Giving Up the Ghost

by Jane Davitt

  “I knew I’d find you,” Greg said warmly. “You said you were walking, so there were only so many places to end up.”

  “We’re not walking now,” John said pointedly. “We’re eating. Together. In peace.” Greg pulled back the chair beside John and sat down, his face showing no sign of annoyance at his tepid welcome. “Or we were,” John finished.

  “Oh, I won’t get in your way,” Greg promised, already managing to subtly exclude John, taking advantage of the empty space in front of him and leaning across the table a little, his gaze locked on Nick. “I just thought it’d be a good idea if I was…prepared. You know; for what to expect. Do I need holy water? Garlic? Is that why you’re eating here?”

  “I don’t know if holy water would do anything.” Nick had never even considered it. “Garlic wouldn’t ‑‑ I don’t think they can smell. Oh, unless you meant it’s supposed to have some magical ability or something.” He looked down at his plate awkwardly, not sure he wanted to admit that they’d gone to see someone in that line of work earlier that day. It just seemed so…hokey.

  “I think he’s trying to be funny, Nick.” John’s voice was cool but his mouth was tight with annoyance. “No one’s asking you to tag along, mate. And if this article you’re planning on doing is going to be full of jokes like that, you can bloody well forget about it!”

  “Take it easy,” Greg suggested, slouching in his chair and slinging one arm across the back of it. “I want a story, true, but that’s not the kind of story I write. Go online and check if you don’t believe me ‑‑ you won’t find that kind of thing. I don’t need attention that badly that it’s worth being all Enquirer-sensationalist. Hell, I’d be writing for one of those rags if I did.”

  “Then maybe you should tone it down.” Nick gave him a firm look, because he couldn’t just sit there and let Greg be a jerk, not even when he knew John could take care of himself.

  Greg opened his mouth, visibly reconsidered what he’d been about to say, and then sighed. “Fine. Can I admit that even though I don’t think anything’s going to happen, it’s possible, just vaguely possible, that I’m very slightly freaked out at the idea of what we’re going to do?”

  “He’ll be the one doing it, not you,” John put in, his expression not softening. “You’ll be standing way back, taking care of Alicia if she needs it. And feel free to do what you have to do to shut her up if she starts shrieking, because Nick won’t need the distraction.”

  “You said there’d be someone else there but you didn’t say who. Alicia? That’s…oh.” Greg stared at Nick, frowning now. “She’s the woman who identified your father, isn’t she? Why does ‑‑? God, you’re going to try and speak to him, aren’t you? To your father? Oh, this is just fantastic! Great human interest angle…”

  “It’s really not,” Nick said, even though he knew it was, knew what Greg meant. “It’s my last chance to see him ‑‑ talk to him ‑‑ so I’m going to try to take it, if I can. That’s all.”

  “It’s a hell of a lot more than that.” Greg’s eyes bored into his. “And you know it.”

  Nick looked away, then looked at John even though he was talking to Greg. “It’s personal. If you’re not going to be able to respect that…”

  “Oh, I will. I do. Honest.” Greg smiled reassuringly which, as far as Nick was concerned was wasted effort. “And if you want me to provide a shoulder for the lady ‑‑” John snorted but left it at that. “-- to cry on, well, I can do that.” He tilted his head. “I’d like to record it, if that’s okay? Just me, don’t worry, and a very small digicam. You won’t notice it, but it’ll add some color to it if I can provide pictures, some documentation.”

  “They won’t believe you,” John said flatly. “They’ll just think you’ve faked it. And the ghosts don’t usually show as visible to anyone but Nick, anyway.”

  “Not usually, but sometimes? Have you ‑‑ John, is it? ‑‑ have you seen them?”

  Greg was quick. Too quick, Nick reflected. And he didn’t believe for a moment that Greg had really forgotten John’s name.

  “It’s him you’re interviewing, not me.” John turned his attention to his food, although he did no more than pick at it before tossing his fork down with a clatter. “Oh, can we just get this over with?”

  “Sorry,” Greg said, without a hint of genuine apology in his voice. “Didn’t mean to put you off your dinner.”

  “We kind of were anyway.” Nick caught the waitress’s eye and shrugged a little with one shoulder; from her understanding look, she’d gotten the message.

  Greg hadn’t shifted his position at all. He was as relaxed and casual as if they were friends talking about old times. “My car’s just down the block. I can drive.”

  Nick hesitated, but to his surprise John nodded. “Aye, we can do it that way.” He saw the look Nick was giving him and shrugged. “Last time…it was tricky driving and keeping an eye on you and I know what I’d sooner be doing.” He stared at Greg. “Can you drive fast if you have to?”

  A sparkle of amusement lit Greg’s eyes. “Och, aye.”

  “That sounded terrible,” John told him.

  “Want to give me lessons?”

  “Not top of the list of things I’d like to do to you, no.”

  “And what would be top?” Greg’s eyes widened as John deliberately made one hand into a fist and then let it relax again. “You know, assault comes with some nasty consequences over here.”

  “It’d be worth it.”

  Nick sighed, giving the approaching waitress a grateful smile and reaching for his wallet.

  “Hey, no, I can get that.” Greg held out a hand for the check, and the waitress hesitated long enough for Nick to take it from her.

  “You really can’t,” Nick told him, handing over his credit card. “But thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me for not helping.” Greg was frowning. “Save the thanks for when I’ve actually done something, okay?”

  “I won’t be holding my breath,” John murmured.

  Greg frowned more deeply and shot John an irritated look. “Hey, I got the addresses and phone numbers he wanted, didn’t I? I don’t get credit for that?”

  “Oh, you do, you do,” John agreed. “Trouble is, making a move on Nick canceled it all out as far as I’m concerned.” He smiled easily at Greg, but Nick knew him well enough to see that John was spoiling for a fight, held back only by the fact that they were in public and they had a job to do. “You were wasting your time,” John said softly as Greg flushed.

  “Couldn’t know that until I tried,” Greg said. He did seem less at ease now, though, and Nick wasn’t sure whether to feel pleased or guilty about that. “I didn’t get as far as I have in my career by not going after stuff I wanted.”

  John didn’t take his eyes off Greg, the tension between them thick enough to touch. Smell, even, like the crackle and burn of ozone before a storm. “He’s not yours to want. He’s mine to love. And I do. Now get out of that chair and to your car and don’t be saying another word to me that implies otherwise or I’ll take the pleasure of thumping you over whatever comes after.”

  They were all speaking quietly, but heads were still turning and Nick saw the waitress hesitate as she began to walk back with his credit card, her face troubled.

  Time to go.

  “Not here,” Nick said. “Hopefully not at all, but definitely not here.” He smiled at the waitress and added a generous tip to the bill before signing the slip and giving her the white copy, aware that John and Greg weren’t looking at each other and that Greg hadn’t gotten up and left the table the way John had told him to.

  Still, as soon as the waitress thanked them and left, Greg did stand up and head for the door without looking back. John got up at the same time Nick did, hands curled into fists and his shoulders tense.

  “He doesn’t mean anything by it,” Nick said, stepping closer to John and keeping his voice low. At John’s disbelieving glance, he added, “I mean, he’s kind of a jerk,
but it doesn’t matter. You know I wouldn’t do anything with him, even if I wasn’t crazy in love with you.”

  He saw the anger on John’s face fade, to be replaced by guilt. “I know. I do. I’m sorry.” John eyed Greg’s back as the man left and started to follow him, his steps as reluctant as his next words. “You want me to apologize? To him, I mean?”

  Nick snorted. “I think he probably owes you more of an apology than you owe him, and I doubt you’ll get it.”

  To his surprise, though, when they joined Greg beside the shiny black car, the other man looked ashamed. “Sorry,” he muttered, then lifted his head and said it again to John. “Sorry. I didn’t realize ‑‑ but that’s no excuse. No hard feelings?” Greg offered John his hand to shake.

  John took it at once, giving Greg a nod of acknowledgment that was guarded, but friendly enough. “No. And if I was out of line in there, well, I’m sorry for that. I’ve got a temper on me and I’m not looking forward to this, if you want the truth.”

  “See, that’s where we’re different.” Greg rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t wait to see what happens, no matter how on edge I feel. Plus…well, I guess I was trying to get you riled up. My mother always said it was the scientist in me, wanting to see what would happen, but I think it’s more a psychology thing.” Then, as if he’d revealed more than he’d meant to, Greg turned and unlocked the car. “I hope one of you will sit in front with me, but if not I guess I’d understand.”

  “You sit in front,” Nick said quickly, touching John’s elbow. Better to have John in the front than in the back, stewing.

  John took advantage of Greg getting into the car and closing the door, leaving them in relative privacy, to say quickly, “Nick ‑‑ it’ll be fine. I’m not worried about that. Just about you.” Unusually, as he was rarely demonstrative in public, John leaned in and kissed Nick, his mouth warm, comforting.

  Any other time, Nick would have clung to John and claimed another few kisses at least, but Greg was waiting and so were half a dozen ghosts, so he gave John’s hand a squeeze and then let go. John got into the front seat and Nick got into the back; Greg’s car was considerably nicer than their rental, the seats firm and soft and smelling of leather. “At least it’s not raining,” he commented, looking up at the darkening sky.

  “Yet,” John said succinctly.

  “Does it usually rain when you do this?” Greg asked, sounding interested. “I know I’ve read that people have reported drops in temperature when there’re spirits about. That sort of hard data’s always good to have.”

  “It rained last night.” Nick watched out the window as they pulled out onto the main road. “I think it was last night.” It seemed like days ago. All of this did, really; it felt like months since they’d left Scotland.

  “I don’t think it’s supposed to tonight,” Greg said. “Though if it does I guess we could count that as some kind of proof.” He sounded doubtful.

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” John said dryly. “And, no, I can’t say that I’ve noticed it, but then we’re from Scotland; it’s raining more often than not there. Rain’s normal.”

  “I’d rather avoid it when I’m holding a camera.” Greg was a careful driver, something that Nick found surprising.

  “Because you want the footage to come out okay?” Nick asked.

  Greg glanced in the rearview mirror, then shook his head. “Because I don’t want the camera to get wrecked. It’s new.” He grinned suddenly, and it transformed his face.

  John smiled, turning to stare out of the window, at the dazzle of streetlights against the rapidly darkening sky, looking relaxed enough that Nick relaxed, too. “Then let’s hope it stays fine.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The guards were likely tired of them at this point, John mused as he turned to look in their direction. Still, it seemed as if a number of the smaller pieces of debris on the crash site had been removed that day; the larger pieces of the plane were where they’d been the night before, though. “They’ve started cleaning up,” John commented, mostly to Duncan, who was standing beside him, the tiny video camera in his hand.

  “Once they’ve taken about six million photos, a hundred movies, and a few thousand measurements, they usually start carting stuff out.” Duncan looked up and around. “As soon as the area’s clear, no one’ll be interested anymore, and then they can stop with the police rejects.” John gave him a questioning look, and he clarified, “The guards. Most of them are ex-cops.”

  Nick, who’d been sitting nearby reading over the notes Melissa had jotted down for him, made a sudden choking noise. John looked at him, concerned, but Nick just said, “Okay, this stuff tastes like shit.” He was holding the screw-off cap from the bottle in his hand.

  “What is it?” Greg asked, shifting to reporter-mode way too fast for John’s liking.

  Nick forced down another swallow, his eyes watering. John bent down beside him, ignoring Greg, and patted Nick’s back. “Must mean it’s good stuff, then. My granny always said if it tasted nice it wouldn’t cure what ailed me.”

  “Yeah, well, it won’t if I puke it up, either.” Nick wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gagged, then set the bottle down beside him. “Okay, if that’s not enough…it’ll have to be.”

  “Magic juice?” Duncan asked doubtfully.

  “Pretty much. It’s an herbal thing. Tea. It’s supposed to help me focus, or something.” Nick put the cap back on the bottle, still half full, then rummaged around in the bag and brought out the candles and the package of salt.

  “I’m not even going to ask,” Greg said.

  “Good,” murmured John, but he gave Greg a smile when he said it. The man wasn’t so bad now he’d backed off a bit, and John could sure as hell sympathize with how out of his depth Greg must be feeling.

  It was the way he felt every time he thought about what Nick did.

  Arranging the candles at the compass points and sprinkling the salt in a circle didn’t take long enough to quell the nerves John was feeling. He studied the candle at his feet, shifted it an inch, and looked at Nick. “Good enough?”

  “I hope so.” Nick stepped into the circle and went…well, the only way to put it was still, really. It never lasted long, and there was always a nervous tension hanging in the air, but for a moment or two it was like watching someone turn to stone, and it never failed to make John’s heart skip a beat. “Tell him to ‑‑”

  “Helloooo!” Bloody Alicia. They’d forgotten all about her, but here she was, tottering down the hillside on the very high heels she hadn’t had the sense to exchange for a sensible pair of shoes. “I hope I’m not too late. Did I miss anything exciting?”

  Nick sighed and opened his eyes. “No; we were just getting started.” He looked at John imploringly.

  “You’re to stand well back.” John pointed at a slight rise in the ground. “With him.” He nodded at Greg, who was looking a little stunned at the turquoise suit Alicia was wearing, the jacket low-cut and clinging. “He’s a reporter,” he added, guessing that Alicia would get a kick out of that. “And he’s going to be filming this.”

  “A movie?” She actually fluffed her hair. “Well, make sure you get my good side, honey.”

  “He’s not a magician,” John said tersely. “And he’s here to film Nick, not you.”

  But Duncan seemed willing to turn on the charm even for Alicia once he’d gotten over his surprise at her whirlwind arrival ‑‑ he guided her back up the hill half a dozen steps, talking to her in a low, cajoling voice that had her flirting with him in seconds.

  Good. Let the man keep her busy.

  “Don’t let her touch me, okay?” Nick said, watching her intently. “During, I mean. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if she did, but ‑‑ I think it’d freak me out.”

  “I can understand that.” John rolled his eyes. “Just look at her, will you?” he muttered. “Och, well, as long as she’s happy.” He hadn’t known her long, but he had a feeling life was mor
e peaceful when she was like that, and right now, for Nick’s sake, he was willing ‑‑ more than willing ‑‑ to sacrifice Greg if that’s what it took. “She won’t get past me, love. Neither of them will.”

  “I know.” Nick smiled at him, but didn’t reach out to touch him, as if somehow he thought that leaving the rough circle of salt and candles on the ground, even just with a hand, would spoil the effect. He raised his voice a bit. “Okay, here we go. Keep quiet if you can.”

  Not much chance of that with Alicia, John thought, but he didn’t spare the two of them so much as a glance.

  Nick went quiet again.

  A moment later there was a faint breeze ‑‑ warm, because of where they were, but only smelling slightly of the ocean. Instead of making John feel secure, the fine hairs at the back of his neck stood on end. Nick licked his lips as if they’d suddenly gone dry, one hand opening and then closing again into a fist.

  “No,” he said clearly. “No, you have to wait.”

  “Wait for what?” Alicia asked in a loud voice.

  “Shut up,” John mouthed at her, his words barely audible.

  Alicia’s face stiffened with outrage, but Greg, earning John’s undying gratitude, reached out with one hand, the camera he was pointing at Nick never wavering, and murmured something that looked like a more tactful version of John’s command.

  She subsided, her foot tapping impatiently, and John turned his attention back to Nick.

  “Yes,” Nick was saying, clearly talking to the ghosts. “I know, but it’s okay. You’ll all get a turn, I promise.” He flinched. “I know; I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready to handle all of you before. But I am now. Okay. Come in.”

  Alicia said something to Greg, but it was quiet enough that John didn’t do more than glance in their direction.

  “John?” Nick said it in a way that let John know what he needed ‑‑ someone to take notes. There was a pad of paper and a pen in his pocket, and he took them out and held them at the ready as Nick went on. “Alexander. Mm-hm. Yes. And there’s ‑‑ okay. It’s a combination. Five, oh, six, nine, eight, nine. Okay. I’ll make sure she knows. Yeah.” His voice softened. “You can go. Go on; it’ll be okay.”