A Ghost of a Chance by Cherie Claire (fantasy novels to read .TXT) 📕

The Victorian velvet coverlet, half the pillows and whatever was left of the room service falls to the floor as we mangle in each other’s arms. We’re not thinking — at least I’m not — as we devour each other in kisses and I struggle with the buttons on my blouse. TB breaks away to pull off my pants, slipping them free and casting them to the other side of the room in one effort, almost knocking over a lamp. We laugh briefly and then go at it again, me climbing backwards on the bed like a crab while TB follows suit.

For a moment, my logical brain tries to break through the rush, to remind me that I’ve filed separation papers from my husband and a divorce is imminent, but I’m not listening and I swear I hear a childlike voice giggle and clap somewhere in the deep recesses of my consciousness. Finally, the buttons are freed and I struggle to pull off the blouse while TB leans over me fondling my breasts that are still constrained by my bra.

“Patience, patience,” I mutter and we both laugh as I now struggle to get that damn thing off.

We’ve not made love since before Lillye’s death and I doubt TB’s been unfaithful — I know I haven’t — and those three years feel like Hoover Dam after a massive spring rain. We’re both about to explode so we forget foreplay niceties and yank off all remaining clothes. Suddenly, we’re naked, then bonded and it feels so incredibly right, both of us moaning with exquisite pleasure. As TB rocks his magic, sliding one hand beneath my bottom to push himself deeper within me — dear God, oh yes — I fall into that haze of lovemaking so delicious and divine. We both hit our stride and fall off the edge at the same time, moaning way too loudly and I laugh, thinking of Richard hearing us as he unlocks his door across the hall, hopefully not being able to get inside his room due to the ghostly Theodora blocking his way.

When we come down from the precipice TB whispers “Wow” in my ear and we giggle. Wow indeed.

We wallow in the after-glow of that fervent lovemaking, lying silently in each other’s arms careful not to ruin the moment with logical talk — I’m not going there tonight — until TB begins to snore. I gently pull the sheet over us, cuddle into his arms and follow TB into dreamland.

But what waits for me in that sublime land is nothing peaceful. This time, I’m floating through the Crescent Hotel, like a cloud following Lori around. I’m aware that I’m dreaming and yet it feels so incredibly real, as if I could reach over and touch her and we’d have a conversation like two normal women.

It must be late for the halls of the college are empty and dark and Lori darts between doorways as if she’s not supposed to be out this time of night. Up ahead a shadow moves around a corner as well, and I realize she is following someone. Since I’m part of the ether in this scenario I can’t make out Lori’s face but I sense her anxious and distraught.

As we reach the stairwell, which is open from the fourth to the first floor, I see James walking one flight down. He pauses at the stair’s entrance on the third floor to make sure no one is about, then continues down, repeating this process at the following floor. Lori watches and waits and when James reaches the bottom floor and disappears down the hall, she follows, not pausing to check at each floor like he did, but whisking hurriedly down the stairs. At the bottom floor, she peers cautiously around the corner, spotting James by the massive fireplace, the one where Carmine instructed me in the world of SCANCs. Someone else is there now and their whispers carry ever so lightly through the lobby.

“Did anyone follow you?” James asks his co-conspirator, his tone filled with his own anxiety.

“Don’t be silly, Professor. I’m a very careful girl.”

Lori inches forward ever so quietly but I fear her breathing, ragged and fearful, might give her away. I want to touch her, ease the crushing of her heart for I know that Blair stands before us, ready to steal her beloved teacher away. It’s so dark that it’s difficult to make out the two by the fireplace, so I venture forward. It’s a vision after all, I tell myself, but I can’t help feeling like I’m part of this scene and these people will all turn and ask me why I’m there.

As I make my way toward the fireplace, I spy James dressed in dark clothes and a black fedora while Blair has tucked her signature blonde hair beneath a boy’s cap and is wearing dark knickers and a man’s shirt. If I hadn’t recognized the voice I would have thought Blair one of the male townies, as she likes to call them.

“This is a bad idea.” James glances around the lobby. “You need to go back to your room.”

Blair places a hand on the front of James’ shirt, unbuttons two buttons and slides her hand inside. “Only if you come with me.”

That rush of passion I had experienced only minutes before is now emanating from James like a radiator. He’s young, so it’s raw and possibly never been unearthed. He grabs Blair’s elbow as if to stop her but his action lacks purpose. She senses this and smiles coquettishly, moving her hand back to the outside of his shirt and then sliding it downward.

James tenses. “Don’t.”

Again, his words belie what I’m sure is going on inside his head; he wants whatever carnal ideas Blair has roaming around her sexy blonde head to occur. Sure enough, even though I can’t see well in the dark, Blair’s arm has extended and she leans in close so that I fear her hand is in a place that will render Professor’s brain inactive.

He gasps so I know I’m right, then leans down to devour her lips. Blair releases him and steps back. “Not so fast, Professor.”

“We have to go somewhere.” James looks around the lobby nervously and Lori leans back in the shadows, emitting her own gasp.

“I know a place,” Blair whispers, her hands tracing the front of his shirt again. “They never lock the doors of St. Elizabeth’s and there’s a lovely room with a couch in the back.”

“That’s sacrilegious. We can’t make love in a church.”

James acts appalled at the idea but his tone makes me think he’s excited as well. His actions reaffirm my beliefs for when Blair silently takes James’s hand and heads through the lobby to exit the back porch in the direction of St. Elizabeth’s, James follows obediently.

I may be from New Orleans and have seen more than my share of carnal delights but I’m disgusted with them both, one, because she may be as young as seventeen and he’s her teacher, unethical at least and unlawful at worse, and two, because there’s a child standing beside me with a hand over her mouth to mute the aching sobs raking her chest. I come to Lori’s side and try to comfort her, forgetting that I’m only a whisk of a thought floating around.

“Please don’t cry,” I whisper earnestly but she can’t hear me and there’s nothing either one of us can do.

Lori flees up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and even though I feel compelled to go after her, something encourages me to stay. For not the first time since I acquired my SCANCy habits, I feel a force guiding me, like dozens of tiny fingers gently pushing me one way or another. The thought that it might be Lillye flits through my consciousness and my breath catches in my throat. And yet, that same energy seems to remind me to focus on the issue at hand so I quell my beating heart and turn back toward the lobby, watching in the last few seconds of my vision, before it all fades to black, a truly skanky man appearing from behind the front desk. He heads toward the back porch and watches James and Blair from the oversized picture window, smiling grimly. A chill so intense floods my veins that when I jerk awake, I’m shivering to my bones.

I’m sitting up in bed covered in sweat, a rain-soaked morning light filtering through the bedroom curtains. TB whistles in the bathroom and I rub my eyes to make sure I’m not still dreaming. I’m not, damn it, it’s the next morning and my body aches from lack of sleep. It’s now been several nights of fitful dreams and my head feels like Ash Wednesday after five days of Mardi Gras fervor.

TB emerges from the bathroom shirtless and newly showered and shaved, owning a sly grin. “Hey sexy.”

Oh my God, I suddenly realize through my fog of insomnia. I slept with my ex-husband!