Chapter 3 The Charm of the Black-Cloaked Guest
The man’s deep voice vibrated softly, breaking the eerie silence hanging over the lobby of the Thistlewood Inn. I froze on the cold wooden floor, staring at the tall figure standing right in the doorway.
A gust of night wind barged in uninvited, bringing thick fog and the scent of rain-soaked earth with it. Raindrops trickled slowly from the hem of the heavy black cloak wrapped tightly around his broad-shouldered frame.
I scrambled to pull myself up, ignoring the sting in my knees to greet our first guest in ages.
"Ah... y-yes! Of course we're still taking guests!" I stammered, frantically smoothing down my wrinkled apron.
My legs felt a bit wobbly as I backed around the shattered ceramic pieces on the floor and made my way over to the wooden counter.
But as the man stepped inside, allowing the dim glow of the fireplace to illuminate his features, my breath caught in my throat. He was ridiculously, dangerously handsome.
A sharply carved jawline was framed by jet-black hair, slightly damp and clinging to his temples. A pair of dark eyes locked onto mine with a calm glimmer, yet carried a mysterious depth that made my heart skip a beat.
His pale skin—typical of northerners—contrasted starkly with his all-black attire. In the middle of a soul-crushing bankruptcy crisis, this guy felt like a visual miracle sent straight from heaven.
"Forgive my somewhat unsightly appearance, miss," he said smoothly, shaking out his drenched black cloak.
His deep baritone echoed softly through the room, sending a warm flutter through my chest that made me even more flustered.
"It's quite a storm out there, and your inn was the only building with a light on," he added.
I cleared my throat loudly, trying to summon whatever professionalism I had left as a respectable innkeeper.
"N-No problem at all! Welcome to the Thistlewood Inn," I offered quickly, plastering on the friendliest smile I could manage.
But that moment of peace shattered within seconds.
The three invisible ghosts behind me suddenly swooped in, swarming my handsome guest from all angles. Barnaby hovered in circles right above the man's head, scrutinizing his hair with a pretentious look.
"Hmm, a bit disheveled on the styling, but the cheekbone structure is positively poetic," Barnaby muttered, stroking his translucent chin.
Lady Cordelia drifted right behind his back, sniffing the fabric of his black cloak with a curled lip.
"High-quality black silk embroidered with water-repelling magic? This man is certainly no common peasant," Cordelia whispered dramatically.
The worst of them was Pip.
The ghost boy hovered near the man's leather boots, attempting to tie his laces together into a dead knot.
My eyes nearly popped out of my head as I watched the supernatural mayhem unfolding right under my nose. I gripped the edge of the counter for dear life, trying desperately to keep my face neutral so I wouldn't look insane.
I had to pretend I couldn't see these three ridiculous ghosts harassing my guest of honor.
"Is something wrong, miss?" the man asked in confusion, noticing my eye twitching slightly as I fought back panic.
"Um... nope! Nothing at all!" I squeaked a little too loudly, making him raise a thick eyebrow.
"Just... a lot of night mosquitoes in the lobby," I lied on the spot, waving my hand around aimlessly in the air.
BAM!
My hand accidentally swiped right through Pip's translucent head, causing the ghost boy to burst into silent laughter.
The stranger let out a low chuckle—a smooth, rich sound that made heat rush straight to my cheeks and neck.
"Is that so? I thought your establishment simply had some unique local customs," he replied with a hint of dry humor.
He stepped closer to the counter, closing the distance between us in seconds. A cool, masculine scent mingled with fresh cinnamon drifted over me, chasing away the stale smell of inn dust.
My heart pounded harder, running a wild marathon in my chest.
"Under what name should I book the room, sir?" I asked, opening the old guest register with its yellowed pages.
"Lucian. Lucian Mercer," he replied simply, looking straight into my eyes.
My hand shook slightly as I dipped the quill and wrote the name down on the paper.
Lucian Mercer.
A name that sounded elegant yet shrouded in deep mystery, matching the aura radiating from him completely.
"I'll need the quietest room on the top floor for the next few days," Lucian requested, reaching into the inner pocket of his cloak.
A delightful clinking sound echoed across the counter. He neatly laid out several thick gold and silver coins onto the wood.
My eyes went wide as I stared at the precious metals gleaming under the candlelight. This payment was more than enough to cover half of Thistlewood Inn's tax backlogs for the month!
An overwhelming sense of relief welled up inside me, lifting the crushing weight that had been squeezing my chest all day.
"Room four on the third floor will suit you perfectly, Mr. Lucian," I said confidently, pulling an engraved brass key from the wall rack.
I offered him the key with a genuine smile that reached all the way to my heart.
"Thank you so much for staying at the Thistlewood Inn."
Lucian reached out and took the brass key from my hand. The cool tips of his fingers brushed against mine, sending an odd, tingling spark shooting through my nerves.
A subtle buzz of magic rushed up my arm, making my heart flutter wildly.
Lucian gave a faint smile—a devastatingly charming smirk—before turning toward the winding wooden staircase.
But Barnaby, being a mischievous and attention-starved ghost, suddenly swooped down from the ceiling. He stopped floating mere inches from Lucian's face as the man walked.
Striking a dramatic pose, Barnaby threw out his translucent arms and began reciting his terrible poetry.
"O arrogant living creature, how loudly thy footfalls soil this floor with the mud of the night—"
Lucian froze in his tracks.
An icy, suffocating aura surged from his tall frame, snuffing out two wall candles at once. Instead of walking right through Barnaby's spectral form like any normal person would...
...he slowly raised his head, locking his sharp, blue-glinting eyes directly onto Barnaby's ghostly gaze.
My jaw dropped in utter shock. Lucian could actually see him.
Lucian's thin lips parted, releasing a chilling warning that made my heart freeze.
"You're awfully noisy for an old ghost."
