Snowbound with Ghost (Excerpt)

Chapter 2

"If you're thinking about driving right now," the deejay intoned in an uncharacteristically serious tone. "Don't. Just don't."

Sebastian Franco disregarded the advice as he drove his Range Rover up the steep, winding hill. The snow was coming down hard, but he wasn't concerned. He knew this road like his dog-eared copy of The Actor's Thesaurus. Up for a bit, then go right, then up for another bit, then go left. The sturdy SUV handled the twists and turns easily, and with every mile he felt more relaxed.

"But if you have no other choice," the deejay continued, "and I mean absolutely no other choice, like if you're a vampire and you have to pick up your blood substitute before the snow piles up, that kind of stuff. Well, if you're in that situation, Stuckeyville Parkway is now clear."

Sebastian snorted. He'd spent a full hour stuck in the parkway's epic traffic jam, which was apparently caused by a minivan that swerved to avoid a raccoon and ran into a ditch instead. The Banshee Creek Fire and Rescue team closed the road, turning the rush hour traffic into a nightmare. Thankfully, no one was hurt, but that was Northern Virginia for you. A couple of snow flurries and everyone went batshit crazy.

"And even if you're a vamp," the deejay continued, "you're probably better off sleeping through this thing. This storm is going to be huge."

Sebastian smiled widely. He was happy to be back, snowstorm and all. Hell, even the eccentric WPRV traffic report couldn't dim his good mood.

After a grueling promotion tour for his latest movie, he was finally home.

He'd bought the cabin years ago, with his first paycheck from the Actors Guild. Well, make that his first paycheck and a whole lot of tips. He'd been young and stupid, and had sunk everything he had into a pile of moldy logs with unreliable cellphone reception.

And it had been worth every cent.

He owed his sanity to this cabin. No matter how crazy his life got—draining junkets, demanding directors, crazy fans—everything faded away when he drove up this road. Sure, the cabin was a dump, with peeling logs, broken down appliances, and an eclectic, some might call it disgusting, mix of second-hand furniture. But those were features, not bugs. When he was holed up in the cabin with his books, it was easy to pretend that Hollywood did not exist.

And right now, he really needed to pretend that the Big One had hit and Hollywood, and everything it represented, had sunk into the depths of the Pacific Ocean.

"So get ready for a nice long snow-in, folks. And stay tuned to WPRV, where we are celebrating Christmas in true Banshee Creek fashion. And now, back to our Talk Radio segment, where our audience was discussing a perennial favorite, our own Virginia Devil Monkey." The deejay flipped a switch and an eerie tune rang out. "Okay, caller one, we're listening."

Sebastian ignored the radio and considered the upcoming snowpocalypse. His cabin had no amenities, except for indoor plumbing and a single power line that, judging by the shrieking winds outside, had probably given up the ghost some time ago. Good thing Banshee Creek Hardware had a wide assortment of ghost hunting equipment, including top-of-the line flashlights and night-vision goggles on its shelves. The store's storm supplies section had been cleaned out, but no one had sprung for the expensive paranormal gear, and he was now the proud owner of five of the most expensive flashlights in existence, a box of pricey séance candles made of pure Hungarian beeswax, and a battery-operated jack o' lantern he'd found in the clearance section. The Halloween leftover was a steal at $2.99.

That, and a couple of supermarket shopping bags stashed in his trunk, meant he was ready for the storm. In fact, he was looking forward to it. He needed a couple of days of total solitude, a few precious days to lick his wounds, recover and decide what he would do with the rest of his life