“Do you want me to?”
Her gaze darts over to Dad, who’s too absorbed in his notes to notice, then turns back to me and shakes her head. “I know it’s already late, but if I start talking to someone again tonight…”
Dad’s head pops up. His gaze is laser-pointed at Echo. “You’re talking to ghosts in your sleep again?” His gaze snaps over to me, annoyed he didn’t already know this.
“A detail that got lost in the shuffle of Timothy’s case,” I say. “I’ll handle it.”
He doesn’t let it go so easily. “What was she saying?”
Echo silently wills me to shut up, but there’s really no point. Dad’s already figured it out, for the most part. “The name Francis came up. That’s it.”
“I want a full report in the morning,” he orders before pushing away from the table and standing. He holds back on commenting on what we should or shouldn’t be doing together, for once, and says his goodbyes before taking off to get some sleep. Being that it’s two in the morning, I wouldn’t mind doing the same, but it will have to wait.
“Why don’t you get ready for bed?” I say to Echo. “I’ll meet you in your room in a minute.”
She nods and stands a moment later. “Thanks, Griffin.” Her smile is tired and worried as she turns away.
Trying not to think of the reasons behind that, I get up from the table as well and head for the little deck. I pull on the sliding door that is partially open and am surprised to find Zara sitting in one of the deck chairs. We were worried about Holden trying to eavesdrop on the meeting. No one thought to see where Zara was, but there’s no doubt she heard every word. Giving her a wry look, I take the chair next to her.
“It’s your own fault for underestimating me,” she says, unrepentant.
She’s right, so I don’t argue. I am curious, though. “Why the interest? Research, investigating…not really your thing, right?”
“No,” she says with a snort, “but watching out for my friend is.”
I consider her answer for a moment. She’s being honest, but I don’t completely understand her motivation. “Aside from the obvious, why are you worried about Echo?”
“She’s never had a great foundation, what with her family being such a pain in the ass about everything, but coming out here really threw her for a loop. The mess with Malachi, even more so. Now this case and Kyran being so damned obvious about liking her and causing more problems with Malachi, and the fact that she has zero confidence in herself has her as wobbly as a baby deer. Holden’s too busy with Cerise to be the rock he once was for her and your dad’s just not that warm and fuzzy.”
“What about you?” I ask.
Zara shrugs. “Echo and I are as close as sisters, but we just don’t work like that. Despite what Holden says about my reliability, Echo knows I’ll always be there for her when she needs me. I’m just not a cry on my shoulder kind of person and Echo hates relying on other people for stuff like that. She thinks it makes her weaker, less sane or whatever. She’s always trying to prove to other people that’s she okay and can handle things on her own. I don’t think she really gets that even normal, boring people have to rely on others to get through hard stuff. Her problems go way beyond the usual, so it’s understandable that she needs even more help, but she doesn’t see it that way.”
She shrugs again and goes back to staring out at the courtyard. Holden really doesn’t give her enough credit. Her laidback lifestyle isn’t laziness, it’s survival. Between Holden’s tyrannical approach to planning for the future and Echo’s utterly chaotic life, she has to be the one who balances them out. To understand her friend so well, she can’t possibly be the self-absorbed, irresponsible girl her cousin paints her as. Even so, I’m not sure I understand this conversation.
“I appreciate you giving me insight into Echo, but why tell me all of that?” I ask.
Glancing over at me briefly, she’s staring into the night again before she answers. “Because she’s been better since you appeared and she needs you. So, don’t screw it up.”
A little startled by her frankness, it takes me a second or two to respond. “Echo and I are just friends.”
She laughs. “Yeah, I know, Captain Obvious. She treats you like she does Holden, and after what happened with Malachi, I don’t think Echo’s going to be hopping into bed with anyone else any time soon. Talk about emotional scars.” She shakes her head, sympathetic toward her friend.
“I’ll take care of her,” I promise after a long moment of silence.
“Good,” she says. “She’s probably done getting ready by now. You might want to head in.”
Supposing she knows her friend’s habits well enough to estimate, I tell her goodnight and head for Echo’s room. She’s sitting on top of her blankets, eyes closed, breathing steadily when I get to her door. Not wanting to disturb her makes me step lightly. I make it around to the other side of the bed before she notices me.
“Thanks again for staying,” she says as she opens her eyes.
“No problem.” I sit down on the bed next to her. “How do you want to do this?”
She shrugs. “I’m so exhausted I doubt I’ll have a hard time falling asleep.” Uncertain, she doesn’t make a move to change positions.
I doubt I’ll last too long tonight, so in favor of not wasting time, I reach out for her. She hesitates for just a second, then curls up against me. “Close your eyes,” I say. “You’ll be safe. I promise.”
Breathing out slowly, her body sinks against mine and her eyes slide closed. “There’s salt in the nightstand drawer,” she says. Less than five minutes later, she’s out. Keeping myself awake much longer than that is a chore. Burning curiosity is the only thing that keeps me from nodding off.
The majority of the cases I get called in on are regular criminal cases, ones with limited evidence that need a more creative approach. Next most common is acting as a liaison between agents and people with supernatural gifts. Sometimes they’re frauds and I have no qualms about exposing them. More than people might think are actually talented in one way or another. Only once before meeting Echo have I worked a cases that dealt with ghosts, but it wasn’t anything like this.
Last night when she started mumbling in her sleep, I was only half awake. I don’t know if something precipitated the communication. I didn’t really notice the temperature at the time, and I have no idea what to expect tonight. All I experienced before was her mumbling with a few clearly spoken words while I tried to wake myself up. By the time I was fully lucid, she was resting calmly again. It was just that brief few seconds where I heard Francis’s name toward the end. Maybe it was nothing more than a bad dream, but if it isn’t we could be missing something important.
I don’t notice the temperature has changed until Echo shivers. Before coming to Georgia, I’d been in Minnesota for three months. Even in the summer it was fairly cool, so I feel good while Echo curls closer to me. Goose bumps pop up over her exposed upper arm. I’m no longer tired as I scan the room for any sign of disturbance. Nothing changes, not even a rustle of the blanket I pulled over Echo earlier. The room is completely still except for the small movements of my hand to bring up a voice recorder on my phone.
“I know…” Echo whispers. Her voice trails off into incoherent mumbling for several seconds before becoming understandable again. “…dangerous… I can’t…deserve…” She flinches, and I go back on high alert, but she doesn’t wake. Instead, her arm across my middle tightens around me and her brows pull together in confusion. “…my fault…can’t run…coward…don’t understand…no…wrong…Francis is…not gone…can’t be…wrong…who?”
Echo ducks into my embrace further, a whimpering noise cutting off any conversation. The temperature drops several degrees and I drag Echo into my lap on instinct. The salt is in my hand a second later and I hold it up in front of us. My breath mists when I exhale next and I feel my heart thudding hard against my ribcage. It takes a lot to rattle me, but the flicker of…I don’t ev
en know what it is, but the air seems to shimmer or warp or…something, and I realize all I have to defend Echo with is a cardboard canister of salt that still has the little metal spout pressed closed.
When the weird shimmer flies at us, I barely keep myself from panicking and rip the spout open in time to send an arc of salt flying across the room. An instant later, the room is too warm and slightly humid. Echo relaxes against me, oblivious to what just happened. Part of me wants to shake her awake and ask her what the hell just tried to attack her. Glancing down at her, the peaceful expression on her face stops me. I don’t imagine people see that on her very often.
Sighing, I fall back against the headboard and remind myself to breathe. Does this happen every night? Are the headband and bracelets capable of holding off relentless attacks like that? I can’t imagine they are, and that makes me wonder what Echo will do, or what will happen to her when they finally fail.
17: Famous Last Words
(Echo)
Sitting through my Freshman Comp class is painful. Staying awake is a challenge. Focusing on the lecture is a struggle. Caring is practically beyond me. Only knowing that getting a degree is an absolute must to become a real agent forces me to attempt paying attention to the discussion of Why the Caged Bird Sings, which I have yet to finish reading.
What I really want to think about is waking up to find salt sprayed all over my room—a telling sign of what the night held—and Griffin passed out next to me with his arm cinched protectively around my waist. He was still out cold when I left for my early class, so I don’t know exactly what he heard or witnessed last night. Not knowing is making my focus wander as much as a three-year-old with a sugar high.
When I first started the tests with Dr. Rosemond and Morton to determine my sanity and sensitivity to the spiritual world, I didn’t know if I wanted to be involved with the FBI. After meeting Timothy and understanding the potential help I might be able to provide for people being attacked by otherworldly psychos, I know without a doubt that this is the path I need to take. I’ve spent the majority of my life hiding and trying to escape my abilities. Morton has shown me the good I can do and, even though it scares the living daylights out of me, I need to do something good with my abilities. If I don’t, it will tear me apart.
Eventually, class ends, but I have one more to go. Trudging into my calculus class, I tell myself I can last another fifty minutes. I start nodding off fifteen minutes through the lecture. I don’t remember even a second of what happened last night. My body does. I’m exhausted, weary down to my bones. Only a text from Griffin wakes me up halfway through class.
Sorry I missed you leaving this morning. Call when you get out of class and I’ll meet you for lunch to talk.
If anyone read that without knowing either of us, it would sound like a sweet text between lovers. I scoff at the idea. What happened last night?
Griffin doesn’t take the bait. Pay attention in class. Talk later. You need this to become my partner.
I almost drop my phone when I read his text. Partner? Is he screwing with me? He’s only here for two weeks. It was supposed to be a vacation. Getting pulled into this case was coincidence. I supposed he’ll stick around until we figure out what’s going on with Timothy but, after that, he’ll be gone. It’s not cool to tease me about something like that. Super really not cool at all.
Don’t talk about partners when you’re taking off after this case.
My professor has gone through at least two problems before Griffin replies. When he does, I lose track of the lecture entirely.
What would you say to me transferring down here?
My reply is immediate. OMG are you serious?
I’d still travel a lot, but this would be my home base.
I would love that! I send back.
He doesn’t reply until class is over. Even then, all he says is when and where to meet him. I bolt from class and race to the train stop, a million things to discuss with him. It’s a small miracle I make it to the little deli near campus without getting lost. I’m positive I look like a deranged lunatic rushing into the little restaurant as I do, but who cares at this point. Griffin just shakes his head at me when I slide into the booth across from him.
“Are you really thinking about transferring to Georgia?” I demand.
He chuckles and hands me a menu. “I don’t really have any good reason to stay in New York. Moving here would let me see Dad more and keep tabs on you, so why not?”
“Which one is more of a pull?” I ask, honestly curious and not sure what I’m expecting the answer to be.
“Honestly,” he says, “it’s pretty equal. I’ve missed my dad a lot the last few years and you…I think I need to be here.”
It’s so hard not to burst into either tears or hysterical giggles at that. “Is it completely lame of me to say I need you here?”
The corner of Griffin’s mouth quirks up. “It’s a little lame.”
I swat at his arm, even though I know he doesn’t mean it. “Would you really want to be partnered up with me if I make it through college and all the training and stuff? I know your dad thinks I’m this big asset, but I feel pretty useless most of the time.”
“You’re almost nineteen,” Griffin says, “so you’ve got four years to figure things out and prove to yourself you can do this. I can wait that long.”
“Prove it to myself?” I say with a snort. “I’m the least of my critics.”
Griffin shakes his head. “No, you’re the worst. I already know you can survive all the shit being thrown at you right now. Dad does. Kyran does. Even Malachi does. I doubt a single one of your friends thinks you incapable of turning the nightmares you’ve lived through into something amazing. You’re the one who’s shortchanging you.”
I shrink in the face of his praise. I know he’s not just offering up platitudes, but I can’t help thinking all those people who think I’m going to bust out as the savior of the spiritual world are borderline delusional. Rather than argue with him, I change the subject.
“What happened last night?”
A waitress arrives and interrupts our conversation to take our orders. Once she heads back toward the kitchen, I stare at Griffin expectantly. He doesn’t disappoint. Sliding his phone toward me with a pair of attached earbuds, he lets me hear it for myself. I listen to every fragmented word, but am more confused than ever.
“Am I wrong, or was it the person talking to me who was wrong? And what did I mean by ‘not gone’? Francis is definitely gone. Dead. Unless I meant he’s not gone from hounding me, which I already know so why mention it?” My head drops into my hands. “Am I a coward for not facing him? It is my fault he’s dead.”
“No it’s not,” Griffin argues. “Martin Coulter used a scared little girl to exact vengeance on someone who didn’t deserve it. That is not your fault.”
“But I gave in,” I argue.
“Stop,” he snaps. “It was not your fault and that’s the end of the discussion.”
I sigh, knowing he will never understand the full measure of guilt I feel for what happened to Kurt Francis. “The headbands aren’t working as well as I thought they were.”
Griffin frowns. “I’ll put in for a transfer tomorrow, but it takes a while. Even with Dad recommending the move, I may be gone for a while after we wrap up Timothy’s case.”
Unsure of whether he’s trying to change the subject or if his comment bears some relation to the ghosts invading my sleeping mind, it takes me a few seconds to come up with an answer. “And that has something to do with the headbands because…”
“Because you need someone with you at night when I leave.”
My stomach drops out and cold settles in the newly made pit in my stomach. “I can’t,” I whisper. Memories of those few frantic moments with Malachi assault me. I shrink in on myself in shame. “I just can’t. Please…”
Griffin reaches across the table and grips my hand. “It doesn’t have to be one of the guys. Ask Zara. Cerise, ma
ybe. Holden if you need to. Kyran…”
“No,” I say quickly. “Not Kyran. I can’t, Griffin.” Tears well in my eyes and fight with everything I have to keep them from falling. “I can’t screw up twice. I just can’t. I can’t.” Gasping in a breath, I squeeze the life out of Griffin’s hand as I stave off the panic threatening to engulf me.
A second later, he’s sitting next to me, arm around my shoulder, whispering to me to inhale and exhale. An inexplicable calm settles over me as he continues to coach me back toward normalcy. Embarrassment takes care of the rest when the waitress approaches with our food and I berated myself into sobering up. She gives us this knowing smile—which is totally off base— as she sets down our sandwiches, but Griffin is too focused on me to notice.
He pushes my plate toward me when he’s sure I’m not going to lose it and waits until I’ve shoved a few fries in my mouth to say anything in response to my freak out. “So I take it Kyran’s interest in you isn’t one sided?”
I choke on my fries, just a little. “What?” I croak.
“Well, I can’t imagine you’d be that panicked about being in a bed with him if you weren’t.” He shrugs, as though it doesn’t matter all that much, but I know better.
“I’m scared of being in that position with anyone,” I snap.
“Not me,” he argues,
“You’re different.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like you like that!” Exasperation is thick in my voice, but I realize my mistake a second too late. Griffin piques an eyebrow at me. I answer him with a glare. “Shut up.”
Instead of hounding me, Griffin digs into his sandwich. I’m too flustered to follow suit for several minutes. Finally, I calm myself enough to take a few bites and cross my finger he won’t bring this up again. Yeah, I’m not that lucky.
“Your feelings for Malachi, were they influenced by the bond?”
Sighing, I hesitate before answering his question. “Maybe. Probably. Yes?” Shaking my head, I make an attempt at sounding less like an idiot. “If I had met Malachi and he wasn’t a Keeper, there’s a good chance we would have hit it off and started dating. He’s a great guy, and we get along and have fun together.”
The Ghost Host: Episode 2 (The Ghost Host Series) Page 15
