The House on Everley Street (Death Herself Book 2) Read Free

friend.
    “You never answered my question,” Aaron said finally.
    “What question is that?”
    “You know the one. The one you avoid every time we talk.”
    “Some people might take that as a hint.”
    “Not me.”
    “Evidently not.”
    There was a pause. John knew what was coming next.
    “So,” Aaron said finally, “ have you ever seen a ghost? I mean, for a guy who's made a billion-dollar career as the world's most successful horror novelist, it'd be kind of disingenuous if you hadn't had at least one spooky encounter. Something to fire the creative juices?”
    John stared out at the late-night city vista for a moment. “Tell me what you see,” he said finally.
    “Out there?” Aaron turned to look. “Not much. A lot of lights.”
    “Exactly,” John replied. “Your gaze is drawn to the lights, mine is drawn to the darkness. How many people do you think are being murdered in this city right now?”
    Aaron sighed.
    “How many are being raped? Robbed? Emotionally abused?” Warming to his theme, John almost didn't notice his phone vibrating in his pocket, but finally he slipped it out. “How many people are sobbing in absolute despair? How many are holding a knife to their wrist?”
    “Morbid, much?” Aaron asked.
    “I've got to take this,” John said, grinning, before he'd even checked to see who was calling. “It might be my agent.” Glancing at the screen, he saw he was almost right: it was his lawyer.
    “When you're done,” Aaron replied, “I want a definitive answer to my question. Have you, the great John Myers, ever seen a ghost?”
    “Hey,” John said, answering the call and turning to wander back across the terrace. He smiled briefly at Sarah and she smiled back at him, but he made his way past the door to the penthouse and around the side, across to the darker part of the outside area. “You just saved my ass,” he continued, taking a sip from his glass. “I was actually thinking about jumping, that's how dull this whole event is. What's up?”
    “You asked me to call,” Reginald said, on the other end of the line, “if the house on Everley Street ever came on the market.”
    “Sure, why -” John stopped suddenly, feeling a faint shiver run up his back. “And has it?”
    “I just got an alert. It was put up about two hours ago, the price tag is -”
    “I don't care what the price is,” John said quickly. “Buy it.”
    “Well, I -”
    “Contact the owners,” he continued, “and offer them whatever they're asking. If they hesitate, double it. Whatever, just get it done.”
    “As your lawyer, I have to tell you that's not a very good negotiating tactic. We need to go in low -”
    “Just get the damn house bought,” John said firmly, glancing over his shoulder and seeing that Aaron was watching from a distance, well out of earshot. “Do it,” he continued, turning and heading to the farthest end of the terrace, which happened to be shrouded in darkness. The city's distant lights seemed brighter now, and the stars above dimmer.
    “I really don't think there's any need to move so fast,” Reginald continued. “It's an ordinary, end-of-row family house on a dull little street in a dull little town. I'm sure we can haggle the price down, you'll probably be the only one who's interested anyway.”
    “I just want it done,” he replied. “Call me when the deal's complete. I'll be here for the next couple of hours, then I've got some infernal book signing in the morning.”
    “You want me to conclude a deal for the house in the next couple of hours?”
    “Ideally.”
    “John, what is it about this house on Everley Street that -”
    “I'm not here to answer questions,” John snapped, before realizing that he was perhaps being a little too harsh. After all, if Aaron was the closest thing he had to a friend, then Reginald was the second closest, forming an unlikely and fragile club of just two. “Reginald, please, I told you years ago that this house is important to me.