by Lily Morton
“Okay,” he says obligingly, and I subside, looking at him. He smiles innocently. “It was King Richard the Third before he rode off to Bosworth.” I shake my head, and he breaks into laughter. “Of course I’m not going to tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because you look perfectly capable of going down there and giving him a piece of your very poshly spoken mind. He’ll argue. You’ll brawl. I’ll try to split you up and die tragically with you both weeping over me. Then you’ll spend the rest of your life mourning for me. Like that dog statue in Scotland.”
I blink. “You’re very colourful for …” I look at the clock. “Nine in the morning.”
He laughs and settles down on the bed next to me, sipping his own coffee. His feet are bare and for some reason are completely fascinating to me. They look elegant and high arched. “I’m very colourful at any time of the day or night,” he says happily.
“I’ll take your word for it.” I watch him laugh with pleasure. He should always be happy. “You’re cheerful,” I observe. “Considering we were locked in a room by a murderous ghost to get us out of the way of something even worse.”
He shrugs. “I have to say it’s not the strangest evening I’ve ever spent.” I laugh, and he winks at me. “I have had a good idea, though.”
“Is that slightly ominous, or is that just me?”
He cocks his head to one side. “What do you think?”
“Ominous,” I offer judiciously.
“Normally, that would be the case, but not today. Today, Levi, we’re going to a book shop.”
“That is not what I thought you’d say.”
“I don’t want to know what you thought. With your imagination, you were probably thinking we’d start the day by resurrecting Van Helsing and staking a few vampires.”
“That’s not too far from the truth,” I say slowly and Blue laughs and nudges me.
“I was just thinking that we need to know more about what we’re dealing with here. We know now that the ghost is Rosalind, but there’s something else here too. Maybe more than one something.”
I mull that over. “I know it’s an old house, but there’s only been one murder and suicide here.”
“That you know of. York’s like that. Houses built on top of old sites. Half the time you’re walking on someone’s gravesite. Who knows what else happened on this site? That’s why we need to do some research.”
I pause. “Oh my God, what if there are more spirits? It’s like Rentaghost.”
“What’s that?”
I shrug. “A really old children’s programme that my mum loved about these ghosts who worked in an agency that hired them out. She had it on DVD and used to watch it with me. I loved it.” I swallow hard, and when I look up it’s to find him observing me gently. I tense, expecting him to ask questions I can’t answer, but he just nods.
“Sounds good. Maybe we could watch it together?”
“Won’t that be a bit of a busman’s holiday?”
Blue laughs. “Back to business. I’ve only heard one story about this house, but I’m not an authority. So I thought we’d go to a bookshop I know on Minster Gates. It’s an old house stacked full of books and they’ve got a huge occult and local history section.” He shrugs. “We can do some research so we know what our plan of action should be.”
I consider it. “That’s a really good idea, but can we have breakfast as well?”
He smiles and gets off the bed, taking my cup with him. “Sounds reasonable. Have a shower and we’ll get breakfast out.”
“There’s food here. We don’t have to eat out, Blue.”
He bites his lip. “I think it might be best.”
“Why?”
“Because the house is quiet at the moment, like its battery has run down. But I don’t think it’d take much to recharge it, and my presence might be enough to do it. I’ve noticed that spirits can get quite strong-willed around me.”
“Really?” I ask, startled and anxious. “This isn’t good. What if something happens to you?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve dealt with worse than this.”
“I don’t want you to, though. Maybe it would be best to leave the house.”
His face falls before he immediately assumes a stoical expression. “You want me to leave?” he says in a cool voice. “That’s fine. I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Not you, silly. Us.” I get out of bed and stretch. “We could take a bed and breakfast while we work out what to do next. Oof!” I look down in amazement as my arms are suddenly full of Blue. “You alright?” I ask, giving in to all my impulses and hugging him tight, loving the softness of his bright hair against my face and the wiry strength of his body in my arms.
He nods. “Thank you,” he says, and it’s choked up.
“Hey,” I say, pulling back. “Blue, what’s the matter?”
He shakes his head and steps back. “For being so good.” He looks at me, his eyes extraordinarily bright. “You’re such a fucking good person, Levi,” he says passionately.
I smile at him. “I’m really not, but thank you.”
We stand there for a second staring at each other. His eyes are clear and almost colourless in this light like shadowed snow, and I realise again with the same sudden shock that always happens how very beautiful he is. I realise that I’m staring and make an awkward gesture. “So, I should really get a shower.”
He jerks as if waking up. “Oh, of course. I’ll wait downstairs.”
A board creaks outside the bedroom door, and we stand stock-still. There’s a gentle shushing noise as if someone is passing by us wearing long skirts.
“Don’t be too long,” he says with wide eyes.
I nod forcefully. “I really won’t be.”
Fifteen minutes later I pound down the stairs wearing jeans and an old denim shirt. Blue is waiting for me, pacing up and down. He’s wearing fingerless gloves, a military jacket, and combat boots. He darts glances towards the back of the house, where there’s a knocking noise. I shoot a look at him, and he sighs and shakes his head as if telling me not to ask.
“You’ll need a hat,” he says. “It’s snowing.”
I reach into the cupboard and grab my parka and a beanie and one for him too.
“Come here,” I say.
Blue moves forward obediently. “Why? What are you doing?” The last bit is slightly higher and muffled as I push the hat onto his head and tuck his blue hair underneath.
“You need one too unless this dye makes your head waterproof.”
“Not that I know of,” he mutters as I step back.
“There, you look lovely and warm.”
He actually looks cute, that angular face framed by the beanie and strands of bright hair escaping from the sides.
He shakes his head. “You’ve got all the ingredients to make a successful daddy. All you’re lacking is age and chest hair.”
“That makes me very happy. Come on, boy.”
I dodge him laughingly and suddenly we’re engulfed in a flood of lily of the valley. Blue coughs and I shake my head.
“My uncle used to overdo the aftershave like that. You practically ate the stuff if he was nearby,” I say cheerfully.
“And did your uncle also slit his brother’s throat?”
“Oh no,” I say, startled. He nods meaningfully, and I jerk into action. “Come on,” I say quickly. “Let’s get going.”
The air outside is ice cold. There’s a thin coating of snow on the ground already and tiny flakes of snow fly about in front of us like confetti at a wedding. The heavy sky is that peculiar yellow-grey that promises a lot more snow. The narrow lane looks almost magical and the sounds of the city are muted.
As if by mutual consent, we put our heads down and make our way down the cobbles. The slippery cobbles.
“Watch your step,” I mutter as Blue skids. “Oh shit!” I windmill my arms as his weight hits me, and we slip and slide about before I fall against my neighbour’s hous
e. “Oof!” I say as he hits me. I open my arms to hold him upright, starting to laugh helplessly because he looks like he’s auditioning for Dancing on Ice.
My laughter dies away as he rests against me, his front pressed to mine and his face lifted up, laughing and so bloody pretty. His smile fades as he stares up at me and silence seems to stretch like hot toffee. Without saying another word, we move as if in a dream, and our lips touch. They rest softly for a second in an almost innocent fashion as if we’re both stunned by the change in our dynamic. Then his lips part, and I send my tongue inside, tasting toothpaste and coffee.
For a second Blue’s still and then he groans low under his breath and tangles his hands in my hair. My hat falls to the ground and he gives a sigh of satisfaction, rifling his fingers through my hair.
It’s at this point that I think we both lose our minds because I would never in a million years stand snogging on a street in broad daylight. That’s asking for a punch from an idiot. We should move away from each other and laugh and make polite conversation. We should do that straightaway.
Instead, Blue presses into me so I can feel his dick hard against mine, and I groan under my breath as it gives my own cock some much needed friction. I reach down and grab his narrow hips, directing him to grind harder, and he moans, sucking on my tongue before plunging his tongue in to twine against mine.
I’m not exactly sure what would have happened next if the Minster bells hadn’t started to ring loudly to announce a service. Luckily for us, they stop our drive towards indecent exposure, and we pull back. His face is flushed, his eyes bleary and sexy, and I’m pretty sure my face shares his own expression of incredulity.
I look up and down the street quickly, but luckily we’re alone and this house is rented out to holidaymakers.
He shakes his head in disbelief. “Well,” he says and clears his throat. “Well …”
I bend to pick up my hat. I cram it down over my head and for the want of anything better to do, I nod with emphasis. “Well, there’s that then,” I say.
We stare at each other. A slow smile spreads across his face, and I feel an answering one dawn on mine.
“Okay,” I say heartily. “Onwards.”
“And upwards,” Blue mutters sotto voice, a cheeky smile on his face as he readjusts his dick in his jeans.
I shake my head but can’t stop the smile. “Ever upwards.”
His laughter drifts around us like the snowflakes as we resume walking, but it makes me feel as warm as if we were sitting in front of a fire.
Blue
I shoot glances at him as we walk down the Shambles eating our croissants and sipping at coffee. The lanes are quiet this morning, as all the tourists are probably still tucked up in their hotels eating toast and marmalade. As such, there’s a stillness about the narrow cobbled streets that is almost timeless as the snow billows down around us. We could be in any time gone past.
We crunch through the snow, and I marvel at the fact that this time last week I’d have been fretting at how cold the squat would be and wondering if the police would leave us alone long enough for us to get through the winter before we became homeless again.
That’s the thing about living like I’ve been doing. You’re so close to the abyss that one wrong step and you’ll tumble over and spiral downwards. I shudder at the thought and the memory of sleeping in these doorways, being spat at and rough handled.
“You okay?” Levi immediately asks. “Are you cold? That coat’s not very warm.” He looks like he’s about to whip his parka off for me.
“I’m fine. My coat’s warm.”
It isn’t, but Levi’s knightly impulses are really going to get him into trouble one day. He’s so kind and generous. It still makes me angry to think of walking into the house and seeing Fay’s hard little face watching him to see how much money she could take him for.
I shake my head. Not on my watch. I sneak another glance at him as he walks beside me. He’s bundled up in his coat and his high, flat cheekbones are dusted with colour. His lips are full and red, and I think back to that kiss. He’d tasted of peppermint and something that was just him.
The kiss made me feel wobbly in the worst way. I’ve traded my body in the past easily for somewhere to sleep or shower or money for food. I didn’t enjoy it, but it was so necessary I couldn’t afford to have finer feelings. Sex therefore for me has always been a commercial enterprise. Something I’ve occasionally enjoyed, but more often something to be endured with a smile on my face.
That kiss was totally outside my comfort zone. There was no room for calculating my angles and how to please him so he’d pay up. Instead, I’d gone under, and my only thought had been my pleasure. My wants.
That way lies danger. Levi will help me for a while, but I can’t allow myself to settle because in a few days or weeks or months he’ll meet someone else who will be a more fitting match for him, and I’ll have to move on. I’d far rather do that heart whole than broken. I nibble on my lip, turning my lip ring over and confirming my plan. I’ll stay with him for a bit until the house is safe again.
“What are you thinking?” he asks curiously.
I shoot him a glance. “The house,” I finally say. “I don’t like it, Levi. There’s something going on almost constantly. You said it wasn’t doing that before, which means that the spirits are gaining energy and revving up for something. As someone has already died in there, I don’t trust that they’re gearing up to throw you a nice welcoming party.”
“How are they getting the energy?”
“From people, I think.” I dodge around a slow-moving old couple in front of us who are picking their way carefully over the cobbles. “I’ve noticed before that ghosts seem to draw energy from people’s emotions.”
“Good or bad?”
“Powerful ones. Hatred, love …” I falter slightly. “Desire.”
He shakes his head. “Oh, lovely. So, I’m never to get laid in my house again because of cockblocking ghosts.”
“Not unless you fancy dying horribly.” I savour his laughter. It’s so rich and warm on the cold air. But then I remember the man who died, and my stomach twists at the thought of it happening to Levi. “Seriously though, I also wonder whether it’s because of you.” I hesitate. “You have a very strong presence about you, Levi,” I finally say, cringing at the possible laughter coming my way.
Instead, he looks startled. “Have I really?”
I nod. “You do. You’re very strong and centred emotionally.” I hesitate. “But there’s a lot of pain underneath and that’s like fucking catnip to ghosts.” Something flashes across his face that I don’t like. Hurt and sorrow. I hate that he feels them. “I’m probably way off base,” I say quickly. “Like I said, I really don’t know how it works or what I should do.” I sigh angrily. “I need to know. I can’t have anything happening to you.”
“Hey.” Levi draws me to a stop by grabbing my arm gently. “This is not your responsibility. I’m so grateful you’re helping, but it isn’t your problem.”
“It’s yours, isn’t it?” I say acerbically. “Therefore, I need to solve it.”
“Why?”
The question is stark and falls between us like a rock in a pond. “I don’t know,” I finally admit. “I just know I want to help you, and you should really accept that because my desire to help people only comes around every new millennium.”
“I’ll endeavour to appropriately appreciate this miracle,” he says solemnly, and we grin at each other and begin walking again.
“That’s where we need to go,” I say, nudging him towards a street on the right. “This was once called Bookbinders Alley, because it was where the book sellers and printing presses were.” I point to the statue that sits on the side of a building. It’s high up and unnoticed by most of the tourists. “That’s Minerva. She’s giving you a clue about your location by leaning on a pile of books.”
He stares up at the brightly coloured statue. “She looks a bit drunk,” he
observes dryly. “Those books are totally propping her up.”
I laugh and guide him down the street. “There it is.” I gesture at the narrow four-storey house tucked neatly between a chocolate shop and a cafe. The Minster stands solidly in front of us. Normally, the stone steps up to the shop are cluttered with baskets containing books of all shapes and sizes, and there’s a table in front displaying local artists’ work. Today, however, with the snow thickening, the only sign that the shop is open is the sign on the door.
“Come on,” I say, leading the way up the steps. I pause, making him stop as well. “Be careful with your elbows in here,” I say, looking at his tall, wide-shouldered body dubiously. “There are books everywhere, and you’re so tall, you’re likely to knock shit over.”
“I’m not the BFG,” he mutters.
I ignore him. “The old bloke who owns this place is a really grumpy git, so don’t damage anything.”
“Have you been in here before, then?” he asks as we enter the shop.
We’re instantly greeted with warmth and the smell of leather and old papers. I inhale happily. “Yep. I love it in here. I used to come in a lot when I first got to York because it was warm, and I could curl up in a corner and read.”
“So, the grumpy old man used to let you sit and read all day?”
“Yes.” I hesitate. “Oh, I see what you’re doing here.” He smiles. “Okay, he wasn’t that bad. But he’s very cutting if you mishandle the books, and he doesn’t like people very much.”
“Oh, what a terrible person.”
I reach over and pinch him and his startled “Ouch!” is loud in the confines of the shop. The old man looks up from his perch behind the counter where he’s reading and smoking a pipe. He has wild grey hair and a bushy beard. His faded blue eyes still feel like they have the power to shake loose all my secrets.
“Ah, Blue Boy. Come to read some more of my stock without paying for it? I really must set up a library someday when my old bones are turfed out of my shop because customers stopped paying for shit.”
I wink at him. “Don’t EU regulations prohibit the smoking of pipes in enclosed spaces?”
