The Ghost Host: Episode 2 (The Ghost Host Series)

by DelSheree Gladden

  It’s hopeful, but I doubt it. Echo does too.

  “Are you up for helping Timothy tonight?” I ask. She’s not even close to being fully recovered, and she’s worn down from everything else as well. Malachi handled things well enough on his own while she was out. He can do it again tonight.

  Echo’s thoughts seem to be similar, but after a while she shakes her head. “I need to figure out how I took us back last time, in case we need it. I can’t let the Devourers get anymore souls, either. They’re already too powerful, too close to being able to escape.”

  “If going only wears you out even more…”

  “Not going might be much worse,” she counters. “Saving the Field of Reeds, or whatever it really is, is way more important than me.”

  Frowning, I consider that statement and can’t bring myself to agree. Yes, getting the Key from Timothy’s father is important. There’s something about Echo, though. Her full role in this…there’s more to it than we can see right now.

  “Don’t leave Malachi’s side,” I tell her. She nods, relieved I’m not going to try to stop her. “At any hint of danger, leave.”

  She wants to agree, but all she says is, “If I can figure out how.”

  21: Together

  (Echo)

  I wake to a headache pulsing behind my eyes and a text from Malachi saying he picked up Kyran from the airport an hour ago. While I want to head for their apartment right away, headache or not, I have eight and nine o’clock classes this morning I can’t afford to miss. My hospital stay put me even further behind than I already was, and I’m not about to let Morton get me any extensions on homework. I’m an adult and can handle it on my own. Plus, I’m still a little mad at him for calling my parents.

  Dragging myself out of bed, I shoot Malachi a text telling him I’ll be by after my classes and head for the shower. Covering up the bandages on my arm is incredibly obnoxious. I get it done, though, and put minimal effort into getting ready. My grumpiness worsens when I realize I’ve missed the train and will have to drive. I try to back out of my parking space and find my arm is at less than full strength. Morton and Griffin are both busy, so I grit my teeth and cross my fingers I don’t hit anything on my way to campus.

  That’s about the only thing that goes my way.

  I avoid any collisions on the drive, but try as I might I can’t stay awake during my Freshman Comp class. I don’t even realize I’ve dozed off until the guy behind me whacks me with his backpack on his way out of class. After scowling at him, I face forward to collect my unopened notebook and realize my professor, Mr. Kegan, is standing in front of my desk. He looks even less happy than I feel.

  “There is a participation component to your grade.” His tone makes the ghost behind him glare at the back of his head.

  Normally my ghostly friends seem to be as bored by this class as I am and find more interesting places to skulk around. I’m not sure why Noel stuck around today, but his normally gloomy presence isn’t helping. I pointedly ignore him and make an attempt at looking repentant. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I promise I’ll be more awake next class.”

  His scowl deepens. “Partying all weekend is no excuse for sleeping through my class.”

  I figure it won’t do any good to argue, but I do it anyway. “That’s not why. I—”

  He glares before I can finish, and I accidentally let my unzipped hoodie slide from my shoulder. The white bandage wrapped around my biceps is hard to miss, even against my pale skin. “I should be back up to full strength by next week. Sorry for disrupting class.”

  Reaching down, I haul my backpack up from the floor. Mr. Kegan reaches forward to help me. Noel reaches for him. Luckily, Noel’s hands pass right through my professor’s neck. Unaware a ghost just tried to strangle him, Mr. Kegan says, “What happened?”

  The last thing I want to do is get into everything that led up to my arm impersonating a mummy. So I lie, just a little. “Low blood sugar. I fainted when I was holding a glass. Dropped the glass, it shattered, I fell on it and bled all over my friend’s carpet.” I shove my notebook into my backpack. “I spent the weekend in the hospital getting stitches and a blood transfusion, not partying.”

  “I’m…sorry,” he says.

  Really wanting to leave, I shrug. “It’s okay. I get it.”

  “If you need more time on your essay…”

  “No,” I tell him. “I’ll have it ready on Wednesday, but thanks.”

  He nods and steps back when I shoulder my backpack. I make my escape after that and hurry to my next class. I almost stay awake all the way through that one. Of all my classes, calculus is the only one I’m caught up on and not in danger of bombing. When it ends, I’m heading for my car as fast as my sorry strength will allow.

  Ten minutes later I’m pulling into the guest parking at the guys’ apartment. I debate texting one of them to come down and carry my backpack for me, but I figure they would probably do it and decide not to be a baby. As I trudge up the stairs, I’m grateful they’re on the second floor and not the fourth. Despite the fact that I’ve only been to their apartment a few times, and that by no means says I’m comfortable here, especially after bleeding all over their floor, I knock halfheartedly and push my way in without waiting for Malachi to answer.

  He glances up and nods without complaint about my rudeness. “Hey, how’re you feeling?”

  My posture probably says enough on its own, but I add a, “Meh,” just for good measure.

  Malachi gets up and takes my backpack from my hand. He gestures toward the table where he has his own homework spread out, and I am more than happy to comply. “Why do I feel so much worse than yesterday?” I ask as I drop into the chair.

  “Aside from being up all night with Timothy, did you take any pain meds this morning?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not supposed to drive if I take them, and I missed the train and Griffin’s busy.”

  “What about Zara?”

  “Couldn’t wake her up.”

  Malachi shakes his head. “You could have called. I would have driven you.”

  “You got even less sleep than I did.” I didn’t question him earlier when he said he had to pick Kyran up from the airport. Now, I wonder. “Does Kyran not drive?”

  Chuckling a little, Malachi gives me a wry look. “You just now noticed I’m always hauling his ass around town?”

  Shrugging, I say, “You guys are usually together.” I think back and realize there have been a few times Kyran has come over on his own, but I never paid much attention to how he got there.

  “Kyran has a license,” Malachi says, “but no car.”

  “Why not?”

  Malachi cocks his head to one side and I think I must have asked a really stupid question.

  “He can’t afford one,” he says, trying not to confirm my fear too obviously. “Even though we grew up on the same street, we don’t exactly come from the same socioeconomic group. Not after his mom died, anyway. What Kyran makes working as a flight attendant goes toward paying for classes, and sometimes he cuts it pretty close. Won’t let my parents help him, though. He’s feels bad enough that he doesn’t have to pay rent. My scholarship covers living expenses, but I know it still bothers him, so don’t bring it up, okay?”

  “Of course not,” I say quickly. I feel like a big enough idiot for asking Malachi after four months. I swallow any other questions, no matter how curious I am about Kyran’s mom and family situation, and change subjects to keep from embarrassing myself or anyone else. “I know you have your own homework, but would you mind reading over the first draft of my essay? You read Why the Caged Bird Sings in your English class last year, right?”

  Malachi nods. “Yeah, I think I remember it pretty well. What do you need help with?”

  I want to say everything, but I settle for, “Does it makes sense? I had to compare two chapters with similar themes and I don’t know if I sound stupid or not. Writing has never been a strength of mine.”
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br />   “Maybe you should have one of the ghosts help you out,” he jokes. “Any writers or English teachers following you around lately?”

  Despite being a little surprised by the joke coming from him, I find myself smiling. “Wouldn’t that be nice? I’m not that lucky.” I dig my laptop out of my bag and pull up my essay before pushing it across the table for him. Before he can start reading, though, I remember Noel’s weird reaction to my professor. “I think the ghosts are nervous, looking for threats in weird places.”

  Malachi glances up from his textbook. “What do you mean?” I explain what happened after class and he leans back in his chair to consider it. “How long have you know this Noel guy?”

  I can’t remember an exact date, but I say, “He’s been hanging around for about a month. Never caused any trouble before. Never even tried to talk to me. I have no idea why he’d go after Mr. Kegan like that.”

  Malachi’s expression twists. “Would he be safe enough to try to talk to?”

  Unsure, I can only shrug.

  “How do you know his name?” Malachi asks.

  I should get an award for being oblivious to so many things. Confusion screws my face up as I realize I have no idea. Malachi does not look happy when he guesses my answer. He runs a hand through his hair as he exhales. “Any chance he’s the guy talking to you in your sleep?”

  Wishing I had a better answer, I hold my hands up. “You’d have to ask Griffin.”

  Malachi has been much less antagonistic since I got out of the hospital, about both Kyran and Griffin, but my answer sets his jaw. “Does he spend the night with you every night?”

  “Pretty much,” I say, already weary of this topic, “but you know it’s nothing more than him watching over me.”

  “Do I know that?” he asks tersely.

  “Yeah, you do.” When he scowls at me, I ignore the little voice telling me to leave it alone. “Even if you haven’t gotten to know Griffin very well yet, you know me. You know how hard it’s been for me to forgive myself for using you like I did. You know I wouldn’t do that to anyone else, even if you don’t believe I’m not attracted to him in the least.”

  Malachi mulls over his response, jaw still tight. “I do know you, but I don’t know everything you’re capable of when it comes to protecting yourself.”

  That hurts. A lot. Glancing down at my hands, I try to find some sort of response. There’s no defense I can offer him for my actions that day. I acted without thinking, without considering the harm I was causing. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to consciously make the right choice, but afterward…I ran away and made everything worse. I want to tell him nothing like that will ever happen again. It would probably be a lie, so I don’t.

  “Echo, I…”

  “Thank you,” I say quickly in an effort to change the subject, “for dealing with my dad at the hospital. Griffin said you talked him down when he was ready to drag me out of the bed and back to California.”

  For a long moment, Malachi doesn’t respond. I hold my breath until he finally speaks. “It was nothing,” he says.

  It definitely wasn’t nothing. Talking my dad down is no small thing. Not even my mom can do that usually. “What did you say to him?”

  “Pretty much the same thing I said to him back in California.”

  I push aside my shame in favor of curiosity. That conversation has long been of interest to me. I try not to be too obvious about it. “What was that exactly?” I dare glancing up at Malachi to gauge his reaction. He’s watching me, a pensive expression on his face.

  “He tried to tell me I didn’t understand what it meant to protect you, and that I’d regret getting involved.” Malachi looks away, and for a second I think he’s decided my dad was right. Dropping my gaze and pulling back, I don’t see Malachi’s hand until it covers mine. “He was right that I didn’t understand everything, but I was right when I told him you were worth the risk. That night, I told him suffocating you would make him lose you. At the hospital I just added that you needed to figure things out for yourself before you’d be able to forgive them and move forward.”

  I stare at him uncertainly. “That worked?”

  Averting his gaze, it doesn’t stop me from seeing the red flushing his tanned skin. “I might have said a few other things, and not in a tone my mother would have approved of…but it did the trick.”

  A little in awe that he’d get in a fight with my dad on my behalf even when things aren’t exactly great between us, I struggle to come up with an appropriate response. “Thanks.”

  Malachi laughs. “You’re welcome. Just don’t ask me to do it again any time soon, okay? I can’t handle another near-death experience like that and having to fight with your dad.” His grip tightens on my hand, pulling my gaze to meet his. The pain held there steals my ability to breathe for half a second.

  “I’m so sorry for putting everyone through that,” I whisper, holding back the tears pooling in my eyes.

  “You don’t have to apologize,” he says. “It’s just…I care about you, regardless of anything else that happens between us. You’re as much a part of me as Kyran is. I don’t want to lose you.” He swallows hard, struggling to keep his gaze steady. “I don’t want to lose either of you, okay?”

  For a moment, I don’t know what he means. Then I do and my heart breaks. “You won’t,” I promise as a traitor tear escapes my control. “You and Kyran…you’re brothers, family in every way but blood. I’m just…” I can’t think of the right word, the insignificance of my presence in their lives when it comes to choosing between family and some crazy girl who disrupts everything.

  “You’re not just anything,” Malachi says softly. “We both understand how important you are, in our lives and to the ghosts, but I need both of you in my life. Maybe that’s unrealistic. I don’t know. I just need to try. I need you to try, if that makes sense.”

  After months of distance and fighting, I’m too shocked by his vulnerable confession to immediately respond. Part of me wants to say I would never come between him and Kyran, because I hate the idea of being the kind of person who ruins relationships just to get what they want. I don’t even know what I want, not really. I do know that I feel something for Kyran, though, and that what Malachi and I once had is all but gone. I also know how Kyran feels, at least in part, and I don’t know if it would be possible to ignore or crush that just to prevent hurting Malachi when we aren’t even together anymore. If, in fact, we aren’t. That’s when I understand the full meaning of what he’s saying.

  “We’re breaking up.” The words come out as a whisper, despite having known we were on the verge of making it official since that day.

  Malachi’s hand tightens on mine. “We’re admitting that we broke up months ago.”

  The sadness behind his words tears at me. I force myself to confront this and not hide, be brave for once. His eyes are red-rimmed, but he has better control than I do and holds back while tears are sliding down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through,” I say as I wipe at my face.

  “This feels like shit,” Malachi says, “but I meant what I said to your dad. I don’t regret anything when it comes to you. I wanted to be the person who could protect you and love you, and I will always love you as a friend, but I think this is right. Someone else will…” He chokes up and his gaze strays to Kyran’s door. “We’ll figure this out.”

  Reaching across the little table, I hesitate for half a second—wondering if he’d rather I just stay away for a while—but he closes the distance and wraps me in his arms. Neither of us says anything after that. The need to apologize will follow me for the rest of my life as surely as the ghosts will, but I know he’s right. Somehow, we’ll find a way to be everything we need to be to each other without destroying the rest of our relationships. Something other than love-at-first-phone call pulled us together, but together is where we’ll stay, even if not in the way we expected.

  22: A Little Hint

  (E
cho)

  Malachi is tapping away on my laptop, making me extremely nervous about looking at his edits on my essay. I try not to think about it as I wrap up the lab report due in chemistry tomorrow. I love chemistry, but the reports are a lot more time consuming than what I used to have to do in high school. Part of me feels guilty working on homework at all when I have so many other things I should be thinking about. Morton and Griffin are on fact finding missions today and insisted I stay home to catch up on schoolwork. Kyran did a lot of digging into Timothy’s stories and notes, as well, and if he ever wakes up…told Malachi he’d go over everything he’s discovered. I still feel as though I should be doing something more.

  “Dude,” Malachi says, “we have company.”

  I look up and my eyes widen at the sight of Kyran in the doorway of his bedroom in nothing but a pair of athletic shorts. Even if I’m uncertain about what kind of relationship I can handle with him, there is no doubt that he’s an attractive man. His dark skin is such a contrast to mine. So is the definition in his muscles. I should really work out. It takes me a shamefully long time to actually lift my gaze enough to meet his. As soon as I realize he’s staring at me staring at him, I yank my gaze away and focus back on my lab report.

  “I’ll…be right back,” Kyran says, his voice fading halfway through as I assume he turned back toward his room.

  Malachi grunts something unintelligible and resettles himself in his chair—which makes me feel like just about the worst ex-girlfriend ever. This is so not going to be easy. Neither of us says a word as we wait for Kyran to reappear, hopefully fully clothed.

  I jump when the chair next to me is dragged back from the table. I’m slightly more in control of myself when Kyran drops a couple of notebooks on the table and unceremoniously plops into the chair. “So, I didn’t get a whole lot done, but I did make some progress on the Ferryman book.”

  Malachi looks up, seeming somewhat surprised by that revelation. So am I. Morton is meeting with the Egyptologist today, trying to prod her along in her translation. So far she hasn’t been a lot of help. According to her, many of the hieroglyphs are too ancient to be certain about, and the pieces she has been able to decipher don’t always line up with what she knows about Egyptian mythology…or whatever we’re calling it now. Semi-truth? Relative truth? Experience based reality?