by Multiple
“Thank you.” Darla smiled at me, her cheeks dimpling. A cherub replaced the she-devil.
“You’re welcome. Now, why don’t you tell me what happened to your family?”
Darla reached to touch the mug and frowned when her hand passed through it. “It’s too hot.”
“I know,” I said as patiently as I could. “Give it some time to cool off.”
“Okay.”
“So why did you say it wasn’t a dark witch,” I prompted warming my hands on my mug uncomfortably aware of Jacob staring at me.
“Because he said he was a Nomoncher.”
“Nomoncher?” I looked to Jacob who shrugged.
“Yeah, he makes zombies.” She tried to pick up her mug again, only to draw her hand back with a sharp gasp.
“Oh, you mean a Necromancer.” My voice was calm, but my heart began to beat fast as hummingbird’s. This was bad news. Really bad news.
“Yep.”
Jacob raised an eyebrow at my comment. “A Necromancer? I didn’t think there were any active.”
“Me, either.” Necromancers didn’t live very long. Their nefarious practices took them outside of the law so often, they ended up on death row on a regular basis. Those who evaded law enforcement usually died at the hands of their own zombies. Dangerous business, raising the dead.
“Well, that’s what he said. Nec, neco,” she stumbled over the word again. “Necomoncher.”
“What did the necromancer want?”
Darla whimpered and wrapped her arms tight around her body. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Darla, it’s okay. He can’t hurt you anymore. If you give me more information, I can make sure he never hurts anyone ever again.” I kept my voice soft, attempting to be soothing.
“He, he…,” she broke off and went for her mug only to wail in frustration. “It’s hot, so hot.” The mug began to levitate and then fell with a thud landing on its side. Rivulets of steaming water flowed across the table. I grabbed some napkins and sopped it up before it could hit the floor.
“Wow. I’ve never seen anything like this. Was that Darla?” Jacob looked at me with wide eyes.
“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth. Darla hadn’t stopped wailing and it was a good thing ghosts weren’t solid or I would’ve seriously considered gagging her.
From behind me, a voice I recognized as Mark’s said, “Darla, honey. It’s okay. You don’t want the tea anyway.”
“Mark!” She floated up and over to where Mark had manifested in the kitchen, a pleased smile on her face. “You’re here.”
“I told you I would be, Squirt. I just had to take a small detour. Did you meet Sofia?”
Darla nodded. “Yes and she made me tea, but it’s too hot to drink.”
“We talked about that, remember? You don’t need to eat or drink anymore.” Mark leaned down and patted her on the head. Amazingly, his hand didn’t pass through, but made actual contact. My mouth dropped open in surprise.
“We were just trying to find out what happened to her and her family,” I said. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”
“Who are you talking to? Darla?” Jacob asked.
I shook my head. “No, another ghost has joined us.”
“Is it my brother?”
“Sorry, no. Not anyone from your family.” Jacob opened his mouth to say something else, but I put up a hand silencing him. “Let me talk to the ghosts, I’m not sure how long they’ll be here.” At Jacob’s nod, I turned my attention back to Mark and Darla.
“What did she tell you?” Mark came to float next to me, bringing Darla with him. I reflexively crossed my arms against the chill.
“Only that the killer was a Necromancer. She didn’t want to talk about anything else.”
“Do you really need her to?” Mark asked, gesturing to Darla who was huddled against him and had buried her face into his stomach at the mention of the Necromancer.
“No, I guess not.” It would be cruel to force her to relive her death. I could get everything I needed by visiting her house, or what was left of it.
Mark squatted down so that he was eye level with Darla. “Remember how we talked about how you can’t stay here and you would have to move on soon?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
“I think it’s time now,” Mark said.
“No, I want to talk to Uncle Jake.”
“But he can’t see or hear you,” Mark held her by the shoulders and spoke in an even, matter-of-fact tone of voice.
Darla twisted away from Mark looking back to where Jacob sat watching me conduct conversations with ghosts he couldn’t see. “Uncle Jake, can you hear me?” When Jacob didn’t respond, she raised the volume and repeated her question.
“Jacob, tell Darla it’s okay,” I said.
“Okay for what?” A puzzled look crossed his face.
“To move on. She’s fighting to stay because she wants to be with you.”
“Darla honey, I love you. Don’t stay for me. It’s okay to go on. I’ll meet you, all of you, there someday.” Jacob’s voice broke at the end, and tears welled up in his eyes.
“Are you sure, Uncle Jake?” Darla also had tears in her eyes.
“She wants to know if you’re sure,” I said, my voice husky. I couldn’t help but be affected by the raw emotions swirling around me.
“Yes, I am.” Jacob sniffed and clenched his jaw, his eyes too bright.
Darla turned back to Mark. “If Uncle Jake says it’s okay, then I can go.” Mark nodded and folded her into his arms and they both slowly faded out of sight.
“She’s gone,” I whispered, making my way back to the table to sit down. I sipped my tea on autopilot while Jacob struggled to suppress his emotions. We both stared at the empty air around us with wide, glassy eyes. Jacob was lost in his grief and I wondered if it was possible to kill someone more than once, because, so help me, it was the least Mark deserved for dragging me into this mess.
*
Once Jacob recovered from the shock, he asked me to go with him that very second to his brother’s house to read the truth of what Darla had said. But tired from dealing with the living and the dead, and with a monster headache beginning to pound the back of my skull, I suggested Monday afternoon, holding firm when Jacob pressured me to do it sooner.
The next day, I had other plans, something much worse than necromancers; a standing date with Mark’s parents. There was no way I could deal with them both on the same day. One stressful event at a time was my motto. Too bad my life to date hadn’t bothered to observe it.
After Jacob left, I crawled into bed, too exhausted to even think of stopping at the grocery store or run any of my usual Saturday errands. It didn’t matter that the only food in the house was a half-gallon of orange juice three days past its expiration. I needed rest more than food. The emotions of the day weighed down on me, heavy enough to make my shoulders ache.
I lay in bed, blankets pulled up to my chin and stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come. Usually, I found the slate blue walls soothing and my rod iron canopy bed with its cascading gauze curtains comforting, but now my overtired mind buzzed, replaying the morning’s events with particular emphasis on Darla. The appearance of a second ghost was unsettling. The ability to see and interact with ghosts was a complication I did not want. When it had just been Mark, I could pretend it was an isolated case—after all, we had been in love— but I couldn’t do that anymore.
I had to face the truth. I could speak to those who had passed on. While I wasn’t exactly sure the impact the ability would have on my life, after dealing with Darla, I had an inkling, and it wasn’t something that left me warm and fuzzy. More like freaked out and upset. I didn’t want a life full of dead people.
Closing my eyes, I rolled onto my stomach and tried to think happy thoughts. When I couldn’t come up with any, I just lay there, trying not to think at all. I was finally drifting off to sleep, when icicles ran up and down my spine announcing th
e presence of an ethereal visitor.
I shifted onto my back to find Mark floating over me, a mischievous smile on his face. “Miss me?”
“I was almost asleep.” I kicked off the covers and sat up. Trust Mark to always show up at the worst time and then disappear before whatever he started was finished.
“Sorry. Bad timing on my part.” He lowered himself on the bed. “Don’t get up. Sleep, I can tell you need it.”
I rearranged the covers and fluffed my pillow. My headache throbbed angrily, tightening its grip on my scalp. So far, my day had sucked big time and the person to blame for it hovered in front of me. “So how’s Darla?”
“She’s moved on.”
“To where?” I paused mid-fluff and looked at Mark.
“Where your soul goes when you die.”
“And that would be…”
He shook his head. “I can’t say.”
“Why not?” Done fluffing, I flopped back on the pillow, pulling the covers up to my chin.
“Because I’ve never been there.”
I gave him a sharp look. “Why haven’t you moved on?” Was he going to linger in my life forever? Would I leave him behind when I died?
Mark ignored me and reached to brush a finger across my forehead. “Does your head hurt?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“You have a habit of furrowing your forehead when you have a headache.” He continued to run his hand across my forehead. “Does that help?”
“Yes.” I tilted my head back to give him better access. At the cool touch of his phantom finger, my irritation began to melt.
Mark looked at me for a moment. “You’re so beautiful.”
“I miss you,” I said, my voice soft. And I did. He looked so adorable with his windswept hair and gray-blue eyes. It hurt knowing I would never run my hands through his hair again. Not in this lifetime.
He moved from my forehead to trace my cheek. “I’m still here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”
“I know, but I miss touching you. Feeling your skin on mine.” I shivered and started to say something else, but Mark shushed me with a cold draft across my lips.
“Sleep. You need to rest.”
“I want you here, in the flesh, not as a cold breeze.” I wiped sudden tears from my eyes. “I can’t do this all alone. It’s so hard.”
“Shh, it’s okay Sofi. Don’t cry.”
It was too late, tears already slipped down my cheeks. I hiccoughed and pulled a tissue from the box on my nightstand. “This isn’t what I wanted.”
“Me either, but we can’t change things.”
“I’m sorry. So sorry. If I had just gone slower.” I buried my face in my pillow to contain my sobbing.
“You couldn’t have known. It was an accident, a sheer accident.”
“But you’re trapped with me. Stuck in limbo.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Then why are you a ghost?” I rolled over to look at him. “What if you never move on?” He could be stuck here forever, all because of me.
“I don’t know. Sofia, calm down. We just have to take it one thing at a time. Now sleep. We can talk later.” With that he faded away, leaving me alone to cry myself to sleep, the tissue box clutched against my chest my only comfort.
Chapter Three
Sunday dawned bright and cheerful. The light invaded my bedroom through the window over my bed, and, despite the canopy, burned my retinas when I opened my eyes. I glared at the perfect blue sky with its puffy clouds and resisted the urge to stick out my tongue. Rain and dark thunderclouds would better suit my mood today. Seeing Mark’s parents always made me grumpy.
I stopped by for a visit every few weeks. During the trial, my lawyer had thought it would generate public good will to try and reconcile with them. Of course, Mark had popped in on the first meeting, and I’d been serving as a medium ever since. I hated doing it, but my sense of obligation wouldn’t let me stop. I’d taken their son from them and the least I could do is let them talk to his spirit. It was as close as I could get to bringing him back. At the same time, it was also one of the more unpleasant events of my life at the moment.
Groaning, I rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. A splash of water on my face, a vigorous brushing of my teeth, and a comb through my hair made me presentable. I shuffled back to my bedroom and began the arduous process of deciding what to wear. I always dressed up for Mark’s parents, the same way defendants dress to impress the jury. The comparison wasn’t too far off the mark. It had been Mark’s wealthy and influential parents who made sure the prosecutor charged me with manslaughter.
Yeah, that just made our visits extra special fun.
Pawing through my closet, I came up with a tailored white skirt that just reached my knees and a pale blue silk blouse. I tried it on and decided it made me look too elegant, gold digger elegant. And that had been Mark’s parents’ biggest concern about me, that I was a cheap floozy taking their son-with-a-trust-fund for a ride. The peach summer dress with the little spaghetti straps wasn’t any better, and, with a sigh of frustration, I realized I would be wearing the black dress pants and white-on-white pinstriped blouse for the third time in a row. I really needed to make some time for shopping.
The outfit settled, I downed a couple of aspirin and a glass of slightly sour O.J. before heading out the door. I must not have been watching where I was going as, next thing I knew, I collided with someone who smelled distinctly of jasmine incense.
I back-peddled until I felt the wall behind me. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
A large hand cupped my elbow and a deep voice with a Scottish lilt said, “That’s all right. No harm done, lass. I should’ve been paying attention.”
At the sound of his accent, I took a second look. Aside from the brown eyes, he had a round face with plump cheeks I bet his female relatives loved to pinch. He towered over me and I judged him to be six three or so, with a head full of wavy brown curls, which was a strange contrast to the complete lack of eyebrows. Instead of the usual guy unibrow I was used to seeing on men, there was bright red skin with a few ragged hairs poking through, like he’d over-waxed or maybe even burned off his brows. He also had a bit of a belly on him, but, even with the extra weight, he was good looking in a rugged foreign accent kind of way. At least, he would be once his eyebrows grew back.
Noticing my appraisal, he smiled down at me, raising his nonexistent eyebrows as if he knew what I was thinking. “I’m Malcolm, your new neighbor.” The brogue in his voice came through loud and clear now. Definitely not from around Boston.
“Oh, hi. I’m Sofia.” We shook hands. I tried to feel something from him, but caught nothing more than a faint tingle.
“I’ve heard of you. You’re the…”
“Psychic,” I finished for him. My shoulders stiffened, and I wondered what his interest was.
“Psychic? Really? I heard you were an antique dealer.” His grip tightened on my hand and he studied me with an intense gaze.
I kicked myself mentally as I tried to pull my hand away, but Malcolm just held tighter, smiling down at me. “Yes, that’s right I’m an antique dealer.” I dropped my shields and tried to read him again, but hit a brick wall. Malcolm had stronger shields than the CIA and their phalanx of psychic defense specialists. Strange.
He peered at my face, studying me. “A psychic antique dealer. Interesting.”
“How so?”
“I’m a druid.”
“A druid? I didn’t know there were any druids in the Boston area.” I examined him closely for signs of ‘druidness’. I’d never met a druid before. They usually stayed close to Stonehenge once they made their final vows. No matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t see anything other than an aura in a rich leaf green shot through with gold around him.
“I’m the only one as far as I know. We’re thinking of starting a new grove here.”
“Oh. That’s great,” I said not sure of what to say.
Congratulations seemed too effusive. “Welcome to the building. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get going.”
“Of course.” He released me. “Perhaps when you have more time, we could get together for coffee. The order would welcome a psychic.”
Any interest I had in coffee evaporated. Anyone would welcome a psychic into their group. I never lacked for invitations, most of which were delivered with a persistence that made used car salesmen look good. Until I had warded my apartment, I had a steady stream of unsolicited visitors pestering me to join up with various groups. Now it appeared my neighbor would be one of them. I tried not to be disappointed.
Malcolm must have sensed my waning interest as he said, “I can see this isn’t the first time you’ve heard that.”
I shrugged, noncommittal. “Good psychics are hard to find.”
“Yes, they are.” An awkward silence fell between us. I didn’t want to say anything to encourage him, and Malcolm seemed slightly embarrassed, as evidenced by the tinge of red in his cheeks.
He finally cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll let you go. You’ve got a busy day ahead of you.”
I narrowed my eyes at Malcolm. What did he know of my schedule? I let it go as I was already running late. “Okay. Thanks,” I said with a polite smile.
He stepped aside to make room for me to pass. “My offer for coffee stands. I’m new here and could use a friend. I promise to skip the marketing pitch on why I think you should become a Druid.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, brushing past him. Again, I dropped my shields and probed as unobtrusively as possible. Who was this guy? What did he want from me? Nothing but blunt silence met my efforts. He was still locked up tight. Tighter than even I knew how to shield. Maybe he’d done something really stupid with the eyebrows and just didn’t want me to know. As a teenager, I’d once used hair removal cream, thinking it would be easier than tweezing. I’d ended up with a chemical burn and eyebrows that looked like anorexic caterpillars.
“Fair enough. Just let me know when,” he called after me.
I acknowledged the invitation with a wave of my hand as I exited the building. I doubted I’d be taking him up on his offer anytime soon. Any coffee we shared would come with strings I didn’t want to tangle with. Still, I felt a flash of regret at the lost opportunity. The Druids had extensive libraries on paranormal phenomena, and their training was certainly the most academic of all the magical groups. Malcolm might know something about why I could see ghosts, but I didn’t dare open up to him without knowing him better.