FIONA GLASS
M/M books with a pinch of history, a swirl of mystery, and a cupful of romance...
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GHOSTS IN SPADES
He raised his hand, still clutching the mysterious thing. ‟Guy?” he said in a voice that quavered suddenly. ‟Why am I holding a skull?”
After a whirlwind romance, Guy and Adam have been blissfully married for five short months. Living happily at Greystones Hall, they’re determined to keep their promise to Adam’s many-times-great-uncle Alfred to build a gallery to house his paintings, which they discovered the previous year. When planning consent finally comes through they think all their prayers have been answered, until a team of rescue archaeologists turn up, intent on finding the Saxon chapel that’s reputed to lie buried under the lawn.
Meanwhile, strange things are happening in the Hall, and in the midst of his research, Guy finds himself under psychological attack from an insistent young ghost nobody has ever come across before—a ghost who seems desperate to find his missing brother.
As the archaeologists drag their heels, the soil heaps pile up, and the strangeness evolves to whole new levels, it’s up to Guy, Adam, Gramps, and even the local vicar to work out what’s going on. What is the link to a twelfth-century knight who still roams the Hall? Will they defeat the forces of—if not darkness, at least petulant archaeology? Will the gallery be started before Uncle Alfred explodes?
More importantly, will Guy ever find the time to snuggle with the husband he adores?
This fun, breathless, low-heat sequel to Ghosts Galore has the same characters, setting and general silliness of its predecessor, but is told from Guy’s point of view.
EXCERPT
In which there's a strange noise...
More table-top artwork; it looked like a leaf. ‟Yeah. Maybe. I just hope those sodding archaeologists aren’t doing a Stella and stirring something up.”
‟Be fair. They haven’t even started digging yet.”
‟No, but if everything’s already this messed up then what’s going to–” He broke off, from both the words and the drawing, and stared at the door to the hall. ‟What was that?”
Guy had heard it too—a strange, low grating sound, like heavy furniture dragged over an old stone floor. Except that the floor in the hall was wooden parquet, and there was nobody else in the house. Well, nobody corporeal at any rate, and although some of the ghosts at Greystones could move small objects, he’d never met one that could shift something the size of a chest of drawers.
Before he could even reply Adam was up and running for the door.
‟Careful,” he called, trying—and failing—to juggle two plates and the dish-cloth without dropping anything. ‟Should you be doing that?”
‟I’ve had flu. Doesn’t make me an invalid.”
Huh. The china shepherdess again. He kicked himself. ‟No, but it might be danger...” But in a whirl of annoyance his beloved was gone and he was talking to the wrong side of the door. Then there was a squeak.
He reached the door in two long strides and wrenched it open, half expecting the worst. But Adam wasn’t lying on the floor in a pool of blood, or wrestling with evil spirits, or even fending off a stray burglar or two. He was standing in the middle of the hallway, not far from Uncle Alfred’s final resting place, and staring at the stairs.
Even without the signs of imminent disaster Guy’s heart was pounding, and not just from the sudden dash. He draped an arm round Adam’s shoulders, realised it was dripping, and reluctantly took it away again. ‟What is it? What’s wrong?”
But when his husband turned, he looked as baffled as he himself felt. ‟I’m not sure. Just for a second I thought I saw something move but I don’t know what... and anyway, nothing’s changed.”
Sure enough, the furniture was exactly where it was supposed to be. The various doors that led onto the hall were ajar, so nothing had slammed shut in a sudden gust of wind. The basket just inside the front door was empty, so the postie hadn’t shoved a heavy parcel through. There were no dead bodies at the bottom of the stairs. Everything looked just as it should. And yet, that noise hadn’t made itself. ‟That’s odd.”
Adam smirked, seemingly recovered from the scare. ‟This is Greystones. Odd is standard here.”
ALL FIONA'S BOOKS
While you're here, why not check out some of Fiona's other books, including her shapeshifting pigeon romances Feathered Friend and Steal the Sky (also published by JMS Books), plus paranormal romances
December Roses, Ghosts Galore and Trench Warfare, and vampire romance Echoes of Blood.
You can find details of them here:
