“Enough questions. Let’s go.” He straightens his back and runs a hand over his hair. Not caring that he’s stepping on antique and rare books, he stomps through the mess to the door.
He’s the worst. The absolute worst.
Geoffrey growls beside me, then disappears. I worry he’s woken up from his impromptu nap until he reappears in front of Stanford. With a wink and a grin in my direction, he sticks out his leg to trip the book thief.
If there’s anything that pisses Geoffrey off, it’s someone disrespecting books. The man has devoted his life to an archive.
Stanford stumbles and almost finds his balance. Until Geoffrey shoves him from behind. I open the front door, narrowly slamming it into his head. Stanford falls through it and sprawls onto the front landing.
Geoffrey gives me a high five and we collapse into a fit of laughter on the leather chesterfield.
Madison joins in, wiping tears from her eyes. “Thank you.”
Leaning my head on Geoffrey’s shoulder, I mouth “You’re welcome” to her.
REM sleep is only about ninety minutes long. I want a few minutes alone with dreaming Geoffrey before he awakes.
“You could say goodbye,” Madison shouts as we fade away. “Fine. I guess I’ll see you around.”
Phyllis returns and chats with Madison. Taking advantage of the distraction, I quickly rearrange the library by returning every book to its proper home. Geoffrey watches me buzz around the room, a silly grin on his face. He opens a random book and shows it to me.
Inside is a loose bookplate declaring it to be one of mine.
This book is the property of Miss Alice W.
He’s brilliant.
I drop the bookplate on the floor and hope that Madison finds it. It’s the simplest way to introduce myself and give her a clue about my connection to this house.
“Did you drop something?” Phyllis points at the page.
“How is that possible?” Madison’s eyes widen as she realizes the library is back to normal.
When she picks up the single piece of paper out of place, she reads it and then stares at me.
I point at the bookplate and back to myself.
“Alice?”
With a happy smile, I confirm it’s me.
“Nice to meet you, Alice. Thank you for all of your help.”
I nod again and then flicker out of the room.
★★★
After leaving the summer house library, we return to Geoffrey’s office.
“Is this real?” he asks, holding my hand.
I nod, unable to speak, afraid to wake him from this dream. His sleeping form is sprawled across his desk, his head resting on a stack of books.
“Will you come back?” He brushes his lips against my temple.
Leaning into his touch, I nod again.
“Tonight?”
“Every night,” I whisper. “Look for me in your dreams.”
“Promise?” His eyes search mine.
“Always.” I stretch up to press my lips to his.
As I watch, his long, dark lashes flutter and his eyes slowly open. Blinking, he stretches his arms and back before sitting up in the desk chair.
“That was both the strangest and best dream,” he mumbles, scrubbing his face with his hands. “Alice would’ve loved it.”
He doesn’t believe the words I whispered to him as he slept.
★★★
Once she’s safely back in the Society’s headquarters, Madison details the day’s events. With each new detail about his father, Andrew’s body coils with rage. When the others laugh over my antics, he doesn’t even smile.
“Oh, and Alice introduced herself to me.” Madison pokes Andrew’s shoulder to get his attention.
I hold my breath. Unable to look at Geoffrey, I focus on Andrew instead. He slowly turns from the window. “Who is Alice?”
Is everyone holding their breath? The room feels impossibly still like our hearts have collectively stopped beating, waiting for Madison’s answer.
“My ghost. She showed me her name on a bookplate in one of the damaged hardcovers. Miss Alice W.”
This is the moment when Geoffrey will realize I’m here. I’ve been here the entire time. I’m not gone, just different. I’ve waited fifteen years for this revelation. Finally, I allow myself to glance at him. Truthfully, I’m not sure what I expect to see on his face. Joy. Love. Relief.
Instead, he’s scowling, his mouth forming an ugly line of disgust.
“Could it be Winthrop?” Sam asks Tate.
“Or Wildes?” Madison says to Andrew.
“Don’t forget Wardwell,” Geoffrey adds. “At least we’ve narrowed it down to the W’s. We can research this in the archive.”
What the actual what? Alice Wardwell? Who is that?
It’s me, you idiot. You know it’s me.
What game is he playing?
★★★
Karma is real and she’s not amused.
Stanford Bradford was attacked in his condo and is in a coma at Mass General. Apparently, he fell and has a head injury.
Perhaps he was pushed. I swear it wasn’t me, although I’m having trouble feeling terrible for him.
If his fall has something to do with the black book, I’m worried the people working with him are becoming more violent.
Weeks have passed and he’s still unconscious. Despite no one at the Society being a fan of Stanford, the lack of answers and the lingering coma have everyone on edge. Based on her role in Madison’s kidnapping, we’re all certain Mrs. Putnam is involved. I highly doubt she’d resort to physical violence herself, but she does seem the type to hire a non-union henchman and not tip him.
Honestly, for purely selfish reasons I want him to live. I cannot handle the idea of ghost Stanford haunting the same places I do. That’s a big fat nope from me. I’m not saying it would happen, but if there’s even the slightest, tiniest, fractional fraction of a chance, then I hope he lives forever and ever. Amen.
Nine
One of my favorite activities to distract me from pining over Geoffrey, and fretting over the possibility of ghost Stanford, is hanging around new love, especially couples who are in the early stages of falling for each other. Like Sam and my cousin, Tate. The energy they put off is like a happy drug. All those swirling hormones and zings from the briefest eye contact or lightest touch. This afternoon they’re loitering around the main living room, unsupervised.
“Hey, Sam.” He’s so awkward and I love it.
“Hey.” She’s desperate to appear unaffected by him. If he were more observant, he’d notice the slight quiver in her voice whenever she speaks to him.
Sam refocuses on her tarot cards. My connection to her isn’t as strong as it is to Madison, but I know the ritual well enough to know she’ll begin by calling upon her spirit guides.
Showtime.
“Alice is here,” Madison says from her perch on the cushion lining the bay window.
“Where?” Sam scans the room and her gaze lingers on Tate a little too long.
I point between Sam and Tate, and then make a heart shape with my hands.
Madison’s lips curve up in amusement. “She’s sitting across from you. Can you sense her?”
“Same dress as before?” Sam asks.
Madison lifts an eyebrow at me in a silent question. “No. Is that possible? I thought she’d be stuck in the black ball gown.”
Wearing the same thing forever would make my life even more boring.
“Like Patrick Swayze in Ghost,” Tate comments, still facing the painting.
If anyone cares, I hate the movie Ghost. Don’t even get me started about the weird black smoke creatures. Or the entire “ditto” bullshit because they have too many emotional issues to say the actual words out loud. Say I love you, asshole.
“What’s she wearing today?” Sam asks.
“Wide pants, black, silky fabric, and a pale pink blouse with short, puffy sleeves and tiny buttons down the
front.”
“Can you tell what decade?”
Madison tilts her head as she studies me.
I sweep hand over my favorite pink blouse from the seventies, one of my best finds at the Garment District in Cambridge back in the day.
“I can’t. Unfortunately, Alice is timeless when it comes to her fashion. Could be the nineties or the thirties. Or last year. She might be the kind of woman who shops at vintage stores and fits into everything.” Madison exhales. “How can she change clothes? Where’s her closet?”
I preen at her compliment. Never really thought about wardrobe storage. If I want to switch outfits, I simply change. The only downside is I’m limited to clothes I owned while alive. No unicorn onesies or jumpsuits for me, which is probably for the best. Although I don’t have to ever pee, so I’m the only girl who can comfortably wear a jumpsuit without being topless in a public restroom.
“If we can find out who she is, or was, you know what I mean, then maybe we can find her home base. Clearly, she’s able to move between locations,” Sam muses as she shuffles her cards.
Speaking of, I should pop over to the family summer house and make sure there haven’t been further dark magic attempts by the Putnams and Stanford.
Finding the house empty and the protective spells intact, I pop back into the room a few seconds later.
“What about the locket? How old was it?” Sam’s words pique my interest. They need to figure out the significance if they’re ever going to be able to reunite me with my true love.
Madison’s brow furrows. “No dates were on the locket and we’re still sifting through the book for those initials. Based on her clothes, I started in the late nineteenth century, but so far, nothing.”
Wrong by a hundred years. Attempting to communicate this to Sam via my mad skills, I’m pleased when her hands stop moving through the cards.
“Maybe you’re in the wrong century. Could it have been a costume party?”
Success! Huzzah!
Madison’s brows draw together. “I hadn’t considered that. The gas lighting seemed specific to a certain time period.”
Or my pretentious family who have to overdo every detail of their events. At least the parties before I died. Now I make it a point to avoid any and all family social gatherings. Too much misery in one room. The holidays are the worst.
Tate claps his hands together once, drawing everyone’s attention to him.
“Has anyone considered that the W could be for Winthrop? With all of the branches and cousins, plus the illegitimate children and bastards, she might be related.” Tate points at the portrait above the fireplace. “Take this fellow. Handsome, isn’t he?”
He strikes a pose, mirroring the awkward turn of the man’s elbow and the hand on his thigh. “See a resemblance?”
There is something familiar in the shape of the nose and the smug arch of their eyebrows.
“Is he another Winthrop?” Madison joins him at the fireplace.
“The name plate is missing from the frame, but he does remind me of one of my many unfortunate uncles. In the eyes. See the boredom and greed? Classic traits of the Winthrop men.” He widens his eyes and then squints with a frown. “A classic example of money’s inability to buy a single ounce of happiness.”
The portrait is of my great-grandfather and Tate is one-hundred percent correct.
“Alice being a Winthrop would make sense. We’ve only ever seen her in properties owned by your family. Here and the house in Marblehead. Tate?” Sam asks.
“Yes, beautiful?” The word obviously slipped out of his mouth. A flash of surprise glints in his eyes and he clears his throat. “Yes?”
Madison’s eyes widen and her mouth pops open.
I’m here for this. We’re at the tipping point between being able to deny feelings and being swallowed up by love. It’s my favorite.
Sam blinks away her shock but her blush remains. “Do you have something that belonged to a family member? Grandfather’s watch? Grandmother’s ring? Something that might be engraved?”
Her intense focus on her cards fools no one. If she lifted her eyes, she’d see the love in Tate’s eyes.
Look up. Look up. Look up.
She finally does and stares at his mouth.
He purses his lips.
The mating dance has begun.
“There’s a pocket watch downstairs in the archive that belonged to one or more of the many Jonathon Winthrops.”
“Could you get it for me? I want to try something.” Sam stacks the cards into two piles on the table.
“At your service.” Tate gives her a slight bow. “Be right back.”
Madison waits until he leaves before practically skipping over to Sam and then perching on the arm of one of the wingbacks. “Well, well, well.”
“Yes?” Sam asks as nonchalantly as she can manage with her pulse still racing from Tate calling her beautiful.
She’s fooling no one.
Madison grins at her. “He likes you. I’m certain of it.”
Well, duh.
“He’s a flirt. And has the decency not to flirt with his best friend’s girlfriend. Which leaves only me at the moment. I’ve witnessed him charming Mrs. Peale for cookies. He can’t help it.”
Oh, Sam. She’s more frustrating than my cousin.
“Sure. Keep telling yourself that and maybe you’ll believe yourself.” Madison rolls her eyes and I do the same. “He’s never slipped and called the cook beautiful.”
“Who doesn’t think Mrs. Peale is beautiful?” Andrew pauses in the doorway—his eyes crinkled up in amusement. He reminds me of a younger version of his mother. Same mix of ethereal beauty and strong powers.
“Did you take a nap?” Madison walks over to him and runs her fingers through his hair.
He gives her a soft kiss that lingers.
I sigh. I really miss kissing and running my hands through Geoffrey’s hair.
Being a ghost is like only having sight and hearing, but none of the other senses.
Finally breaking apart, he speaks up, his voice raspy. “I was working out in the gym.”
“There’s a gym in here?” Madison asks.
He laughs. “You’re funny. Yes, it’s behind the kitchen at the end of the hall.”
“I always thought that was a random storage closet or extra pantry.” She shrugs.
Still laughing, he wraps an arm around her shoulder.
She’s missing out. I love watching Geoffrey work out, especially during the summer when he often does it shirtless. One of benefits of my invisibility: indulging my inner pervert.
“You should probably shower,” she tells Andrew as she slips from his embrace.
He lifts his shirt collar and sniffs. “Ew, you’re right. I’ll be back in ten.”
“Hurry,” she says, “Sam’s going to perform a séance using a pocket watch.”
Which reminds me that I need to make sure Tate finds the right watch downstairs. I close my eyes, and when I open them, I’m in the archives.
Tate’s pulled out a tray of watches in their boxes from one of the safes and has opened them.
“Okay, which one, which one?” he whispers quietly to himself.
I tilt the right one in its silk compartment.
“Thanks, Alice.” He stares at the wall behind me. “Appreciate it.”
I want to ask if he’s told Sam yet about the family curse, but he can’t hear or see me. Instead, I shift my attention to the case holding the black book. With concentration, I slide it across the work top until it rests right in front of him.
“Guess I should bring this upstairs as well?” He picks up the case.
Back upstairs, Tate approaches Sam. “I found the watch and brought the book with me as well.”
She accepts the cloth-bound case from him. “How’d you know I was thinking about trying some bibliomancy?”
He shrugs, appearing boyish. “Lucky guess.”
“Do you think we should find Geoffrey to tell him
what we’re doing in his library?” Madison joins us near the table. “Or Smith? Or some other adult?”
I straighten up at the mention of Geoffrey. Yes, please.
Tate chuckles. “We’re all adults here.”
Shooting him a dirty look, I tell him to shut his pie hole.
“You know what I mean. What if we unleash something we can’t control?” Madison twists her hands together.
Like a black smoke ghost? Not going to happen.
“This isn’t a Ouija board at a sleepover party,” Sam tells her. “We’ll cast a circle of protection before we begin. Can you invite Alice to rejoin us?”
She nods. “I’ll try. It would be easier if she had a smartphone on the other side.”
I’m right here! I wave at her but she apparently can’t see me at the moment.
“Do you have the pocket watch?” Sam asks
He sets a small, rectangular leather case next to the box with the book. “I didn’t check to see if it’s engraved.”
“Mind if I open it?” She puts on a pair of white, cotton archive gloves.
He gestures for her to open it.
“It could be brand new.” She carefully lifts it out of the case. With a surprised expression, she dangles the watch from its thick chain. As it spins, the engraved floral pattern catches the light. Turning the watch over in her hand, she reads aloud, “For JWW. Merry Christmas.”
“Jonathan Winthrop. Looks like we have the right watch.” Tate leans over Sam’s shoulder.
She stops breathing and I hold a breath I don’t even need.
Kiss her. Dammit.
After a long moment of building sexual tension, Sam inhales and focuses on the watch. “W could mean west witch. Although there’s no dash like Alice’s locket.”
Arrrgh!
I want to shove their faces together and hold them there until they kiss. If only for my own selfish reasons.
Instead, Tate steps back and pulls out a chair. “Good point. I didn’t imagine spending my summer analyzing my ancestry for hidden clues.”
Joining them, Madison sits down. “I didn’t plan to get kidnapped by my boyfriend’s father this summer.”
Four Witches and a Funeral (Wicked Society Book 3) Page 6
