by Kelty Kells
“Want some tea?” I ask, guiding them back toward the folding table and chairs behind the counter.
“Tea sounds mighty nice about now,” says Uncle Angus.
He lets me help him onto one of the folding chairs and sets his cane against the table with a sigh.
“You can take the other,” I say to Cole. “I’ll use the stool.”
While he sheds his coat, I rush around, filling the two old mugs in the back with water to microwave and grabbing a third from the front for myself. We needed more mugs for us, anyway, so I figure the twelve dollars is well spent.
At last, I bring all three mugs out. They’re steaming, heat swimming across my palms and up my arms. I set one each in front of Cole and Uncle Angus.
“Tea’s in the tin.” I gesture at the little old Christmas cookie tin we’ve had for longer than I’ve been here. “Everything from ginseng to Chai.” Chai sounds great, so I snag one and tear it open for my own mug.
Cole reaches in and sifts around, and an uncomfortable silence fills the room.
“So,” I say at last, “I, uh . . . think maybe we have some things to talk about. Right?”
He glances at me, then away again. “Yeah, sounds like.”
“Let’s start with the cufflinks,” I say, “since they’re kind of what caused all of this.”
Uncle Angus nods dimly as he dips his own Rooibos into the mug. “Got any cream?”
“Oh, sure.” I pull a quart of half and half from the minifridge and pass it over. “So. The cufflinks. I wanna know how they ended up in my drink and why.” My gaze cuts to Cole. I’m not pulling any punches this time. It’s time he gives me some answers. Real ones, too. Not him evading the question, not him changing the subject, not him leaving early because of work and my parents. I want real answers, darn it.
“I’m guessing you think I’m the one doing that,” he replies, still keeping his gaze averted. He rubs his hands together awkwardly.
“You betcha I do. Care to elaborate?” It’s almost a dare, as if I’m saying, Prove me wrong.
With a soft, chuffed laugh, he mumbles, “Well, I mean . . . I always knew you’d figure it out. Thought it might take a little longer, though.”
“Really.” The remark is dry. “Because I’ve suspected you for a while.”
“Oh? How long?”
“Since the Faberge egg. And don’t change the subject. I wanna know how you’re doing it and why.”
Cole reaches for his steaming cup of tea. He turns it round and round, as if he’s deliberating how best to answer my questions. Finally, he says, “You’re not the only one in town with psychic powers.”
“Beg pardon?” I ask, leaning forward from where I’m perched on my stool.
Ever since Shannon showed up in Mooring Cove, I’ve known that other people out there have powers like mine. Maybe they’re not the same ones I have, but they’re in a similar vein. I assumed, though, that most of them didn’t live in town. Some part of me is still reeling over that revelation, honestly.
“Yeah,” he mumbles. “So, uh. You’re . . . psychometric, right? Can touch things and read them?”
“Yes . . . but how did you know that?”
“My dad and grandfather.” His gaze flicks to Uncle Angus, who has been sitting in silence the entire time, just watching us and waiting. “It’s a long story, but they knew your great grandfather. Anyway, I got their powers.”
“Which are?”
“Apportation.”
“Excuse me?” I like to think of myself as a pretty well-read person, but the word doesn’t sound familiar. Then again, I’ve only recently started learning about the occult and psychic abilities.
He chews the inside of his cheek then raps his knuckle against the table.
I hold back a shout of surprise as a set of car keys appears from nowhere. Literally from nowhere. Just poof, and bam! There they are! A whole set of keys! They didn’t even make noise when they appeared. The whole thing is like a crazy magic trick.
My jaw drops.
Even Uncle Angus looks shocked, his brown eyes wide, forehead wrinkled as his eyebrows raise. “Holy moly.”
“Yeah. So . . . I can teleport objects.” Another rap of his knuckles, and the keys vanish, presumably back to where they came from.
My heart hammers in my chest. My mouth goes dry. Everything I thought I knew about Cole blows out the window.
This is a lot to take in. Almost too much, actually. Slowly, I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Okay. So. That’s new.”
“Not new.” He shakes his head and leans back in his chair, lifting his tea to sip it. I get the feeling he has a hard time talking about this, just like I do. “I’ve been able to do it since childhood. It’s why . . . it’s why my dad and I left town.”
I swallow slowly, still trying to wrap my mind around all this. There’s more to that statement. I can sense it. But I opt not to push, since my brain is still in overdrive regarding this new revelation. Finally, I manage, “Does . . . does your sister know? And your mom?”
He scoffs softly. “Yeah, they do. They’re the ones who suggested we go so I could get the training I needed.”
“So . . . wait, did you move to a big city, or . . .?”
“It’s a long story.” The fatigue behind that statement is enough to suggest that maybe now isn’t the time to get into everything that happened to him as a kid. “Not everyone’s able to just pretend their powers don’t exist. Let’s just say I had to learn how to control mine and leave it at that.”
The bitterness in those words cuts deep. “Ouch. Thanks.”
“Look, it’s . . . never mind.”
I shake my head. “It’s whatever. I get it.” Kind of, anyway. “But . . . I mean, you knew about my powers? This whole time? So that was why you kept putting stuff in my coffee? Why not, like . . . you know, put it somewhere more useful?” Like the counter or the register or my purse. Literally anywhere but my coffee.
“Didn’t want you to overlook ’em.” A heavy breath blows from his lips. “I mean . . . if I’d just made them appear somewhere, you might not have actually noticed them.”
“I noticed the earring,” I point out. “You could have just done that, left the other things in an envelope or something. And . . . wait, does that mean you have my shop key? Did you, what, apparate it off my keychain or whatever?” If he did . . . man, that’s irritating. I got chewed out like crazy for losing that key.
Okay, for lying about losing it, but still! I wouldn’t have had to avoid the topic if I hadn’t lost it in the first place!
He tucks his hand into his pocket and pulls out the little shop key I lost all those months ago. Gently, he drops it against the folding table with a click. “Yeah. I didn’t actually use it, though. I just needed to make it . . . well, you know. An envelope appearing from nowhere when the shop was locked seems . . .”
“Unreal,” I breathe.
Because this is unreal.
It’s all so unreal that my mind is reeling.
Cole’s been behind the items this whole time. Even though I suspected as much, I definitely didn’t expect this to be the reason—or how he’s been doing it. I just need a second to collect myself, that’s all. No, I’m not internally screaming about the fact that we both have supernatural powers. Definitely not. Nope.
Okay, yes, I’m freaking.
I force out, “Why, though?”
“People keep dying,” my uncle chimes in. He leans forward, catching my gaze and holding it. “Mooring Cove has a delicate balance, and with all them people dyin’ on us, we gotta find ways to keep that balance intact. Ain’t that right?”
Cole nods, rubbing his thumb across the top of the folding table. He still doesn’t seem willing to open up about everything he knows.
Nope. No way. That’s not gonna fly, buddy. “Balance?” I press. “What balance?”
“The balance between the living and the dead.” The way Cole says it is firm, leaving no quest
ion for argument.
“I don’t understand. What’s it matter?”
My uncle leans back, rubbing his hand over his cane like he’s trying to figure out the best way to say what needs saying. At last, he speaks. “All I knows is that if the dead outnumber the living, bad things happen.”
Confused, I point out the obvious: “Mooring Cove’s been around for two hundred years. The dead already outnumber the living.”
“Not the dead who want revenge,” Cole replies. “And we’re getting dangerously close to that threshold.”
“So what happens? If the . . . the dead who want revenge outnumber the living?”
Uncle Angus shakes his head. “Pa only seen it once.”
“And?”
“Mooring Cove isn’t named for boats,” says Cole. “It’s named because this is where the spirit world is moored to our own. We’re a gateway point. If the vengeful dead outnumber the living here, then that gateway opens, and . . . well, bad things happen.”
I can’t help but imagine a swirling vortex of spirits and demons entering our world. The whole thing sounds very Scooby Doo to me. “Wait, so like . . . like paranormal stuff? Like a zombie apocalypse or something?”
“We are paranormal stuff,” he replies with a huffed laugh. “We’re the result of the first time the gateway broke. And no, not a zombie apocalypse. Don’t be silly. It’s not, like . . .” He shifts in his seat. “Not like they actually come through or dig out of the ground or anything. It’s more like . . . we become an epicenter for a lot of bad things. A lot of chaos and death. That sort of thing.”
Okay, so the zombie apocalypse is out. That’s good.
Still, the whole chaos and death thing? That sounds pretty awful to me.
I clench and unclench my hands. “Okay. So . . . how do we stop it from happening?”
“We have to help vengeful spirits get justice.”
He says it as if doing so is going to be the easiest thing in the world. I can tell you right now, it’s definitely not.
Chapter 10
I lift my hands up and lean back. “Just a second. I . . . this is a lot to take in. Like . . . a lot.”
Cole shrugs slowly. “It’s not exactly common knowledge, so I’d appreciate if you don’t go around sharing it. And I mean any of it.”
“As if I’d do that. I’m not keen on people knowing about my powers, either.” It still boggles my mind that he knows about them—and that he believes in them enough to actually send me things to get readings on. “I’m just . . . I’m so confused. I don’t even remember ever meeting your dad or grandfather. How is it that you know I’m a psychometrist again?”
“It’s more like . . . we suspected? My dad recognized a lot of the same things in you that he saw when Edmund was alive. That’s pretty much all he told me.”
Edmund is my great grandfather’s name. It’s so odd to hear him addressed as if he’s still around. “Where is your dad, anyway?”
Uncle Angus clears his throat. “Maybe that’s not the most important thing to worry about right now. We gots other questions what needs answers.”
Right. Okay, he’s right about that. “So . . . we need to help vengeful spirits find peace. How do we do that, exactly?”
Cole shakes his head. “Mostly, we need to put wrongs to rights, I assume.”
“And?”
He raises his hands, palms up, like he’s waiting for me to figure it out.
“Okay, so you don’t know how.”
“Not exactly. I’m pretty sure the cufflinks have something to do with Grandpa Leon’s murder, though, and we need to set it straight.”
“Right. And how did you come across them?”
He leans back. “My, uh . . . my dad.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. Then again, maybe he doesn’t need to. After all, I know a few things for sure. One is that his grandfather was killed. Another is that, for whatever reason, my great granddad Edmund and Uncle Angus were both there. It all boils down to the sparse visions the cufflinks offered and what my uncle knows but hasn’t said yet.
“You think he’s one of these vengeful spirits?”
“Maybe. I’d like to know, to be honest. I was sort of hoping you might be able to figure that out, you know, confirm it and all.”
We both turn to Uncle Angus, who looks just as lost as we feel. “Well, I knows the one set come from my pa. The other? Never seen it a’fore. Ain’t sure how this all fits together, though, or what it’s gotta do with Leon’s murder.”
I sigh and slump against the counter, trying to puzzle through everything I know. In the end, it’s genuinely not much. “That’s not exactly helpful.”
Cole shifts in his seat, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Maybe more helpful than you think. Angus, you said you were there that night. Can you tell us what happened?”
“Aye, I were.” The way he says it sets a heavy pit in the center of my gut.
Oh no. “So . . . wait, you saw him die?” Knowing that Leon was killed is one thing; finding out that my uncle actually witnessed it is something else entirely. I knew he was there, but I didn’t realize that he’d actually seen it happen.
My great uncle nods, thumbing over the worn curve of his cane again. “Aye, he passed right a’fore my eyes. Worst night of my life.”
“What happened?” I want to get up and hug him, rub his shoulder, do something to comfort him, but I’m scared that if I stand, my legs will just give out. This is just . . . so much to take in. This isn’t like any of the murders I’ve worked on before. If my uncle was really there, then there’s a darn good chance he saw who killed Cole’s grandfather.
“It were so dark that night. I don’t recalls much, just them gunshots and findin’ them both on the ground. Pa’s Colt were in his hand, and I . . .” He trails off, shaking his head. “I guess he done shot Leon, then shot hisself.”
A lump gathers tight in my throat. That’s not at all what I was expecting. Seems to be the norm for me lately, though. It’s like I can’t get away from grisly surprises. “Did . . . did he survive?”
“Oh, aye. For a few years after, anyway. Weren’t the same after shooting hisself, though. Went downright loony, kept shoutin’ nonsense.”
I don’t know much about my great grandfather’s later years. Most of the snippets I get come from Angus, a few from my mom. Anything that they discuss usually reflects happier times. “I didn’t know he . . . he killed someone and then attempted suicide.”
“Weren’t his fault. See, as he told you, bad things happen when the gateway gets weak. Things slip through. Not demons or nothing like that. Used to think so, of course, but now we know better.” He shifts in his chair, wincing as his bad hip moves the wrong way. At last, he settles in again to continue his story. “We was driving the pass on a day trip back from Portland. Went out for Minnie’s wedding, you see.”
Minnie was a great aunt of mine, one of Angus’s older sisters. Her real name was Mina, but everyone just called her Minnie.
“We was coming back into town when my pa pulled over to have a chat with us about things he’d saw. Weren’t things I knew about, but Cole, your granddaddy did. He knowed all about them.” His face pinches. This isn’t an easy night to talk about, obviously. After a slow, deep breath, he continues. “Kept talking about how these things Leon gave him kept showing him stuff he didn’t want no part of.”
“Like what?” Cole asked, voice tight.
Guess neither of us know this story.
“Lotsa death, mostly. Screamed about how it were all his fault the veil between Mooring Cove and the spirit world were drawing thinner and thinner. Can’t says I understood it all, considering, but I got the gist of it. See, then they got out. My pa were raving mad, talking about how them spirits wouldn’t leave him be. He . . .” He shakes his head, eyes downcast.
I catch the glimmer of tears in them.
This isn’t easy for him, and I want to help, but I just don’t know how. I don’
t know what to do.
“All I knows is that I were told to stay put while they went to talk it out like men.”
Like men. A shiver rolls up my spine. “The Colt.”
“Aye. Took it with him everywheres. So I knowed he had it on him. I waited for them, heard the gunshots.”
BAM! BAM! BAM! Phantoms of the shots I’d heard echo through my mind. “Three, right?”
“Aye, three. Sos I got outta the car, but by the time I got over to them, Leon were dead and my pa were bleeding out everywheres. I ain’t never run so fast to get help. Lucky as hell that Dino were driving by that night. Saw me and raced us all to the hospital. Was too late to save Leon, but we managed to get my pa the help he needed.”
I lean back on my stool. My tea sits beside me, cold and long forgotten. “Wow.”
Cole rests his elbows on the folding table and runs his hands over his face. “I didn’t know. Not . . . not the details. Just . . . that they thought you . . .”
Angus refuses to look at him.
“Wait,” I whisper. Louder, I ask, “Thought you what?”
The two of them stay silent, neither of them willing to look at me. The tension in the air is so thick that it’s almost suffocating. Seconds drag by. No one speaks.
“Tell me.”
Finally, Cole mutters, “Since Angus was the only one not injured, the authorities assumed he was the one who shot them both.”
“But . . . the Colt was in Grandpa Edmund’s hand, right? Wouldn’t they know about that?”
“Aye, it were when I first found them. By the time Dino and I got back to them, though, the gun were gone. Didn’t realize it at first. Caused a whole mess for me. Nearly served a life sentence for it all.”
My chest aches. A grim hollow spreads from there all the way down to my fingertips. “I don’t understand. From the sounds of it, you didn’t even see anything. Why would they assume you shot them?”
“Not a long leap to guess it, since we had a row at Minnie’s wedding,” Uncle Angus replies. “Ain’t something I want to relive. Took damn near ten years to convince the sheriff’s office my pa done shot them, not me.”
