by Sarah Wynde
“You and Henry?” Dillon was almost spluttering with shock. “But—but—”
Akira pulled her mouth closed and waited, wondering what Dillon was going to say. The age difference didn’t matter, of course: she could tell from the clothes that Henry had died much later than Rose had. But in the 1950’s? In the segregated south? Henry had probably been risking his life to date a white girl.
“But he’s old!” Dillon finally burst out. Akira smiled and continued working on the tape. Good for Dillon.
“He wasn’t then, of course,” Rose said impatiently. “That happened later.”
“So did Henry live in the house, too?” Akira was curious. She’d assumed that all of the ghostly residents—the boys in the backyard, Rose, and Henry—had lived in the house at different times. It was unusual to find such a concentration of ghosts in one place, but not unthinkable.
“No.” Rose looked puzzled for a minute and then thoughtful. “No, he only came to live here later. After, I mean. He never lived here when he was alive.”
Huh. That was strange, Akira thought. What was Henry’s tie to the house if he hadn’t died here?
“It must have been nice for you when he got here,” Dillon suggested. He’d obviously quickly recovered from the surprise. “You must have been lonely all by yourself.”
“Oh, I wasn’t by myself.” Rose waved that idea off. “The boys were so much more fun back then. We had such a good time right after. We used to pester my little sister like you wouldn’t believe.” Rose giggled.
That was even more interesting. Akira wasn’t surprised to find out that the boys in the backyard had been at the house longer than Rose. She was no expert on boys’ clothing, but the slightly formal cut to their shorts, the collars on the button-down shirts, and even their socks made her think that they came from an older era, maybe around the 1920s. But she’d never really talked to them. If they were more active when Rose became a ghost, though . . .
With a last quick tug, she finally managed to get the tape off the box. Rose broke off the story of tormenting her sister that she’d been telling Dillon to say, “Ooh, what did you get?”
Akira folded back the cardboard sides of the box. She recognized the packaging on the object inside before even glancing at the packing slip.
It was a new Kindle.
She bit her lip. With a hand that felt suddenly cold, she picked up the paperwork. She was wrong.
It was two Kindles.
The note read, “One for you, one for Dillon. Grace says to tell him that if he intends to keep destroying them, she’ll make it an official research project and buy them in bulk, but that he should leave yours alone. (Grace takes her reading seriously.)”
Damn it.
Akira blinked furiously. She would not cry. She would not cry. She would not cry.
But a tear overflowed anyway.
She’d really liked him.
***
The phone rang.
Akira eyed it suspiciously.
She’d had a dream last night. At least she thought it was a dream, but the details were fuzzy. Still the uncertainty was at least half of why she was awake at this ridiculous hour. Ridiculous for a Sunday morning, anyway: it was barely after eight, and she’d just stepped out of the shower.
The phone rang again.
It was really too early for anyone to call. And her friends—the ones who would call her on a Sunday morning, anyway—were all in California. They’d call at noon eastern time, not eight.
The phone rang a third time. If she didn’t catch it before it rang again, it would go into voice mail. Akira lunged across the bed and grabbed the receiver. Sprawled in her messy blankets, she looked at the caller ID. Local, but she didn’t recognize the number.
She pressed the button. “Hello?” She didn’t deliberately play with the sound of her voice, but she also didn’t try too hard to make it not sound husky with sleep. She had just gotten up after all.
“Waffles?”
It was a rush. Like the moment at the top of the roller coaster, right before the car tips over the edge of the hill. “You called me last night, didn’t you?”
“I did. You were asleep.”
“Mostly asleep,” Akira corrected Zane.
“Mm-hmm.” His voice was just as husky as hers. “You’re a tease when you’re sleepy.”
“It was late,” Akira defended herself, as she squeezed her eyes closed, trying to remember what she’d said. She could feel her cheeks turning pink, a flush half delight, half embarrassment.
He’d called.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” Zane sounded resigned. “The family discussions went on for a while. Too long. And—I hate to say it—they’re crashing our breakfast, too.”
“Oh.” Akira knew her voice had flattened but she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“Kayaking, after,” he said hastily. “And then swimming? And dinner? And then back to your place and you can keep the promises you were making last night?”
A reluctant smile curved Akira’s lips. She didn’t remember any promises. But she’d like to keep them anyway. And hell, an hour of conversation about ghosts? She could do that.
***
An hour later, she wasn’t so sure.
She was seated at a table at the bistro with the entire Latimer family. Zane and Natalya were on either side of her, and Max, Grace, and Lucas were across the table. Despite the waffles, she felt a little like a criminal being interrogated by a panel of judges.
And she now understood exactly why Grace was CEO of General Directions. If their mom had been half as persistent as Grace was, it was no wonder she wasn’t going quietly.
“I don’t know,” she answered for the umpteenth time, trying to hang on to her fraying patience.
“What about this one?” Grace asked, turning a book to show her a picture. Akira glanced at it. It was a black-and-white print in a style that looked distinctively Japanese to her.
“Were you cheating on your wife?” Akira asked Max. It was a rude question, but she didn’t bother to cushion it.
“No, never,” he answered readily and without hesitation.
“Then I don’t think your mom has turned into an onryô,” Akira told Grace.
Grace flipped the book back. “It says here that these ghosts can be created from grief and despair as well as a desire for revenge. Mom was definitely upset when she died.”
“Every culture has traditions about ghosts. That doesn’t mean that any of the stories are true.” A passing waitress glanced at her and Akira smiled tightly. How had she gotten pulled into this conversation in a public place?
“Once you’ve accepted the impossible, questioning the improbable is only sensible.” Max answered while Grace skimmed down the page, one finger trailing along the lines of text.
“Hmmm. To get rid of one of these ghosts, you’re supposed to help it fulfill its purpose. That sounds familiar.” Grace set the book down next to her plate on top of two others and reached for her tablet. Her waffles, like Akira’s, were barely touched.
Zane nudged Akira with his elbow. She glanced at him, and he gestured at her plate with his head. “Eat,” he said softly. “The sooner you finish, the sooner we can escape.”
Akira raised an eyebrow, and then picked up her knife and fork. Lucas, Max and Grace seemed determined to learn everything they could about ghosts, while Zane and Natalya had been mostly quiet. But if Zane was offering escape . . .
“Not until we decide what to do,” Grace said. “We need a plan, a strategic approach to the situation.”
“What sort of a plan?” Natalya asked.
“This isn’t another action item on your to-do list, Grace.” Lucas shoved his plate away from him and gestured to the waitress for more coffee.
“I’ve been telling you for years that your mother was still here,” Max said. “Maybe she just likes being with us.”
Akira’s mouth twisted. Sure, that might be true for some ghosts. But not t
he one that was haunting that house.
“If Mom’s still here, there must be a reason for it,” Grace protested. “Something she needs. Or wants. Right?” She looked at Akira questioningly.
Akira’s eyes flickered to the waitress, and then she shrugged and sighed. Everyone in this town was crazy, anyway. Did it matter what they thought of her? “A ghost like the one in your house doesn’t have consciousness,” she answered. “Not like we think of it, anyway. There’s no way to talk to it or communicate with it. If it was human, it’d be like, I don’t know, like someone on a bad drug, hallucinating, psychotic, that kind of thing.”
Lucas was frowning, Max was shaking his head, and Grace was reaching for another book.
“If Akira is right, Mom’s ghost is dangerous,” Lucas pointed out. His tone was grim. Of all of the Latimers, he was the one who seemed unhappiest.
“Either way, we need to help her move on. That’s obvious.” Grace was organized, determined, her mindset practical.
Natalya was quietly sitting back, either thoughtful or doubtful, Akira wasn’t sure which, although maybe she felt both.
And Zane was the quietest of all. He’d greeted Akira, been friendly to the waitress, and then had been silent until he’d told Akira to eat. She had no idea what he was thinking. She glanced at him. He was watching her, eyes steady.
Hmm.
She recognized that look, and it had nothing to do with ghosts.
She took a careful bite of waffle, and chewed slowly, while she thought. Grace and Lucas were bickering—not with any malice, but with a friendly sibling obstinance—about what it might mean to have a ghost in their house.
There was no question in Akira’s mind that the ghost was dangerous. None. Her usual approach would be to not get involved, to stay just as far away as possible. But yesterday’s events had shown her that she didn’t know everything that there was to know about ghosts. Not that she’d ever really thought she did, but she’d been comfortable with her own level of ignorance. But that door or passageway or whatever it was that the little boy had found—that was a mystery to her.
And it might be interesting to see what Grace, with all the resources of General Directions behind her, could learn about ghosts.
Akira took another bite of waffle, and delicately licked a drop of syrup off her lip. Her gaze flickered to Zane. Yes, he was watching her mouth. When he saw her looking at him, she smiled. That glow she felt? It also had nothing to do with ghosts.
“You’ve had enough, haven’t you?” he asked.
She nodded, and put her silverware down.
“Thank God.” It was half murmur, half groan, as he stood abruptly, reaching for her hand. She let him pull her to her feet, trying not to laugh.
“Wait,” Grace ordered, putting up a hand to stop them.
“Nope,” Zane answered, stepping away from the table. “Go hire some ghost busters or whatever. We’ve got plans.”
“I don’t know how to make a ghost go away,” Akira told Grace, resisting Zane’s tug on her hand. “I’ve never had any luck in getting even the ones I can communicate with to move on. But if I can answer your questions, I will.”
“Tomorrow,” Zane interrupted. “She’ll answer your questions, tomorrow.”
“Hang on.” This time it was Lucas. “I still want—need—to talk to Dillon.”
Zane paused. He sighed. He looked at Akira and she could see how badly he wanted to refuse.
She just smiled.
“Tell you what,” she answered Lucas. “We’ll hang out at my house for a while. Say, maybe until noon? I’ll leave the car unlocked, and you can come to talk to Dillon, and before we go kayaking, I’ll come tell you what he has to say.” She looked back at Zane and kept her eyes steady on his, as she said to him, with all the innocence she could muster, “I’m sure we can think of something to do at my house for a couple of hours?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Akira and Zane kayaked.
Eventually.
Akira didn’t see an alligator on their first trip, but she did on their next, three weeks later.
Grace researched ghosts. Or rather Grace hired a researcher, who spent days poring over books of ghost stories and wrote concise reports of everything she’d learned for Grace at the end of every week. Grace brought the reports to Akira and they went over them line by line, Akira highlighting any kernels of information that fit with her experiences, crossing out those that didn’t, and putting question marks by the ambiguous. The question marks always outnumbered the rest.
Akira and Zane played pool. And Halo. Also Skyrim, Mario Kart, Asteroids, Legend of Zelda, and even some Ms. Pac Man.
Grace hired a team of paranormal investigators to come investigate the house. They were thrilled with their energy readings, and excited about the EVP recordings they captured, but their suggestion to Grace that she firmly tell the ghost to leave was met with polite derision from Akira.
“Was your mom the kind of person who would have responded well to that?” she asked. “I mean even before she became a psychotic ghost?”
Zane snorted, Grace sighed.
Akira and Zane went to the beach. They splashed there, and swam at the springs, and floated in the pool in Akira’s backyard, which was only three strokes across, even for Akira.
Grace interviewed mediums.
Of the three she found, two were actually sensitive enough to know when Dillon was around. Akira was impressed. Unfortunately, neither could communicate with him, even with the full trappings of a séance held in an office at GD headquarters.
“I’ve never really understood the séance thing,” Akira mused from an adjoining office. There was no way she was opening herself up to ghostly possession, but she’d agreed to stay close enough that Dillon could attend and she could talk to him. “Why does lighting a few candles make a difference?”
“What am I supposed to do?” Dillon asked. “I don’t see this spirit guide that’s supposed to be talking to me. Do you?”
“Nope.” Akira shrugged. “Maybe just try to knock on wood or something? Let me know when you’re ready to quit,” she added, as she opened up her Kindle. She’d just read a good book while she was waiting.
Akira and Zane went to Disneyworld. Akira screamed on Space Mountain, got wet on Splash Mountain, and shot more aliens than Zane on the Buzz Lightyear ride. They spent the night at the hotel that the monorail ran through the middle of, and watched the fireworks from the restaurant on top.
Grace searched for a priest willing to perform an exorcism. Apparently, though, the modern church required a bishop to grant permission to perform the rites of exorcism, and bishops preferred not to get involved with rumors of ghosts, especially non-Catholic ghosts. Akira was relieved: her memories were cloudy but she had a vague sense that exorcisms posed more risks than benefits.
As spring turned into summer, Akira got less enthusiastic about doing anything outside. She’d known Florida was going to be hot, but she hadn’t expected Florida heat to be so very different from California heat.
“It’s like living in a sauna,” she said, watching the fan over her bed spin. It was so humid that she could almost see the blades of the fan slicing the thick air.
“You should let me get you a new air conditioner,” Zane mumbled. “The one you have is crap.” He was lying face down next to her.
“It’s a rented house. The landlord is the one who has to buy a new air conditioner. Besides, I don’t want an air conditioner.”
He turned his head, opening his eyes lazily. “What do you want?”
Mischief glinted in Akira’s eyes as she answered without looking at him, “Guess.” She loved this game, mostly because he was so good at it. She was sure that quantum physics could explain his gift somehow, but it still felt almost magical when he used it on her.
He reached to touch her hand and she quickly pulled it away. “No touching,” she said, laughing. “You have to get it without.”
“Hmm.” He squeezed his eye
s closed and made a show of thinking hard. “Nope, no idea,” he said, as he rolled over, tugging her until she was securely under him, his long legs tangled with hers, his hand stroking up her side.
She let herself be captured, lifting her lips to his, opening her mouth as he took her and tasted, lingering in a long, slow, languorous kiss, before pulling his head back and saying, tone almost startled, “Lemon Italian ice? From Jeremiah’s? For breakfast?”
“Mmm,” she murmured her agreement, eyelashes fluttering open. He felt so good, but it was so damn hot. “Wouldn’t it taste amazing? Cold and tangy and perfect?”
“It would be good,” he agreed, sitting up and looking around for his clothes.
“I didn’t mean we had to go right now,” Akira protested. What was his rush?
“We’re not going.” He grabbed his shorts. “I’m going. You’re staying there. Right there. Exactly like that.”
“Oh?” Akira smiled and stretched, loving the way his eyes followed her movement.
“The only thing better than lemon Italian ice on a too hot day,” he murmured, leaning over her for one last hard kiss, “is lemon Italian ice in bed.”
“It’ll get all sticky,” Akira objected, but not very seriously. She was already imagining his clever tongue cleaning up accidentally-on-purpose drips.
“Exactly.”
Akira laughed as Zane grabbed his keys and wallet from the bedside table. He was so much fun. He had his moments of serious, of course—they’d had a few deep conversations late into the night, although there were certain subjects, like his ghostly mom, that they both avoided—but she’d never met anyone who enjoyed life like he did. Playing with him over these last few months had been amazing, the best time she’d ever had.
“Wait, take Dillon,” she said as he turned to go. “He’s been complaining that we’re getting boring.”
“Okay,” he said agreeably, turning back and scooping up her keys from her dresser. “Back soon.” As he headed out the door, she heard him calling, “Yo, Dillon. Mini road trip, bud.”