by Jane Davitt
“No?” John drawled, unmoving and unmoved. Caitrin looked agitated, her face as flushed as Josh’s, her expression one of pure misery. “Think it’s a step up from studying body language, do you? A natural ability you’ve every right to use? Well, think again! You’re a wolf in with the sheep, boy, disguised in a nice, fluffy white fleece, but still a wolf.”
“I can’t ‑‑ I don’t have to listen ‑‑” Josh stammered. He turned to Nick. “Nick? You know. Tell him. Tell him I’m not a ‑‑ not a freak. Not what he says. Tell him.” His voice cracked.
Nick was so torn it was physically painful. He knew how John felt about Josh’s ability, and he understood why John felt that way, but he also knew what it was like to be something, someone, who was different from everyone else on such a basic level. “You’re not a freak,” he said, because he had to say something before too much more time went by. “And John doesn’t think you are. You know that.”
“But I’m not supposed to know it, am I.” Josh sounded as miserable as Caitrin looked. “I can’t win. Every time I think I’ve figured everything out, and I’m going to be okay…”
“Welcome to the real world,” Nick said wryly.
Josh sighed. “So this is it? It never gets easier?”
“Life? No, not really.” Nick glanced at John, who was letting them talk on their own even though he surely had a dozen things or more to contribute to the conversation. “When you find someone who understands you, that helps a lot, but it’s not a permanent solution. What we have, you and I ‑‑ it’s a permanent challenge. You’ll figure things out, but there’ll always be some new wrench thrown in.”
“It’s been so much better lately.” Josh got one of the cloth napkins tucked onto the tea tray and knelt to wipe up his spilled tea. Concentrating on the task seemed to calm him down. “I really thought I was getting a handle on it, you know?”
“And then all this happened, and your control’s all screwed up,” Nick agreed. “I know. It’ll get better again.”
“But you need to clamp down on this power of yours,” John said firmly. “Cait said it as well as I could ‑‑ it makes my skin crawl knowing you’re poking about in my head the way you do. It has to stop.”
“But I need to use it,” Josh said, glancing up at John, no animosity in his eyes, just an anxiety that touched Nick. “I was given it, and there has to be a reason for that. And today ‑‑ I helped; you know I did.”
“Aye,” John agreed readily. “I don’t have a word to say about that ‑‑ well, no bad ones, anyway. You did well, and it must have been scary as hell. I was proud of you, and I know Nick is, too, isn’t that right, love?”
Nick nodded. Proud and terrified, even now that it was over and Josh ‑‑ all of them ‑‑ were safe.
“But you must be able to see the difference between using it like that and using it to see if young Cait here has a mind to kiss you ‑‑”
“Uncle John!” Caitrin gave John’s arm a solid thump. “Josh isn’t the only one who needs to mind his own business.”
John grinned unrepentantly. “Maybe.” His grin faded and his attention returned to Josh. “Well? Do you? See the difference, I mean?”
Josh nodded slowly. “Yeah, of course I do.”
“And as for using it ‑‑” John blew out a gusty breath. “I can think of a few places it’d be useful and allowable; you’d be good as a cop. No one could lie to you. Or a therapist.” He shrugged. “I don’t know you well enough to know what you want to do with your life. I just know you need to work on controlling what you can do before someone gets hurt.” He eyed Josh. “And if anyone works out what you can do, that someone might be you, and that’s not something I’d like to see.”
Nick hadn’t ever really let himself think about that, even though deep down he knew it was a possibility, for himself as well as Josh. He didn’t want to think about it.
“I can control it, most of the time,” Josh explained. “It’s just when things get kind of crazy that it starts to slip, and if I don’t have anyone around to remind me…”
Nick had been luckier than he’d realized in that respect when he’d been Josh’s age. At least he’d had Matthew, who’d known him so well ‑‑ even when he didn’t ‑‑ and who’d helped him keep it together through all those years. Matthew wouldn’t have been happy here on Traighshee, but he’d approve of the books Nick had written, even if he’d have urged Nick to take it further, to accept the offers of television shows and whatever might have followed.
“But you must have friends you can share this with,” Caitrin protested. “People you trust.”
Josh shook his head. “Would you? Be willing to hang around with someone like me, I mean, knowing what you know?”
“I would. Yes.” Caitrin seemed sure of it, and by the look on Josh’s face he was as surprised by her declaration as Nick was, even if it didn’t necessarily mean much considering Josh would be going home in a week or so.
Josh gave Caitrin a smile that, to his older brother, looked on the way to being besotted. “You know something? You match, inside and out. You never think one thing and tell me another. It’s so… God, it’s such a relief.” He turned to John and Nick. “You two do it, too,” he said, clearly as a hasty afterthought, “but you already knew about me. Caitrin was like that from the moment I met her.”
Nick watched Caitrin’s face turn a delicate pink and sipped at his tea to hide his smile. With every moment, he was feeling better. Not enough to want to get out of bed, no, but better.
It meant that the questions John had fended off with a glare at the constable, Lewis Armstrong, and some choice words, would be heading his way soon, but Nick imagined Lewis had his hands full interviewing the other witnesses, all of whom were probably bombarding him with conflicting accounts of what, to an outside observer, had maybe been nothing more than a car crash with one of the drivers wandering around dazed and then collapsing, dead.
If you overlooked the ghosts, of course.
Nick hadn’t had any idea what was going to happen when he’d walked into the graveyard, hands steady but something inside his chest trembling. He’d communicated with hundreds of ghosts, maybe thousands, that had died leaving important things undone, important words unsaid, but he’d never deliberately tried to wake ghosts that had been sleeping for years. He still wasn’t sure why it had worked; it might have had something to do with the spell done so many years before.
“Nick?” John said gently, getting his attention, and he looked up. Everyone was watching him.
“Sorry. I was just thinking about the ghosts. The other ones, the villagers.” He watched as John’s thumb rubbed across his knuckles soothingly and did his best not to shiver. “I still don’t know why I was able to get them to come back.”
“I’m not sure they were really gone.” Josh frowned thoughtfully.
“Do you think they were trapped?” Nick asked.
Josh nodded, leaning forward. “I wondered if the spell went wrong, somehow, and caught them, too? Because it was like they couldn’t leave. That was the impression I got, anyway…”
“That’s horrible.” Caitrin shuddered. “I mean, you could say it was justice in a way, but still…”
“I think it’s more that like it or not, their fates were all,” John let go of Nick’s hand and slotted his fingers together to illustrate his point, “knotted together, aye?” He drew his hands apart and then patted Nick’s knee through the covers. “Until you unraveled them. And I don’t know where they’ve all gone, but I’m a sentimental devil, just ask anyone, so I’ll believe it was to somewhere above, not below, and maybe light a candle for them the next time I’m in church.”
Since they’d gotten a new minister who, unlike his predecessor, didn’t cross the street to avoid John and Nick, John did occasionally go with his mother and stepfather to church, although most Sundays when the church bells rang out, he rolled over, draped his arm over Nick, sighed contentedly, and went back to sleep.
N
ick’s mug of tea, empty except for the dregs now, felt very heavy in his hand. He reached over and set it on the bedside table. “I’m not sure I want to think about it. Where they went, I mean.” He was pretty sure he didn’t believe in hell ‑‑ or at least that was what he told himself ‑‑ even though he knew it was possible to be trapped in between life and death, an idea that scared him so deeply that it made him feel like being sick. Or possibly catatonic.
“They went wherever they were meant to,” John said, in what was probably supposed to be a comforting tone. Trying to be charitable, Nick told himself that nothing would have been comforting right then.
“Nick?” Josh sounded like he knew he shouldn’t ask but couldn’t help himself.
“What?”
Josh swallowed. “I know ‑‑ it’s probably not fair to ask this, but ‑‑”
“Yes,” Nick said. “I will. I promise. I’d never leave you like that.” He’d never leave anyone, not if he could help it.
There was a little smile playing at the corners of Josh’s mouth. “Now who’s the one that can read minds?”
“You think you’re the first person who’s asked me that?” Nick smiled back and leaned against the headboard, grateful for its support. “Okay, almost asked me.”
Caitrin stood and began to gather the mugs and put them on the tray, her movements jerky and her mouth twisted as if she was about to cry. Delayed reaction, and the conversation probably wasn’t helping.
Nick cleared his throat. “Josh? Why don’t you give Caitrin a hand with those? No need to wash up, just put them in the kitchen. I think I’m going to doze off again.”
Josh nodded and went over to the tray, picking it up over Caitrin’s halfhearted protest that it wasn’t heavy and she could manage. The two of them went downstairs, the sound of their conversation floating back until a door was closed and a relative silence fell.
“He’s a good lad,” John said. “I don’t think you really need to worry about him.”
Nick nodded and slid down in the bed, curling onto his side facing John. “Need isn’t really the right word to use, when you’re talking about worrying. I’ll worry anyway. I’d worry even if he wasn’t…you know. Unique.”
“Aye, he’s that, all right.” John’s hand stroked Nick’s hair; it felt good, and Nick’s eyes slipped closed despite himself. “Just like his brother.”
“I just ‑‑” A yawn cut him off, and he turned his face into the pillow to hide it. “Just want to know he’s safe.”
“He is. You made sure of that tonight.”
“But I couldn’t save everyone.” It was a thought that left him feeling empty and aching, and he discovered that he had a handful of John’s T-shirt curled up in his fist. God, it hurt, knowing that he’d failed.
“One dead.” John sighed. “It could have been more. God, Nick, if you hadn’t stopped them, we could have had the whole town grieving. As it is, well, I didn’t know Fred, but for all I wish you could have saved him, he was dead the moment both of them went inside him. I mean no disrespect to Fred when I say he wasn’t strong enough to hold on, because, you and Josh aside, I doubt anyone would be. Those brothers had one hell of a lot of anger fueling them.”
“You would have kicked their asses out,” Nick said with a sleepy certainty. “Told them to go away…”
John gave a soft chuckle and Nick felt a kiss press against his temple. “Maybe. I don’t like pushy folk. I’m glad I never had to find out, though, and that was down to you protecting me in the cave.”
“Always will.” The words were hard to speak now; like leaves dropped into a stream, they were whirling away before he could catch them, shape them, make them come out right. “Always.”
“I know.” John’s words were part of the darkness rocking Nick gently. “Me, too, Nick. Always.”
Chapter Sixteen
“This is probably all a lot to take in,” Josh said, wishing it had come out sounding less like an apology.
Caitrin was at the sink washing dishes, or at least pretending to. Her hands were in the soapy water, but her shoulders were tense, and Josh was pretty sure ‑‑ even without cheating ‑‑ that she was still trying not to cry. “Well, it’s not as if I didn’t already know about Uncle Nick.”
“You just never got to see an example of it before?”
She nodded. “It was a bit of a shock, I’ll admit that. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Rory leaves Traighshee as soon as he can get his things together. He’s had enough.”
“What about you?” Josh asked.
“Me? I’d had enough long before today, hadn’t I. Long before I saw you with your eyes wild, and that tourist Fred lying dead on the ground.” Caitrin’s voice broke, and Josh went to her, turning her around and pulling her into a hug.
“Hey. It’s okay to be freaked out.”
“Is it? Well, I’m glad I have your permission.” Caitrin’s hands were wet, and he could feel the water soaking into the back of his T-shirt; despite her words, she clung to him.
There didn’t seem to be much to say that would help so Josh, with vague memories from a dozen movies swirling in his head, settled for kissing the side of Caitrin’s face and then, when her head tilted slightly, just enough, her mouth.
The kiss was better than the ones in the cave; less fire and urgency to it, maybe, with a deeper sweetness and trust. They’d gone through too much, too soon, but it didn’t feel as if it’d put a barrier between them.
He made sure to stay out of her thoughts, and really, when he knew that they’d be identical to what her lips were telling him as they moved against his, he didn’t need to look.
A gust of air brushed over him, and he registered it vaguely as coming from an open door, but Caitrin had chosen that moment to slide her tongue into his mouth in a slow, liquid caress that made Josh feel as if every part of his body but one was melting down.
“Well, I see I needn’t have rushed over here without so much as taking my coat off,” Janet said. “You’re fine, the both of you.”
Shit. Josh let go of Caitrin and stepped back a single, guilty pace. “Janet! Uh, I mean, Mrs. Gordon.”
“Janet will do, as you’re family and too old to call me ‘aunt.’” Janet gave them both a look that blended asperity with concern. “I got off the ferry, my arms twice the length from the weight of my shopping bags, wanting nothing more than to get home and have a nice cup of tea, and the whole town’s in an uproar. Dead tourists, car crashes, ghosts ‑‑ and you two in the middle of it. Now, I can see for myself that neither of you is hurt, but would you mind telling me what in the name of God is going on?”
Josh tried to frame a reply that wouldn’t involve actual lies, but he didn’t get a chance to say any of it. With a choked sob, Caitrin threw herself into her mother’s arms. “Oh, Mam, it was awful; you don’t know what it was like. Mam, I was so scared!”
“Shush now, lovely,” Janet murmured, her arms enfolding Caitrin. “I’ve got you, hen.”
Over Caitrin’s head, her eyes met Josh’s, and she jerked her head in an unmistakable signal for him to leave, still reciting a litany of reassurance, her hand patting Caitrin’s back.
He was smart enough to take a hint when it was more like an order and retreated to the living room. It was impossible to shut out the conversation the two were having entirely, though, and he was relieved when he heard the creak of John’s footsteps on the stairs.
“Is that Janet, then?” John asked.
“Yeah.” Josh put his hands into his pockets. “Cait was pretty upset. I mean, I thought she was doing okay, but then her mom came in, and she kind of lost it.”
“Aye, well, mothers have a tendency to bring that out in their children, I’ve found.” John sighed and sat down on the back of the couch, which didn’t look like a very comfortable seat.
“Is Nick asleep?”
John nodded. “He’ll be tired for days after that. It takes it out of him and tonight, well, it wasn’t the way it usually goes.”
>
“It was pretty spectacular, what he did,” Josh said. “Seeing him walking toward us with those ghosts behind him like a ‑‑ like an army of the dead; I’ll never forget it.”
“I hope some of the people there will,” John said. “I don’t fancy explaining it and discussing it from now until Christmas, I can tell you.”
“I don’t think everyone saw it as clearly as we did,” Josh assured him. “We knew what was going on and they didn’t. It makes a difference.”
John didn’t look entirely convinced, but he shrugged. “Let’s hope you’re right.”
“John! Get in here!” Janet’s voice rang out, and John flinched, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Wish me luck,” he said to Josh, and then squared his shoulders and walked into the kitchen to face the wrath of his sister.
Chapter Seventeen
“He was pretty green,” Caitrin observed, turning toward John again. The bathroom door with the little cartoon man on it had just swung closed behind Nick, who’d made a sudden and desperate dash for it after they’d walked through a cloud of perfume at the terminal.
“Aye, well, he survived the ferry trips without being sick. I suppose we should be impressed he lasted this long.” John sighed and wondered if he ought to go after Nick. He decided to give him two minutes on his own.
“I’m the one who ought to be sick,” Caitrin said. “An actual airplane!”
“It’s a wonder you’ve survived to the advanced age of eighteen without flying,” John told her.
She gave him an irritated look. “What’s a wonder is that Mam let you and Uncle Nick bring me rather than insisting on taking me herself. She’d have sobbed all over me; I’m sure I’d have died of embarrassment. Dad, now, he just hugged me and told me he’d miss me.”
John hid a smile by turning to look toward the gate they’d been headed for when Nick had suddenly felt ill; there’d been no dearth of tears when Janet and Caitrin had said their good-byes back on Traighshee, and Caitrin had spent the first ferry journey dabbing at her eyes with tissues. “I’m going after him,” he said, and took a step toward the bathroom at the same time the door swung open and Nick came out.
