Ghost of Himself

by Pandora Pine

  “I think you are,” Copeland agreed.

  Jude set his hand on top of Copeland’s and his right foot on the shoulder of the shovel. “Are you ready?”

  Cope nodded. At the same time, they drove the shovel into the ground. Cope pulled the blade free and repositioned it at a ninety-degree angle to the first cut. They repeated the action three more times, cutting a perfect square into the ground. Cope handed the shovel to Tennyson.

  Jude whispered a prayer to his elders asking them to be here with him at this moment. He asked that they consecrate this holy ground and protect Bertha’s remains now that the seal over her remains had been breached. After a word of thanks, he knelt beside Copeland on the dewy grass. Cope had his hand on the cut sod and seemed to be whispering words. Jude closed his eyes and set his hand on top of Copeland’s. He hoped whatever energy he had to offer was flowing into Copeland and the ground.

  “Thank you, Bertha,” Cope whispered, before pulling back the square piece of sod with his bare hands.

  Onyx stepped forward with the container. “We thank you for the gift of your blessing, Bertha.” Copeland scooped a handful of dirt which he set into the first container. He whispered words over it and turned to Jude.

  Guessing it was his turn, he repeated what he’d seen Cope do, minus the chanting. Jude noticed Copeland was doing it for him. He placed his dirt in the container and sealed it.

  Cope set the piece of sod in place. He began to whisper another spell.

  Jude was familiar with the words Copeland was speaking. It was a Wiccan prayer for growth and rebirth. He’d heard Madam Aurora recite it at her Beltane celebration on May Day last year. When Cope was finished speaking, Jude whispered his own Navajo blessing.

  “Mom is thanking you both for the prayers,” Cole’s voice sounded stronger now.

  Jude climbed back to his feet after Copeland. He walked straight to the Craig brothers who were no longer clinging to each other like scared children. “Are you both okay?”

  Carson nodded. “We both thought this was going to be a lot more invasive and well…gory.”

  “We’re sorry, Jude. It’s just that she’s our Mother and I know this is her idea, but…” Cole’s eyes looked misty.

  “I know I’ve only ever spoken to your mother through the two of you and Tennyson, but I don’t think I’ve ever met a stronger woman. She seems determined to help Copeland in any way she can. What we have to do now is make sure her soul is safe. I was praying to my elders while we were collecting the dirt.”

  “That moved Mom to tears. She said that there’s a man with her now. He’ll only identify himself as Yelling Crow.”

  Jude felt the weight of the world come off his shoulders. “Tall man in buckskins and no shirt, wearing three crow feathers in his long hair?”

  Carson started to laugh. “Mom wants to know where a man like this was while she was alive.”

  “It’s good that Crow is with her. There is no elder I would trust more to look after her soul. He was a great Navajo warrior in his day.”

  “When was his day?” Cole asked.

  “About thirty years before the Revolutionary War started.” Jude grinned at his friends. Crow was his favorite elder for all of the wisdom he’d passed down to Jude during their time together.

  “He lived during the 1740’s?” Carson’s mouth hung open.

  “People forget this land was their land long before it was yours.” Jude didn’t want to sound too preachy, but the Navajo Nation Reservation was only a tiny portion of the tribal lands that once belonged to his people.

  “Jesus, Mom! I can’t say that!” Cole rolled his eyes.

  Now Jude had to know what saucy thing Bertha had said. “You have to tell me now.”

  “Please don’t punch me in the face after I tell you.” Cole held up both hands in front of him.

  Jude held up his hand. “Scouts honor.”

  “Mom said that we took your land and you took hers, so now you’re even.” Cole took a step back.

  Jude looked back and forth between Carson and Cole who both looked like they were about to have a litter of kittens. Under the circumstances, Jude did the only thing he could do. He started to laugh.

  That Bertha Craig was one hell of a woman. He was looking forward to meeting her in person more than he could properly put into words. Jude just hoped that this little spell didn’t cost Bertha her soul.

  31

  Copeland

  After they got home from the cemetery, Cope took a long, hot shower. There was still cemetery dirt stuck under his fingernails and he wasn’t feeling particularly happy with Bertha Craig offering to put her soul on the line for him in order to fight the man who was coming after him.

  Massaging shampoo into his hair, Copeland searched his memory for the tiniest scrap of information that could lead him to discover who this man could possibly be. Wouldn’t he remember an offense so grievous that it caused the injured party to swear out a vendetta against him resulting in a final battle to the death?

  Cope knew he was being a tad overdramatic, but that’s how it felt to him. It’s sure as hell how it felt to this other man. Cope had done something so bad to this person that the only way he could make up for it, in the attacker’s eyes anyway, was by paying with his life.

  Stepping under the spray, Cope rinsed the shampoo from his hair. He’d been telling the God’s honest truth when he’d told Jude about his love life. Every lover he’d ever taken had known that he wasn’t looking for forever. He was just looking for right now. He purposely picked men who he thought were looking for the same thing.

  He had to admit that Jude had the right of it with his cavalcade of one-night stands. There was nothing messy about a four or five hour entanglement with another man. There simply wasn’t time for feelings to grow or for agendas to develop.

  That had certainly been what had happened with Deacon. Cope had treated him like a prince. They’d gone to the most expensive restaurants in town and Cope was forever buying him little gifts. Only they weren’t little. Expensive ties, trips to the salon, jewelry. No wonder Deacon had thought a day was coming when he was getting a little blue box from Tiffany’s.

  Shutting off the water, Cope grabbed a towel. It was useless. He’d been racking his brain for days, trying to figure out who could possibly be behind these attacks. He was going to find out in a matter of hours. The only thing that mattered now was keeping the people he cared about safe.

  Grave dirt magick had been in all of the books he’d brought home from Madam Aurora’s shop. He’d never given it a second thought because it was so potent. So dangerous. Originally brought to the United States by Africans in chains, the magick was literally as old as dirt.

  Bertha Craig suggesting it had blown him away. The amount of energy it took to become “solid” was enormous. The black magick helped with that, but as Jude was fond of asking, there was always a price to be paid for using this kind of a spell. At best it could weaken Bertha’s spirit, making it so that she would be unable to communicate with her loved ones until she’d healed and regained her strength. At worst… Cope shivered.

  Hanging his towel up to dry, Cope quickly dressed in an old New Orleans Saints Tee and a pair of black track pants. At worst, Bertha could damage her immortal soul by subjecting it to black magick. She was opening herself up to lower vibrating souls who would do what they could to come at her white light and bring her down to their level.

  It would be a battle on more than one plane of existence. Cope wasn’t sure he was worth fighting for. Not at the expense of Bertha, anyway.

  While she’d been with him in Galveston, she’d told him stories about Carson and Cole’s families. When he’d met them in person this week, it had felt like he’d already known them. The same went for Ronan and Tennyson. Bertha Craig was the head of this family even if she wasn’t here in person to lead it. He’d never forgive himself if her spirit were lost to them forever because of what was to come.

  Shaking his head at h
is own reflection, he left the bathroom. He had prep work to do before tomorrow. Knowing this spell backward and forward was crucial.

  He stepped out of the bathroom to the heavenly aroma of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. It drew him downstairs like a moth to a flame. Jude was full of surprises. “Hey, what’s this?”

  Jude was setting a plate of cookies on the table. “I thought after the night we had, a little treat might keep the nightmares away.”

  “I didn’t know you could bake.” Cope sat down at the table. He reached for a cookie, which was still warm from the oven.

  “Sure, I can, if by baking you mean that I cut these off from a roll of dough and stuck them in the oven for eight minutes.” Jude came back into the dining room with two glasses of milk. “Are you okay?”

  Cope stared down at the remaining half of cookie in his hand while slowly chewing the bite in his mouth. “All I want is more time to live this life, but I never want tomorrow to get here. Does that make sense?”

  Jude nodded. He took the seat next to Cope. “Yeah. It makes perfect sense. Right now everything is fine. You’re not suffering any psychic attacks and all of our friends are safe.”

  “Right. It’s like the opening scene of a horror movie where you know this is as good as life will ever be for the main characters.” Copeland prayed that all of his friends would be left standing at the end of tomorrow, rather than it being like a scene out of some teen slasher flick where one of them would survive only to be brutally slain in the first five minutes of the sequel.

  “Look, Bertha wouldn’t have suggested this spell if she didn’t trust you.” Jude polished off his second cookie in two bites. “Or if she didn’t love you.”

  “But her family.” Cope shook his head. “When I was in my dark place, all she did was talk about them, Carson and Cole, her grandchildren. You have no idea how wrong this could go, Jude, and it would be my fault if this family lost their heart and soul.”

  “I have no idea how wrong this could go?” Jude asked mildly.

  Shit, Cope kept forgetting that a witch killed Jude’s father. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a bigger horse’s ass than you already think I am.”

  Jude grabbed another cookie. “The sugar coma is setting in. Now is as good a time as any.”

  “A medium can reunite you with your father. Just like we’re able to talk to Bertha now. I haven’t seen him around you in the time that I’ve been here, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t here or isn’t reachable. Sometimes spirits need to be invited in. This spell tomorrow, if it goes wrong, could keep Bertha from being able to communicate with us.”

  Jude’s eyes narrowed. “For how long?”

  “Depends on how wrong things go. If she just needs to rebuild her strength, it could be days or a few weeks. If something worse were to happen, like permanent damage to her soul or if something evil gets a hold of her, she could be gone forever. Right now, her family has her in their lives. Her grandchildren can see and speak to her. From what I understand, all of those kids, with the possible exception of Brady, will keep that ability as they grow older. How can I possibly be selfish enough to take that from them? From all of you too? Bertha is Ten’s mentor. She’s Ronan’s strongest supporter. Hell, you said yourself that she was the mother you never had.” He paused to take a ragged breath. “Jesus, Jude, how do I walk into your lives and rip that away?” Cope bounded out of his seat to pace around the dining room.

  “It’s okay, Cope.” Jude was out of his chair in a heartbeat, pulling the other man into a hug. “Just breathe.”

  Wrapping his arms around Jude’s hips, Cope tried to do what he asked. His body wasn’t cooperating. The panic continued to rise in him. Jude’s warm, strong hands were stroking over his back.

  “You’re going to have so many of us standing with you tomorrow, Cope. You might not even need Bertha’s power. She might be standing on the sidelines like the world’s oldest cheerleader, begging for us to let her into the game.”

  Cope snorted. “The world’s oldest cheerleader?”

  “Yeah, with her red and white pom poms, shouting, ‘Here we go Copeland. Here we go!’” Jude started to laugh.

  Unbelievably, Cope’s heart didn’t feel like it was going to beat straight out of his chest anymore. “Thanks, I needed that.”

  “I did too.” Jude pulled Cope closer, resting his face against the side of Cope’s head.

  Copeland got the feeling that Jude didn’t allow himself to be vulnerable like this very often. He rested his head against Jude’s heart and let the bigger man hold him.

  “It’s all going to work out tomorrow,” Jude whispered.

  “What if it doesn’t? What if I don’t make it?” Cope had been trying to tamp that thought down. He’d been trying to keep it crushed under the heel of his boot, so to speak, but here it was, rearing its ugly head in the middle of the night when all of your worst nightmares came home to roost.

  Jude pulled back, his hands cupping the side of the psychic’s face. He seemed to be studying Cope, or perhaps trying to figure out something for himself. Jude’s thumb grazed across Cope’s lower lip. “I promised that I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you.”

  Cope heard Jude’s words but couldn’t seem to answer. He was lost in the P.I.’s fiery amber eyes. They were burning bright and locked with laser focus on him, as if Cope were the most important man on earth. He knew that was a ridiculous thought given Jude’s record with men, but in this moment, he felt like Jude was his for the taking. “Jude,” Cope whispered. It was the only word he could push past his lips at the moment. His name was the only word that mattered.

  Time stood still. Jude’s eyes burned unbelievably brighter when the call of his name reached his ears. He growled low in his throat and moved closer. His tongue came out to wet his lip the second before they pressed against Cope’s.

  Gasping, Cope’s hands dug into Jude’s hips. He pulled the P.I. closer, capturing his full lips in a kiss that he could feel all the way to his toes. If Cope was only going to get one shot to kiss his self-proclaimed savior, he was going to make it count.

  32

  Jude

  He’d lost his mind. The man he’d sworn to protect only minutes ago was now the man he was kissing like his own life depended on it. Jude wanted more. He needed more. In all his years of fucking men this had never happened. This buzzy, out of control feeling that if Cope walked away from him now, he wouldn’t survive it.

  Jude went with the flow of the kiss, taking his time to taste and explore every inch of Cope. He tasted like chocolate and hope. Not the usually whiskey and desperation he tasted on his potential lovers. That he and Cope would end up in bed was not a given here. Yet another thing throwing him wonderfully off kilter.

  Running out of oxygen, Jude pulled back from Cope.

  “Damn, Jude, I…” Cope was breathing heavy, like he’d just run a mile.

  “I know.” Jude grinned against Copeland’s soft lips, pecking a kiss against them. He’d never done that before. Smiled fondly at a lover. Pecked his lips gently. He was always rough and tumble. Biting, ripping clothes. Taking. There was no explaining what had come over him.

  His fingers slid down the column of Cope’s throat. He could feel his fluttering pulse. Jude’s cock jerked in response, knowing he was the one causing that reaction in Copeland. His hands smoothed over his shoulders and down his arms to tangle with his fingers. “You’re amazing,” Jude whispered.

  “You’ve never said that to another man before.”

  Jude shook his head no. It was true, for two reasons. “I’ve never said it before and it’s true. I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off you.”

  “I’m nothing but a bag of bones. Half dead and maybe hours away from-”

  Jude stopped whatever he was about to say next with a kiss. He squeezed their joined hands before pulling away. His hand tugged on the hem of Cope’s Saints tee before gliding under. The feel of his silky skin was nearly the undo
ing of Jude’s reserve of patience. His usual self would have ripped the shirt of and bitten into the hot, creamy skin it had been keeping him from. Not now. Not tonight.

  “Put your arms up.” Jude grinned at Cope again. Why couldn’t he keep from smiling like a fool?

  Cope obeyed with flair, his arms going up, fingers splayed out, liked he’d just finished a gymnastics routine. That made Jude want to sink his teeth in Cope even harder. There was nothing he loved more than the drama of sex and Cope was all drama. Pushing the black material up Cope’s stomach, his twisted scar came into view. Anger flashed through Jude’s entire body, making him feel as if he were going to spontaneously combust on the spot. There was no room for anger tonight. Only…what? Joy? Happiness? Jude wasn’t sure, but the last thing he was going to bring to Cope tonight was darkness.

  Pulling the shirt over his head and arms, Jude let it fall to the floor. His hands burned with the desire to acquaint himself with every last inch of Copeland’s skin. Was that what Copeland wanted too? Not knowing the answer, Jude kissed him again. He felt Cope’s bare arms wrap around him before his hands slipped under Jude’s shirt to run up his back. It felt like Cope was trying to memorized his skin.

  Silently, Cope worked his hands back down to Jude’s hips where he pulled the shirt off with Jude’s cooperation.

  “Damn.” Cope sucked in a deep breath.

  It was on the tip of Jude’s tongue to ask if the psychic liked what he saw. That was his standard line with his bevy of club boys and barflies. Not tonight. Not with Cope. “You’re magnificent,” Jude said instead, wanting to keep the focus on Copeland.

  Cope blushed. It worked its way down his neck to bloom over his chest.

  Jude felt his mouth start to water. He needed to taste Cope’s skin. Every last freckled inch of it. “Can I take you to bed?”

  Nodding, Cope took Jude’s hand and led him toward the stairs.

  Not knowing what Cope was up to, Jude let him take the lead. When they got to the top of the stairs, Cope led him into his own room, rather than going into Jude’s. It all made sense now. He didn’t want to be with Jude in a bed where all of his previous conquests had been before him.