“You’re the bravest person I know. And I trust you with my life,” he added.
I looked into his eyes, and saw how much he meant it, the sincerity of his words. It made me smile.
“Do you remember what happened at the cemetery, when midnight struck? What you said to me?” he asked.
I paused, trying to gather up my memories. They felt like shifting sand, trickling through my fingers. It felt like a dream slipping away piece by piece after waking up.
“Not really … it’s all hazy and jumbled,” I confessed.
“Listen, I gotta tell you something about yesterday …” he started to say, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. But then, as he realized something, he stopped.
“Hey, I can touch you now! How amazing is that?” he whispered, wonder lighting up his face.
He leaned his face slowly closer to mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. One inch closer and his lips were going to touch mine …
Chapter Eight
Compromise
Apparently, the universe disagreed about that, because the front door burst open at that exact second. My mom’s voice called out to us from the hall.
Tristan and I both jumped two feet off the couch, surprised as hell by her sudden arrival. I sat up straight, patting my hair, while Tristan pushed the covers up to his chest and leaned on his elbows for support.
I glanced at him and he looked a little flustered, his cheeks slightly pink. It was the first time I’d seen some color on his face: he was always so dead pale! I guess that was down to him being a ghost, but what was he now? Was he human?
My mom entered the living room, carrying a bunch of shopping bags. She must have found the only stores in town open on New Year’s Day. “Hey, guys! You look like you were still sleeping!” she greeted us happily.
“Hum, yeah, we were. We were woken up by you slamming the door right now,” I said, lying through my teeth. I glanced at Tristan and a tiny, almost imperceptible smile curled the side of his lips.
“I had to go out. I was worried about leaving you alone after last night … but you looked like you were fine sleeping, so I risked it,” she said, smiling. “You two look a lot better, by the way.”
“Yeah, I feel a lot better,” I said realizing it for the first time, while Tristan nodded. “What time is it?”
“It’s three in the afternoon already. Come on, Joey, help me prepare something for you two to eat in the kitchen. We have a lot to talk about,” she said, pointing towards the kitchen.
“Okay. Just give me a sec, I’ll go change and brush my teeth, I’ll be right back,” I said, patting my hair and realizing I must look like hell, wearing my old sleeping sweats and my hair like a bird’s nest. I was so embarrassed!
“Alrighty. Tristan, I couldn’t wait for you to wake up to ask what clothes you prefer, so I decided to go on my own. A girl at the store helped me pick them up for you; she guaranteed they were the latest fashion thing, very … tight!” Mom said, unsure about modern slang. “I didn’t know your size, so I just guessed. I hope it all fits!” she said as she handed him the collection of bags.
He took them while trying to get up and cover himself with the blanket, all at the same time, resulting in a small avalanche of bags falling over him. Typical of my mother: whenever she needed to cope with stressful situations, she went shopping! By the amount of bags on Tristan’s lap, she must be pretty stress-free now …
“T-thanks so much, Mrs. Gray. I don’t know how I’ll repay you …” he began, but Mom cut him off.
“Nonsense. It’s just a couple of things, you can’t go around wrapped in blankets!” she said, dismissing his gratitude. “Joey! You’re still there? Come on, chop, chop! Tristan, the bathroom is upstairs and right off the hallway, first door to your right. Take your time. We’ll be in the kitchen all right? Call me if you need anything. But when you’re both dressed and we’ve had something to eat, we will have a serious talk.”
She turned and walked to the kitchen. She was like a special kind of a hurricane, my mom. I shrugged and smiled at Tristan’s surprised face, and then darted upstairs to get myself cleaned up and presentable.
Soon enough, I was ready and stepped downstairs all perky in my new jeans, my favorite sweater and my hair tied back in my usual pony-tail. I peeked at the living room. Tristan wasn’t there, but I heard water running in the hallway bathroom. I went on in to the kitchen where my mom was at the stove, frying some eggs.
“Hey, Mom, I’m here. What can I do to help?”
“You can set the table, get some glasses, orange juice, milk. I think I’ll do a big brunch for you two, how’s that sound?”
“Sounds great,” I said uneasily.
“Is Tristan all right in there?” she asked with her back to me.
“I think so … He’s in the bathroom now.”
“You know, if I hadn’t witnessed the whole thing, I would have never believed it,” my mom said thoughtfully.
“I’m trying not to think about it. It’s too surreal,” I mumbled.
“Joey, honey. You know we do need to talk about it, don’t you? I mean, this is too crazy! Do you really believe in what those old ladies were saying? Do you think Tristan was really a … a ghost?” she asked, turning to look me straight in the eyes.
I shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know what to think, Mom, honestly. I punched him in the chest last night, and it went right through him! And you couldn’t see him, but I’ve been talking to him and meeting him for days!” I said in a shaky voice.
“And this is where you were hanging out? The cemetery?”
I nodded, staring at my lap. “I know I should have told you. I’m sorry, Mom. But you would have made it into a big deal, and said it’s dangerous, but I knew I was safe with Tristan!”
“How could you possibly know that, Joey? You just met him!” she said, upset.
“I just know, all right! I mean, look at him! Do you think he could hurt anyone? He’s so polite and kind and sweet!” I exclaimed.
“You’re letting your judgment be clouded by his good looks, honey,” she said with a knowing smile.
My cheeks flamed in embarrassment and I snapped, “It’s not like that, Mom! He’s my friend! Fine, he was lying to me about the ‘ghost’ thing, but he explained everything! He was scared of my reaction. And, I mean, can you blame him? I wanted to run away the second I discovered he was a ghost! This is not exactly easy news to share with someone,” I grumbled, fumbling with the hem of my shirt.
“Yeah, but honey, what the heck happened last night?” my mom wailed, her eyes wide as she remembered Tristan’s materialization out of thin air.
“I’m not sure … I think it’s something to do with the time, and the place … Miss Violet might know something; she was there with her two old friends. She seemed to know Tristan was a ghost all along,” I muttered, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Had one of the old ladies also mentioned they were witches?
My mother nodded. “Yes, I think so too. That’s why I have invited her to come talk to us today. Maybe she can shed some light on this mystery for us,” she said thoughtfully. “And maybe the boy could have some answers as well,” she added and paused, deep in thought. Then she shook her head, snapping out of her wonderings. “Anyway, as I said, we can all talk about it later, after we’ve put something in our stomachs, all right?” And she resumed her egg frying.
I stared at her back, scrunching up my lips in guilt. “Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“I’m really sorry, for all this mess. I feel like this is all my fault. I should have known something was wrong, I mean, the signs were all there! He never left the cemetery; he was always there. And he never ever touched me, not even for a quick handshake. And he looked so lonely and so sad,” I said, looking down at my feet.
“Joey, please,” she interrupted, taking the pan off the heat for a second, turning to look at me. “This is nobody’s fault. Not yours. Not his. He must be fe
eling pretty scared right now, can you imagine? And he’s your friend, you obviously care a lot about him, so we’ll do our best to help him through this and support him, okay? Don’t worry about it. We’ll sort this out.”
I sighed in relief. “Thanks, Mom.” I knew I could always count on my mom. She was the best!
She gave me a comforting smile and a nod, and then turned back to her cooking.
“So,” she said, without looking at me, “this is the boy who’s been keeping you so busy since we’ve arrived, huh?”
“Huh. Yeah. This is him.”
“He’s really cute,” she said and I knew for sure she was sniggering, even though she had her back to me.
“Okay, Mom. I know where this is going,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“What? I didn’t say anything! I was just telling you my perception of his appearance, that’s all. He seems a lovely young man. Very handsome,” she said in a stern voice.
We heard someone clearing their throat close by and turned to see Tristan leaning against the doorframe. He was watching us, and something flashed across his eyes for a second. I thought of asking if he had overheard what my mom and I were talking about, but as soon as my wide-eyed gaze landed on him, I couldn’t think of anything to say. I was absolutely speechless.
“Oh, my God! Look at you!” my mom exclaimed. “You look adorable!”
Adorable was definitely NOT the description that came to my mind. Smoking hot was more like it.
He was wearing baggy jeans – I guess my mom had chosen them to be sure they would fit – a bright blue T-shirt that hung perfectly on his body, and some sneakers. He looked very, very good. Very! His hair was a little messed up from pulling the shirt on, giving him – unintentionally – the look most boys favoured: the methodically messed-up hairstyle. His new look was so modern, so utterly different from his tidy hair and formal clothes from before. From monochrome to vibrant, vivid, ocean-blue colors. It was like an old photo coming alive, in a breathtaking image. He looked at us expectantly, waiting for a response.
“Is this all right?” he asked uncertainly. “It looks sort of strange to me. Not many kids visited the cemetery, so I don’t have much basis for comparison,” he mumbled, putting his hands inside his jeans pockets. “And they’re not like the jeans I wore when I was … um … alive.”
“Oh. It’s all right,” I answered slowly, trying to steady my voice. “It’s … good.”
“Come and sit, Tristan, your eggs and bacon are almost ready!” my mom said, beckoning him to the table and turning to me, mouthing a silent “Oh My God”. I shook my head in despair. I would never hear the end of this!
“Joey, dear, sit here, next to Tristan. I’ll get your plate ready! There’s bread and fruit as well. Help him out, honey!” she ordered, bustling round the kitchen.
We sat at the table and stared at each other. I looked into his strangely blue eyes.
“That’s odd. Your eyes are blue now,” I said curiously.
He looked down at his new shirt and smiled timidly. “Actually, they’re still gray. I’ve checked in the bathroom mirror. It’s color reflection, I think. The shirt,” he said, pointing to his blue shirt.
“So, if you were wearing a green T-shirt, you’d have green eyes, then?”
“I suppose so,” he said shrugging.
“That is so cool. You can change eye color.” I was a little jealous of that.
“They’re not actually ‘changing’ colors, they’re always gray, but I get your point,” he said, growing a little impatient at my obsession with his eyes. Then his stomach made a loud rumble. He blushed, embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m … really hungry,” he said staring at his plate “I forgot about that.”
“Forgot about what?”
“You know, being hungry,” he said quietly, putting his hand on his belly.
“It’s one of the many fabulous perks of being alive. Still happy about it?” I said, smirking.
“Yeah. I’m still happy,” he said, smiling softly, with indeed so much happiness in his eyes.
That knocked me a little sideways, and it was my time to stare at my plate in an awkward silence, but not for long. My mom appeared with two plates heaped with eggs and bacon. “Here we go! Eat up, you two!” she commanded.
Tristan ate in silence, focusing on his food, while my mom and I chatted non-stop about all the things that happened yesterday, retelling the incident from our points of view. We tried not to ask him questions, to give him time to adjust and feel more at ease, more comfortable so he could start trusting us. Even though my head was buzzing with a thousand questions. When did he die? And how? Was he now fully human? Would he age? Did he know what happened at the cemetery and why he was alive now? He would glance at us occasionally, sometimes looking mystified, sometimes looking like he was avoiding something, but he didn’t say a word. When we were done eating, he stood up and grabbed our plates.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Gray, I’ll do the dishes. Thank you for a wonderful meal, everything was great!”
My mom raised her eyebrows at me, clearly impressed. I guess you could say that whatever time Tristan was from, it was one where people had far better manners!
The doorbell rang and my mom jumped. “Oh, dear. Look at the time! She’s here already. Miss Violet’s come for a visit,” Mom said, rising from her seat. “She’ll want to talk to us all. Tristan, you can leave those dishes there. Don’t worry, they’ll still be here when you get back.”
Tristan frowned and reluctantly left the dishes at the side of the sink. He clearly did not want to have this conversation; I could tell by his sudden sour mood.
We walked into the living room while Mom answered the door. We greeted Miss Violet as she entered, and we all sat down: Tristan on the couch next to me; my mom and Miss Violet in the armchairs either side of us.
“How’s your friend doing, Miss Violet?” I asked, remembering how frail the old lady had looked yesterday evening.
“She’s doing all right now, dear. It’s very nice of you to ask,” Miss Violet said. “She actually helped me last night to unravel part of the mystery you’ve got yourself into.”
“I-I’ve got myself into?”
“With the help of your friendly ghost over there, evidently,” she retorted.
Something dark flashed in Tristan’s eyes as he glared pointedly at Miss Violet.
“Now, about your little predicament here,” she said, looking at me and not caring at all about Tristan’s glares. “We did some research into the Gray family tree – as much as we were able, at such short notice. The internet is a wonderful thing, my dears,” she said as an aside, surprising both Mom and me. “Apparently, there’s witch blood in your bloodline, which is why you were able to see Tristan when he was a ghost, Joe. And probably why you were able to perform that spell even without realizing. The magic in you is untamed, but it’s really strong. You seem to have developed quite a lot on your own already.”
“Are you seriously saying I’m a witch?” I shrieked, freaked out.
“I’m always serious, dear,” she said a little sharply. “But no, that’s not what I said.” Then she added quickly, “Well, you’re not a witch yet. You have potential, but it requires work, training, commitment, lots of practice and a lot of study to become a real witch.”
“That’s nonsense!” I shook my head in denial. “I have nothing magical going on here. I’m just plain Joey. And witches don’t exist.”
“Oh, you have no trouble accepting ghosts that come back to life, but you have difficulty accepting witches, now? That’s funny,” Miss Violet scoffed, mildly offended.
“I-I … that’s not what I meant. I’m just saying I have no witch blood in me whatsoever,” I corrected myself, looking at Tristan.
Suspicion passed across his eyes. Did he think I was lying?
“I’m not lying!” I snapped at him. “How can you think that?”
“How did you know what he was thinking?” Miss Violet asked squinting her eyes at the
both of us.
“I just … saw it. In his eyes,” I mumbled, feeling confused.
“She always does that,” Tristan said quietly. “Even when I was a ghost. She always knows exactly what I’m feeling when she looks at me. It’s been bothering me for some time now. I didn’t know how she was doing it. But it is always very … accurate.”
“It’s not quite telepathy, more empathic insight. You need visual contact to do it, right? You can read what the other person is feeling. Quite handy,” Miss Violet said to me.
“Everybody can do that. It’s normal, right, Mom? Did you not see suspicion in his eyes just now?” I asked, bewildered.
“No, dear,” said Miss Violet, “We just saw him looking at you. Nothing more. He had a pretty blank expression. I don’t know what he was thinking or feeling, and I’m a pretty good observer of human behavior. I have been around in this world for some time now. I know how to read people. And he was letting nothing out.”
I shot my mom a pleading look, silently asking for her help.
“You have always been spot on about people’s feelings, honey,” she said thoughtfully. “I just thought you were very perceptive, but you’re scarily accurate. I’ve got used to it over the years, but strangers sometimes notice, don’t they? Remember your friends at your old school used to say it kinda creeped them out. After a while you stopped vocalizing your reads, but you could still see, right?” she asked me.
I bit my lip and shifted uneasily on my seat.
“What about this spell you talked about, Miss Violet? What actually happened last night? Do you have any theory that could help us figure this out?” My mom finally decided to ask the million-dollar question. She didn’t seem upset at all by the revelations happening in her own living room. Perhaps she too had suspected there was some “witch blood” in our family, and was only now verifying this.
“Well, we’re still trying to figure that out, but it seems that Joey here managed to set a very powerful spell in motion. We knew something was going to happen; my friends and I had seen some signs alerting us. That’s why I’d been going there a few days each week lately, to see if I’d catch something. I suspected it was something to do with the girl – you, Joe – when I saw her first speaking to a ghost boy without realizing it. After that, I asked my husband to keep an eye on her … on you,.” she said, looking at me. “We never thought this could happen, though. To bring back the dead … it’s tricky and dangerous. Not to mention extremely difficult. It takes many powerful elements to be combined at the same time and requires a lot of power to perform such an act. We never knew what those elements could be, but from what we observed last night, we now have a vague idea.”
The Lost Boys Page 6