Give Up the Ghost

by Jenn Burke

  “Weirder than normal?” Hudson suggested.

  “Definitely weirder than normal,” Iskander said.

  Kat grimaced. “I hate to do it, Wes, but I’ve gotta ask—”

  “It wasn’t me. I was at the hospital when it happened.”

  “Hospital?”

  “Lexi got hurt.” Briefly I explained the circumstances and the fact that I hadn’t left the hospital until close to noon today.

  “Shit. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Iskander tapped the tablet, starting the video again. “What was taken?”

  “The owner was pretty sure it was a brooch.”

  “Value?” Hudson asked.

  “Negligible. It had been sitting in that drawer ever since it was pawned because it wasn’t worth putting on display.”

  “Are we going to ignore the fact that it was stolen by an invisible—” I waved a hand “—something?”

  “So you don’t know what it was,” Kat said.

  “Well, I mean, it had to be a ghost.”

  “Oh...right. So ghosts...they’re real, then.”

  “And much less problematic than vampires,” I assured her. I didn’t add “usually” to the sentence, but with what had been going on at Aurora House lately, I was thinking it.

  “But ghosts don’t steal things. Present company excluded,” Hudson added with a poke to the back of my head. “And it didn’t search through anything in that drawer or any other drawers. It knew what it wanted and where it was.”

  “What are the police doing?” Iskander asked.

  “Nothing,” Kat said. “The responding officers wrote up a report, examined both the shop and office, and took a copy of the video, but that’s about all we can do. There’s nothing there to investigate—everyone who’s seen the video thinks the owner rigged it or it’s a glitch. It’s not on anyone’s radar—the officer writing up the report was talking about the video in the lunch room, and when I saw it, I knew you guys might want to know about it.”

  I leaned my head back to look up at Hudson. “What do you think?”

  A frown creased his brow, but at least he wasn’t dismissing out of hand the possibility of this being a new case for us. “Let’s go talk to the pawnshop owner and see.”

  * * *

  Art’s Attic was in a decent section of town—not the best, but certainly not the worst—and smack dab in the middle of a string of buy-and-sell shops that stretched along Church Street for about a block. The street was busy, particularly this close to Queen Street, with streetcars rumbling by every so often and pedestrians making their way to and from the more upscale shops farther west up Queen. Unsurprisingly, there were at least two churches in sight of the pawnshop—Church Street had to get its name from somewhere, right?

  The pawnshop itself was pretty typical looking, not that I’d spent a lot of time in pawnshops. But hey, I’d seen enough on TV. It had bars on the windows and door, with large garish letters painted across the picture window in the front of the place. Gold-edged letters proclaimed CA$H NOW and TOP $$$ FOR GOLD DIAMONDS JEWELRY and TRUST ART WITH YOUR HEART.

  Aw.

  When I pointed out that last bit, Hudson snorted and pulled open the door. An electronic chime announced our arrival and a short, round figure lurched out of the back office. The man wore gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt, with a knitted forest green cardigan pulled on over top. I put him at nudging seventy, given the white hair, the deep lines etched into his face, and the fact that he couldn’t quite straighten up to walk properly. “Help you?” he asked in a voice ravaged by cigarette smoke.

  Hudson turned on the charm. “Art?”

  The man chuckled, a sound that was more air than anything else. “No, man, Art’s been dead for five—no, shit, what year is it?” He looked up, clearly calculating the time in his head. “Yeah, five years.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  The man waved off Hudson’s apology. “Eh, I get it at least once a week. Serves me right for leaving the name as is. So, what can I help you fellows with?” He examined us with a narrow-eyed look. “Wedding rings?”

  “Uh—” Hudson had a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look, and I probably wasn’t much better.

  “I got a few his-and-his behind the counter.” He gestured for us to follow him over.

  By the time we reached the glass counter, Hudson had gotten his shit together. I was still kind of curious to know the story behind the his-and-his rings. Same-sex marriage in Canada wasn’t exactly new, but I’d never thought about husbands—ex-husbands?—pawning their jewelry.

  “Thanks, but we’re actually here for another reason.” Hudson pulled out his card and placed it on the glass. “I heard you had some...excitement the other night.”

  The man’s considering look turned downright nasty. “Who put you up to this?”

  “No one—”

  “Because they and you can fuck right off. I didn’t mess with the tapes—”

  “Whoa.” I made a time-out sign. “He’s ex-Toronto PD,” I said, pointing a thumb at Hudson, “and some friends let him know about the tape.”

  “Laughing about it, right? ’Cause—”

  “No laughing, we promise,” Hudson said. “We absolutely believe the tape is real, and if you want to get to the bottom of what and why, we can investigate.”

  The man remained silent for a minute, evaluating our expressions, and then picked up Hudson’s card. “Caballero Investigations, eh? And you believe in ghosts?”

  “A hundred percent.”

  “What do you charge?”

  Hudson rattled off a discounted rate, what I was starting to think of as our paranormal special.

  The man grunted. “And you think you can find out why it was here?”

  “We can try.”

  The man hesitated for an instant, then held out his hand. “Dennis Bloxham.”

  Hudson shook. “Hudson Rojas, and this is my partner, Wes Cooper.”

  I shook Dennis’s hand and shared a greeting while Hudson called up an electronic contract on his phone.

  “While we take care of this, you mind if Wes has a look around?”

  “Sure. Appreciate if you don’t touch anything.”

  I lifted my hands in an innocent gesture. “You got it.”

  As Hudson and Dennis chatted, I wandered through the store trying to get a vibe of the place. I couldn’t sense anything—which I hoped meant that the ghost with sticky fingers wasn’t hanging around. When I moved into the back office, I waited until I was in the camera’s blind spot before stepping into the otherplane. The office looked completely normal from this perspective. No weird resonances, no astral footprints—not that they were a thing, as far as I knew—and most especially, no ghost. I checked the front room too, but the only inhabitants were Hudson and Dennis. I went back into the office before materializing again, then made my way out to the front of the shop. When Hudson looked up over Dennis’s bent form, I shook my head.

  “Perfect,” Hudson said with a smile, his attention back on Dennis. He checked Dennis’s electronic signature, then tucked his phone away. “It was a brooch that was stolen, correct?”

  “That’s right. It was a piece of shit, if you’ll pardon my French.”

  I kept my grin to myself and didn’t point out he’d already dropped an F-bomb on us.

  “Not valuable?”

  “No. Cheap-ass gold, tiny little diamond chips. It was dirty as all hell too. Kept meaning to shine it up but never got around to it. It wasn’t going to fetch much, you know? Even melted down. Not worth the effort.”

  “Do you know when it was pawned, or by whom?”

  “Yeah. I looked it up for the cops.” Dennis reached down under the counter and pulled out a notepad and a pair of reading glasses, which he carefully perched on his bulbous nose. “Art made the deal right be
fore he died. Pawned in December 2013 by a Silvia Samuels. He gave her a hundred bucks for it,” Dennis finished, shaking his head as he pulled off his glasses. “Art always had a soft spot for the ladies.”

  “Any idea why she pawned it?” I asked.

  “If someone shares a story about why they’re selling something, I guarantee it’s bullshit. Trying to get more dough for stuff that ain’t worth nothing. Art, see, he’d buy it. Me? It’s worth what it’s worth, take it or leave it.”

  My phone rang, which was weird enough in this age of texting that I shared a look with Hudson. “I’m gonna take this outside. Nice meeting you, Mr. Bloxham.”

  As I approached the door, I checked the caller ID to see Evan’s name flashing on the screen, and I connected the call as I pushed my way onto the sidewalk. “Evan?”

  “Shh. Shh.”

  I frowned. “Why are you shushing me?”

  “Because you’re loud.”

  There was something off about Evan’s voice. It was...sloppy. “Evan, hon, why are you calling?”

  “Feel weird.”

  “Weird how?”

  “Jus’ weird,” Evan whined.

  I counted to three for patience, because I didn’t think I had time to count to ten. “Where are you?” When he didn’t respond immediately, I barked, “Evan!”

  “Too loud.”

  “Focus, buddy, come on. Where are you? I’ll come get you. Evan!”

  There was a thud on the line, which I recognized as a phone being dropped. A second later, the call cut out.

  Chapter Nine

  “Shit!”

  I hadn’t noticed Hudson leaving the pawnshop, but suddenly he was right there, his face all frowny and concerned. “What’s going on?”

  “Evan. He called, and his voice was all weird, and then the phone dropped.” I paced a step away, then back. “It’s not overreacting for me to haunt him, right?”

  “Fuck no. Do it. Text me when you know where you are.” He pressed a quick kiss to my lips. “Good luck.”

  I called it haunting, but it was more like teleportation, and one of my stranger abilities. If I focused on someone I knew, I could zip through the otherplane and pop into the living plane wherever they were. No muss, no fuss—except it exhausted me. In fact, when I’d haunted Evan one night, and then Hudson the next day, I’d put myself into a coma for two days and worried the shit out of all of my friends. So it wasn’t a skill I used lightly.

  I stepped back into the tiny alley beside Art’s Attic, closed my eyes, and concentrated on Evan. His poofy brown hair. His blue eyes edging more toward gray with the addition of the yellow around the irises. His too-big nose. But most especially, the sense of him—his drive to not let his depression define him, his bravery, his enthusiasm for his new life.

  Reality rushed around me, like I was zooming through a tunnel. When it stopped, I found myself in a dimly lit room with a lumpy and rumpled bed. One of the lumps moved, shifting to an elbow to squint at me. He had ashy blond hair, as messy as the bed, and his eyes were glazed and sort of vacant. He was also mostly naked, though the sheet was draped over his butt. By luck or strategy, I didn’t know, but I strongly suspected it was the former.

  “Who’re you?” he slurred.

  I ignored him and strode to the bed. The second lump was Evan, who was unconscious, his skin paler than usual. Unlike the lump beside him, Evan was partially dressed, though his shirt was unbuttoned and his pants gaped open at the waist. I grabbed his shoulder and shook him, but he didn’t open his eyes or give any indication he knew I was there.

  Blondie shoved at my hand—or tried to. He missed and hit my shoulder. “Hey! Leave ’im alone. He’s my boyfriend.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Scott.”

  “Uh-huh. And where are we, Scott?”

  He gave me a weird look but rattled off an address that I thought was pretty close to the University of Toronto campus downtown. I texted it to Hudson and turned my attention back to Scott.

  “What’d you give him?” Because that had to be why he was passed out—some drug, because it would take a hell of a lot of booze to do it, and I couldn’t smell any alcohol.

  “Evan? I didn’t give him nothing.”

  His denial stoked the flames of my temper. “Don’t fuck with me.”

  “I’m not!”

  “Bullshit!” I looked at Evan, seeing his state of undress all over again, and horror overtook me. “Did you roofie him?”

  “What?”

  “You know what a roofie is, asshole.” Holy shit. That’s why Evan had called me. This guy had given him something to drink, he’d felt weird, and he’d called me for help. “You did. You fucking prick.”

  “Wait.” Scott scrambled backward and tumbled off the bed. He was back up on his feet surprisingly quickly, his hands held out to fend me off. And yep, he was naked, though neither of us really cared about that right now. “You’ve got the wrong idea, I swear.”

  “I don’t think I do.” My magic rose, side by side with my temper, and for once I didn’t even try to restrain it. My anger demanded Scott pay for what he’d planned on doing.

  No... I wasn’t angry. I was fucking incandescent with rage.

  My power filled me as I stalked around the bed. “You drugged him. You were going to—”

  “What the fuck? No! That’s not—I’d never—Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you?”

  In answer, my magic grabbed him and hoisted him to the ceiling. He screamed and started gibbering nonsensically. Urine trickled to the floor, a stream of pungent rain, and I felt a dark satisfaction that I’d literally scared the piss out of him. He deserved to be scared. He deserved so much more—

  “Wes!” I hadn’t heard Evan move, or even wake up, but he was suddenly there, tugging on my arm. His words weren’t steady, but they weren’t as sloppy as they’d been on the phone. “What the fuck? How are you...how are you doing this?”

  Part of me quailed at that question, a tiny part that whispered this was supposed to be a secret and now everything’s going to change. But I was too caught up in the euphoria of actually doing something with my magic that I ignored it. “He was going to hurt you.”

  “No, he—”

  “He drugged you. Undressed you.” I pressed Scott harder against the ceiling and he cried out again.

  “Jesus Christ! Wes, stop! He didn’t...” Evan shook his head, clearly trying to rid himself of fog or confusion or something. “He didn’t drug me. I took it. Voluntarily.”

  “You took a roofie?”

  “No, you idiot. X.” Evan fell back on the bed, deflating. “He offered me a tab so we could have fun together. I wanted to impress him, but one didn’t have any effect, so I took a second, and...and I don’t even remember calling you.”

  Oh, fuck.

  The reality of what I’d done slammed through me and it took everything I had not to drop Scott to the floor. I brought him down slowly and he immediately crumpled into a ball next to the bed when I released him completely. I staggered backward, horrified at what I’d done.

  “Scott, I—”

  Scott curled up tighter and pressed his hands over his ears.

  Evan slipped off the bed to try to offer some comfort. Scott shied away from his touch, and Evan looked so fucking defeated. At least until he turned his gaze back to me.

  “What the fuck was that?” Evan demanded. He wasn’t yelling, but he was close. “How the fuck did you lift him up there like that? That’s not—you’re not supposed to be able to do that. And you were glowing, Wes. I don’t... I don’t...”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Don’t you dare lie to me,” Evan growled, his eyes flashing, as he put his clothes back to rights. “I know what I fucking saw. Does Hudson know?”

  All the fear I’d felt over the past few months co
ngealed in my stomach at the thought of Hudson knowing my secret. Now that it was real—it was going to happen—I couldn’t let it. Hudson would... I don’t know what he’d do. He’d—he’d leave. He’d decide I was too much trouble. He’d been patient and understanding after our fight with the demon, but there had to be a breaking point, right? The point where what he got out of our relationship wasn’t worth the hassle of dealing with me?

  He’d reached it before.

  “No.” I grabbed onto Evan’s arm with both hands and held on tight. “You can’t tell him. Please.”

  “He needs to know. This is—this is crazy, you know that, right?”

  “No one can know. You can’t tell anyone. Promise me, Evan.”

  “Wes—”

  “Goddamn it. If you tell him, I’ll never forgive you.”

  Evan stared at me, his expression radiating hurt and betrayal. I clenched my jaw and held his gaze, not backing down.

  He sagged and whispered, “I promise.”

  Chapter Ten

  I spent the next two days worrying.

  About Lexi, because she’d had her surgery but she still hadn’t woken up. The doctors said it was normal, but I could see little flickers of uncertainty in their eyes. Like, it was normal now, but the longer it went on... I didn’t even want to contemplate that.

  Next on my worry list was Evan. He’d barely emerged from his basement room, and he’d called in sick the past two nights. I hadn’t tried to talk to him, because I knew my demand of secrecy was at least partially to blame for this new low point, and I didn’t want to make things worse. Hudson had spent some time with him, trying to gently encourage him to get out of bed, but he hadn’t been successful.

  And speaking of Hudson... I was worrying about him and his “errands” too. He wouldn’t talk about them, and whatever they were, they drained his skin of color and made him irritable. Beyond irritable.

  It felt like my world was spiraling out of my control, and I didn’t know what to do to fix it.

  A “game over” buzz jolted me back to awareness. I closed the app on my phone and tossed it onto my desk, then scrubbed a hand over my face. My eyelids were heavy, but I knew trying to sleep wouldn’t do me any good. Though I’d mostly adopted Hudson’s schedule—up all night and sleeping all day—my stressed-out body had decided three hours of sleep was enough. I begged to differ, but we weren’t on speaking terms at the moment. I’d already spent a couple of hours at the hospital that morning and now that the office was open, I was trying to keep myself occupied with work.