Principles of Spookology (The Spectral Files Book 2) Read online

  PRINCIPLES OF SPOOKOLOGY

  (The Spectral Files, Book Two)

  S.E. Harmon

  Principles of Spookology

  By S.E. Harmon

  No one said being a medium would be easy.

  Rain Christiansen, former FBI agent and current cold case detective, is starting to think it's the hardest job he's ever had—and the most important. He's determined to accept all the changes in his formerly well-ordered life, but that means embracing a whole lot of weird. There's no instruction manual for meshing his work with his medium duties, and he's painfully aware that he's flubbing the job. So are the ghosts, who are becoming increasingly impatient. And stronger.

  To complicate matters, he's not sure what these spooktacular developments mean for his relationship. It certainly seems like Daniel McKenna, his partner in work and life, is in it for the long haul. But Rain can't help but wonder how long that patience will last...and what he'll do if Danny decides the intrusive ghosts are just too much.

  Rain thought accepting his supernatural gifts would be the solution to his troubles. But he's starting to realize his problems are just getting started.

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Principles of Spookology © 2020 by S.E. Harmon.

  Cover Art © 2020 by S.E. Harmon.

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including but not limited to being stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.

  Contents

  PRINCIPLES OF SPOOKOLOGY

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  For Sam, who read an excerpt from my book and said, “Oh my.” A special huzzah goes up when you make your sister clutch her pearls. Thank you for all that you do.

  And for Angel and Ashley, the most loyal, little furry friends I could ever have. You two can’t read this, but I love you guys anyway.

  Chapter 1

  There was nothing like circling an airport to make people antsy.

  Thanks to a threatening tropical storm, air traffic control had made us unwilling participants in the world’s strangest version of Red Rover. There had to be a rhyme and reason to the complicated airport rituals that kept things orderly and safe but quite frankly, I was over it. Red rover, red rover, send Delta the fuck over.

  The stewardess reminded us to keep our seatbelts fastened for the third time, but I still heard telltale clicks from several rows back. Since we hadn’t even landed yet, I could only assume they were contemplating some sort of BASE jump from business class.

  I let out a long, gusty sigh as the rain and wind lashed at the windows of the darkened cabin. My seatmate, who was entirely too engrossed in a SkyMall magazine, sent me a dirty look. I couldn’t blame her much—it was my fourth sigh in as many minutes.

  It had been a long day of travel, and my only current interest was whittling down the number of obstacles between me and my bed. The biggest of those was Tropical Storm Allen, who should feel free to fuck right off. The next was the pilot, who didn’t seem to be in any hurry to land the damn plane. In that crisp, self-assured, standard-issue pilot’s voice, he informed us that we had to wait our turn for landing. Wait our turn. Like we had shown up unannounced at someone’s Thanksgiving dinner, and they needed to hose off some patio furniture.

  I sighed again and my seatmate rattled her magazine pages. To be honest, I should’ve never agreed to do a favor in the first place, especially not for Alford Graycie, my former boss at the FBI.

  Former.

  I had to keep reminding myself of that. I’d filled in for a sick guest speaker, talking to junior G-men and women about what it meant to be a profiler. Honestly, I’d never been all that keen on public speaking—even less so since I’d become somewhat of an urban legend in law enforcement circles.

  Most people knew I was a member of the PTU, or Paranormal Tactical Unit. Defining the acronym was on a need-to-know, case-by-case basis. Luckily for me, not a lot of people needed to know. As a team, we were still getting used to our dynamics and finding our footing. As a medium, so was I. I was becoming painfully aware of how little I knew about my own… skill set.

  Skill set kind of made it sound like I should have Craftsman branded on my ass. I wasn’t sure what else to call my paranormal inclinations, though. Talent implied I had something to do with it and really, I was just born this way. The term gift was pushing it a bit.

  I saw and spoke to ghosts and sometimes—somehow—I helped them cross over. Through sheer determination, I’d just managed not to go crazy. It had almost cost me my relationship. Eventually, it had cost me a job as a profiler with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I’d even picked up a nasty little addiction to medications that the department shrink prescribed to ‘even me out.’

  Luckily, I’d landed on my feet, job wise. Once I’d admitted ghosts were real, I’d even kicked the addiction… mostly. On the relationship front, a new willingness to be honest and show some vulnerability had helped get Danny back. I’d also gotten kidnapped and shot; I was pretty sure that helped too.

  Yes, I was a new Rain Christiansen, trying to manage an almost unrecognizable version of my life. Admittedly, I was working out the kinks, and I felt like I was bumbling my medium duties most of the time. Still, after all that upheaval, I certainly wasn’t going to call my… skill set a gift. I wasn’t quite that generous.

  I sighed again noisily, and my seatmate closed her magazine with a huff. She stuffed the magazine in her purse. “We’re not really supposed to take those,” I ventured.

  She ignored me, crossing her legs so that her body angled the other way. Well. I was certainly sorry I’d bothered to nudge her awake for the drink cart.

  By the time we finally landed at Miami International, it was sometime around one in the morning. After a quick stop for coffee, I had the shuttlebus to myself on the way to long-term parking. The driver was nice but not chatty, which just so happened to be my preference—no Uber shut-your-yap fee required. I took a seat near the back window and sipped my coffee quietly until he dropped me off.

  My car looked none the worse for wear and I tossed my luggage in the back. The storm had been lighter than predicted, leaving everything hot, muggy, and damp. I dr
ove home with all the windows down, letting the air hit me in all directions. By the time I got off the freeway, I looked like I’d been picked up and dropped by a tornado.

  Danny’s house was at least twice the distance of mine from the airport, but I headed in that direction anyway. One would think we’d enjoy a break; we worked, ate, and slept together. Hell, we practically lived together. In fact, it would probably seem like we’d get sick of seeing each other’s faces and start sniping at one another for no reason at all. And all that would be, well, pretty fucking accurate.

  I still wanted to fall asleep next to him. No matter what. I pulled up to the front of the house and parked next to his Charger. He’d crossed the center as usual, and I wound up a little in the grass. Fucker.

  We may strangle each other to death, but then we want to be buried next to one another.

  I got out of the car, chuckling a little as I shouldered my bag. I didn’t think that I’d ever summarized our relationship better. I was pretty sure he would agree.

  As tired as I was, I couldn’t resist the lure of a shower—a long one.

  Water streamed down my back in rivulets as I braced my hands against the tile. The hot water felt amazing on my sore muscles, and even though I wanted to get in bed, I couldn’t quite make myself get out. It felt too damned good to finally get that feeling of travel off me; I’d been in public a little too long, touching a lot of things other people had touched, and putting my head where a lot of heads had been.

  I hoped Danny wasn’t still pissed. Before I left, I got the distinct impression he wasn’t too pleased with my excursion. I got that impression because he told me so. Loudly.

  Danny was convinced Graycie still harbored feelings for me, and I wasn’t sure he was wrong. He also seemed convinced there was more to me doing favors for the FBI than just building goodwill. I wasn’t sure he was wrong about that, either. Even I was starting to wonder at my own motivations.

  Maybe it was just comforting not to cut my FBI ties completely. Maybe it was harder to embrace the new Rain Christiansen than I thought it would be. And maybe I should stop wasting water and time trying to answer the unanswerable.

  I shut off the shower and then toweled off briskly. I padded naked to the bedroom, leaving a path of wet footprints on Danny’s precious hardwood floor, which was extremely satisfying. Then I rifled through his drawers and filched a pair of boxers and an old college T-shirt.

  Quietly, I dressed, the clothes sticking to my damp skin. We always tried not to wake each other when we came in, but it was a losing battle most of the time. Years in law enforcement had made us extremely light sleepers.

  Still, I tried to ease into bed carefully... which of course meant I sent the mattress shaking like a flimsy raft being battered in whitewater conditions. I grabbed at the headboard to steady myself and then shushed the shiplap as it creaked with haunted house quality.

  “Rain,” Danny murmured.

  “Sorry. It’s just me.”

  “That’s kind of why I said your name.” His voice was husky from sleep as he yawned and turned on his other side, facing the wall. “You’re late.”

  “Yes, I can tell from the pillow creases on your cheek how frantic you were.”

  “I was worried. Worried sick.” His voice was amused. “How’d your lecture go?”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “Let’s just say they were extremely interested in the PTU.” I punched my pillow a little more aggressively than necessary. “Not so much in the profiling that made up the bulk of my career.”

  “They’re agents, Rain. Being curious is kind of in the job description.” He burrowed deeper into the covers. “At least it’s over.”

  “That’s not… exactly true.”

  By the time I left Quantico, Graycie had already extracted another tentative favor from me. He wanted me to talk to a serial killer regarding the location of some missing victims. I hadn’t given a yes, but I hadn’t given him a no, either.

  Even half asleep, Danny wasn’t a fan of vague language. “Are you planning to clarify that, Rainstorm?”

  “I hate that nickname.”

  “Why do you think I use it?”

  I huffed. “I might be meeting with an inmate at some point. Just as a favor for Grace.”

  “And?”

  “And that’s it,” I said testily. Jesus. There were certainly some downsides to dating a two-legged bloodhound.

  “Tell Graycie you already have a fucking job,” he said, “and that I kill poachers.”

  “I will.”

  “Good.”

  I leaned over and kissed his shoulder, the skin warm and smooth against my lips. All that golden, dusky skin was only marked by tattoos he’d gotten in his younger, wilder years. Some of them were random, some of them were meaningful. The ace of spades on his forearm went in the random category, a favor he’d done for an ex in college who was trying to build up a portfolio. The dragon that took up a lot of real estate on his back was a personal affirmation, something to remind him of how strong he could be. He’d gotten it a few months after he joined the police academy, after his mother bounced back to prison for the fourth time. The orchid on his upper shoulder was the most meaningful of all, a tribute to his late sister.

  “Sorry about waking you.” I traced the inscription of the orchid with light fingertips. Anna. I could only see a vague impression of the flower in the moonlit darkness, but my fingers knew the route intimately. “I think we need that Tempur-Pedic thingamajig. The one with that lady jumping on the bed with a bowling ball and a wine glass.”

  “Mm-hmm, and then we can go to Petco for a muzzle.”

  I slapped the shoulder I’d kissed, and he chuckled. When he didn’t say anything else, I realized he’d already fallen back asleep. He gave me his back, called me a damned mutt, and headed back into dreamland. Not bad for less than two minutes. Revenge noted in my mental calendar, I flopped back on my pillow. I closed my eyes, fully prepared to fall asleep immediately.

  Or not.

  And sleep, I commanded my mind, now.

  Okay, false start. Now!

  Now.

  Okay, this time for real. Empty your mind. I tried and even my mind was surprised at its own cluttered state. I needed a U-Haul and a storage unit for all that shit.

  Maybe if I got more comfortable? I took off my watch and blindly tossed it on the nightstand, which set off a domino effect. Just about everything on the nightstand fell off with a clatter, including a handful of change that went rolling.

  “Rain,” Danny growled, his voice sleep roughened.

  “Sorry.”

  I flipped over on my side facing his back and fluffed up the pillow. At least I didn’t have work early. Unless we got called in unexpectedly, I didn’t have to show my face until noon. The only thing I had planned was a meeting with my realtor at ten. My landlord had already floated the idea of renting her property to her daughter since my lease was about up, so I needed to get a move on. And according to Mary Anne, she’d found the perfect property for me.

  “Hey,” I whispered loudly.

  Danny sighed. “What?”

  “Can you make sure I’m up before you leave? I’m meeting with Mary Anne at ten, and I don’t want to oversleep.”

  “I know I’m going to regret asking, but who the hell is Mary Anne?”

  “My realtor. You remember. You’ve met her before.”

  “Wait, is she that annoying woman who uses the word ‘darling’ to describe everything?”

  “She’s not that bad,” I said loyally.

  She was exactly that bad. The bedrooms were darling, the bathrooms were darling, the front porch was darling, the balcony was—you guessed it—darling. If I’d slit my own damn throat right there in the model home’s spacious kitchen, she would’ve said my blood pattern was just darling.

  It was Danny’s turn to interrupt the peace. “I wasn’t aware you were still looking for property.”


  “My landlord wants to rent my townhouse to her daughter. I told you that.”

  “Still. Property. It’s a big step.”

  I blinked. “Well, Daniel, I think the department would frown on me becoming a hobo.”

  “Maybe I’ll just come with you.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself,” I said quickly.

  “You sound like you don’t want me along,” he said suspiciously.

  Deductive reasoning had always been his strong suit. The last two times he’d tagged along on my house hunt, he’d been anything but encouraging. In fact, he’d found something wrong with practically every property Mary Anne showed us.

  He huffed at my silence. I punched the pillow under my head, bunching it up under my ear. Then I flipped it over to the cool side. An annoyed mutter came from the other side of the bed.

  “Sorry,” I whispered loudly. “I’m a little wired.”

  Danny cursed and turned back over to face me. With a few smooth moves, he had me on my back. And he wasn’t quite finished. I gaped at him as he worked my boxers down my hips and around my thighs. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s been three days, Rain. You’ve already forgotten what blow jobs are?” He slid those calloused fingers over my balls, and I let out a little moan of contentment. “That’s the only surefire way to get you to sleep.”

  “My mom used to give me herbal tea and read me a story.”

  He made an amused sound. “I have my own methods.”

  I didn’t have a problem with that, especially when those methods involved him licking a stripe up the side of my half-hard dick. An eager noise escaped my mouth, and he chuckled before sending that clever tongue along my length a few more times, root to tip and back again. Half-hard dick became rock-hard dick in the span of a few more licks. I was about to complain about his teasing, when he sucked me into his mouth completely.

  I gasped and bucked up, working on pure instinct, jamming my dick even farther down his throat. He put one big hand across my tense stomach and pushed me back down firmly. The suction of his mouth made sloppy, wet noises as he worked me over, and I strained to buck up again. I didn’t get very far under the restraining band of his arm, even as I moved my hips desperately.