by Elara Skye
Sure enough, there he was. Front and center, staring coldly into the void. Utterly devoid of the fearfulness he found in death. The man hobbled closer to Amelia’s backside than Finn was comfortable with.
“Finn, you okay?” Amelia’s voice snapped him back.
“Sorry, what?”
“You look a little pale.”
He certainly felt a bit breathless. “Do I?”
“Yeah.” She’d been standing some feet away, but her cold fingers found his forehead. She pressed them against it while staring up at him. The touch startled him at first, but it was so gentle—barely-there—and Finn found himself watching her instead.
“You don’t have a fever, do you?”
“Uh,” he breathed out. “I don’t think so.” Finn reached up and took her hand, bringing it down in front of him. “But your hands are cold, are you comfortable?”
Amelia chuckled nervously, pulling it back. “I mean, it’s just a little chilly in here, no big deal.”
“Alright, let’s go this way. It’s away from the entry hall, so it might be warmer.” Finn nodded to the next room, stepping back to divert her away from the painting. The look he gave over his shoulder was stern and forceful, setting bounds that the spirit could not transgress—do not follow us.
The man stayed where he was, expression growing taut with anxiety as they walked off. Amelia had moved on to discussing the last time she’d visited the museum—how they had a similar exhibit when she first moved here—but Finn was unnerved by the eyes still lingering on his backside. They pleaded for his help. Technically, it was his responsibility to respond—but when was the last time he followed through with his heavenly duties? When was the last time he cared?
“You know, you still haven’t told me how you did it,” Amelia said, startling him out of his thoughts. Finn had lost track of the subject change, and he glanced at her wide-eyed in response. “I’m not going to stop asking until you do.”
Shit.
“Oh, well, you can ask one more time, I don’t mind.”
“Come on, seriously, did you toss a balm or something in the cup without me seeing it?”
Oh, good. Amelia was talking about that night in the bar.
Finn grinned, rolling his eyes a bit. “Give it up, darling.”
“No,” she asserted, in a way that made him smile broadly. “You’ll tell me eventually.”
“I’m good with tricks, can’t that assuage your curiosity?”
“Nope. I haven’t believed in magic tricks since I was six.”
Finn chuckled as they stepped into the next exhibit. “Well, that doesn’t change the fact that I am, in fact, the greatest magician you’ll ever meet.” Mischief feathered through him as he glanced at the pieces. “And I can prove it to you.”
“How, another trick?”
“Yes. Are you up for a game?”
Amelia gave him a challenging look. “Always.”
“Very well. Go on and find something in this room. Look at the placards and search for something specific about the artifact, but don’t tell me what it is. Then, I’ll take a guess at what you’ve read about its history.”
“You’ll guess?”
“That’s right.”
Amelia looked unconvinced, but she shrugged anyway. “Alright, challenge accepted.”
Finn waited by the archway as she turned and glided around the room, sparing him a glance now and again. Each time she caught his eye, Amelia released it gracefully again. Perhaps he was making her uncomfortable by watching so intently; with that in mind, he sauntered over to the nearest painting—a farmhouse in a meadow—and stood there for a moment.
Even when he wasn’t looking, Amelia still managed to hold his attention. Finn was keenly aware of her movements, her shallow breath as she moved across the room. It finally hitched when she made a decision. Finn turned and found her standing before a small, rickety desk that looked too worn to still be standing. She gave him an approving smile, and he walked toward her.
“Alright,” she muttered as she hovered in front of the placard. “Tell me. Whose family did this belong to, and what year is it from?”
His lips quirked upward. “Is that all you want to know?”
Amelia’s amusement—her resolve—cut through him with a smile. “Tick tock, Finn.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he quipped.
Finn peered down at the desk, as though considering the request, and tapped it twice with his index finger—disregarding the ‘do not touch’ signs. It was a redundant connection, but it allowed an insight into the artifact’s past for human mediums. The vision appeared with the second tap in his mind’s eye, just behind his brow bone. Three little girls—two of them twins—one was older than the rest. A single book lay on the edge of the table, parchment lining what was once a glossy surface. This desk belonged to a wealthy family.
A name was scribbled in the corner of the parchment paper.
“I’m terrible with children’s handwriting,” he mumbled. “But I believe the name was Foster.” Finn blinked up at Amelia. “Final answer.”
“Uh—”Amelia pressed her lips together, glancing at the placard. “Well, what about the year?”
That was a matter of discerning the length of contact between the desk and the owner. “They had it for four years. 1896 to 1900. Final answer.”
Her brows shot up, utterly disbelieving. “Oh, my god. That’s it, exactly.”
“Told you, I’m good with tricks.”
And he loved the look on her face, until doubt splintered across it. “Or maybe you’ve been here before, secretly have an eidetic memory, and read the placard.”
“Give me something else, then. Challenge me.”
Amelia’s breath stilled, her eyes narrowing. “Alright,” she said, reaching up to unclip her necklace. “Here’s your challenge.”
She held it out in her palm, looking expectant. Finn’s smile faded a bit, and he wasn’t quite sure whether he liked the turn that the game just took. Amelia was observing him now, neither judging nor assuming what he would say next—it still felt like a trick.
Without responding, Finn donned a friendly, disarming grin as he reached up and took the pendant from her hand.
All this time, he wasn’t able to see it under her winter clothes. Now that he had, Finn realized it was a medallion of Saint Benedict that rested against his fingers. He furrowed a brow at it. It was an old, powerful tool that humans used in spiritual combat—what could Amelia possibly need it for? Exorcists were more prone to wearing something like this, perceiving it to ward off evil. Amelia had mentioned on Christmas that she wasn’t religious, so why have this at all?
Definitely a trick question.
It took a moment to realize the answer, and Finn looked up at her. “You sure you want me to answer this?”
“I’m positive,” she said. “Give me your best shot.”
She didn’t think he’d get it right. Maybe it’d be better if he didn’t.
“Christmas Eve,” he said, deciding on the answer. “Your mother once wore this, I assume—the woman’s eyes were green, but you have the same hair. She gave it to you in a red, velvet pouch, with a little heart-shaped sticker on the front.”
The look in Amelia’s eye skated through surprise, reluctance, and disbelief. “Final answer?”
He nodded. “Final answer.”
“Oh my god,” her words shot out with a reluctant chuckle. “How did you know all that?”
“I told you—magic.”
“That is so cool.” Amelia nudged his arm gently, reaching for the necklace. She couldn’t hide the slight discomfort. “Wow.”
Finn glanced down at it, deciding in a quick beat not to miss the opportunity. Power wafted from his fingers, enveloping the pendant before he handed it back to her—blessed by an angel.
“Amelia,” he said as she took it. “Why don’t we go and get some lunch?”
“What?” Her cheery expression rose again. “But we haven’t seen all
the exhibits.”
“Do you really want to?”
“Well, I mean...” Her lips parted reluctantly. “You bought my ticket, so we should do whatever you want.”
“The ticket was nothing, don’t worry about that,” he said, glancing at the doorway to the next room. The waft of angelic power had drawn a different spirit from the exhibit. An older woman, hobbling toward the two of them. “I just thought of a good place we could go to. It’s outside, but there’ll be heaters, so we can talk more comfortably.”
“Oh, okay,” Amelia smiled. “Then sure, I’m up for it if you are. We can come back here some other time. I actually heard they’re rotating a new exhibit in a few weeks from now.”
“Good. That all sounds good.”
Well, it did, and it didn’t.
For now, they could continue their conversation in peace, without Finn having to pretend he wasn’t evading supernatural beings left and right.
“Let’s get going, then,” he said, leading her away.
Finn glanced reluctantly over his shoulder when they finally exited the space. If they were ever to come here again, every last one of these spirits would have to be dealt with. Sooner, rather than later.
Chapter Seven
With Cat’s arrival back in town, there were plenty of things to keep Amelia occupied, aside from the occasional meet-up with Finn. She and her roommate began taking earlier shifts at the bar, as they had done initially, and Amelia found her weeknights far more occupied than they were when Cat was gone. The holiday season had come to a close, and everything was getting back to normal. All part of the benefits of living with a graduate student—the house was seldom empty.
Winter, however, raged on in all its glory, with all its marvels. Cold and flu season, for example.
Lately, Amelia wasn’t sure which was worse—the intermittent bouts of nightmarish sleep, or the lack of sleep from being sick. She’d been in bed for nearly a week now, fighting whatever horrible disease was playing paddle ball with her fever. She had to cancel on Finn twice because of it, though that didn’t preclude him from calling or frequently writing to check in on her.
All in all, the man was very attentive—for a friend, which was all they had remained thus far. And under the circumstances, the nightly phone calls they’d adopted were reduced to lengthy texts—given her raw throat and inability to breathe—and after seven days and seven nights, he began to voice some more profound concerns about her condition.
“Amelia, I’m offering to take you to another doctor, you don’t even have to drive,” Finn offered calmly over the phone, evidently having nothing better to do on a Saturday night. “Why are you resisting?”
Amelia bit her lip and stared at her reflection in the closet door, sinking further into her pillow. She frowned at the prospect of paying another copay, after seeing the same doctor twice that refused to give her antibiotics—or a prescription of any kind to appease the symptoms. Life in and around the city was expensive enough without these little things piling up.
“I’m kind of getting better,” she rasped over the phone, glancing down at the thermostat that still read one-hundred degrees—the highest it’d gotten that day. She craned her neck a bit as she slid back against the pillow, growing more and more tired of sleeping propped up against it. But it was the only way to keep her nose from filling up. “It’s fine, seriously. If I’m not better in another day, I’ll take myself.”
There was a gentle sigh on the line. “Ridiculous woman, can I at least bring you something? Some food?”
Amelia grinned, but she wasn’t entirely surprised by the offer. “That’s a bad idea, this place is contaminated. I’ll get you sick too.”
That, she knew for a fact. Cat was the one who had gotten her sick, and Amelia wasn’t prepared to do the same to him. At this point, it wouldn’t have been his first visit to her house—he’d already come once to pick her up once, saying hello to Cat in the process—but it would be the first lengthy visit, and Amelia didn’t want to welcome him in such a disgusting state. Nyxie would do for company in the meantime, because that’s what cats were for.
“Is that your only objection?” Finn asked. “Not wanting to get me sick?”
“Of course.”
“Then, I’ll be there soon.”
She huffed, dreading the impending torment from her bug. “Come on, it’s not worth the risk.
“Yes, it is.” He paused, reluctance quieting him. “Look, I rarely get sick, I doubt I’ll start now. I’d really like to see you. I’ll even stop by the store for medicine too, if you’re out of it.”
Amelia glanced at the untouched box of pills on her nightstand. “No, I’ve got plenty.”
“Then I’ll just bring my beautiful self,” he said earnestly, the ruffling noises in the background suggesting he just stood. “Give me your blessing—I’ll see you in about twenty minutes?”
She bit her lip. “Okay…fine.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you soon.”
Finn hung up first, leaving Amelia to stare down at the phone—smiling, until another glance in the mirror served as a reminder of how awful she looked. Realizing what little time she had, Amelia flung herself from the bed immediately, using what little energy she had left. The movement startled Nyxie, and the cat bolted away, legs flailing as she darted off the bed.
Right—just because Amelia was sick, didn’t mean she had to look like it. There was no need to display that she’d spent seven days and seven nights in the sweaty depths of Fever City. For the fifteen minutes that followed, Amelia was a cataclysm of sheets and showers and whirling movements.
Halfway through, she wished she’d had the willpower to tell Finn ‘no.’ This was exhausting, it couldn’t have been good for her fever. It was part of the initial reason she didn’t want to invite him. But by the time she heard the doorbell ring downstairs, along with the quiet murmuring of Finn and Cat’s voices, Amelia reeled back under the covers—pretending to be eyeing the horror flick playing on her television.
Footsteps padded up the stairs, but the exertion had drained her significantly. Amelia barely had energy left to give a damn that Finn had just arrived, and her eyelids drifted shut for the remaining seconds she had to herself. At that point, she must’ve looked doubly worse than when she started, but at least her room was presentable. She had left the door open intentionally and barely rose into a seated position when Finn and Cat sauntered in. Her roommate left after a brief progress report—still feverish, exhausted, cold, and lacking an appetite—leaving the two of them alone.
“Is your fever going down at all?” Finn asked, drifting toward her with a solemn look. Amelia shifted a bit as he sat down on the bed, carefully unpacking the contents of a plastic takeout bag.
“I haven’t measured it since we talked,” she said, knowing that it likely rose from the exertion.
Finn was apt to show his disappointment, grinning as he shook his head. “Isn’t self-preservation supposed to be the basest of all human instincts?”
Her face might’ve reddened if it wasn’t already flushed. Even when he scolded her, Finn’s voice was deliciously rich, with a soothing quality that calmed her nerves.
Amelia shrugged, reaching for the container he held out. “I’m sure my guardian angel’s shaking her head at me somewhere.”
There was a notable pause, a subtle shift in the air as he pulled the food back. “I’m sorry—‘her?’
“Okay, you can count too, for bringing me food,” Amelia whined, battling through her congestion, and pawed at the container. She was careful not to touch him in the process.
Finn relinquished it with a bit of an airy tussle, seemingly unconcerned with being touched by her diseased hands. “Well, I do sympathize with her if she is watching over you. I’m sure she’s sitting somewhere, wondering why you insist on giving her a headache.”
“I’m the one with the headache, kid.”
“Here,” he held up a spoon. “Eat.”
Steam plumed
as she removed the lid and stared down at the contents. It was a canister of grainy, chalky, slimy pea soup.
Her lips curled inward a bit. She’d only had this once before, and truthfully, found it disgusting. “This is pea soup, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I thought it’d fill you up,” Finn said as he stood, folding his coat over the wingback chair in the corner.
She cringed when he looked away, but affection filled her heart at the same time. The notion was so endearing—how was he to know that she wouldn’t like it? Amelia bit back another grimace as she took the first sip. From some dark corner of the room, Nyxie reappeared and jumped onto the bed, drawing Amelia’s attention away from the gritty muck.
“Well now, who’s this?” Finn said as he sat back down, patting her on the head.
“Her name’s Nyxie.”
“Nyxie? That’s interesting.”
Amelia pointed with the spoon. “She was a stray at my last apartment complex. The kids that lived there were calling her Starpower.”
“I see.” He laughed. “An executive name change was needed.”
“Agreed.” Amelia looked between them as she ate another spoonful, settling on Finn. “Thanks for bringing this over.”
He glanced at her, arching a brow quizzically. “Do you like it?”
“Definitely,” she lied. “Are you into pea soup?”
“I’ve never tried it. Alaric actually made the suggestion. He’s a food connoisseur, but...” There was a hint of a grimace as he glanced at the container. “I’ve got to be honest, that doesn’t look particularly appetizing.”
Amelia tried, but she couldn’t hold back the laugh that rose. It was enough to illicit a heavy cough.
“Oh, no...” Finn mumbled, eyeing her reaction curiously. “You don’t like it, do you?”