Chapter 5 The First Living Guests

At precisely nine in the morning, a silver sedan cut through the mist and pulled up in front of The Wren & Willow.

From inside stepped a young couple who looked exhausted yet radiated a conspicuous aura of newlywed joy. The man busied himself unloading heavy leather suitcases from the trunk, while the woman held his arm tightly, gazing up at the facade of our old stone building with bright, wide eyes.

"This must be it, darling!" exclaimed the woman, Evelyn Vance or rather, Evelyn Thorne-Vance, as the automated reservation had indicated this morning. "It smells so delightfully old, just like in the photographs."

I stood behind the reception desk, adjusting the collar of my shirt for the ninth time.

"Remember," I whispered to the empty air beside me, "act normal. No slamming doors. No teacups spinning on their own. And most importantly, nobody reveals themselves."

"I am quite aware of how to welcome guests, Miss Bellrose," Ambrose's voice echoed softly right beside my ear, sending a chill prickling up my neck. "Hospitality is my specialty."

"That's precisely the problem," I replied under my breath, keeping my eyes glued to the front door. "You are far too formal for someone who isn't supposed to exist."

The front door chimed open, bringing in a rush of cool, rain-dampened air. The couple stepped inside, stamping their shoes on the doormat.

"Good morning!" Evelyn called out cheerfully. "We have a reservation under the name Vance well, Mrs. Vance-Thorne now. We were just married yesterday and needed somewhere truly quiet for our honeymoon."

"Welcome to The Wren & Willow," I said, offering the best professional smile I could muster. "And congratulations on your marriage. I'm Mara, the innkeeper."

Her husband, a genial-looking man named Greg, set two large suitcases down near the umbrella stand. "Wonderful place you have here. A bit off the beaten path, but the air is amazingly crisp."

As I processed their passports and arrival forms, Caspian emerged from the hallway corridor. He had changed into a crisp shirt, looking thoroughly relaxed yet still exuding that strange, effortless composure that commanded attention.

"Good morning," Caspian greeted the couple.

"Oh, hello! Are you staff here as well?" Greg asked, shaking Caspian's hand.

"You could say that," Caspian answered smoothly, shooting me a swift glance with the faintest crook at the corner of his mouth.

I rolled my eyes discreetly. "Your room is upstairs, facing the gardens. It's very quiet."

However, when Greg turned back to gather their belongings, his brow furrowed in confusion. He looked down, staring at the bare stone floor.

"Wait... where's my other bag?" Greg asked, patting his sides. "I'm certain I brought two large suitcases inside. Where is my wife's luggage?"

My heart gave a sudden, hard thud against my ribs.

I didn't need to be a detective to know what had just happened. From the far end of the upstairs corridor came a faint, silvery giggle, the unmistakable sound of a teenage boy thoroughly enjoying himself followed by the soft shrrk of suitcase wheels being rolled across carpet.

Pip.

"Oh, goodness," I said quickly, trying to smother my rising panic. "Perhaps... perhaps I miscounted earlier, or maybe it's still outside by the door?"

"Not a chance," Greg said, starting to look distressed. "I put both bags right next to this umbrella stand myself! All our clothes and important travel documents are in there!"

Evelyn's smile faltered into worry. "Darling, how could a heavy bag just vanish? We've only been inside for a minute!"

Before I could invent some utterly absurd lie to explain how a twenty-kilogram suitcase could disappear silently in broad daylight, Caspian stepped forward calmly.

"Please wait here a moment," Caspian told the couple. "I'll go check."

Caspian strolled toward the staircase, ascending without any sign of hurry. I held my breath, gripping the edge of the desk. Less than two minutes later, Caspian returned down the steps. In his right hand, he carried Evelyn’s red leather suitcase as effortlessly as if it weighed nothing at all.

"Here is your bag," Caspian said, handing it to Greg.

Evelyn let out a long breath of relief. "Oh, thank goodness! Where on earth was it?"

Greg stared at Caspian in sheer bewilderment. "Yeah, how did you find it so fast? Where was it?"

Caspian merely offered a small, quiet smile—a subtle, enigmatic expression that offered no real explanation whatsoever. "Old houses like this have many corners that tend to play tricks on the eyes. What matters is that your belongings are safe."

He didn't mention that he had found it tucked deep inside the second-floor linen closet, nor how he had persuaded a mischievous teenage ghost to relinquish his prize.

I nudged Caspian's arm lightly with my elbow while the couple was preoccupied checking their luggage latches. "What did you do to Pip?" I whispered.

"Simply reminded him that in this century, stealing a honeymooner's luggage gets one cursed to sweep chimneys for eternity," Caspian whispered back without cracking a single smile.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

"Right then, let me show you up to your room," I said aloud, retrieving the brass key from the desk to redirect their attention.

Greg picked up the bags while Evelyn walked beside me toward the first step of the staircase. But after taking only two steps up, Evelyn abruptly paused. She turned her head toward the dim, shadowed corner of the lobby near the cold fireplace, where an old leather sofa rested.

Her eyes locked straight onto the sofa—a spot that was, to my eyes, completely empty.

"Miss Bellrose?" Evelyn called out softly, her tone shifting into pure curiosity.

I stopped on the stairs and looked back. "Yes, Mrs. Vance?"

Evelyn pointed toward the darkened corner of the lobby with a puzzled expression. "The elderly gentleman in the neatly pressed suit sitting by the fireplace... who is he? Is he a senior member of your staff?"

The air in the lobby instantly went bone-chillingly cold. Caspian and I exchanged a swift, silent glance.

In that very corner, Ambrose had just sat down to unfold his morning newspaper, entirely unaware that a living guest, one without a single trace of necromantic sight was staring directly at him.