by Sarah Wynde
“I’m sorry. I guess I should have stopped them.”
“Not at all. It must be a great relief to you.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”
The extra few inches provided by the porch step had them almost eye-to-eye. Grace searched his, trying to understand the doubt she heard in his voice. “Not so much?”
“Barely had time to get used to the idea of ghosts before they were headed off.” He smiled, but his eyes stayed serious. “But you left before I had a chance to say — the door closed and not all of them made it through. Dillon’s still here.”
“Oh.” Grace wasn’t going to lie and say she was sorry. She wasn’t. “Is he — are they disappointed?”
His smile turned real. “Mixed opinions. Some are, some aren’t.”
“Dillon?”
“A little of both, I’d say. I don’t mean to spoil the surprise but your brother’s getting married.”
“Another wedding!” Grace’s eyes widened before she laughed. “I guess that’s no surprise. Maybe it’s contagious.”
“Like a virus?”
“The bubonic plague. Get bit by a flea and the next thing you know…” Grace snapped her fingers. “It’s all white lace and champagne.”
“Don’t forget the dancing. Rose and Joe are already planning their takeover of the dance floor.”
Grace felt a rush of pleasure. “So you think you’ll be here? They’ll be here?”
“I need to talk to them, I guess. The ghosts, I mean. First, though…” He thrust a slip of paper in her direction.
Grace took it, glancing at it automatically, then holding it up to see it better in the dim light. A name, an address. “What’s this?”
“Avery said you’d help. We promised Chaupi, the ghost with the door, that we’d find his girlfriend and tell her what happened to him. That’s where she was thirty years ago.”
“Thirty years?” Grace arched her brows.
“Avery managed to convince him that you could do it. That’s why he was willing to leave.”
Grace frowned at the paper. Some basic legwork might find her and if not, she could put Zane on the job. She might have to send him to Peru, but they’d manage. Not until after the honeymoon, though.
“All right.” She folded the paper and slipped it into her pocket. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Just like that?”
“I’ll put the investigator who’s currently watching your apartment on it. She’ll probably be thrilled to move on to a more interesting job.”
“You have someone watching my apartment?”
She shrugged. “My nephew’s with you. We wanted to find him. That meant finding you.” She started walking back toward the bed-and-breakfast.
Noah fell into step beside her. “He says he’s sorry, by the way.”
Grace didn’t look at him. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t really okay.
But her feelings were such a complex mishmash of anger and grief and regret and relief that she didn’t want to try to untangle them. Not right now, and not with Noah. He had his own ghosts to worry about.
And his own guilt.
“You said some of them are gone,” she said. “Who’s still with you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Maybe.”
She would have said more, but a jogger came up behind them, passing them with a quick, “On your left. Hi, Grace.”
“Hi…” Grace scrambled for a name, then let it go. He was probably an employee, but he’d gone by too quickly for her to place him. Another employee, one of the biochemists, was walking toward them, pushing a stroller.
Maybe a public street wasn’t the right place for this conversation.
“Evening, Grace,” the scientist said as he neared them.
“Hey, Leo. How’s the baby doing?” Grace answered.
The baby answered with a fretful cry.
“They call it the witching hour,” the scientist answered with a yawn. The cry turned into a wail and he shook his head, hurrying past, saying, “Gotta keep moving.”
“Good luck,” Grace called after him.
“Do you know everyone in this town?”
“Hmm. Tourists wander through. Sometimes new people come to town. But pretty much, yeah.”
They’d reached the gate to the bed-and-breakfast, so Grace paused.
“Does it feel like living in a fish bowl?”
She chuckled. “I suppose I’m used to it.”
“Avery knew about the ghosts before I said anything.”
“Ah.” She grimaced, trying to read his expression in the twilight. “Is that a problem? It’s hard to keep secrets in a town of psychics.”
He shrugged. “Just strange, I guess.”
He didn’t make any move to open the gate, so Grace stood with him on the sidewalk, searching his face. In the fading light, his eyes looked darker, a deeper brown, more chocolate than caramel.
“Your eyes change color.” As soon as she said the words, she felt heat rushing into her cheeks. What a stupid thing to say. But she wasn’t thinking, she was just looking at him.
Seeing him.
“Yours don’t.” He lifted a hand as if he’d touch her cheek. “Prettiest Army green I’ve ever seen.”
Grace’s skin felt awake, aware of him in a way she’d never felt before, as if her cells were a compass and he magnetic north. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted to feel his fingers on her skin, turn her face into his hand, let her lips brush against his warm palm.
But instead of touching her, he took a step back.
29
Dillon
“It’s all right,” Dillon said gloomily. “Go ahead, kiss her, I don’t mind.”
“Shut up, man,” Joe said. “He’s not going to kiss her when he knows we’re all standing around watching them.”
“We’ll turn our backs,” Nadira offered, sounding amused.
“It’s so romantic.” Rose sighed with satisfaction. The streetlight behind her shone through her body. Dillon could see the hedges and fence behind her almost more clearly than he could see her.
He should never have asked her to help the other ghosts. She’d saved them but at what cost?
“They’re such a pretty couple.” Rose tilted her head to one side, admiring them.
At least she was still talking. Maybe she wouldn’t fade out entirely.
“He’s a guy, he’s not pretty,” Joe objected. “Good-looking. He’s good-looking.”
“Oh, come on,” Sophia scoffed. “He is so pretty. He’s like the definition of pretty.”
“You never saw him in the desert,” Misam said. He’d stopped crying, but he wasn’t yet back to his usual cheerful self. “Dirty and sunburned and with those lines on his face from the goggles they wore. He wasn’t so pretty then.”
“I don’t know.” Nadira considered Noah, tilting her head to one side, and scrutinizing his features. “Even when he was dirty, he had that—”
“Guys, really?” Noah took another step away from Grace, letting his hand drop and stuffing it into his back pocket as if he regretted its initiative. “Sorry,” he said to her. “We’re…”
“Not alone, right,” she finished for him. “And you were worried about my fish bowl.”
She sounded more amused than upset, but to Dillon it felt like one more mark against him on an ever-growing list.
“Tell her I’m sorry,” he said impulsively. “Tell her… ah, damn it.” He’d already asked Noah to tell her that he was sorry and she’d brushed it off. But he’d seen in the way she turned away from Noah that it wasn’t okay, that she was still mad. “Never mind.”
“We’ll leave,” Joe said. “We’ll go inside. Or maybe you should go inside. We can stay outside.”
“What are we going to do out here?” Sophia complained. “We should go inside. We can watch television in there, and he can stay outside.”
“Hey, wait.” Dillon looked around at the other ghosts. They�
�d left his parents and Avery in the B&B’s backyard, talking about weddings, but Noah had excused himself to come find Grace, saying he wanted to ask her about searching for Chaupi’s loved ones. The ghosts had automatically traipsed along after him.
But where were the glowies? The white balls of light weren’t with them and neither were the few faded wisps that had refused to form into people again. They must have remained in the garden.
“The other ghosts didn’t come with us,” Dillon said.
“Look at that. The innkeeper might have a haunted garden, after all.” Joe sounded delighted.
“Maybe we’re free,” Misam said. “Free!” He burst into a run, charging full tilt at the hedges that surrounded the yard. He disappeared into them and was gone, for a second, two, three…
Dillon only made it to six before Misam was gliding back to them, his lower lip stuck out in glum disappointment.
“No luck?” Joe said.
Misam shook his head and let his glide take him to his mother’s side. She hoisted him up and let him wrap his arms around her neck. He melted into her, mumbling, “Not free,” before burying his face in her shoulder.
Nadira rubbed Misam’s back. Her gaze met Joe’s.
“We’ll find a door,” Joe said to her. “A good door, one you’re happy with.”
“Maybe you and Sophia should try, Dillon,” Rose said. “With so many fewer ghosts, the attraction might be easier to fight.”
“I’ll try,” Sophia said, “But I’m not leaving until Noah helps me. And I will be mean about it.” She stomped off, down the street and away from the house.
“I’m not sure being mean to Noah is the best way to get him to help,” Dillon said, following her.
Sophia sniffled. “I need him.”
“What do you want to tell your parents?” Dillon asked. He thought back to that first awkward conversation with his dad. Akira had helped, but it had been the worst experience of his life and afterlife.
Worse than when his grandma had found his body. He’d still been so confused then. Worse than when Grace had driven his car, her sobs so hard he worried she’d crash it. Worse than watching his grandpa turn old overnight.
Sitting with Akira and his dad, trying to tell his dad that it wasn’t his fault…
That was the worst thing about being dead. Everyone you left behind blamed themselves.
Sophia hadn’t answered his question. They’d made it to the corner and were walking toward the park at the end of the street.
“I was good in school,” she finally said. “I always got straight As. And I was good at violin. And I was… I was good. My parents, they expected me to be good and I always was. I was good at killing myself, too. I guess I just want to tell them I’m sorry I was so good at that.”
“It’s not going to make them less sad.”
“It might.”
“It won’t.”
“They think I’m gone,” she said. “Gone forever. Not gone for a while, not someday going to meet again, but kablooey. Zapped. Nothingness.”
“You nearly were,” he told her.
“But I’m not,” she said. “And I think they’ll feel better if they know that.”
Dillon sighed. He wasn’t sure she was right, but she might be. And he understood how she felt. For the first few years after his death, he’d wanted so badly to talk to any of his relatives. Well, not to talk to them — he’d done that every time one of them used his car — but to be heard. To have them listen. To know that they understood how much he regretted what he’d done.
“Have you seen them since?”
“They came and saw the place. Both of them. And then my dad came back once.” Sophia kicked at a stone on the sidewalk. “He cried. I never saw him cry before. But my mom never came back.”
“It probably wasn’t where she wanted to think of you,” Dillon suggested.
“Yeah, probably not.” She flashed him a quick, unexpected smile. “It was a nice tree, but I didn’t mind so much when Noah and all of them walked by.”
Dillon laughed — and then he paused, looking at the pond. They’d reached the park. “Hey. We kept walking.”
Sophia spun in a slow circle. “We’re free. We can go anywhere.”
“Yeah.” Dillon waited.
Sophia’s chin firmed. “But we should go back. I need Noah’s help.”
He nodded, and they turned back.
At the B&B, Noah and Grace had returned to the patio. They were seated with his mom and dad and Avery, the other ghosts scattered around them.
“If Dillon and Sophia aren’t caught anymore, these other ones probably aren’t either. They might stay here when you go,” Rose was saying. “Avery can have a haunted inn.”
“Maybe we should leave then,” Noah replied, frowning. “Before something happens and they get caught again.”
Grace sat up straighter in her chair, and opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, then shut it.
“Something? Avoid strippers and cockroaches and we should be fine.” Nadira was still holding Misam, but he lifted his head and smiled as Joe snorted with laughter.
“When you go, can you take me home?” Sophia asked.
“You’re back?” Noah said with surprise, glancing in their direction.
“I need you to talk to my parents for me.” Sophia sat down on the table across from Noah, staring at his face as if she could will him into helping her.
“Talk to your parents?” Noah shook his head. He sounded regretful but firm as he added, “No.”
“But you have to,” Sophia insisted. “I need to talk to them. I need to let them know that I’m okay.”
“You’re dead. That’s not going to seem okay to them, and talking to me is not going to change that.”
“They think I’m gone forever, like never-coming-back gone.”
“And they’ll never believe me when I tell them you’re not. What am I going to do, knock on their door and say, ‘Hi, you’ve never met me, but your dead daughter is talking to me?’” Come on, that door is going to get slammed so fast, I’ll be lucky if it doesn’t knock me out.”
“I’ll help you,” Sophia said. “I’ll tell you things that only I know.”
“You should talk to Akira.” Grace leaned back in her seat.
“Her again,” Noah muttered.
“She is the subject matter expert,” Grace said. “She’s knocked on those doors before.”
“Please?” Sophia said, both plaintive and determined. Dillon could see that she wasn’t going to give up. But she didn’t threaten Noah or start to cry, she just waited.
“It would be a kindness.” Nadira was looking at the top of Misam’s head, not Noah, her voice soft. “I’m sure Sophia’s parents would be grateful.”
“Only if they believe me,” Noah said. He looked up at the sky as if hoping to find an answer written there, then exhaled audibly. “All right, I’ll talk to your parents, Sophia. But first, we’ll stick around and meet Akira. I’m gonna need her help.”
30
Noah
Noah wished he’d kissed Grace.
It was probably good that he hadn’t, of course. The invisible audience was off-putting enough, but the older brother who could read minds — and was currently looking pained — was equally discomfiting.
On the other hand, she was looking severe, frown lines between her brows, lips turned down, and he didn’t want to see her that way. He wanted her smile, the tilt of her chin as she laughed, the light in her eyes.
But the moment was long gone.
And during the next few weeks, it didn’t come again. Noah stayed in Tassamara. He showed up to work at General Directions on Monday morning, and spent his time getting to know the place and its people.
It was not quite as weird as he’d imagined it to be. The experiment he’d seen on his first visit was, in fact, psycho-electrostatic levitation, triggered by an employee with telekinetic abilities. Although the explanation sounded like “blah-blah-blah
something, blah-blah-blah psychic,” to Noah, he got the general idea — magic. But most of the other offices and labs seemed much more ordinary: people sat at computers, in office chairs, and if what they were doing was magical, it sure looked like business as usual from the outside.
The job was not exactly exciting. Sometimes he watched the monitors, sometimes he paced the halls, sometimes he sat at the guardhouse checking people’s IDs when they entered the grounds. It was not thrilling. But the paycheck was nice, and he felt like maybe he was over the adrenaline stage of life, anyway. It was good to know that no one was going to shoot at him and that a moment of distraction from a hallucinated voice wouldn’t risk the health of a friend. Or even a co-worker. Hell, even an enemy.
He liked having a job where death wasn’t on the table.
He saw Grace almost every day.
It wasn’t nearly often enough.
Their conversations at General Directions were always brief and usually interrupted. Sometimes she seemed like she wanted to talk to him more seriously, but someone always needed her attention, her signature, or her presence at a meeting. Or her phone would ring.
On the weekends, she came to movie night at the bed-and-breakfast and cheerfully threw popcorn at the large screen television with the rest of them, but there was always a crowd, people overflowing the room, sitting on the floor. No chance for any private moments.
Noah told himself that was okay. The job was temporary and he wasn’t staying. He was only waiting for Akira to get back from her honeymoon, and then he’d be moving on, ghosts or no ghosts.
On the Saturday almost three weeks after his arrival, Noah was trimming the hedges in the garden of the bed-and-breakfast. He’d bartered some weekend work on the yard in exchange for a reduced rate on his room, but he should have guessed from Avery’s smirk that there was a reason the innkeeper had avoided trimming the overgrown shrubbery.
He raised an arm and wiped sweat from his forehead. Damn, but it was hot. Avery had warned him that the weather was going to be unseasonably warm, but it had to be in the mid-80s, maybe hotter. In March. He didn’t want to know what working outside in August would be like.
