Devon carried Ellie inside Ashley’s home and up the stairs. There was that same saucy lady carved into the end of the railing, the same wooden wainscoting darkened with age, and the same chandelier glowing above. But the place was cleaner and pieces of furniture gave the former pub a homey feel. Instead of the dustiness of age, the place smelled like lemons. Ashley had settled down, moved in, while he had rotted in hell. Oddly, none of that mattered at the moment. “Where are you taking her?” Kipps asked, as he and John filtered into the entryway. “To rest and pray she recovers.” At the second floor, he moved down the dark hall. No ghosts dwelled in the building, they’d long ago moved onto the other side thanks to Ashley and Cristian. Except for him; he was the only lost spirit left, although no longer a ghost. How strange that only six months ago this pub had been haunted with restless spirits. How odd that it was here where he’d been brought back to life…twice. He nudged open the wooden door that led to his bedroom.
