by Harper, Lou
"Damn the man for driving business your way!"
"It's not funny," Bran said, but a smile played hide-and-seek on his lips.
"What's up with the baggies? Are you dealing?"
"One of my mother's old friends runs a small deli, and she can sell my extra herbs. I have too much and hate to throw them away. I don't take money from her, but she always forces some goods on me. Maybe we'll get caviar."
Bran made a face. "Great. Can I help?"
"You can put the labels on." Bran demonstrated how to place the printed label at the lip of the baggie and fold it over so the herb's name showed on one side.
Denton copied him but immediately messed it up.
"No, that's the wrong label," Bran chided him. "Can't you tell the difference between basil and oregano?"
"No," Denton admitted.
Bran let out a heavy sigh and arranged some baggies into one pile, others into another. "This is oregano, and that's basil."
They all still looked the same to Denton, so he just took Bran at his word.
They bagged, labeled, had lunch; then the courier arrived with a padded envelope, which contained a check, a key, and a sticky note with an address.
***
Irina's Deli turned out to be a hole-in-the-wall shop with shelves crammed full of boxes, jars, cans, and bottles of imported goods. Irina Bosko herself turned out to be a white-haired old lady presiding behind the cash register. A younger woman, who could've been her granddaughter, busied herself behind the counter.
After patting them on the cheeks and asking Bran about his mother, Irina let them go on the condition that they'd take several pairs of smoked sausages and a candy bar with them.
"Oh, this is so good," Denton said, chewing on a piece of chocolate, once they were back in the car and on their way again. "Sure you don't want some?"
Bran shook his head and kept his eye on the traffic.
"She seemed like a nice old lady."
"I've been coming to the store since I was two. I suspect she's spying on me for Mother." Bran smiled as he said it, but Denton got the impression he wasn't entirely joking. He also wondered if Bran brought him along to send a message to Mrs. Maurell. Weird family.
They drove on in silence till the car came to a halt on a quiet, residential street in Old Town. Their destination was one of the twelve condos in a red brick building, which, by its appearance, had been there long enough to accumulate history and a ghost or two. The trees on the street were bare now, but from spring to fall they must have provided a pleasant view.
Bran and Denton let themselves in and wandered around. The living room showed signs of recent remodeling. As the agent had informed Bran, the unit was unoccupied and unfurnished.
"Do you see anything?" Bran asked.
Denton shook his head.
The kitchen sparkled with granite countertops and brushed aluminum appliances.
Bran took the top sheet from the stack of real estate flyers on the counter. "Two bedrooms, one bath, a thousand square feet," he read out loud. "They are asking two-hundred grand, down from two seventy-five. That's a big drop, even in this market."
"The agent said they had lots of viewers but not a single offer."
"Because of the ghost?"
"She thinks so. She also said the place has an eerie vibe."
"Very scientific."
They found nothing of interest in either of the bedrooms but hit pay dirt in the bathroom. Denton sensed the "eerie vibe" from down the hallway—it felt like pure misery. No wonder no one wanted to live here. Bran, who must've felt it too, brushed his hand against his in a reassuring gesture.
At first Denton saw nothing inside the bathroom, aside from more gleaming white tiles and granite, but he distinctly heard water splashing and a clink of glass against a hard surface. And sobbing.
"Definitely haunted." He kneeled down, reached out, and touched the edge of the empty tub. That was when things got wonky. A curtain of steam rose out of nothing in front of his eyes. Denton rocked back on his heels and bumped into Bran's legs.
Wisps of haze arranged themselves into a shape of a man. Denton could make out the figure sitting in the spot he'd touched a minute ago.
Bran lowered himself to his knees and whispered into Denton's ear, "You see it too?" His words came out as barely more than puff of air brushing Denton's skin.
Denton nodded, not taking his eyes off the apparition. He took a deep breath and let the light fill him. Recalling how he'd banished spirits before, he raised his right hand with palm open and turned outward. To his surprise, the spirit mirrored his movements and their fingers touched. Sort of. There was no tactile sensation, but an overwhelming sense of anguish flowed into Denton. His common sense told him to break contact, but the desire to learn more wouldn't let him. He concentrated on the emotion, immersed himself in it, and realized the ghost was waiting. Who knew how long he'd been doing that very thing, and most certainly for someone who'd never come.
Denton felt genuinely sorry for this stranded spirit and wished he could help. But of course, the best he could do was to send it packing. He focused on the light again, pulling it into him and directing it outward. However, because of pity he felt for the spirit, he let it out in a gentle stream rather than the usual quick blast. Unexpectedly, the ghost didn't disappear but instead became more distinct.
Bran's breath caught. "Stop!" He yanked Denton's hand back. "What are you doing?"
"I don't know. I thought I was banishing it."
A semitransparent blond man in his twenties stared at them. His lips parted, and a perfectly normal human voice emerged from them. "Who are you?"
Chapter Two
Oh hell. Denton had plenty of experience with dead people, but none had ever initiated a conversation. Well, when in Rome…or whatever. There was only one thing to do.
He cleared his throat. "I'm Denton, and this is Bran. What's your name?"
"Will. What are you doing here? Are you Gene's friends?"
"Umm, yes, sure. We're here to see you, Will. Do you have a last name?"
Will froze. "Is that the doorbell?"
"No, I don't think—"
The ghost leapt up and bolted out of the room, with no concern for Denton and Bran being in the way. A nauseating chill passed through Denton. He saw Bran shudder. "Did you feel that?"
"Hell, yes."
They found Will standing in the middle of the living room, looking lost.
"Let me try this alone," Denton whispered to Bran, who nodded and stayed at the doorway.
Denton circled around Will to face him. He was the most well-defined ghost Denton had ever clapped eyes on. Denton could clearly make out his flared jeans and his retro-style yellow shirt with a wide collar. To top it off, through his partially see-through body Denton saw not the beige walls of their current surroundings but the loud patterns of old wallpaper.
Denton waved his hand. "Hey, Will. You okay?" As he seemed to have gotten the ghost's attention, he went on. "Who are you waiting for?"
"Gene. He should be here any moment."
"Gene who?"
"I should've gone to meet him, but he said not to bother."
Denton tried again. "Does Gene have a last name?"
Alas, Will was on his own track. "I always knew he'd come around. It's been three years, but he finally called. He said he was sorry, and he wanted to start over, do it right this time."
"Hey, Will, over here. What's your full name? What year is this?"
Will didn't even acknowledge him. Instead, he stared toward the entrance. "Is that the doorbell?"
Denton skipped to the side before Will could pass through him again. With inhuman speed, Will zapped to the door, but then stopped like a reverse vampire. Although, to the best of Denton's knowledge, the whole thing about vampires not being able to cross a threshold without invitation was hogwash.
Will drifted back to the middle of the room.
Denton chose a different approach. "Will, tell me about
Gene. The two of you together."
This proved to be the right thing to say. Will turned, although it was hard to tell if his eyes looked at or through Denton. "We said such terrible things to each other last time. I called him a fake and a liar. He…he said things too. But I always know he couldn't deny what he was, what we were for each other." He darted to the window and lifted the blinds that weren't there. "He should be here by now. What could be keeping him?"
At a loss, Denton decided to try honesty. "You're dead and have been for a while. Whoever Gene is, I don't think he'll come. You'd be better off going yourself. I can help."
Will didn't seem to have heard a word. "Is that the doorbell?"
Denton sighed. He got ready to blast the ghost for good, but before he could, Will shot off toward the bathroom. Denton and Bran followed but found the room empty. They could hear water filling the tub, although it was still bone dry. Denton touched its edge like he'd done before, but nothing happened. Will didn't manifest again.
Denton turned to Bran, who kept glaring at the tub. "You saw him too, right?"
"Bright as day, and if I did, so would anyone else. This is not good."
"I know. What do we do now?"
"We go home and regroup."
Bran stayed far too quiet even for him during the whole trip. At home, they wordlessly parted to their own apartments. Denton tried to work on the website, but he couldn't concentrate. Finally, he gave up and went over to Bran's. He found Bran, nose buried in the tome they'd been using for his necromancer training.
"Found anything useful?" he asked.
"Not really. There's a lot here about summoning a spirit, but you didn't exactly. You made it more visible." Irritation abraded Bran's words. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"I wasn't. I felt sorry for the guy. You could feel his misery too, couldn't you?"
Bran slammed the book closed. "That's not the point. We were there for a purpose—get rid of a spirit, not bring it more into this realm."
"Well, sorry. Shit happens."
Bran clenched his jaws and said nothing. Denton didn't understand his mood. "Okay, so I improvised. If everything else fails, they make the place into a sideshow. It would rake in the money."
The joke didn't go over well at all. "We go back tomorrow and smudge the condo the old-fashioned way. I don't want you to be doing any improvising," Bran said in an and-that's-final voice and walked out of the room.
"Don't you even wonder who Gene was?" Denton shouted after him.
"No."
Denton threw himself onto the sofa. He opened the book but couldn't read a single word, and the convoluted illustrations only made him more frustrated. A firm nudge in his ribs alerted him of Murry's presence. The cat rubbed his face against Denton's abs and kneaded Denton's thighs with his front paws.
"Watch those nails," Denton warned him.
Murry purred louder than a small airplane engine, and it resonated through his whole body, into Denton's fingers digging into his fur. He was definitely a bit plump, but it felt good to the touch. After about ten minutes of furry love-fest, Denton felt much better.
"I'll go check on Mr. Grumpy," he said, transferring Murry from his lap to the cushions. Murry lifted a leg to give his privates a bath.
Denton found Bran in the kitchen working on dinner. He was still annoyed, Denton could tell. He didn't bang pots and pans, like ordinary people would. No, his movements were measured and precise. Everything under control.
Denton watched the taut lines of his back before speaking up. "What's cooking?"
"Herbed chicken breast with rice and salad," Bran replied without turning from the stove.
He enjoyed cooking and was good at it too. Unsurprisingly, he excelled at the use of fresh herbs. There was a pile of them now on the counter, waiting to be chopped.
"Need help?" Denton asked.
"I'm fine."
Crabby pants. Denton preferred dealing with trouble head-on. "You know, you can just shout at me, if it makes you feel any better."
That got Bran's attention. He turned. "Shout?"
Denton shrugged. "Yeah, sure. We scream at each other for a couple of minutes, then go back to normal. I'm still not clear what got you so worked up, but you have to let the pressure out somehow. Bottling it up won't do you much good. One day you'll blow like Mount St. Helens."
Denton must've hit a nerve, because Bran cast his eyes down. "I suppose you have a point. But I don't want to scream at you."
"All right. What if I give you a blowjob, then? Since we're on the subject of blowing already."
"What?" Bran snapped his eyes up.
Denton waggled his studded brow suggestively. Causing bewilderment was the first part of his plan to diffuse Bran's mood. "Orgasm are proven to relieve stress. So, how about it? I blow you, we eat, and then you blow me?" It was a good plan. He thought so, at any rate.
At long last, the storm clouds lifted from Bran's face. "Okay."
Denton stepped right up and reached for Bran's belt.
"Wait! The rice," Bran protested.
"The rice will be fine."
***
The rice got mushy, but they happily ate it anyway. After Bran returned the favor, they fell asleep in his bed. Denton hardly spent any time in his own these nights, and that was fine with him. He preferred drifting off next to a warm body and waking up huddled behind his lover, Bran's tail resting between his thighs. On this fine morning, said appendage gave Denton all kinds of naughty ideas, but his bladder had others. He slipped out from under the covers and made a beeline for the bathroom.
On his way back to bed, he noticed something seriously amiss in the living room. The dark-haired woman sitting in one of the chairs definitely hadn't been there the night before. As she watched him with unconcealed interest, Denton couldn't tell if her presence or his own nakedness perturbed him more. Possibly the combination of the two. He retreated into the bedroom and shook Bran by the shoulders. He got a sleepy grumble in response.
Denton shook him again. "Wake up. There's a strange woman in your living room."
Bran cracked his eyes open. "What does she look like?" he asked in a voice thick with sleep and wariness but not shock.
Denton recalled her image. "Lots of dark hair. Attractive but not too young." From that brief look, Denton guessed her age at late thirties, maybe well-preserved forties. "She's wearing a green dress."
Bran rubbed his eyes and groaned. "Oh, great." He rolled out of bed and threw on his jeans and a clean shirt.
Denton followed suit. He half expected the woman to be gone, but when they got to the living room door, she still sat there, exactly as before.
"Where?" Bran asked.
"Right there, in the chair. Can't you see her?"
Bran let out a sigh. "Mother, you can stop it now. He can see you. I told you he would."
She did a weird flickering thing and hopped up. "You did, honey, but I had to test it for myself." She strolled up and turned her eyes on Denton. They were almost as dark as Bran's. "Denton, right? Bran told me about you. Not a lot, mind you. I have to pull the words out of him with pliers sometimes."
"You don't look old enough to be Bran's mom." The words tumbled out of his mouth.
Her face broke out in a wide smile, and she patted his cheeks. "You're sweet. Bran told me you were."
"I said he had a sweet tooth," Bran interjected.
"Pish-posh. You look like a nice young man, Denton, even with those things in your face. It's fashionable among youth these days, I know. Oh well, it'll pass. It's nice to meet you at last."
"It's nice to meet you too, Mrs. Maurell."
"It's Ms. I never married. But call me Layla."
"What was the flickering thing you did?" Denton recalled Bran doing it once, back around the time they'd first met.
"Invisibility spell, but it didn't fool you. I've heard this about necromancers, but I've only met one once before, long time ago when I was a young girl. He was quite a character."
/>
"Mother, you could've let me know me you were coming to visit," Bran said.
"I could've, but it would've ruined the surprise." She circled her arms around Bran and planted a kiss on his cheek. "The food on the plane was ghastly. Would you mind whipping up one of those herb omelets you do so well?" she asked, releasing him. "Denton and I will chat out on the balcony, right, Denton?"
"Umm, okay."
"You better put on shoes and a sweater, hon. You're awful skinny. Do you eat right?"
"It's my metabolism."
Denton put on some more clothing to insulate himself, and then he and Layla settled into a couple of patio chairs. Over to their left, the blasted pigeons were congregating on Denton's fire escape, as usual.
Layla took in the gray skies. "So gloomy. In California, you get used to the constant sunshine. After a while, you take it for granted."
"Do you come back often?"
She shook her head. "I hate flying. It's so depressing—a bunch of irritable strangers stuffed together like sardines in a can. And to think it used to be glamorous. I'm trying to convince Bran to visit me instead. I'm only here now because one of my old clients needs my help. He's in the middle of arranging a business merger, but something's fishy."
Apropos, fishy. "We found the spell under the bed." Denton expected a guilty reaction but was disappointed.
"You did? When?"
"A few days ago."
"Very good. You don't need it anymore. It was one tricky piece of witchcraft, I can tell you. I had to ask Bran's father to help. Mal can be such a hard case—I'm afraid Bran inherited his stubbornness—but he understood the necessity once I properly explained it to him."
"Are you saying Bran and I like each other only because you cast some spell?" Denton heard the aggravated rasp in his own voice, but he couldn't help it.
Layla laughed, and startled pigeons threw themselves into the air. "Not at all, honey. I don't do those sort of love charms, and I tell my clients too—those might work for a while, but if you're not a good match, all the magic in the world won't keep you together. They don't much like hearing it, but tough."
"Okay, I'm lost. What did you cast?"
"Oh, a little something I've learned from my grandmother—part love spell, part summoning. Its purpose is to attract a person's perfect mate."
