Hey! I am Rhys Ford… speaking to you in my own… okay that doesn’t work. Does anyone else remember Don Carnage!? He’s speaking at you in his own voice! Ah, the esoteric memories. You’ll probably want to skip this part during the next few…*coffs*…okay, over a dozen blogs as I parcel out a short tale featuring Wolf and Tristan!
Welcome to a Hellsinger Investigation!
There will be prizes and giveaways. Be sure to hit up each blog for an update on the investigation. I have brought in for this tale of ghosts and shenanigans two special prizes (well many of them…but two!). You might have seen them already; a pair of cuddly alpaca and a braided leather Wolf sigil bracelet. You’ll be able to win one or both at each stop with a Grand Prize to be given away at the end of the tour.
The giveaway for this spot is: Alpaca, bracelet AND a $50 gift certificate to the etailer of your choice AND become a minor character in Rhys’ novella pairing with JP Barnaby.
THIS CONTEST IS CLOSED
Residence: Hazel Maplethorn-Bocker
Paranormal Activity: Objects Relocating
Location: Eureka, CA
The residence is occupied by Ms. M-B and ten cats. Client is retired school-teacher and has no history of psychic or paranormal activity either personal or in residence. Residence is 1940s bungalow with no recorded deaths. Land cleared of any prior paranormal activity; formerly undeveloped acreage. No structures or causalities reported at location. Cannot discount native population or transitory inhabitants prior to establishment of city boundaries.
Team: Gidget and Matt
Consultant: Tristan Pryce
EPILOGUE: “God, I’m glad to be home.” Wolf flopped onto an antique velvet loveseat set near the Grange’s reception desk. Boris looked up from his sprawl on the floor and contemplated the man sitting nearby. Schlepping himself across the floor in a lazy flop of fur, claws and tail, the wolfhound flopped into a heap at Wolf’s feet, resting his head on Wolf’s shin with a contented grumble. “The dog’s glad I’m home too.”
“You don’t live here,” Tristan reminded him as he went through the journal Ophelia Sunday left for him, documenting her impressions of the spectral guests the Gilded Age mansion had while he was gone.
“We could change that.” Wolf laughed at Tristan’s skeptical glance. “Okay, yeah maybe we shouldn’t be underfoot all the time yet.”
“Yeah, probably a good idea. Let’s wait until I don’t want to stuff you in a teapot every other hour.” The journal was fascinating. Wolf’s sister left him pencil sketches of faces and clothing where she could. One man in particular had come in missing his nose and he’d wondered for a moment if she just couldn’t see it before he read the annotation that it’d been bitten off by an enraged donkey.
“Got a call from Andrea. Hazel’s doing well.” Stretching out, Wolf scratched at Boris’ ear. “She’s home…and other than the unfortunate death of her rose bush, everything’s back to normal. Like…normal normal.”
“And that asshole ex-student of hers?” Tristan frowned, despite reading about the young Victorian girl who’d spent her three days joyfully cooking puddings and treats with Cook in the kitchen. “If he’s what Hazel ran up against, I don’t blame her for retiring. A C on a five-year old report card isn’t the reason you can’t get a job. Maybe because you’re an asshole.”
“Full agreement about the asshole,” Wolf grunted, pushing Boris back as the wolfhound dug his massive head into Wolf’s stomach. “Andrea said the noises and other shit have stopped.”
Tristan turned a page and wondered why Ophelia Sunday jotted down a number for a yogurt place beneath a note to milk the cow. “Did you tell her about Deirdre?”
“Babe… Deirdre was weird enough for me. I’m not going to bring up Hazel’s dead lover who had a fatal aneurysm in the house she and Hazel live in now.” He snorted when Tristan opened his mouth to object. “Sometimes, it’s better to leave things alone.”
“So long as Hazel’s okay,” he replied softly. “Still, jail’s too good for that asshat. He needs to…shit, I can’t even think of anything off the top of my head. Maybe wading for valuables in the sewer system. Think they’ve got a gator like that place in Florida.”
They both fell silent and the hall was quiet with the exception of Boris’ contented grunting and moaning as Wolf scritched the dog’s nape and back. A few minutes later, Wolf cleared his throat, interrupting Tristan’s reading once again.
“It wasn’t so bad, was it?” His lover’s voice turned, threading a darker, somber tone into Wolf’s rolling baritone. “You and I—out there. It was…pretty damned good. We were pretty damned good together.”
Tristan stopped reading and gave Wolf his full attention, leaning on the well-used reception bank his uncle bought from an old hotel. Shadows played with Wolf’s face, teasing down the length of his nose and curving down over his firm jaw, leaving his mouth untouched for the afternoon sun to play with. The Grange’s front expanse of windows stretched up nearly two stories, flooding the grand hall with light gloom hanging over Muir Woods.
There was a hint of something…wild in Wolf’s eyes. Knowing what he did of Wolf’s family, Tristan realized he was the one with a home, with a place he’d grown up and been loved—fully without any reservation or expectation other than to be who he was.
Of the two of them, Tristan had anchors—even if some of them were ghosts—his life was grounded and normal as far as he could ever be normal.
Wolf had none of that.
And the hesitant, defensive feral gleam in Wolf’s eye hid his deep-seated longing to belong somewhere…to someone.
“Yeah, babe,” Tristan murmured, rounding the reception desk. “We are really damned good together. I can’t imagine it being…”
The Grange’s front doors flew open, banging wildly against the plastered walls. A torrent of wind blew through the great hall, swirls of leaves and moss curling up into the air and skittering over the parquet floor. Outside, the clouds deepened to a dark grey and a heavy rumbling cracking overhead, shaking the window panes in their frames.
Caught in the gust of wind, Tristan threw up his hand to protect his eyes from the debris when the doors suddenly slammed shut again, leaving only echoes behind.
And a very familiar, lantern-jawed woman dressed in sensible flats, capris and a buttoned-up shirt.
“Well… guess it’s time for me to go,” Deidre said wistfully, approaching the men at the end of the hall with long, steady strides. “Said goodbye to Hazel. Don’t know if she heard me but… I think she’s happy. She feels happy. And that’s a damned good thing—even if I’m not the one making her happy anymore.”
“You’ll always make her happy,” Tristan murmured, crossing over to greet his new guest. “She loves you. Every time she thinks of you, you’ll bring her happiness.”
“Good.” Deidre nodded curtly.
She opened her mouth but an intense screaming howl ate up the relative quiet then a blur of white and brown flashed between Tristan and Wolf as a ghostly terrier leaped over Boris and disappeared into the depths of the Grange. A heartbeat later, a smoky mass of claws and glowing eyes erupted out of the closed front door, feline ears flattened back on their triangular heads as they pursued their quarry. The cats disappeared as quickly as they arrived, splashing into a far wall and leaving only a faint coating of pearly black dust on the paint.
“Oh and um, yeah.” Deirdre looked sheepish, an odd expression on her handsome, strong face. “Looks like the cats came with me.”
Duck Duck Ghost by Rhys Ford (Release date: Sept 8, 2014)
Paranormal investigator Wolf Kincaid knows what his foot tastes like.
Mostly because he stuck it firmly in his mouth when his lover, Tristan Pryce, accidentally drugged him with a batch of psychotropic baklava. Needing to patch things up between them, Wolf drags Tristan to San Luis Obispo, hoping Tristan’s medium ability can help evict a troublesome spirit haunting an old farmhouse.
With Wolf’s sister handling Hoxne Grange’s spectral visitors, Tristan finds himself in the unique position of being able to leave home for the first time in forever, but Wolf’s roughshod treatment is the least of his worries. Tristan’s ad-hoc portal for passing spirits seems to be getting fewer and fewer guests, and despite his concern he’s broken his home, Tristan agrees to help Wolf’s cousin, Sey, kick her poltergeist to the proverbial curb.
San Luis Obispo brings its own bushel of troubles. Tristan’s ghost whispering skill is challenged not only by a terrorizing haunting but also by Wolf’s skeptical older cousin, Cin. Bookended by a pair of aggressive Kincaids, Tristan soon finds himself in a spectral battle that threatens not only his sanity but also his relationship with Wolf, the first man he’s ever loved.
Duck Duck Ghost Promo Tour:
Prism Book Alliance
Boy meets Boy
Three Chicks after Dark
Guilty Indulgence Book Club
Rainbow Gold Reviews
The Blogger Girls
The Novel Approach
About Rhys Ford: Rhys admits to sharing the house with three cats of varying degrees of black fur and a ginger cairn terrorist. Rhys is also enslaved to the upkeep a 1979 Pontiac Firebird, a Toshiba laptop, and an overworked red coffee maker.
And at the Starbucks down the street. No really, they’re 24/7. And a drive-thru. It’s like heaven.
My books can be purchased, folded and first chapters read at Dreamspinner Press. http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com