstairs in the nonfiction section, next to several other portraits of previous librarians. His was the first in the line, and that made sense now.

His picture was faded with age, even though the newspaper was kept carefully and in pristine condition.

Handsome and haughty. He had an aristocratic face—but there was a playful smirk just under the surface.

“Well, hello, former colleague. Thanks for getting this place up and running.” Louisa murmured, gently unfolding the paper.

“‘Mortimer Ashfield, beloved son of Pine Ridge, was taken from us all too soon, having only just turned forty years of age this November. Students and families praised a kind teacher with a sharp wit. Mayor Glynn spoke at length at his funeral services, commending the lifelong bachelor as a pillar of the community gone much too soon. Ashfield’s sister, Mrs. Maria Scribner, read aloud the verse of her brother’s own making, stating he wanted it to be placed upon his headstone.

Think of me whenever you pick up a book, my dears,

So that every word you see will light the lamp of memory.

Let every page and every note bring smiles, never tears.

I’ll never really leave, my loves, wrapped in the letters of eternity. ’”

Louisa sat for a long moment, the paper resting reverently against her bare knees.

Later on, it would occur to her that finding this obituary under a loose board was peculiar. At the moment, she was struck with a profound sense of loss.

Mortimer Ashfield was a beautiful, poetic soul—a colleague who clearly shared her passion.

“A hundred years too late, my love,” she whispered, letting the paper fall back into its hiding place.

This time she didn’t imagine it. There was a loud banging noise from the side of the attic.

“Damn wind. I hope we don’t lose power.” She slowly finished tidying up the mess she’d made, but moved the table a few feet over where it would be less likely to tip during “enthusiastic reading.”

Louisa slid the board back into place, dark eyes taking in the slender stack of books and papers. “When I’m in my Nancy Drew mood, I’ll take another look. I wonder if that was Mortimer Ashfield’s little hiding spot in the library. No. That wouldn’t make any sense. He wouldn’t put an article about his own funeral in there. Although, maybe someone close to him knew about this spot. Left it here. Like a little memorial.” Her sentences were coming out shorter, broken by yawns.

She struggled back into the depths of her soft cushion, snuggling in like a cat curling up in a warm seat. With the radiator right behind and the golden, glowing light from the lamp... Everything was warm and sleepy, including her muscles and nerves, sated by the quick orgasm she’d delivered with her own hand.

“Maybe he still haunts this old place. Geez, Mortimer. Getting quite a show, you dirty dog,” she chuckled with a sigh. “But seriously, one librarian to another—you should totally stop by and visit. And if you look that handsome and write like that—I don’t care if you are a ghost, I’m asking you out.”

Another loud bang right in the vicinity of the radiator made her eyes flare open—but they soon fell shut. Emotional roller coasters made her sleepy.