Jeepers Reapers: There Goes My Midlife Crisis

by Marianne Morea

  Stifling a burp, I practically giggled at the X-rated images in my boozy brain. I angled my head, flashing what I hoped was a sexy smile and not a lopsided leer.

  “You know…I never asked. Is Keeper fraternization a thing?”

  He didn’t laugh, but he didn’t look away. He didn’t answer either, though his gaze was hot enough to burn.

  What was that note to self? Eat before drinking problem-sized glass of wine? Yep. Ugh.

  I must’ve cringed outwardly as well as inwardly at my late-life adolescent flirting, because he reached across the table for my hand.

  “Lou, you’re a Keeper.” He winked, repeating what Emmie used to say, but when his fingers laced with mine, his tone changed. “In more ways than you think.”

  I opened my mouth, but then shut it again. My head was too fuzzy to risk further embarrassment, so I let it go and pulled my hand back.

  “Uhm, I’ll show you to your room.”

  I got up a little unsteady, and Cade slipped his hand under my elbow same as he did when we crossed 5th Avenue, only this time the vibe wasn’t just protective. Or was that just the wine as well?

  Chapter Ten

  COLD WATER BEAT ON MY HEAD, clearing my brain fuzz. From now on, grapes were to be consumed in raw form only, and Thea could help herself to my wine rack the next time she came over.

  I turned off the shower, and stood in the chilled water on the bathtub floor. At least the shadows were gone for good. I hoped. Since walking into Memento Mori, there wasn’t one to be found outside my own silhouette on the ground.

  Grabbing a turban-towel, I squeezed the excess water from my ends before wrapping my head in the triangular terrycloth. I dried off quickly, slipping into a pair of panties and a button-up pajama top, not bothering with the bottoms.

  I unscrewed the top of my night cream, slathering my face and throat. “I guess I won’t be needing this anymore, eh, Em?” I grinned at my reflection in the mirror.

  Working the cream into my skin, I thought about Emmie and her cute Yoda-like face. Unless the no-aging thing was a new perk, Em was an old woman when Angelica came for her as a Keeper.

  I froze with my fingers mid-circle on my jawline. Em was seventy-two years old. If that was true, and she became a Keeper at the end of the American Civil War, that meant she was born in 1793.

  I blinked at the inconceivable fact.

  Holy shit!

  That was the year Louis XVI was guillotined in Paris during the French Revolution’s Reign of Terror, and George Washington was sworn in for his second term as president!

  I pulled the turban-towel from my head, letting it splat in the sink, the sound punctuating the splat in my brain.

  “Emmie?” I eyed the mirror for paranormal anomalies, but the only things reflected back were me, the tiled wall, and the empty towel rack.

  “I wish you had shared all this with me when you had the chance.” The whispered admonishment went nowhere, and I sighed, reaching for the wide-toothed comb hanging on the side of my vanity.

  Damn.

  Witnessing things through Emmie’s eyes would’ve been the highlight of my life. I loved history. All of it. The medical and societal advances, the triumphs and tragedies. Even the horrors.

  I was an advocate of knowing the truth. The real truth, so sins of the past found no fertile ground in the present. Instead of reading about history in books, Em could’ve shared firsthand accounts.

  “I guess I’ll have my own century’s worth of change to tell a nominee. With everything you witnessed, maybe you didn’t want to remember it all.”

  My fingertips touched the mirrored medicine cabinet, but there was nothing beneath them but steamy glass. With a soft exhale, I reached for my toothbrush, but stopped with my hand on the holder, Em’s words ringing through my head.

  Memories hold power. They can be the key that helps you let go.

  At the time, I thought she meant they were the key to helping me move on, but the sly old girl didn’t mean that at all. It was a clue.

  Rushing from my room, I didn’t bother with my robe. I paused for a millisecond at the light coming from underneath Cade’s door. Should I tell him? He said I was a triple threat, so why not prove him right on my own?

  Hurrying down the stairs, I let my eyes adjust to the dim light before making my way through the kitchen to the backdoor.

  The ghost box was where we left it. I slid my hands over the lid. The polished wood was still warm to the touch, and the center sigil glowed before I even reached for the box. Did it recognize me? Perhaps. Or maybe it was a bat signal to the powers-that-be, I was out and about without adult supervision.

  Cade said crack the mystery forcing the anchor, and the attachment would break. The only way to do that was to tap into the memories surrounding each item.

  I lifted my face to the sky. “You were always there for me, Em. Be there for me now.”

  Pressing my hand to the sigil, the box snicked open. The cold seeping from inside sent a shiver over my still damp flesh.

  “Don’t get any ideas.” I spoke clearly so the apparitions knew I meant business. “Stay where you are. If I choose your item, then come out.”

  I concentrated on what was inside the ghost box. A perfume atomizer, a letter opener, and a small, round music box. Closing my eyes, I let my fingers do the walking.

  The atomizer was small and oval, and fit perfectly in my palm as I drew it from the box. Opening my eyes, I studied the silver scrollwork and amethyst crystals surrounding the cloudy glass and narrow balloon bulb.

  “Beautiful,” I murmured, admiring the vintage handiwork.

  “Thank you,” a tinkling voice replied. “It was my grandmother’s.”

  My eyes jerked from the atomizer to the translucent form standing on the opposite side of the café table. The ghost was no longer a silhouetted figure with hints of a person. Her face and form were crystal clear.

  From what I could tell, the woman was about my age. Her manner of dress was a sleeveless, sheath dress, with a drop waist and handkerchief bottom straight out of the 1920s. She wore her hair in a chignon, and a long string of pearls at her neck.

  “You did say come if you chose our item.” She gestured to the atomizer still in my hand. “That’s mine.”

  I glanced at it, and then at her again. “Go ahead,” the ghost prompted. “Give it a squeeze. It’s quite lovely if I do say so myself.”

  The surrealistic happening wasn’t lost on me. I was having a conversation with a ghost. A shade. A spirit caught between planes. I didn’t know whether to squeal or swallow my tongue.

  Doing as she suggested, I squeezed the cloth-covered bulb, and a tiny bit of scent touched the air. “Shalimar,” I murmured to myself, surprised.

  The fragrance wasn’t my signature. I was a Coco Mademoiselle girl, but Shalimar was my mother’s scent.

  Memories filled me with warmth and sadness, and when I looked at the translucent woman, I saw the same emotions mirrored in her face.

  “It was brand spanking new, and I was the first of my friends to wear it.” Gesturing to the atomizer, a sad smile curled on her lips. “I used to carry that in my bag.”

  “What’s your name?” I asked, feeling a wave of sadness from her.

  “Esther.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  “I need to see what happened to you, Esther. I think it’s why you’re still here. Still attached to this.” I lifted my hand with the atomizer. “It’s keeping you from getting your wings, and I can help.”

  Her ethereal face seemed to glow a little brighter at that, but the light soon faded.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She pointed at me, and the hair on my exposed flesh stood on end from a graveyard chill.

  “You can’t remember, can you?”

  She shook her head, and her shimmer faded even more. Did spirits lose energy the longer their items were outside the box? That was a question for Cade, but I wasn’t about to go get him.

  “Okay, let’s
rethink this. Do you remember where you came from? Or where you lived?” I hesitated a moment. “Where you were buried, maybe?”

  Her eyes widened, and she bobbed her head.

  “Louisa! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  I jerked around at the sharp reproach. The tone matched Angelica’s when she first poofed into the park, but it wasn’t her standing in the doorway. It was Cade.

  Esther vanished, and the ghost box’s glow dimmed. Even the atomizer in my hand seemed to dull the moment Cade bellowed.

  “What am I doing?” I yelled back. “What the hell are you doing scaring the crap out of me and my ghost?”

  “Your ghost?”

  “Yes! Esther and I were getting to know each other.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes, really. I figured out how to crack the mysteries anchoring these poor souls, and was about to try it when you elephanted your way through the door.”

  “Elephanted?”

  “Will you stop that!”

  “What?”

  “Single word replies.” I held my hand out, showing him the atomizer. “Aren’t you the least bit curious what I found?”

  “I’m guessing the ghost’s first name.”

  “I meant other than that, smarty pants. Esther was about to tell me where she was buried, and she would have, had you not frightened her.”

  “Really.”

  “Cade, I swear—”

  “Easy. Remember I’m a senior citizen.” He tsked. “What would the patrons at your library think?”

  “You’re as much a senior as me. If you’re going to yell one minute, and then shift gears to teaser-meister fast enough to give me whiplash, then you deserve what you get.”

  Pressing my lips together, I put the atomizer back in the box, mumbling an apology to Esther.

  “I didn’t mean to yell. I came downstairs to raid the fridge and saw you outside with the ghost.” He hesitated. “Teasing is just my relief valve. I thought something happened.”

  “Not likely since you scared Esther silly before I got her to answer. Besides, what could possibly happen? I’m within the confines of my yard. Protected.” The angle of my head was more than a question mark. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “Why are you being so stubborn? You can’t wing it with the items in the ghost box, or test rookie hypotheses on the spirits attached to them. It’s too risky. For you and for them.”

  I went to push past him, but he caught my arm, turning me so we were toe-to-toe. “I’m serious, Lou. You have no idea what could happen.”

  “I could free them.”

  He nodded. “Possibly. Then what? Did your ah ha moment show you what to do once the spirit bond was broken? Or how to protect your newly freed spirit from loitering reapers?”

  My lips parted, but I didn’t reply.

  Dark eyes flashed and he eyed me, annoyed again. “I thought not.”

  “Cade—”

  He cut me off with an exhale, raking his free hand through his hair. “Look, I’m glad you trust your instincts. And yes, they were spot on about what’s holding these spirits to this plane, but you can’t go off on your own. You have no idea the consequences if you get it wrong, and I’d be—”

  He didn’t finish the sentence. I wasn’t sure if he caught himself before he said something he’d regret, or because we were close enough to sense each other’s body heat.

  “Have you ever known something to be right in your gut?” I didn’t let him look away. “That’s how I feel about this. Cade, you have to let me feel my way through.”

  “No, Louisa. I don’t. You’re my charge as much as the souls in that box. Feel your way through that.”

  Annoyance spiked. Not just at him, but at myself. He was right, of course, but so was I. Memory was the key. “Look, I know you’re a Keeper, but you’re not my keeper.

  Disappointment flashed in his eyes, and the weight of it took me by surprise. Was he disappointed in my attitude, or that I implied I didn’t want him?

  “Am I wrong?” I asked, not sure if my question was about cracking mysteries or the pseudo-sexual tension between us.

  “No. You’re intuition is sharp. Scary sharp. More so than any Keeper I’ve trained in ages, but you’re out of your element.” Cade’s fingers gripped my arm. “I’m not your keeper, Lou, but you’re mine for the time being.”

  The possible subtext of that single word tingled along my skin, and my butterflies replied with a synchronized bombing mission through my belly.

  Obviously, Cade meant I was his to train, but there was something beneath his words. Or did I just want there to be?

  “Reapers can’t touch you, but once a spirit is unfettered, they’re up for grabs. Losing one because you rushed in head first will haunt you for the rest of your existence.” Cade let go of my arm, and turned for the kitchen door.

  “You sound as though you speak from experience.”

  He looked past his shoulder to me. “I have all kinds of experience, Lou, but it’s all for your benefit.”

  “And Esther?” I asked, ignoring the night air chilling my bare legs. “When?”

  “When everything’s clearer in the light of day.” He grabbed a banana from the counter and walked through the kitchen toward the stairs.

  His words sounded more than just a put off cliche. It rang a bell. A quote from something, but I couldn’t place it. I closed the back door and flipped the deadbolt before turning for the stairs myself.

  Stopping with my hand on the banister, a stupid smile cornered my mouth. His paraphrased line came from a classic seventies tune about afternoon delights.

  Cheeky and clever.

  Humming the melody, I walked up the stairs to my bedroom. It seemed Cade wasn’t just a man-sized ball of happy. He was as complex as he was smart and sexy.

  Guess I wasn’t the only one who’s a triple threat.

  Chapter Eleven

  “CONCENTRATE, LOU.”

  I gave up on correcting Cade about my nickname. Still, I knew he didn’t call me Lou just to be smart. Coming from him it felt the same as coming from Georgie or Em. Not that I’d tell him.

  “Feel the affixed energy.” He guided my free hand to cover the letter opener in my palm.

  The spirit attached was an older man. Not as old as George, but close. His ethereal form perched on the edge of one of the café chairs while he watched Cade and I work.

  Esther was beside him, and she seemed to be okay with him needing our attention more. When I unlocked the ghost box first thing, he was there waiting, and Esther nodded for me to work with him first.

  “Wouldn’t it be simpler if he told us what we needed to know?”

  “Not all spirits can communicate the way you want or expect. Some can’t communicate at all, as seems to be the case here. I know this is harder than you thought your first case would be, but it’s your job to follow whatever clues the spirits can manage.”

  The old man’s face seemed pained at Cade’s words, and Esther rested a translucent hand on his shoulder.

  “Death robs each spirit differently,” Cade continued. “Some can’t remember much about their lives, or the way they died. Their memory is fragmented, and the pieces don’t always fit.”

  The letter opener was more knife-like than not, with a smooth, weighty handle and slender blade. “It’s curious, though,” I mused out loud. “Why would the old man’s spirit attach itself to something like this?”

  “You tell me.” Cade’s eyes watched as if evaluating.

  Squinching my mouth, I shook my head, trying to think. “Maybe it has something to do with what he did for a living. A lawyer or a banker, perhaps.”

  “Could be.”

  I looked at Esther, hoping for a heads up. “Am I getting warm?”

  The old guy’s jaw tightened at that, and Esther tightened her hand on the man’s shoulder.

  “Damn.” I studied the letter opener in my palm, turning it over to view both sides.


  “Their reaction doesn’t mean you’re wrong,” Cade replied. “Esther can’t tell you. No one can but him. It’s not allowed.”

  “So if a spirit can’t communicate, then what?” I asked. “Tough teabags, enjoy your stay in limbo?”

  The set to his jaw told me he agreed and was just as annoyed. “Of all the rules governing death, this one definitely hamstrings the process for Level Ones.”

  “Maybe the letter opener didn’t actually belong to the ghost, and that’s why he’s not reacting.” I gestured with the paper-knife and the old man recoiled.

  I looked at the ghost’s face, and translucent or not, he was afraid. “No one flinches like that for no reason.”

  “Lou—”

  I held up my hand, stopping Cade from interrupting. My gut was churning at this point. I was on to something. “You’re trying to give me a clue, yes?”

  The man flinched again, but nodded just the same.

  “Oh my God. Did someone stab you?” I lifted the letter opener. “With this?”

  The old man’s scream sent goosepimples across my body. The sound wasn’t just unearthly, it was raw and horrifying.

  I turned the paper-knife over in my hand looking for telltale signs of trauma to the blade or any residual blood.

  “The item itself isn’t going to tell you much, but the energy surrounding it might,” Cade insisted. “You need to tap into that energy since our friend can’t articulate what happened himself.”

  “If only I could see what happened. What he remembers.”

  “Unfortunately, the dead often don’t. That’s half the battle.”

  Thinking, I ran a finger over the paper-knife’s thick handle, surprised at the mild jolt from the silverplated metal. Was it static electricity, or something more?

  The look on my face must have hit paydirt because Cade nodded. “Now you’re getting warm.”

  “I’m not sure if you mean literally or figuratively, but I definitely felt something tingle my hand.”

  He took the paper-knife from me, weighing the length of it. “This one’s supercharged. All you have to do is tap into the energy.”

  “And how do you suggest I do that? You’re the expert.”