by Sarah Wynde
Meredith paused, as if waiting for more, but when he didn’t say anything else and Akira just looked puzzled, she quirked an eyebrow, and then continued smoothly, “Well, I just dropped by to bring you this, Akira. A little housewarming present, compliments of Maggie down at the bistro. She said to tell you she’s real glad you’ve moved to town.”
“Thank you.” Akira took the tray that Meredith handed her uncertainly. Zane wondered what was in it. Maggie liked cooking weird food; she must be happy to have found an appreciative audience.
“Apparently you’re more interesting than the rest of us,” Meredith said with a laugh.
“I haven’t met Maggie yet?” Akira’s words were half-question, half-statement, and she glanced at Zane. He could see that she was wondering why Maggie would take an interest in her and he smiled to reassure her. Maggie didn’t like being interrupted while she was cooking or they would have introduced her last night. But meeting Maggie was almost beside the point: if you walked in the door of the bistro, she knew what you wanted to eat.
“No?” Meredith raised one shoulder. “That never troubles Maggie. Although if you liked the same food as this one here,” she said, gesturing to Zane, “she probably wouldn’t be bothering to cook for you.”
“Hey, nothing wrong with burgers and fries,” Zane protested mildly. “And I like Maggie’s meatloaf.”
Meredith rolled her eyes. “Maggie told me what it was, but I can’t say as I recall exactly. Aloo-something.”
Akira peeked under the tinfoil. “Aloo gobi. Yum.”
It didn’t sound yum. It sounded spicy.
“Well, you enjoy. Let me know if you need anything, Akira, and I’ll see both of you later.” In a typical whirl, Meredith was gone.
“What did that mean?” Akira asked him immediately, setting the dish down on the kitchen counter.
“What?” he asked, cursing silently. “That Maggie likes to cook weird stuff? What’s in that?” He poked at the dish.
“No, that I work for you.”
Oh, man. She was going to be pissed, he just knew it. He needed to think of a way to phrase his explanation carefully.
“Special affairs? What does that mean?” she continued.
But he hadn’t said anything. He frowned.
“I—what?” Akira grabbed at her hair as if she was going to pull it out. “You’re not serious. But that means that everyone will know that I have a, a, a quirk!”
Zane finally figured it out. “Hush up, Dillon,” he ordered. His ghostly nephew was obviously answering Akira’s questions, and not carefully.
“This is terrible.” Akira glared at him. She looked better when she was mad than when she was worried, he noted. That anxious look was gone, replaced by pink cheeks.
“Maybe not terrible,” he tried. “Just maybe a little, um, inconvenient?”
“The research division is for scientists,” Akira told him, as if he didn’t know. “Special affairs is for psychics. And you run special affairs, and I work for you, which means that every person who knows that is going to know that I’m insane!”
“Or that we all are?” he offered. He really didn’t want to make her any angrier but he was finding it hard not to smile at her scowling face. Maybe she was right that it was dangerous to be known as psychic in the outside world, but this was home, and no one here would think a thing of it. It just was what it was.
“You just don’t get it,” she snapped, gesturing widely with her hands. “Ghosts are dangerous! And—yes, all right, present company excepted—and—no, I’m sorry, Rose.” She turned away from him. “I didn’t mean to. . . No. Well, thank you. I appreciate that.”
She threw an exasperated look over her shoulder at Zane. Rose? Everyone knew the Harris place was haunted, but that was the first time Zane had ever heard a name for the ghost. He made a mental note of it. He’d try to find out more later.
He could tell from Akira’s posture and silence that she was listening to something he couldn’t hear, but when she finally spoke the words weren’t what he wanted to hear. “I should go home,” she said, voice discouraged. “Back to California.”
“Excuse me, Rose,” Zane said hastily. Stepping forward, he grabbed Akira’s hand, and tugged so she turned to face him again. “One month.”
She just looked at him, dark eyes uncertain.
“One month,” he repeated. “Give us one month. And if you have any problems here because of people believing you’re psychic, we will help you find a job in a place where no one knows anything about you.” Her fingers were cool in his, and he squeezed, trying to impart his own warmth to her.
This was a safe place.
He knew it was.
Now she just had to believe him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Six weeks later
“Dillon, did you kill my Kindle again?” Akira tried to keep the accusation out of her voice. Maybe she’d forgotten to charge her e-reader. But she could tell from Dillon’s sheepish look that she’d guessed right. She was sitting at a picnic table in a shady corner of General Direction’s grounds, near the parking lot. “That’s the third one! What am I supposed to do now? I wanted to read while I ate lunch.”
“I’m sorry.” He kicked the ground. “Rose was watching that ballroom dancing show, and it was really boring. But I’d been practicing. I thought maybe I’d gotten good enough to make it work.”
Ever since Rose had discovered that she could zap the television remote to change the channels, Dillon had been trying to accomplish the same feat, although with less luck. Rose could apparently complete the circuit that changed the channels just as if someone had pressed a button. As long as the remote was positioned correctly—pointing at the television—she could control what they watched.
Akira had been both fascinated and relieved: getting woken up by a bored ghost who wanted her to find something new on the television had been the only part of living in a haunted house that she didn’t like. Apart from Rose’s television obsession, her ghostly housemates had proven to be good company. Henry sat with her while she ate breakfast every morning, peaceful and encouraging, never failing to tell her to enjoy her day when she headed out. The sound of the laughter from the boys in the backyard could make Akira smile in even her most anxious moments. And Rose and Dillon? Well, they were both so delighted with life—or afterlife—that their happiness was contagious.
Yes, living in a haunted house had turned out fine.
And General Directions was proving to be more than okay, too.
On her third day of work, Zane had stuck his head in her lab—her beautiful, sparkling, pristine lab with its digital oscilloscope, galvanometer, spectrometer, high-powered computer and other equipment—and said, “Come with me.”
“You know, sonoluminescence could be caused by quantum vacuum radiation,” Akira answered, not looking away from the numbers on her monitor. “The energy release might be too large, though.”
“Um, yeah,” Zane said. “Do you want to watch me work or not?”
“What?” That caught her attention and she turned her chair—her brand-new, comfortable, ergonomically-correct, fully-adjustable office chair—to look at him.
He grinned at her. “You wanted proof. I’ve got a DEA case that’s only thirty miles away. Want to come?”
They’d met up with a frazzled-looking woman in a business-casual black jacket that didn’t hide the shoulder holster underneath it. “We know the drugs got here,” the woman told Zane. “But we can’t find them. We’ve been searching for hours.”
The house didn’t look like Akira’s idea of a drug den. It was probably no more than a couple of years old, a stucco-colored McMansion in a neighborhood that looked half-deserted. A surly Hispanic man was standing by a police car, hands cuffed behind his back. Akira watched as Zane went over and chatted with the man for a couple of minutes, touching his upper arm with a friendly pat, before returning to the woman. “You’ve got the wrong house,” he told her.
“What?”
Her shock was clear.
He nodded at a house two doors up the street. “Get a warrant for that place,” he advised her.
“But we know the drugs arrived here, at this house,” she insisted.
“Then look for the tunnel,” he suggested with a shrug.
He and Akira waited. It was almost an hour before the new search warrant arrived, but it took Zane less than five minutes after that to find the drugs, along with a stash of assault weapons and some big bundles of cash, and the entrance to a tunnel that led straight back to the far corner of the first house’s backyard.
Akira had been impressed. Also confused. The idea of a paranormal ability that let Zane find random objects as long as they were associated with a human being made no sense to her. “It must be some form of quantum entanglement,” she finally told him, as they pulled into the parking lot of GD.
“Whatever you say.” His tone was agreeable, but she suspected he was laughing at her.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Maybe you can research me after you finish with your sonoluminy-light-up-stuff,” he offered with a grin.
She shook her head and sighed, but she couldn’t help smiling.
That had been the beginning of a fun several weeks. She’d quickly settled into a routine. Most days, she read and researched in the morning, then had lunch with Dillon. Although GD had a nice cafeteria, more like a pleasant restaurant than a school lunchroom, Akira found it a little terrifying. It was often crowded and rooms full of strangers were not her favorite thing. Instead, she brought food from home and joined Dillon outside.
Max had offered her another car, so that Dillon’s could stay parked anywhere that was comfortable for him, but Dillon had told Akira that he’d rather have some variety in his life, so he came with her to work most days. He’d managed to increase the range at which he could roam, but it took effort, so he usually hung out in the parking lot instead of following her into her lab.
At first, she’d found a pleasant spot under a tree next to the car. The sandy ground was dry, and sitting on it meant that she was mostly hidden from sight from people in the lot. She ate her lunch and talked to Dillon about the people she’d met and the work she was doing, and he told her more about his family, General Directions, and Tassamara.
During her second week at GD, though, she’d come outside to find Zane in her usual spot, leaning against a brand-new picnic table. “Is Dillon here?” he’d asked, without greeting her.
“Yes,” she’d answered.
“Great,” he’d said. “Ask him to tell you all about fire ants.”
“Fire ants?”
“Yep.”
She waited for more but he didn’t seem to notice. He was turning a small package over in his hand, looking thoughtful.
“Okay, I will, thanks,” Akira finally responded, still not sure what he was doing.
He looked up at her and his blue eyes caught hers. It was a beautiful day, sky clear, air cool, and in the bright sunlight, his eyes were bluer than usual. Akira felt her heart pick up its pace, just a little, and her cheeks start to pink at his direct stare. Damn, he was cute.
“Do you sit on the ground so that people won’t see you?” he asked her, blunt and to the point.
“I—well—I—” Akira stumbled over her words, feeling defensive. And then she shrugged. “I don’t like people thinking I’m talking to myself. I don’t want . . .” She let her words trail off. How could she explain to him? She didn’t want people talking about her. She was safer if no one noticed her.
“No one in Tassamara will think anything of it,” he tried. “Lots of people here are . . .”
“Lunatics is the word you’re looking for.” Her voice was dry, but he smiled in response.
“Here.” He tossed the package in her direction.
She caught it easily. “What is it?”
“Bluetooth headset. Wear it and talk all you like. People will just think you’re on the phone.”
And so her lunch routine had changed. Instead of sitting on the ground, at risk of fire ant attack, she sat at the picnic table, wearing a headset, and pretending she was on the phone when people walked by and eyed her. She wasn’t sure which gift, the picnic table or the headset, was more thoughtful.
Since then, Zane had taken to showing up for lunch sometimes, too. Not always, not every day. But lately, most days. And if she was honest with herself, she could admit that they were the best days.
“I didn’t think you were going to read at lunch,” Dillon said. “Isn’t Zane coming?”
“I don’t know.” Akira pulled out her phone and checked for messages. He hadn’t texted her. Should she try him? You coming for lunch? she typed the text quickly, and then hit the send button, heart beating a little faster. She and Zane often exchanged texts—it seemed to be his favorite way of keeping in touch with people. But she usually just responded to his messages. This was the first time she’d ever initiated the exchange.
The response was almost immediate. You miss me?
A tiny smile curved her lips as Akira thought about how to answer that. Yes, was the truth. Was it too much truth? Dillon broke my Kindle, she typed.
Again?
That was too obvious to answer. Hmm. We need you to entertain us, she typed carefully, and then paused, finger over the send button, half-smiling but also chewing on her lower lip. Was that too blatant? Too suggestive? Zane had never asked her out, never been anything more than friendly. And he was her manager, ostensibly.
Not that he seemed to take his role all that seriously. Once, exasperated by the lack of structure, she’d asked him, “Do you even care if I work? Are you going to pay me if I just sit in my office all day?”
He’d grinned at her. “Yep. But you won’t. You science types are terrible at entertaining yourselves.” He’d been leaning back in his chair, feet up on his desk, tossing a nerf ball into the air and catching it on its way back down.
“I am not,” she’d started defensively, before pausing and frowning. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’d get bored. Nobody gets a PhD in physics because they really love watching television.”
Akira hadn’t had a good answer for that, but it was true. She loved what she was working on. The freedom had its moments of terror—mornings when the whole day stretched in front of her, no classes, no students, no staff meetings—and what was she supposed to do? But she’d found a steady stream of answers. Although her work on sonoluminescence had been a total bust so far, she was busy writing a paper on the failures, and setting up for new experiments. And she had so many ideas she wanted to explore, so many experiments she could run, so much research she could read.
Still, Zane’s role as her manager didn’t seem as if it precluded a different kind of relationship. Not a serious one, of course: Akira didn’t do serious. Not when even her casual relationships burned out fast. It was amazing how quickly guys could move on when they found out she could see ghosts, or thought she could.
But Zane already knew about the ghosts. And oh, he was cute. Those blue eyes, the grin, the muscles, the lean hands . . . she really liked his hands. She’d spent more than a pleasant minute or two imagining them touching her.
“Are you flirting with my uncle?”
Akira hit the send button. Then she looked at Dillon, who had crossed his arms and was frowning at her. “Got a problem with that?” she asked. She might be sharing her life with ghosts these days, but she was not going to let them think they could push her around. She might have wimped out on sending that text, but not if Dillon disapproved.
He uncrossed his arms. “I guess not.” He shrugged. “But, um . . . my uncle’s kind of . . . well, he’s had a lot of girlfriends.”
Ah. Dillon wasn’t warning her off, he was worrying about her. That was unexpectedly sweet. He was a bit of a worrier, though. He warned her about how fast she drove, the preservatives in her food, emissions from her cell phone. Akira had never asked him about his death,
because it wasn’t always a safe topic with ghosts, but she did wonder how such a cautious kid had wound up overdosing. Maybe he’d been more of a risk-taker before he died.
“Thank you,” she answered, before smiling at him. “Don’t worry, I’m not a happy-ever-after type. I won’t start any great romantic fantasies about him.”
Her phone shivered in her hand. She looked down. Wish I could. Trapped in meetings.
Darn. The pang of disappointment she felt was too strong. Casual flirtation, she reminded herself. That’s all she was doing. Nothing to feel disappointed about.
Need to see you, though. My office, 4PM.
Hmm, that sounded almost formal. Need, not want? Akira wondered. Suddenly that little glimmer of anticipation was gone, replaced by a twinge of anxiety. OK, she typed. Should she ask what about?
See you then. His reply came too fast, and sounded too final. With a frown, Akira slid her phone back into her bag. She and Dillon would just have to lunch alone.
And while she ate, Dillon could fill her in on Zane’s past girlfriends.
***
“Nothing.”
It was 4:02 PM, and Akira was standing in the doorway of Zane’s office, unsure whether to interrupt. Grace was perched on the edge of his desk, her back to the door, blocking Zane from view.
“Try again,” Grace ordered.
“Grace, nothing means nothing.” Zane sounded both resigned and impatient.
Grace sighed and stood, tucking a piece of paper, maybe a photograph, Akira thought, into a file folder. “Do you want her to come here or do you want to go there?”
“Neither.”
“Lucas took the job, Zane. It’s done. You just have to do it.”
“Or not,” Zane grumbled, before adding, “Talk to them, tell them how unlikely it is that I can help. If they still want me, I’ll fly up there tomorrow. And tell Lucas that his next job is going to be in Antarctica.”
Grace reached over and rumpled his hair, saying with a smile, “Lucas would love to go to Antarctica, sweetie. You’re going to do have to do better than that.”
