But Ferrets Can Never Hurt Me

by Nhys Glover

  I tried to deal with the issues this brought up. He had initially set out to use me to launder money, which meant he hadn’t believed in my work when he sent it to Leeds. Didn’t that make him as bad as Mason? He’d tried to con me. That the con had turned into something real should be irrelevant.

  But as hard as I fought to be justifiably upset, I couldn’t find it in me to feel that way. Jake was no longer the person he’d been when we first met. I’d seen that transformation a little at a time over the last week. Though I’d been attracted to him back then—who wouldn’t be? It wasn’t until the caring side had started coming through that real feelings started to surface in me. And the more of the underside of the iceberg I saw, the more I fell in love. Not with the sexy bad boy, but the caring man who’d tried to move mountains to help and protect me.

  “Alfie?” Jake’s voice was level and emotionless. He’d turned off his feelings again to protect himself.

  “It’s all right, Jake. I’m not upset you did that. If you hadn’t, nobody would ever have had the chance to see my paintings. I just wish...”

  The emotion was back in a rush, and the vulnerability I saw in his dark eyes humbled me. He cared too much what I thought of him. Too much.

  “What do you wish?”

  I huffed out a sigh, not wanting to finish that sentence. But his expression made me do it anyway.

  “I wish you’d really been as taken with my paintings as you made out. It’s nice that others like my work enough to pay ridiculous amounts of money to own one. It’s even rewarding to have this Frankie thinking I’m a breath of fresh air in the art scene right now. But what I really wanted was for you to like them.”

  He looked away, his expression unreadable. “I had Frankie put one of them aside for me. The one with the ghost looking into the shop window, its reflection there in the glass. I planned to buy it when I went back. To put on my wall. I’d cop shite for it, but even back then I didn’t care. I was touched by your work. I didn’t want to be. But I was. And as much as I didn’t want to hear ghosts, I felt drawn to those you painted. And that one... that one made me feel like I was looking at my own reflection somehow.”

  A shiver ran down my spine. Something monumental was just out of reach. It felt like I was a drowning man grasping for flotsam that was at his fingertips but would come no closer.

  I must have been silent too long, trying to wrestle the knowledge to the surface, because Jake cleared his throat and stood up stiffly. He’d finished eating while I was still lost in the convoluted corridors of my mind.

  “Sorry... That must have seemed like I was still offended or upset. I’m not. I’m relieved that you did genuinely like my work. It was just that comment about the ghost’s reflection...”

  Jake sat back down, leaving his plate on the counter. “What?”

  “I don’t know. But tomorrow. Tomorrow morning early, before the shops open, I want to go down into the square. Will you take me?”

  “Of course. But why?” he persisted.

  “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. Something important. About what you said. The answer is there. I know it.”

  He let it go, rose, and went to start the washing up. I hurriedly finished off my almost cold, but still wonderful, Mongolian chicken and took my plate to the sink. While Jake washed I dried. The silence between us was not quite companionable but not quite uncomfortable either.

  When the kitchen was back the way it should be, Jake took the tea-towel from me and folded it over a handle on the AGA.

  The wood stove stayed burning 24/7, using very little fuel. I usually left water to heat on it rather than use the water from the tap. I saw it as a small saving on electricity, as the house had electric units on the showers and the kitchen sink. They were economical, but I still preferred heating water in the kitchen using the AGA. Water for tea, on the other hand, was warmed on the AGA and then boiled in an electric kettle. Jake had also taken to slow-cooking his stews on it.

  “How tired and sore are you?” he asked me, without meeting my gaze. It was almost like he was embarrassed to be asking.

  “I’m not. I feel really good,” I answered honestly.

  My simmering arousal, which had not been far from the boil since waking up after our nap, ignited. Did that mean I was like my AGA?

  Jake slipped his arms around my body and drew me in close. Dropping a kiss to the top of my head he groaned. His hard length pressed into me.

  “I thought finally having you would ease some of this feckin’ horniness. But you’re in my blood now, like some drug. Too good and too addictive. I’ve never let myself get addicted to anything in my life, but you... you I can’t get enough of,” he admitted, his voice a rumbling under my ear.

  “I don’t think you’re alone in your addiction,” I admitted. “Do you think we should both join AA? Or is there a sex addicts group in the Dales, do you think?”

  He chuckled, the mood shifting, just as I planned for it to do.

  Before I knew what he was about, Jake swept me up into his arms and headed for the servant’s staircase, which was closest. I had to tuck in close to him to avoid hitting the narrow walls with my head and feet, but we made the climb to the first floor easily enough. Jake didn’t even seem winded.

  What followed was the kind of sex I’d only imagined. And I let Jake do whatever he wanted to me. I found it impossible to deny him anything. If I woke the dead with my screams, then so be it. I didn’t care. I was too damned happy to care.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The following morning at 6:30, before we even had breakfast, Jake took me into town on the back of his bike. The morning was crisp and sunny, promising to be a wonderfully warm and pleasant day.

  When we rumbled into the square, I didn’t expect to see many cars parked there. I was right. Too early yet for shopkeepers to be about, and certainly not tourists.

  Once we parked the bike, Jake followed me, as I roamed around the perimeter of the square. It was here the shops were located, while the centre of the square was reserved for parking and the bus stop. There was never enough parking, of course. People therefore found any space they could on the nearby streets, parking up on the footpaths to keep the way clear for traffic on the narrow, meandering thoroughfares.

  At peak times, the square was frenetic with activity, especially on market days when the parking was turned over to stallholders. But at this time of the morning on a day not designated for markets, the place was peaceful and empty of all but the sunshine and what I’d come to find: the ghosts. One specific ghost, in fact.

  Although he’d never let me get close enough to engage him, that hadn’t stopped me painting him. And he was the one Jake had been referring to when he said he felt like he was looking at his own reflection.

  Though I hadn’t had much time to ponder what was to come, what with the mind-blowing sex and the sleep-of-the-dead that followed—sleep so deep it would have made Fred jealous, had he been allowed in the room—I’d begun to put the pieces together. I didn’t want to tell Jake yet, though, because I wasn’t sure he’d have brought me had he known what awaited him.

  Therefore, as unaware as a lamb on the way to the slaughter house, Jake followed me around the perimeter. I’d seen dog owners following their pets in just this way, watching as their animals sniffed out all the unusual scents on offer.

  At one point, Jake paused to stare into the empty cavern that had up until recently been an Italian Restaurant. As most tourists and locals ate at the pubs, the fish and chip shops, or got light meals from the coffee shops, serious restaurants didn’t do a big trade in the area.

  “Looks like this place was pretty fancy,” Jake commented with interest.

  “It was. But except for take-out pizza, it didn’t do all that well.”

  He grunted his response. I imagined it was his opinion of pizza or the fact a quality restaurant offered take-out pizza that offended him.

  We moved on.

  Finally, on the last side of the perimet
er, I spotted him hovering on the edge of the narrow lane that was used as a walkway linking the outer homes to the hub of the town. Without looking too obvious, I wandered his way, acting as if I couldn’t see him. From the corner of my eye, I saw the instant he saw Jake. Up until that moment the only word I could have used to describe the apparition’s posture was skulking. Now, though, he was standing straight and alert.

  My heart began beating like a drum in my chest. This could go horribly wrong if I wasn’t careful. But my instincts had been validated by the ghost’s reaction.

  “Jonathan?” I said softly. “Jonathan Smith?”

  Jake froze beside me, instantly on alert in the same way the ghost had come to attention. It was easy to see the resemblance between the two now. Both tall and dark, with broad shoulders and narrow waists. They even carried their bodies the same way. But it was the features that were the most telling. A similar combination of craggy skeletal structure I’d also seen on Jason Smith. But it was not as obvious with him as it was with the two men standing before me, even though the ghost was barely out of his teens.

  Jon turned from studying Jake, to me, his transparent eyes narrowing. “You see me? I thought so, the other times you’ve coom ‘ere. Watching us like we watch the livin’.”

  Jake jerked as if shot, and he looked right at Jon, though I knew he couldn’t see him.

  “He sees me?” Jon sounded alarmed.

  “No,” I assured him. “But he can hear you.”

  “The Gift’s been in our family for generations, in one form or other. It shouldn’t surprise me.”

  “You know who Jake is, then?” I asked, watching Jake out of the corner of my eye.

  “’Course. Blood calls to blood. And he ‘as the look of ‘is muther about ‘im.”

  “What’re you talkin’ about? How do you know me mam?” Jake demanded furiously.

  This was not the reaction I was hoping for.

  “I met ‘er when I first moved to the city. She was a real little spitfire, that lass. In and out of foster homes, wild as they come. Too young fer me, but I couldn’t keep away. She liked ‘er men older, she told me. And she knew what was what. More’n me, for all I was a good four years older’n ‘er.”

  The ghost had a fond smile on his face, as if he was remembering better days.

  “Were you one of ‘er johns?” Jake demanded heatedly.

  The ghost reared back as if he’d been punched in the face. “Johns? Erica weren’t no prossy. Wild, and free with ‘er body, aye—because of the abuse she had as a bairn, I guess—but she didn’t sell ‘erself. Too much respect for that.”

  “How old was she?” Jake croaked out, looking suddenly ready to pass out.

  “Sixteen. When I met ‘er she was just about to turn sixteen. There was gypsy blood in ‘er veins, that was certain. Long, black curly hair and black-as-night eyes that flashed and shone like... like that black stone.” He faltered uncomfortably, searching for the lost word.

  “Onyx,” I supplied.

  “Aye, onyx. And a laugh... Oh, that laugh had a man’s prick upright in an instant.”

  Jake growled.

  “Did you know she was pregnant with your child?” Jake growled out, clearly knowing who this man was now.

  “We were together about three months when she missed ‘er period. I was fit to burst and dashed out to get a ‘ome pregnancy kit, there and then. She weren’t so keen. But when it tested positive she seemed ‘appy enough. Knew we’d have trouble with ‘er foster parents, ‘er being pregnant an’ under age an’ all, but we didn’t care.”

  Jake scrunched up his face, not believing what he was hearing. “You’re a liar.”

  The ghost studied his son dispassionately. “You ‘ave her temper, don’t you? Me, I was more laid back. Nought bothered me. But that lass’d fly of the ‘andle if someun looked at ‘er wrong.”

  Jake growled again. I could tell he wanted to hit the ghost, but as he couldn’t see him, and his fist would pass right through, it would have been a wasted activity. All he’d do was make himself sick and lose us the opportunity to talk further with the ghost.

  I placed a calming hand on Jake’s arm, and for a moment I thought he’d pull away. Instead, he relaxed a little.

  “So, if yer wanted me, why’d yer leave?” Jake demanded softly, his tone more frightening because of it.

  This was the cage fighter barely contained, and his accent was so broad it was hard to understand.

  “I needed money if I was gonna set us up, so I went to Arthur Watkins. He was me best mate’s uncle and ‘e’d left Wiggleswick back when me dah was a lad. He was supposed to be a businessman, but none of them businesses were strictly legal, if you get my drift. But ‘e was still taken wi’ the Old Ways, and me coomin’ from one of the families, I was welcomed in as if I was part of ‘is family.

  “Wanted to know if I ‘ad the Gift. I didn’t, so he lost interest fast. He was building a stable of Gifted, you understand? When I saw what he was tryin’ to do, and why, I got cold feet. Scared. I was shite scared by then.” He paused to shiver, as if remembering a very unpleasant memory.

  “I’d forgotten all this till I saw you. Like my life was no more’n a dream. Now... Now it feels like it was yesterday.” He shivered again.

  “So you ran? You left us and ran?” Jake snarled.

  I was starting to think this was a really bad idea. Sometimes the past was better left buried.

  “Naw. Well I was gonna run, but with your mam. I was goin’ ‘ome to tell the others what Watkins was about. He needed stoppin’. Bad shite. Black magic like none I’d ever seen.”

  “He killed you, didn’t he? Or had you killed?” I said, when his voice had petered out.

  He nodded. “Shoulda seen it coomin’. Men like that, killin’ cooms easy. But I thought I was immortal. Twenty-year-old an’ gonna live forever. They stuck a needle in me arm and when I came back to meself I was ‘ere, back ‘ome. But I didn’t know why. I knew I’d wanted to coom ‘ome, I knew that much, but summat was missin’. I just couldn’t remember what. Or who.”

  Jake was breathing heavily by now, as if he’d run a marathon. “You’ve been here for what, twenty-eight years? Just lookin’ at your reflection in shop windows?”

  “I can’t see me reflection. But aye... probably that long. Time passes like a dream...”

  “Have you never seen the Light?” I asked, feeling sorry for Jake’s father, who looked more like Jake’s younger brother. He’d been too young to die.

  “I can see one now. Like the sun’s coomin’ up int’ middle of carpark.”

  I thought he might be able to move on now. I looked at Jake, willing him to find closure with his father before he did so.

  “She never talked about you, but I always knew someone broke her heart.”

  “Is she all right? Is she happy?” the ghost asked his son. No, pleaded with his son.

  “She’s dead. Her pimp killed her. I was ten. And she was never happy. I don’t recognise the lass you described, except her appearance. They called her Gyp because of her looks and the big round earrings she always wore.”

  “If she moved on then she’s happy,” I suggested, feeling a bit too much like Melinda Gordon in Ghost Whisperer. “Maybe she’s waiting for you beyond the Light.”

  “No, wait. I need to know more about the bastard who killed you. Did he run lasses?”

  Jon looked thoughtful for a moment. “Aye, he did. Why?”

  “Did Mam know who you were mixed up with?”

  “Aye,” he admitted reluctantly. “When I thought I was gonna make enough money to set us up, I told ‘er about ‘im then.”

  “That’s how she got in the business. He must have...”

  “She would never have done it!” Jon declared staunchly.

  “She was having a baby and her foster parents threw her out. I remember her sayin’ that once. Mam probably didn’t think she had anywhere to turn. And if he was interested in families with the Gift, maybe he wanted
to see if I had one.”

  “You did. You can ‘ear me.”

  “I didn’t until a bitch tattooed a Druid’s mark on me chest. Maybe I had latent ability that it brought to the surface.”

  “Druids were part of our family heritage. Goin' way back, o’ course. We were respected among the families back then.”

  Jon was becoming more and more distracted by what he was seeing in the middle of the carpark. I knew we’d run out of time.

  “You need to go,” I told him.

  “Wait. If... If you see her, tell her I’m awright. Will you tell ‘er I’m awright? Last words she said as she died were about me stayin’ safe if I went int’ system. Tell ‘er I didn’t go int’ system. Tell ‘er I got by and I’m good.”

  I grabbed for his hand and he squeezed my fingers tightly. He saw his mother beaten to death? No wonder he was filled with rage.

  “You found your way, that’s good. I’m glad for you, son. I’ll tell ‘er...”

  He drifted away until I could no longer see him.

  Not knowing if it was the right thing to do or not, I moved in to hug Jake. His big body was stiff in my arms for several torturous moments, before he wrapped me up and clung to me. His whole body shook.

  Tears poured down my cheeks. Always so many tears. One day I’d run out, but not today.

  “Looks like the coffee shop is open for breakfast. Want to get something?” I asked after he’d gained control again.

  “Aye, then we need to get some groceries. After that, I have Arthur Watkins to track down.”

  The icy steel in his tone had my blood freezing in my veins. This was not what I’d hoped for when I brought him to meet his father. This was not it at all.

  Over breakfast, Jake acted as if nothing unusual had happened. By the time we’d eaten, wandered around Booths—picking up what we needed—and ridden home, we’d barely exchanged more than a few words, and those were about the weather and the absence of Squib.