by AJ Sherwood
“Boys, boys,” Jon admonished, although there was a twinkle in his eye. “You two are worse than cats in a sack, I swear. Donovan, no name calling.”
“I told him he’s weird,” Donovan protested, defending himself.
“I am weird and proud of it,” I said, still willing to wrestle my point. “But ghosts are not weird.”
Jon rolled his eyes heavenward. “I really feel sorry for your sister. It must have been something growing up with you two.”
“Are you kidding?” Donovan pulled a face. “Sammy’s mean.”
I nodded in fervent agreement. “We don’t mess with our sister. She’ll take us out.”
Mack’s eyebrows slowly got lost in his hairline. “I can’t imagine taking both of you down. No offense, but you’re built like linebackers.”
“Sam’s about my height, too,” Jon said, smirking now because of course it was funny to him. Sam liked him. She wouldn’t do anything to him. “Which makes it funnier. But they really will not cross her. Then again, I have a sister, and I won’t cross her either. Sisters are conniving about getting revenge.”
And Sam was cleverer than most. Or more underhanded. Take your pick.
While this conversation was interesting and all, it didn’t really help me. I was still curious about my reaction to Mack. I wanted more time with him without a lot of people interfering to give me a chance to figure it out. If I didn’t say something now, I might lose my chance. “So, um, Mack. Since we don’t really know the area all that well, how about you tell us some good restaurants? Maybe we can have dinner together and plan for the next few days.”
“Yeah, sure. What are you in the mood to eat?”
Yes, okay, good. That worked. Thank god he was the friendly type. Even if my brother and Jon were the third and fourth wheels for dinner, it was fine. It wasn’t like I wanted to go on a date with him. I just wanted more time to interact with Mack. If my reaction to him now wasn’t some fluke brought on by my conversation with Jon earlier, then who knew? Maybe this would be worth pursuing.
4
Brandon Havili should come with warning labels. Heat advisory, side effect of cardiac arrest, with the possibility of blue balls. He didn’t just sound like a mountain, he was about the size of one, too, and that mountain was all muscle. It was covered by lovely, sun-kissed, copper skin, and gorgeous brown eyes that bordered on gold. My focus was really on exploring what lay under those form-fitting jeans he wore so deliciously well. The man was sex on legs and apparently unaware of it, as he was friendly without being flirty.
Well, he might have been flirting? At the very least, the way he looked at me made my gaydar ping. It was a look of interest, as if he found me attractive. And let me tell you, that was a stroke to my ego. The man who could be a poster boy for a fitness gym thought I looked good. I would so take that and run with it.
I got out of there before I could make an idiot of myself and hit on him. I really, really needed to play it cool until I could figure him out. I didn’t think he’d take it badly if I did make a pass, though. I mean, his brother and boyfriend were obviously on good terms with him, which said a lot. Still, I needed to work with this man. Maybe take this in baby steps, yeah.
We made arrangements to meet at one of the Mexican restaurants in town, which worked out well as I had an envie for some Mexican. I scooted back to Beau’s house for an hour to settle Emma into my room. She was a little leery of being in a place she didn’t know, but I introduced her to the resident house ghost—the momma bear of the group—and that reassured her. I also read through the note on her and got a better feeling for what I needed to do to help her pass on.
I debated changing into something different but couldn’t figure out what without dressing up, which might make my interest too obvious and thereby awkward. Yeah…let’s not. I pocketed a large jar of rock salt instead and hopped back into the car.
Eureka Springs was a beautiful town. It wasn’t large by any standard, and the architecture for the most part hailed from a different era, when steam engines were a new thing. Nestled in between the rolling green hills of Arkansas, it was picturesque and peaceful. At least on the surface.
I found it really hard to drive in the town or to rest easy. There were so, so many ghosts here. Most of them had good energy to draw from, and at a glance or from the corner of my eye, it was hard to determine if they were person or spirit. I was constantly on the verge of hitting my brakes. One of the many reasons a medium needed an anchor was that it was difficult for us to drive. We couldn’t really trust our eyes.
To be honest, the idea of having an anchor wasn’t real to me in some ways. It was kind of a fantasy. I’d grown up surrounded by spirits and disbelieving people. The ones who did believe me thought I dabbled in Voodoo. It was hardly a comfortable environment. I’d only dreamed of meeting people who would treat me like I was normal. That my sight was normal. Beau and Hannah had given me that, as well as a place in the FBI where I’d work with even more people who would do the same. It was my dream come true.
Having an anchor? Fairytale level stuff, right there.
Beau acted so nonchalant about it, as did Hannah. They took it for granted. They didn’t understand why I reacted as if they casually spoke of finding me a unicorn. I didn’t know how to explain it to them, either.
But did I want an anchor? Hell yes.
A jaywalker started across the street at a gliding pace, and I slammed on the brakes before I could hit her. The car behind me nearly rear-ended me, and the driver honked his horn in an outraged manner. Only after the pedestrian passed me did I realize she was in full late 1800s dress with no feet. Aw, dammit. I waved an apology to the man behind me, thanked the heavens we hadn’t actually had a collision, and kept driving. I really had to get the hang of driving until I could find an anchor. Who knew how long that would take.
The restaurant was thankfully nearby, and I parked with a sigh of relief. I stepped out of the car and found all three men hanging out at the bench in front of the brightly-colored building. Brandon spotted me first and gave me a wave. I waved a little shyly back.
“The smells from this place are killing me,” Donovan said as I walked toward them. He took in a deep breath to illustrate, sighing in pleasure. “I feel like I’ll gain about five pounds from the smell alone.”
“You’re likely not wrong.” I handed him the rock salt with a smile. “That should cover you for the next few days.”
“You’re a saint, Mack. Thanks.” The rock salt went immediately into one of his cargo pockets.
“Let’s go in.” I pushed the door open and waved them through.
El Mojito was a good place, run by a large family who’d immigrated from Mexico decades ago. They could really, really cook. How they’d ended up in Eureka Springs of all places, I had no idea, but I was thankful for it. The hostess—I think she was the eldest daughter—showed us to a table, which I thought was a good call. Brandon and Donovan were not the types to fit well in a booth. We were handed menus, and we placed our drink orders. I requested a Mexican Coke with a glass of ice, as usual. Since I came here regularly, they were used to me and my ways, and she didn’t bat an eye.
Brandon listened with interest. “Is a Mexican Coke somehow different?”
He would ask that. Well, he’d likely pick up on my faults sooner rather than later, anyway. “Yeah, they don’t use corn syrup as a sweetener. Mexican soda is made with cane sugar. I’m allergic to corn, so I can only have their type of sodas.”
Jon, for some reason, stared at me in a dissecting manner. “Not just corn, I see.”
I blinked at him. “You can read that?”
“Sort of. I can read that there’s a few other things not quite right. One of them is causing havoc in your gut at the moment.”
Damn. His eyes were good. No wonder he fried electronics. “Yeah, I can’t do dairy or coffee, either.”
All three men shuddered in pity.
I rolled my eyes. “Coffee is actually not t
hat much of a loss, you addicts. I always get that reaction from people. It’s dairy and corn that’s in everything and makes my life difficult. Corn especially. America’s really bad about putting corn into stuff.”
“And here you sit in a Mexican restaurant,” Brandon observed. He watched me carefully, almost as if I held the possible answer to a question.
“It’s not that difficult to maneuver around the menu. I can actually have three or four different things. Some restaurants, I’m relegated to just salads.” I shrugged; allergies were a part of life. I did cheat with dairy sometimes, because cheese. Everything else, though, no way in hell. Corn laid me out flat for three days and made me feel like I had the flu. Coffee wasn’t even tempting.
Our waitress came back with drinks and to take our orders, which we placed. No one was surprised when I ordered fajitas with no cheese, tortillas, or sour cream. With the orders on their way to the kitchen, I felt like we needed to switch topics. “So! How much do you know about Eureka Springs?”
“It’s too haunted,” Donovan answered promptly and with a sour expression on his face.
I kind of had to agree with him there. “Do you know why?”
“I do, but I didn’t think to tell them,” Brandon admitted. “Don’s not fond of ghost stories.”
Jon was dialed in, at least, his interest obvious. “Tell me.”
“So, the hotel was built in 1886, but it changed hands several times. In 1937, it was bought by a man named Norman G. Baker. He turned it into a hospital and health resort. Here’s the kicker—he wasn’t a doctor.”
Donovan groaned. “I see where this is going already.”
I shrugged because he was likely right. “Baker was a millionaire and radio personality, so he had a lot of followers. He’d not had any medical training, but people listened to him. He claimed he had discovered a cure for various ailments, and because he was also an inventor, they believed him. One of the things he claimed to cure was cancer. Turned out his only cure for cancer was drinking the spring’s natural water and soaking in the spa.”
Everyone at the table winced, even Brandon. He hadn’t known that much, huh. “I’m not sure what his death toll was. He treated thousands of desperate patients, and at least several hundred died at the hotel. The basement was their morgue, and he was known for doing autopsies on them down there—and sometimes keeping the body parts for study.”
Donovan shuddered from head to toe. “Stop, stop.”
He really wasn’t good with horror, was he? Remembering what it was like to be young and defenseless, surrounded by spirits, I couldn’t help but be sympathetic. It was hard to fight something ethereal. “Just stay out of the basement and the second floor and you’ll be fine. That’s where the ghosts mostly congregate.”
“Why the second floor?” Jon asked curiously.
“Baker’s office was located there.”
“Basement and second floor. Got it.” Donovan gave me a hopeful look. “And how long will it take to do your thing?”
“Ah, depends. Usually it’s a few minutes. Sometimes we hit unexpected resistance, and then it takes a little longer. Mostly, we have to set up a lighted path and…uh. Not sure how to explain this. Basically, I have to open a pathway for her and then sort of coax her down it. Emma will pass on her own once I get her in motion.”
“But we’re here for three days at least with the ghost hunting crew,” Brandon reminded his brother. He likely meant to sound sympathetic, but it came off as excited.
Donovan rolled his eyes. “You just had to agree to that.”
“I love how you’re placing the blame on me and not Jon.”
“Jon agreed because you agreed,” Donovan shot back.
Jon snickered. “Actually, I probably would have been interested regardless. But it does help that Brandon’s on board too.”
Donovan acted good-naturedly about being dragged into something he obviously wasn’t comfortable with. Even these complaints were half-teasing. I thought about what it must be like to love someone enough to go into a situation you weren’t comfortable with just because they asked you to. Damn, okay, now I was jealous.
The dinner stayed lively and fun. An hour passed in the blink of an eye, and absolutely no scrap of food left the table intact. The Havili brothers could apparently pack it away. At one point, Donovan left for a bathroom break, and Brandon went to settle the bill, saying something about this all being an FBI training expense. It left me alone at the table for a few minutes with Jon.
Clear blue eyes settled on me, and it was almost instinctively unnerving how penetrating those eyes felt. I had no secrets from this man. I suddenly, intuitively understood that.
“Mack,” Jon said calmly. “Two things you need to understand before we progress any further. First, I’m not a tattletale. I won’t spill your secrets.”
I held my breath, staring right back at him. I saw his sincerity and decided to trust him and take those words at face value. Slowly, I let out the breath I was holding. “Okay. Thanks, that is reassuring.”
“My ability unnerves people, I know this. But I know how to keep a confidence. Now, second thing you need to know. I’m part of the reason why Brandon’s FBI and signed as a potential anchor.”
Now, that, I did not expect at all. “Really? Why?”
“About four months ago, we had a case in Nashville that required the FBI to come in. The psychic on the team got a good read on Donovan, and as it happened, he’d had a run in with Brandon months earlier. I told Marc point blank that Donovan was one of the best anchors I’d ever seen. After watching him in action, he agreed with me. I also told him Brandon was remarkably similar to his brother and had all the traits to be an amazing anchor as well. Marc agreed and offered Brandon a job. As you can see, he took it. He’s rather keen on the idea.”
The suspicious part of my nature reared its head, and I asked slowly, “And why are you telling me all of this?”
He took a sip of his drink before smirking at me. “Now, why do you think I am?”
Psychic. Right. “Shit. Tell me I wasn’t being obvious with him.”
“Not that I saw. But you can be, you know.”
My waffling back and forth abruptly straightened up. “Really?!”
The smirk widened. I kind of wanted to smack it off his face. It was entirely too smug. “I can’t say more without crossing a line, but is that a sufficient enough hint to get you moving, Mack?”
“Shit, yeah. I just wasn’t sure how he’d take it.” I did a happy booty-dance in my chair. I may have been lacking in the playboy department, but I could flirt with sexy men. That was totally in my wheelhouse.
Game on.
5
As I paid for dinner, carefully pocketing the receipt, a few facts whirled in my head and common sense started raising questions. Fact one: mediums had a hard time telling the difference between real people and ghosts. Fact two: this was one of the most haunted cities in all the United States. Fact three: Mack had driven himself here.
Didn’t that mean he’d been dodging both ghosts and people as he drove? That didn’t sound at all safe. Unless there was something I was missing.
I went back to the table and saw Mack and Jon in conversation. Jon had that smug look on his face, suggesting he was up to something. For all that he wasn’t a tattletale, he did purposefully let things slip from time to time to poke people. I wouldn’t call it manipulation, per se, but he was known for giving people a push if they needed it. It was a fine line he tread. Mack looked eager, so whatever it was Jon had told him, I had to guess it wasn’t anything traumatic.
They both clammed up as I approached the table. When people did that, it was human nature to suspect they were talking about you, but I shrugged the notion off. Probably wasn’t about me. Some things were just better kept in confidence. “Hey, Mack. Jon told me that mediums sometimes have trouble telling the difference between ghosts and people.”
“True,” Mack answered, expression confused. He clearly did
n’t know where I led with this. “It’s a pretty common problem. It’s why mediums like to have anchors.”
“Okay. But you drove here. Isn’t that a difficult thing for you to do? Drive in this town?”
Mack sighed deeply. “You’ve no idea. There’s ghosts on every corner, it feels like.”
My protective instincts flicked on like someone had just hit a switch. “Okay, you know what? I’m not fine with you driving yourself back. That’s an accident waiting to happen. Jon, you okay with following us to his place? I’ll drive him back.”
Jon smirked again; he saw more than heard what I really meant. “Sure. That’s fine.”
The look on Mack’s face was a priceless combination of wonder and protest. His jaw had dropped, and he visibly searched for a response that never made it out of his mouth.
Thankfully, Jon backed me up. “Mack, let him. He’s in training to be a medium’s anchor anyway, right? This is a good opportunity for him.”
That cleared out the protest and left Mack nodding in agreement. “When you put it that way, it’s hard to refuse. Brandon, no offense, but can you even fit in my car?”
“You’re driving an Accord, aren’t you? No problem, there’s plenty of legroom in Accords.” Which meant I barely fit. A thirty-eight-inch inseam was no joking matter. If not for my mother’s legendary shopping skills, I’d have no way of buying long enough pants.
Donovan came back, and we filled him in on the plan as we headed for the parking lot. He shot me an interesting look, as if he were trying to figure me out, but didn’t protest. Still, I knew I’d get more than a few questions later. It was about time I had a heart to heart with him, anyway. I actually looked forward to it, now that Jon had straightened me out. There were a lot of things I wanted to hear from my big brother; a lot of questions to ask.
But first, I had a cute brunet to focus on.
I leaned in first and pushed the car seat all the way back. No way in hell could I have climbed in otherwise. I had to adjust the mirrors, too, but Mack didn’t seem to mind that, either. We settled in, and I asked, “Where to?”
