by Anne Brooke
“Okay,” I said. “Me first. Oh, and by the way, vampires aren’t real.”
When I opened the kitchen door, two chairs were up-ended, the table was now situated to the left of where it was supposed to be and kettle water was all over the floor. Which wasn’t actually as bad as I’d been expecting. I hunkered down and sniffed the water. No trace of water-imp there. Anyway, water-imps were annoying rather than seriously harmful. The ghost in the kitchen had felt far too dark.
“What’s wrong with the water?” Aaron asked me, as he righted the chairs and dragged the table back to its original position.
“Nothing,” I said. “When ghosts collide with matter from our world, sometimes they leave a trace of themselves when they go. Occasionally, it’s helpful, but there’s nothing here. No clues.”
A silence, then Aaron snorted. “You do realize how insane you sound, don’t you?”
I stood up, grabbed a chair and sat. “It takes a while to get used to, but I’m here to try to help you. You hired me, at least for an initial visit, and I’ll give you the best service I can. It’s a promise. However, I have to say I’m not insane for believing in ghosts and being able to communicate with them. And you’re not insane for asking me here. If we both take those truths on trust, we should do just about okay.”
Aaron glanced at me and must have seen something in my expression to give him pause as he sat opposite and nodded. “All right. I’m sorry if I sounded insulting. It wasn’t intentional.”
I smiled at him and, without thinking about it, reached across the table and took hold of his hand. His fingers felt warm and welcoming in mine. “Look, I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to get angsty, but I suppose it’s not every day I get attacked in someone’s home.”
He laughed at my words. “Good to hear. Do you want a coffee before I give you the tour?”
It was only when he had to extricate his hand from mine in order to retrieve the kettle and put it on that I realized I was still holding on to him. Lord, but Aunt Miranda was right about me.
I watched him as he made the coffee. Not enough to be stalkery, but enough to appreciate the small glimpse into his life I was getting. Aaron concentrated on things and didn’t make idle chat, and I liked it. Somehow, it was relaxing. And if a furious and very angry ghost had just attacked you, relaxation was a vital necessity.
I also needed to think. Something was wrong with the house, for sure. I felt as if my psychic energy was being split off from my head and flung into the air. Before I could come up with any solutions, Aaron handed me a mug of coffee, poured tea for himself and sat opposite. I took a sip of my coffee, relishing its seductive blending of scent and taste, and decided to let it cool for a while.
“What was your grandmother like?” I asked, hoping the house’s history might give me some clues. “You must have been close.”
He smiled and wrapped his hands around the mug. “She was a strong-minded woman. I spent most of the time as a child arguing with her, but I always knew I could trust her with my life. She was always on my side. I didn’t know how rare that was in life, though I do now.”
I wanted to ask him what he meant, but he was already continuing.
“She—Edith—was the granddaughter of a northern miner. Her mother came south to marry. Edith was born in this house and could never bear to leave it, though she actually died in a nursing home. I still regret it. She had a wonderful voice as well; she sang like an angel. When I came out—when I was nineteen—she was the one in my family who stood by me. She ended up being more welcoming than my own parents, and I started staying with her here when I was on vacation from university, instead of at home. We still argued like hell, though, but she made the best lemon meringue pie I’ve ever tasted. I miss her.”
Aaron stopped abruptly and took a gulp of his tea. He looked like he needed it, and I gave him a few moments to recover.
“The thing is.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “The thing is I don’t understand why Grandma’s house is like this now. Nothing strange ever happened in it when she was alive. Why would it happen afterward? I can’t believe it’s her—if I even believed in ghosts anyway—as she was never an angry or mean woman. Hot-tempered, yes, but never mean. So why now?”
He glared across the table at me, as if I knew all the answers and was keeping them from him deliberately. Hell, to get him to keep on looking at me in any fashion, I wished I knew any of the questions, let alone the answers.
“It could be any number of things,” I told him. “None of which necessarily have anything to do with your grandmother. However, sometimes when a person dies, issues which worried them when they were alive might well become more important, or they meet someone on the other side who stirs up painful parts of their history. Do you work from home at all? Your presence might be adding to the mix.”
He gazed at me for a few moments more and then nodded. “Your world is completely outside my understanding, but I see what you mean. No, I don’t work from home often. I’m a forensic accountant. I spend most of my time finding out the inner financial secrets of firms under investigation by the police or banks, so I’m out on site a great deal.”
I smiled. “And you say my world is a strange one. But thanks, it would be helpful if you could walk me around the rest of the house.”
Aaron stood up. “Yes, of course. It’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour. But watch your step…the builders are good, but even they can’t clear away everything.”
Outside the kitchen, he walked me around the downstairs rooms. I didn’t sense anything else strange anywhere. The layout was simple enough: from the kitchen, the hallway led us to the dining room and beyond that the living room. I could see where a hatch had been knocked through between the eating and cooking areas to the dining area, which made a lot of sense. The dining room had already been painted in an elegant blend of cream and brown, but it was the living room that made me blink.
“Heavens,” I said and stepped past him to stare at the garden. “It’s beautiful.”
“I like to think so,” Aaron replied, and I could hear the smile in his voice as I admired the view. He’d replaced most of whatever had been here before as a dividing wall with an enormous expanse of sliding door made entirely of glass. It gave me a matchless view onto his garden and the fields and woods beyond it. Pale pink roses lined the border and late sunflowers reared upward beyond the gateposts. A small fountain rippled away quietly in a corner shrubbery and several birds chattered on the bird feeder.
“You’re welcome to go outside,” he said, his voice at my elbow. “If you’d like to, that is.”
He reached for the door, unlocked it, pulled it open and smiled at me, gesturing me outside. When I passed him, I glanced over to nod my thanks, and it was then my eye caught his, and I quite simply couldn’t look away. The smell of his aftershave, spicy and warm, flowed over me, and I wanted nothing more than to touch his neck, run my fingers across his nape, bring his head nearer to mine and kiss him.
The power of the feeling all but undid me, and I felt my face grow hot. I saw him swallow, the up and down movement of his Adam’s apple riveting me. I wanted to touch him there, too.
He frowned. “Mr. Atkinson? Jack?”
I stumbled backward and tried to think of normal, everyday things. “Yes. Sorry, I was just struck by…something, that’s all. Do you mind if we leave the garden ’til later? I think I should have a look round upstairs, by myself. Sometimes it can be helpful.”
His lips tightened briefly and then he turned away. Again, I wanted to touch him.
“Please, go ahead,” he said, but his voice shook. “I’ve things to do here anyway. Come down when you’re ready, but be careful.”
“I will.”
Without any more chitchat, I headed through the hallway to the stairs, almost at a run. What on earth was all that about? The moment Aaron had opened the door to the garden, it had felt as if the whole force of the attraction I’d been f
eeling for him had hit me all at once. For heaven’s sake, I needed to get a grip and to start doing what I’d come here for.
Upstairs, I shook my head and concentrated on avoiding any hazards the builders might have left. There were three bedrooms, a bathroom and a smaller room no bigger than a cupboard, all of them in the final stages of redecoration. I couldn’t see anything out of place, not even any remnants of psychic activity. Usually, I pick up on those easily enough, so I wondered if the kitchen incident had acted as some kind of warning.
If so, who was it warning and why?
After my initial check of the rooms, I wandered into each one and closed my eyes to focus on the unseen for a few minutes at a time. Only in the main bedroom—or what I assumed was the main one as it was certainly the largest—did I get a whiff of lavender perfume. Just for a moment and just as I was about to leave.
I spun ’round, trying to get a track on it, and caught a drift of movement at the edge of my eye. A vapor demon. Not something to be particularly worried about, though they could smell very strongly when they wanted to. They weren’t very demonic really and certainly never caused harm. It was just the name given to them by early twentieth-century ghost hunters, and it had stuck. I wasn’t sure the vapors—if they ever gained the power of speech—would say they liked it very much, but there wasn’t anything they could do about it now.
This one was lilac in color, which blended with the scent of lavender filling the air, and quite sparkly, too. It was not something I’d seen before in my career, so I sidestepped softly up to it and stretched out my hand to touch it. At the same time, I took care not to look at it directly; vapor demons tended to get scared away by a full-on inspection.
The demon felt soft and warm as my fingers drifted through it. A couple of seconds later and it had gone entirely, which wasn’t unexpected, but I missed it. Whatever had attacked me in the kitchen, I didn’t believe it had anything to do with this gentle presence in the bedroom, or so my gut reaction was telling me. I’d learnt to trust it. It wouldn’t surprise me if it was something to do with Aaron’s grandmother, from what I’d seen of him so far.
Best not think of the man downstairs for at least another few minutes. I preferred to have some kind of action plan in mind before I left a first visit, even though I always made sure any potential client had it in writing later. However, when I made my way back to where I’d left the home’s new owner, I was still pondering my response.
I found Aaron in the living room, still gazing out at the garden. Couldn’t say I blamed him. If I lived here, I’d spend as much of my time admiring the view as I could. Then again, if the view included Aaron, I’d change that estimate to all of the time.
“Any luck upstairs?” Aaron asked, without turning around, though maybe he could see my reflection in the window. I wasn’t sure.
In any case, I hoped he couldn’t see me, as his question had made my mind skitter away in an entirely different, though very interesting, direction. I could feel the heat rising to my face.
“No,” I managed to say, and thought I sounded relatively normal, too, before I realized I wasn’t telling him the whole truth. “Not what I hoped for anyway. Whatever manifested itself in the kitchen certainly doesn’t venture upstairs much, as far as I can tell at an initial walk around.”
Aaron turned at last and grimaced. “Thank goodness. I wouldn’t want to wake up with half the contents of my wardrobe deposited on my head. It doesn’t make for a great start to the morning.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “No, I don’t suppose it would. Tell me…what kind of scent did your grandmother like to wear, if she wore any at all?”
He blinked. “Why do you ask?”
“I was wondering about something I encountered up there and got the impression it might’ve been a recent addition to the energy in the house. Did she like lavender or lilac, do you know?”
He quirked his lips. “Neither of those is beyond the realm of imagination for an old lady, but yes, she did like both. Though I’m not convinced it proves anything.”
“It doesn’t,” I said. “But I can only ask about what I saw, not about what I didn’t. And whatever you think I was doing upstairs, you can’t deny the kitchen scenario.”
“No, I don’t suppose I can. But you can’t fault me for trying.”
I certainly couldn’t. So, realizing even I couldn’t extend my visit any more, no matter how much I wanted to, I gave him a quick spiel about my initial impressions and plans.
“My feeling is there are two specific manifestations here,” I said. “One upstairs and one downstairs, though I’m happy to be proved wrong. The gentle presence is upstairs and the violent one downstairs. In any case, I’ll need to make a proper site inspection, with equipment, to see what’s really happening. It’ll be a nighttime visit, but there’s no extra charge as it’s not your fault psychic energy is highest when the sun goes down. It’s just a fact of death.
“Afterward, I’ll set in motion activities designed to rid you of the problem, which will, in all likelihood, take another visit, maybe two at the most. Though there are some ghosts you might wish to keep, such as your grandmother, for instance. We can discuss the way forward later on, once I’ve collated all my notes and evidence. For now, I’ll write a proper report and let you have it in the next few days. How does that sound?”
“It sounds very professional indeed, thank you. I’ll look forward to reading what you have to say.”
We both began walking toward the front door, with Aaron leading the way. Something nudged at my gut, and I opened my mouth.
“There is one more thing,” I said. At least I think it was me. Right then, I wasn’t sure I even recognized my own voice.
“Which is?”
“Would you like to go out later on…with me, I mean? This evening’s great. You don’t have to worry about my breaking any professional rules about asking you, as it’s not like being a doctor. Detectives of paranormal phenomena don’t have a Hippocratic oath. It’s just I…I think you’re very attractive, and I’d like to get to know you better. Away from dead people. Though, I suppose, in all honesty, you’re probably way too busy and it’s stupid. Isn’t it?”
To my surprise, Aaron reached out and touched my face. “If you let me get a word in, the answer’s yes,” he said. “And I’m glad there’s no oath.”
*
“Hi.” Aaron stood on the threshold of my front door. His hands were jammed into his jeans pockets, and he gave me a brief smile. “I’m early, I know, but I hoped it wouldn’t matter.”
I nodded and stood aside to gesture him in. “It doesn’t. Come in. One second while I grab my jacket.”
He frowned. “You’re holding it already.”
Oh, damn. Yes, I was. Some excuse to get him inside then. I really ought to indulge in a little more careful planning one day.
I dropped the jacket like it was on fire, grabbed Aaron by the shoulders and pulled him into the entrance hall. He gasped, but didn’t have time to say anything else because I was already pushing him up against the wall and kissing him.
His lips were soft and warm, and after a couple of seconds, he opened up to let in my tongue. I thought it might be quick and rough, a brief hot kiss before we went to the pub, but it wasn’t.
He moaned softly—or, heck, maybe it was me—as everything between us slowed while we kissed. His fingers stroked my neck, as my hands moved down to rest lightly on his hips. I closed my eyes and simply tasted him, while the beat of my heart continued to thunder in my head.
The kiss went on for a time and then lightened as, fractionally, I eased away. After another few moments, it became just our lips and gentle touches, as if neither of us could bear to lose contact entirely.
It was Aaron who gained the ability to speak first. “We don’t have to go out. We could order a takeaway if you’d prefer.”
It seemed like the best idea I’d heard in a lifetime.
“Please, come to bed,” I whispered.
“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”
Upstairs, I was glad I’d bothered to tidy up, on the off chance. Looking at it as far as I could with a stranger’s eye, even while Aaron and I started to kiss again, I thought I’d probably pass muster if he was checking it out. Simple furnishings, with lots of space…exactly how I liked things to be. Just my big wooden bed, a couple of shelves for books, a bedside table and a small wardrobe. Oh, and one picture, of the seaside at evening. Too much clutter attracted the wrong kind of ghosts, which was something I’d learned very early on in life.
Aaron laughed. “You’re not concentrating on me, I can tell.”
“I didn’t want you to think I was a slut,” I murmured, even as we were kissing. “I’m glad I tidied the bedroom. But believe me, I’m giving you one hundred percent of my attention right now.”
“Good,” he said. “I like it.”
“The bedroom?”
“You and your bedroom.”
By now, I desperately needed to see his body. I tumbled him onto the bed and began undoing his shirt buttons. He tried to help me, but I pushed his fingers away. I wanted to do this for myself. And all the time, we kept on kissing each other, which slowed things down, but he tasted so damn good I couldn’t help myself.
Finally, his shirt was open, and I pushed it back over his shoulders. His eyes were shut, and he was panting hard. I could see the shape of his cock straining against the cotton of his trousers, and my own wasn’t far behind. I’d expected him to be smooth-chested and he was. What I hadn’t expected was the elegant dragon tattoo in dark pink and black, which started at his right shoulder and flowed down in a series of swirls and lines to his nipple.
I’d never realized how sexy an inking could be, until now. I bent down and began to lick it, from his shoulder and slowly downward. I took my time, and he stretched out across the duvet, letting me have full access to his skin. Somehow, the urgency I’d had to strip him and fuck him as quickly as I could drifted away, and all I wanted to do was taste him. Not just his cock, but all of him.