“I understand that but it doesn’t change the fact that I feel like my abilities can protect other people.”
“What about yourself, Peyton?” he demanded.
“I can’t ignore the situation I’m in.”
“And what is that?” he gave me a raised eyebrow.
“We’ll have to find out tonight at The Old Absinthe House.”
He nodded and came to sit down beside me again. He took my hands in his own and locked eyes with me, as if he could divine my intentions. I knew what he wanted to ask. I had the urge to pull away, but I couldn’t. Doing so would mean denying him something he needed. Ryan was a normal, steak and potatoes, football-watching guy’s guy. He enjoyed simple things: peace and quiet, a good meal, a hot toss in the sheets. He didn’t believe in messing with things that weren’t supposed to be messed with. He preferred things that he could see and feel, as those were the only things he understood.
And on that subject, we were different. Diametrically opposed.
“I need to know that once you put whatever mystery this is to bed, that will be it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I want us to lead a normal life and stop dealing with things like dolls that are supposed to be possessed and witches who wipe our memories and spirits from the turn of the century who want to kill you. Not to mention the ghost of a dead, French policeman.”
“Drake?” I said as I gulped.
Ryan nodded. “I want to move past all of it and focus on us, Peyton. I want us to have a future together without all this constant noise and distraction.”
“Then you’re saying you want me to give it all up?” I asked, swallowing hard.
“I want us to focus on us and maybe raising a family someday. I think that should be your priority—not all this hocus-pocus stuff all the time.”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
“It means whatever it needs to mean in order for us to live a normal life… a life like everyone else gets to lead—one without ghosts.”
“So you’re saying you want me to sell this house?” I asked, trying to get to the root of whatever he was proposing.
“No, I never said that.”
“Then how else could I give up Drake?”
Ryan shrugged. “I don’t know. Exorcism maybe. Get someone over here who can guide him toward the light? Whatever other people do to get rid of spirits.”
My eyes widened in shock at the thought of forcing Drake from his own house, a house that belonged to him for over a century. I hated the very idea. Almost as much as I hated the thought of never seeing my best friend again.
Yes, Drake was my best friend. He was someone I trusted and confided in, not to mention someone I cared very much about. I could never exorcise him. I would never!
“I think we should talk about this later,” I said.
Sensing Ryan’s disappointment, I sealed the moment with a kiss, hoping to shelve the subject at least for the time being. Clearly, this conversation required more discussion but I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to go there. Not at the moment.
Ryan wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into the warmth of his broad chest. I held him, matching my breath to his own and wondering how in the world I could make this awful situation better.
I wondered if it were even possible.
Chapter Sixteen
A few hours later, I stood in front of my vanity mirror, dressed in tight, black pants with high, black leather boots and a silvery-gray, slim-fitting turtleneck sweater that did a good job of showing off my cleavage. My black, leather jacket hung over the side of one of my bedroom chairs as I busily faced the next step of my preparation for the evening: makeup.
Tonight was important. And even though it wasn’t really a date, since I intended to do research while we were at The Old Absinthe House, it was important all the same. If Ryan and I were growing apart, I had to do my best to close the distance between us. Ryan meant something to me and I would try whatever it took to make things right between us again.
Even if that means exorcising Drake? I asked myself.
I shook my head as soon as the words formed in my head. There was no way I would willingly do anything to force Drake from his home. It wasn’t right of Ryan to ask me and when the conversation came up again, which was bound to happen, I would tell him as much.
Facing my reflection, I took my time doing my makeup, carefully applying a smoky gray eyeshadow, and accenting it with ruby red lips and mauve cheeks.
I heard the door open behind me, and a pair of lips promptly found their place at the nape of my neck. Two hands wrapped around my waist, and I allowed myself to savor the radiant warmth they offered.
“You look beautiful,” Ryan whispered in my ear.
I loved the smell of him—spicy, clean, yet purely masculine. His scent followed him wherever he went. I turned to face him. He was a wearing a simple, white, button-up shirt with the sleeves cuffed, and a pair of loose jeans that failed to hide his great ass. The outfit was simple, but there was something alluring about it, all the same. Ryan didn’t have to dress in designer labels and ornate fashions—he would have appeared silly if he tried. No, he had a lumberjack look with his jeans and plaid, flannel jackets. His outdoorsy nature, and massive form and demeanor, were more than enough to impress me.
“Do you think I overdressed?” I asked him, pushing back my stool, so I could stand.
“You look gorgeous, Pey, as usual.”
“Thanks,” I said with a little smile.
We walked out into the living area together, holding hands and beaming at each other. The mood from earlier was gone, and I was genuinely excited to have a night out—no dogs, dolls, ghosts, or adolescents—just Ryan and me, eating and drinking together in a crowded bar where everyone came to laugh and have a good time. It was the perfect prescription for a great night out.
Then I saw Drake, hovering in the middle of the room. The look he gave me—dull and dead—instantly brought my spirits down, no pun intended. He took me in from head to toe as his left eyebrow arched and his lips grew tighter. It was a familiar expression I’d seen on his face numerous times before—jealousy.
“Wow,” Maggie said as she appeared in the hallway. Then she wolf-whistled at me while I laughed. “Guess we gotta clean up the attic more often if you can end up looking like that,” she finished with a laugh.
“Thanks,” I said as I watched Daschel walk in behind Maggie. He forced his big head into her hand and she laughed as she glanced down and petted him.
“Don’t wait up for us,” I said.
“I won’t.”
“And make sure you keep the door locked and don’t answer it,” Ryan added.
“Okay Mom and Dad,” Maggie answered with faux irritation. “Do I need to remind you that I’m not ten? I’ve done this staying home thing a lot.”
“If you need anything, just call us, okay?” I persisted.
“Oh, my God, will the two of you just leave already?” Maggie demanded. She started for the front door but Ryan and I beat her to it. As he began to open the door for me, he stopped cold, his smile faltering. When I glanced outside, I understood why.
Christopher stood on the porch, his arms crossed. He was dressed in his usual attire of crushed black velvet tunic over tight, black pants with a black scarf wrapped around his neck. The black theme was exaggerated with his long, velvet cape and high top hat, both of which were, yes, black. He reminded me of a vampire from an Anne Rice novel, but lacking all the romanticism. No, Christopher was anything but romantic and currently serving us pure disdain, like this was the last place he wanted to show up unannounced.
Ryan broke the silence. “Christopher?”
“Ryan.”
“What are you doing here?” Ryan asked.
Christopher released a drawn-out sigh, turning his nose up at us both, as if the answer to his question was staring us both in the face. Finally, when it became obvious that we couldn’t divine his
purpose, he replied, “Peyton can’t just show up at The Old Absinthe House. She won’t be allowed.”
“Why not? It’s a human establishment.”
Ryan’s response caused Christopher to roll his eyes so far back, he looked like a slot machine. They landed on mine, and his lips curved into a half-smile. “Why must you involve yourself with the mundane?”
‘The mundane’ was Christopher’s phrase for anyone who lacked supernatural powers.
“Is there some reason why I can’t enter The Old Absinthe House?” I asked Christopher, never eager to involve myself in his idiotic word games.
“Because it’s not a human establishment, Pey-ton,” he said. Christopher had an annoying way of enunciating every letter of every word he spoke, which was not only tedious to tolerate, but it also managed to take him much longer to speak than a normal person.
“Last I checked, humans were eating and drinking there,” I argued.
“Last I checked, you weren’t intending to hobnob with other humans,” Christopher retorted.
“That is true,” I acquiesced.
“I know,” Christopher responded, his expression like someone who just downed a glassful of cat piss.
“So?” I prodded him.
“So the spirits won’t appreciate unknown entities attempting to engage them.”
“Unknown entities?” Ryan repeated.
Christopher looked at him narrowly before looking at me. “Unknown entities.”
“So?” I asked again.
“So, I am willing to offer my services for the evening,” Christopher replied while doffing his top hat and bowing as if he were a prominent member in the court of Henry VIII.
“What about Lovie? Where is she?” I asked with a furrowed brow. The last person I wanted to spend my evening with was Christopher.
“She prefers to avoid the environment. It can become… overwhelming.”
“Overwhelming? As in dark?” I asked.
He laughed to himself. “There’s no light without dark.”
“What about,” I started before swallowing hard, “Angharad?”
It was pretty telling that I preferred the company of the bitchy, old witch to Christopher. But, truly, Christopher was the bitchiest old witch I ever met.
“I know not the name,” he responded.
“Whatever,” Ryan said as he took my hand and led me out to the truck. “We’ll meet you there.”
Christopher stomped over to his black, luxury sedan, mumbling something under his breath. It was only then that I realized his black walking stick had a carved skull at the top. He looked like a misplaced magician.
“Can you believe that guy?” Ryan asked once he started the truck. Throwing it into gear, he craned his head to the side to see out the back window and added, “He has nerve.”
“That’s Christopher.”
“I can’t say I’m excited about spending my evening with him,” Ryan complained as he put the truck into drive and we started down the street.
“I’m pretty sure I’m even less excited.”
He glanced over at me and sighed before shaking his head and patting my hand consolingly. “Maybe he won’t stay long.”
“Maybe,” I conceded.
Christopher came at a price, but I didn’t see any point in groaning about it, so I cut the conversation short. If Christopher had to come along, it was only because he was necessary. I refused to look an unfortunate gift horse in the mouth, no matter how much I wished I could return it. Ryan didn’t share my sentiment. Halfway to the bar, he interrupted the silence. “He better not charge you for this.”
“You know he will.”
“I know.”
He slowed as we started to enter the French Quarter. “Tonight was supposed to be about me and you,” Ryan continued.
“And it will still be about us.”
“Us and Christopher,” he grumbled.
I took a deep breath. “I doubt he’ll stay all night. We will have our moment, babe, I promise,” I said with a smile I didn’t feel.
“What if I want more than a moment?” he asked.
“We will get it… eventually.” My words rang hollow even to my own ears. I could just imagine how they sounded to him.
His dry response sunk a little too deep. “It is what it is.”
It was a Friday night in a city legendary for its unbridled night life. The French Quarter was a never-ending wave of intoxicated twenty-somethings. They surroundied the truck, blocking our path. Many were too drunk to function; some were arguing, stumbling around and shrieking at one another; while others stampeded past us—men with spiky hair; girls with stilettos, clacking against the uneven pavement, which was strewn with questionable… stuff.
It was easy to make out the troublemakers: a group of university students, branded in their school’s colors, busily marauding their way up the street, shouting and hollering what sounded like a school song. The truck was reduced to a mere crawl as we tried to navigate the foot traffic.
When we were halfway out of the intersection, a beefy, frat beast came running over and slammed a hammy hand down on the hood of Ryan’s truck. “Woooo!!” he hollered.
“Hey, watch it!” Ryan yelled at them as he rolled the window down.
The guy just careened off the hood and started laughing with his friend.
“Chest bump, brah!” one shouted to my right. His friend ran over and jumped into the air before they crashed their chests together, yelling in unison,
“YEAH!”
I sighed, “Is there any parking?”
“Not for another two blocks,” Ryan said.
“You mean we have to walk back through this mess?”
“Yup.”
The parking lot was a paved square, stuck between two buildings. I wondered how Ryan would ease the truck into a spot but he managed all the same. Then he turned off the engine and looked at me with a smile.
“Ready to brave the stampede?”
“Yes,” I said with a sigh. “Maybe Christopher got lost along the way.”
“If only we were so lucky.”
I laughed as Ryan opened my door and helped me down. Hobos crouched against the walls, watching groups of partiers blocking the street, as well as the entrances of restaurants and bars as they generally made nuisances of themselves. Seeing the sea of people moving along the sidewalk, I started to get vertigo. Ryan latched onto my hand, ready to guide me through, when I spotted Christopher in front of The Old Absinthe House, shouldering his way towards us.
“I have been waiting for some time,” he said in a low, almost dangerous whisper as soon as he got close enough.
“Hey, look, it’s a vampire!” someone from the crowd yelled while pointing at Christopher.
“You didn’t tell us where to park,” I said, before Ryan could get a word in. I was more than aware that any words Ryan had to say to Christopher wouldn’t be of the polite variety.
“We didn’t even invite you. You just showed up,” he said as I sighed and hoped this wouldn’t mark the beginning of a very long and tedious evening.
Christopher crossed his arms and turned away with a humph.
“I don’t usually work under these conditions, Peyton,” he all but spat at me. “I came here as a favor to you, at the behest of Lovie.”
“Well, we do appreciate it,” I started. “And I’m sorry we’re late.”
Christopher nodded and turned back around, leading the way to The Old Absinthe House. Before we walked inside, he stopped me with an outstretched arm while pulling out a silvery bundle of sage leaves from underneath his cloak. He lit the bundle as a few passersby looked on. Then he began waving the smoke down my body.
“We ask for protection, good will, no harm. No harm,” he repeated, swishing the smoke into my face, filling my lungs and bombarding my eyes as I coughed and clenched my eyes shut tight. “No harm. No harm. No harm.”
“Why are you doing that?” Ryan inquired when Christopher stepped back.
&n
bsp; Without answering, Christopher took out a vial containing a clear liquid and pulled off the stopper. By this time, the crowd had doubled around us, eager to watch. Ryan’s lips pursed into a straight line. He wasn’t one for crowds in general and now he appeared downright embarrassed.
Christopher flung the contents of the vial, which appeared to be water, at me, while shouting, “All ye spirits of girth and power, those who would mean us harm, get thee behind us. Get thee behind us!” He flung the liquid, which I was fairly sure was Holy Water, at me one more time, covering my face as I blinked back the errant drops. So much for my made up face.
“What’s he doing to her?” someone said from my right.
“No idea,” another person answered.
“Looks to be a lot of hype,” someone else said.
Christopher repeated the same process on a stiffening Ryan, blasting him in the face with smoke, and blowing it into his eyes. When he moved on to the Holy Water, Ryan tensed. He wasn’t happy, clearly, but he knew I wouldn’t appreciate it if he interrupted, so he kept his comments to himself until Christopher was finished.
“Do you mind telling me what all of that was about?” Ryan asked once the crowd had dispersed.
Christopher turned to me. “This establishment is a place of convergence.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means the spirits come here for fellowship and to make trades. Many of them consider it a sacred place, due to their isolated existence.”
“What do they trade?” Ryan asked, appearing completely lost. Not that I blamed him.
Christopher went on, ignoring Ryan. “You’ll need to be careful. There’s no way to be certain what we’ll find inside.”
“What would the spirits trade?” I asked Christopher, growing curious myself.
“Energy, gossip, magic… whatever might be of interest to someone.”
“Are you going to act like I’m not here the entire night?” Ryan asked, frowning as he glared at the smaller man.
“Shall we?” Christopher said, offering me his arm and, yes, ignoring Ryan like he wasn’t there. I hooked mine inside his, and Ryan took the lead, using his massive form to clear a path. It was easy for him. He was huge and imposing, so nobody got in his way.
If You've Got It, Haunt It: A ghost romance (The Peyton Clark Series Book 4) Page 15