The Cloak's Shadow

by Elle Beauregard

  "Late night last night?" Callum remarked, ticking a nod at Scott's sleep-wrinkled shirt and the mess of usually-styled, dark hair on top of his head.

  "A marathon session," Scott replied, his voice gravely. "But I finished the guy's back piece so at least it's done."

  "I hope he tipped well," Callum said. "How late were you there?"

  "Midnight. And yeah, he tipped almost fifty percent."

  "Sweet," Callum replied. "That will almost cover the yoga you need to do to realign your chakras or whatever the fuck after all those hours spent hunched over, dragging needles across the dude's skin."

  Scott gave a chuckle. "You make what I do sound so romantic."

  "Don't I? Where's Rhia?" She hadn't been in his room when Callum woke up.

  "She's out back. She was waiting by the door when I got home last night. I’d have thought you’d bring her with you.”

  “I hate taking Rhia to bars,” Callum replied. It was awkward and he never felt right doing it.

  "Speaking of which, how was the scene at your favorite spot last night?" Scott asked as he nicked the newly full coffee pot from the stand and poured it into his mug.

  Callum shrugged. "Closed. I tried out a new place."

  Scott looked at him, his brows furrowed in question. “Closed closed? Or just temporarily?”

  “No idea,” Callum replied. “But the new place was fine. Not exactly my kind of scene, but whatever. It was loud.”

  "That's sort of the point, right?"

  "Yep." How else was a person supposed to drown out the voices of people trying to talk at him from the other side of the veil if not with blaring music, yelled conversation, and the occasional crash of shattering pint glasses?

  "Okay, cut the shit," Scott said, turning around with his hands wrapped around his full mug of coffee. "What went down last night?"

  Callum nodded at the coffee pot and reached for a mug of his own from the cabinet. "Nothing.” He held his mug and Scott filled it with steaming, black, liquid life.

  “Bullshit,” Scott shot back. “You texted to say you were going to be late—when it was already later than you normally get home—then again saying never mind. So either you’re the fastest, worst lay some girl has ever had, or something else is going on with you.”

  Oh. Comprehension hit Callum like a pillow to the face. This wasn't about what time he came home as much as it was about his seemingly erratic behavior. It made sense that Scott would notice that. And made Callum feel shitty for having not thought of it sooner. So when he answered, he made sure to meet Scott’s questioning gaze. "All’s good. I met a woman, that's all."

  He knew Scott would never say so, but something like relief flashed in his brown eyes as he smiled. “So you really are the world’s lamest lay?”

  Callum barked a laugh but brought his coffee to his lips instead of punching Scott in the shoulder like he deserved. “We didn’t get that far. It’s a long story, but she seems cool.”

  "Don't think I missed that present tense. You seeing her again?"

  Callum shrugged. "I left her my number, but who knows."

  Scott looked perplexed. “Did... you get her number?”

  “Nope.”

  More perplexed now. “You know how this works, right?”

  Callum glared at him. “Long story, like I said.”

  “Okay, fine,” Scott said, holding up his hands in surrender. "So what's she like?"

  What's she like? Was Scott really asking him that? "She's... I don't know, dude. She's..." can't-take-my-eyes-off-her-hot, not to mention smart, and funny, and... "not ditzy, which is nice. There. You satisfied?" Callum turned for the back door, full coffee cup in hand.

  "Does she know you talk to dead people?"

  He turned back and threw a glare over his shoulder at Scott. "No. She doesn't, thank you very much. And I don't talk to them." Usually. "They talk to me."

  "You gonna tell her?"

  "Probably not. Also, you're a dick."

  Scott shot him a what-the-hell look before pushing his glasses up by the edge of their black frame. "You're the one who says you can't hold a normal conversation half the time because you're distracted by them. Don't you think she'll notice when you keep pausing mid-sentence?"

  Callum didn't feel like justifying that statement with a response—no matter how astute it might have been under normal circumstances—but ultimately decided there wasn't any reason not to. He might never see her again—but he hoped he would. And if he did, Scott was going to have to know what was up eventually. Plus, Scott had an uncanny way of figuring shit out, so it wasn't like Callum could have kept it a secret for long, even if he'd wanted to.

  "She's a cloak," he said simply.

  Scott stopped with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. "Hold the phone. What?"

  "You heard me."

  "So you can't see the other side when you're near her?"

  "Or hear it."

  "Is that a real thing?"

  "Apparently," Callum replied simply, though he knew where Scott was coming from. He'd honestly thought maybe the stories were just that—stories, but nothing more.

  "Damn! And you're telling me you didn't bed her?" Scott exclaimed. "No distraction? That would have been the best sex of your life!"

  Callum laughed as he turned and continued his path to the back door. Leave it to Scott to put it so plainly. Never mind that spirits rarely interrupted private moments like that. Still, he was probably right.

  Letting himself out into the shade-dappled backyard, Callum spotted Rhia lounging in the grass under one of the trees along the fence. She looked up at the click and creak of the door and made her way over to him, crossing the grass in that fluid way she always moved. Callum's muscles released the stress he hadn't even realized they'd been holding as he stepped out into the grass to meet her.

  "Hey beautiful," he said quietly, crouching down to rub his face against hers the way she liked. Her long, white fur tickled his nose and rasped against the stubble on his jaw; the steady thump of her heart calmed his racing thoughts and soothed his raw nerves. Even the smell of her fur—floral shampoo on top of clean dog—was a reprieve.

  A tingling cold crept up Callum's spine, discordant with all the calm warmness. An arm still around Rhia, he looked up and tracked the far corner of the yard at the same time Rhia turned, her keen eyes appearing to find the same spot.

  Goosebumps rose on Callum’s skin and his chest ached, his heart shuddering behind his ribs.

  That corner of the backyard was shaded by a huge oak that reached in from the neighbor's property; grass didn't grow there, but the soil was dark and dense with autumn leaves turned to compost year after year. A few Adirondack chairs sat around a fire pit, just far enough from the reach of the branches to be safe. But it wasn't the picturesque scene that registered as Callum peered into the shadows.

  The shade was moving.

  A darker portion of shadow beneath that giant tree was hovering, rising up then sinking down barely perceptively, the same way shoulders rise and fall with breath.

  Turning so she stood between him and the shadow, Rhia growled, the sound a low menace. Callum looked at his feet, he was standing in the grass. As though Rhia realized it at the same time, she backed up against him, pushing him toward the cement patio just a step away without taking her eyes off the lurking darkness. With a slow breath that belied his pounding heart, Callum stepped back until his heels hit the edge of the cement.

  As soon as he stepped onto the patio, the shadow disappeared. Rhia continued to growl, head low, her ears plastered back against her head, until she stood on the patio beside him. Then she dropped the intimidation routine and smiled up at him, her pink tongue lolling out of her mouth without a care.

  Callum dropped to one knee again and rubbed the fur around her neck. "You're one hell of a scary beast when you want to be," he said, voice low. "Thanks for keeping me safe."

  She snuffled his arm before laying her chin on his shoulder.

&
nbsp; Callum looked down at the rune painted discretely on the corner of the cement at his feet. There were ones just like it painted in inconspicuous places around the exterior of the house. So long as he stayed inside, or on this patio, he was invisible to the other side—and they were invisible to him. Once he left the shelter of those runes, however... well, he was glad Rhia wasn't an average dog.

  A prison of comfort without bars.

  Sometimes it was too easy for Callum to forget not all spirits were friendly—and Rhia plus those runes were the only things keeping him from turning into a spiritual revolving door.

  ⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

  “I have no idea what we were just talking about,” Zander said with a laugh she hoped came off as natural and open. She really didn’t want to ruin what had started out as a seriously awesome catch-up session with a friend she hadn’t realized she’d missed as much as she did. But the moments ago weirdness, first with Wren standing up from her seat out of nowhere, and then with everybody in the restaurant acting like a breeze had just blown through—when it most definitely had not—were making it hard to be cool.

  “Wait, you were asking me if I liked it here,” Wren said, smiling like she was proud to have remembered. Like nothing was out of the ordinary.

  “Ah, yes!” Zander exclaimed in response. She reminded herself the whole thing was probably much less odd than it appeared to be. These things always were. Spooky jitters were truly nothing more than discordance between reality and the brain’s admittedly limited ability to process it.

  So Zander needed to reign her anxiety in.

  “I do like it here,” Wren replied. “I like the life I lead here. It’s a good fit for me.”

  Even through her distraction, Zander’s attention caught on Wren’s expression and tone of voice. Wren sounded so genuine. No fabrication. She hadn’t said it because she was supposed to. Liking life was important—and Zander knew it was so easy to take it for granted until you didn’t anymore. "That's awesome," Zander said. "Really.”

  She just hoped she could get back to that place, too.

  Loving her life.

  "I remember something about cardiology for you, right?" she asked when her brain tried to take her down a dark alley—the kind that would have a skeevy guy waiting in the shadows with a tire iron, if her life were that kind of movie.

  "I used to work in cardiology," Wren replied with a nod. "I transferred to orthopedics a while back. It’s a long story."

  "That I want to hear!" Zander urged, letting the final threads of her judginess and suspicion go. The way Wren had smirked when she said “long story” told Zander this was likely going to be good.

  But Wren's laugh was edged in a thin strand of discomfort.

  "That bad, huh?” Zander surmised, half teasing. “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it.” Though now she really wished Wren would tell her.

  It felt so natural to talk with Wren like this, Zander thought. It was starting to feel like it really had been weeks instead of years since they'd spoken last. The weirdness before was a blip, she could see that now. Wren was on the level. And social anxiety could be a real bitch—from both sides of the table.

  “I started dating a patient,” Wren said with a shrug as she brought her mimosa to her lips. “Which meant I had to transfer to another clinic, that’s all.”

  Zander could tell that was not all, judging by the way Wren’s eyes still hadn’t met hers. “Is the patient the same person you just called ‘baby’ on the phone a minute ago?”

  Wren’s smirk was begrudging but good natured. “Yes. What about you?” she asked, only then meeting Zander’s gaze. “Are you seeing anybody? Or did you have to break some sap’s heart when you moved?”

  Zander laughed and the night before flashed through her memory, You always did like your independence.

  The back of her neck warmed. It wasn’t just what Callum had said—which was hot enough—it was the look he’d given her when he said it. Like he knew it was true and liked it.

  She’d managed to keep herself from thinking about him most of the morning. Okay only since she’d sat down with Wren, but whatever. That was progress since he’d been playing on a loop in her head from the minute she’d woken up until then.

  She forced her brain back into the conversation in time to see Wren's smile spread like she could see last night on Zander’s skin.

  “No, I’m not seeing anybody,” Zander replied. “And no broken hearts to speak of upon my Seattle exit—except maybe my Mom’s.” But that was much more joke than truth. Zander’s mom was one of the people who’d been rooting for her to land this job, even knowing it would take her halfway across the county.

  “So then what was that look that flashed in your eyes a second ago?” Wren teased.

  Oh, was that how she wanted to play it? Zander tried and failed to fight her smile as she pinned Wren with a challenging stare. “You gonna give me the deets on the patient you’re banging?”

  Wren’s expression went comically shocked, but then it melted into begrudging acquiescence. “Fine,” she said. “We aren’t banging. We’ve been together almost two years. Her name is Bridgette.”

  "Oh. Oh!" The long story reluctance made more sense now. Not that Wren needed to worry about Zander’s reaction. “Well, I did not see that coming,” she admitted, “but rock on. You’ve been with somebody that long? How did I not see that on social media?” Fucking algorithms!

  Wren's laugh was low, but the waitress arrived at their table to warm up their coffees before she could respond.

  “I definitely don’t broadcast that part of my life,” Wren said as the waitress walked away a moment later. “And don’t try to change the subject. I told you mine, now you tell me yours.”

  Zander laughed. “I wasn’t trying to dodge the question. I met a guy last night, that’s all.”

  "There it is!” Wren remarked, leaning forward with mimosa in hand and a look of cheesy over-interest on her face. “Hot?”

  “Straight up gorgeous," Zander confirmed. “And just really fucking cool. So easy to talk to. No creep factor.”

  "Damn. You work with him?”

  “Oh, god no,” Zander replied with a sneer. “I was at happy hour after work and—well, that’s a story for another time—but this guy sort of saved me from one of my co-workers who was hitting on me—”

  “Wait—your co-worker was hitting on you?” Wren cut in.

  Zander rolled her eyes. “It was a whole thing, like I said.”

  “Fair enough,” Wren allowed. “So is this hero a local?”

  "No idea," Zander replied. "But he didn’t seem touristy."

  "Double nice," Wren approved, bringing her champagne flute to her lips. "You get his number?"

  "I did," Zander replied. Though not how she’d expected to... "After I invited him up to my place."

  Wren's face said it all. Her eyes went wide and from the looks of it, she had to force her sip of mimosa down to keep from choking. "Wow, okay. That caught me by surprise."

  Zander laughed. The truth was, it had caught her by surprise, too. Not in the moment—in the moment, it had felt completely natural. Like of course she'd invite this dude up to her apartment.

  But waking up to the sound of him leaving definitely hadn’t been part of the plan.

  "Yeah, well, I fell asleep before we could even make-out," Zander said.

  Wren froze for a beat. Then her brows furrowed in question. "I'm sorry. What?"

  "You heard me," Zander replied. "I wasn't even that drunk—like a thick buzz, maybe. But I was exhausted. I guess the first week of work caught up to me. He hit the bathroom, so I laid down on the bed. Next thing I know, the door is clicking closed, I’m waking up fully clothed with a blanket draped over me, and the apartment is empty. But he left his number on the counter, so that’s something, right?”

  He left his number. Neat. Like she’d ever call the guy after that? Absolutely not.

  Wren snorted through a laugh before tryi
ng to smooth her expression with only moderate success. "I'm sorry, but that's hilarious."

  "It's something alright," Zander agreed.

  Their food arrived before the conversation could continue. Thank God.

  An hour later, Zander was stuffed. Like, so-full-she-wasn't-sure-she-could-walk levels of stuffed. Plus, she was tipsy from two mimosas.

  Brunch buzzed was the best kind of buzz, after all.

  "This has been awesome," she said as she and Wren stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. It was only noon, but already the day was warm and humid as hell.

  "It really was," Wren agreed. "Do it again soon?"

  "Definitely," Zander replied without pause. "Or dinner. I'm up for whatever. I'm so glad we figured out we both live here!"

  "I know!” Wren exclaimed, then laughed. "And in a similar part of town no less. What are you doing with the rest of your Saturday?"

  "Unpacking," Zander replied. "Then, I need to, like, find a grocery store so I stop ordering take-out."

  Wren laughed again, then raised her arms. "Those are admirable goals. I gotta get back home. Text me next time you want to hang out."

  "You, too," Zander replied, stepping in for the hug Wren was offering.

  After watching Wren walk down the block for a moment, Zander leaned back against the building so she could order a ride on her phone.

  A minute later, and with a car in route, she looked up and unhitched herself from the brick wall—only to stop short.

  Callum was walking down the sidewalk—and he noticed her at the same time she saw him.

  His crooked, casual smile was sexy as hell as he pushed his hair away from his face. The stubble on his jaw was light in color to match his dark blond hair and his blue eyes were electric in the mid-day sunshine.

  Zander felt the back of her neck warm and she hoped like hell the pink wasn't creeping its way onto her cheeks. A blushing twenty-six-year-old wasn't exactly her aesthetic.