Opposition

by Eliza Lainn

  “But I want to talk too,” he protested.

  “Go,” Sebastian said a bit more sternly.

  With a pout, Seth peeled off and headed for a different room. He opened it and went in, but I didn’t hear the tell-tale click of the door sliding shut.

  Sebastian continued to his room unperturbed, acting like he hadn’t even noticed me. But then, after unlocking it, he held it open for me.

  I didn’t stop but stormed into the room.

  The door shut behind me and I rounded on him. “Goodnight?”

  “Isn’t that what people say to one another when they want others to leave them alone?” he asked with an unbothered arrogance.

  He strolled past me and into the room, heading straight for a minibar. Something, I realized, we didn’t have in our rooms. And that added new gasoline to my blaze.

  I ground my teeth in frustration. “You will give me an answer. Are you going to leave Cyril and Oliver alone?”

  “Touchy,” he said, pouring a vial of scotch into one of the glasses. Then he started work on a second one. “Nearly as touchy as he is when I even look at you.”

  “You flung me aside with…with…telekinesis!” I snapped, waving my hands wildly. “So, yeah, he would be a touch defensive!”

  “I had walked in on a ghost woman’s corpse, obviously murdered by another ghost. Considering he was the only other ghost in the room, his being the murderer was a likely conclusion to make. I only tried to save you and my brother from what I saw as a dangerous situation. Drink?” He held one of the two glasses of scotch out to me.

  I took it. I wasn’t much of a drinker—an occasional glass of wine at girl’s night was generally the most I could do. But I was angry. And people drink when they’re angry, right?

  I downed it in a single gulp, refusing to let loose my spluttering cough as it burned on its way down.

  He arched a brow at me and then held out his own glass.

  I took that one too, trading it for my empty one. Then I downed it.

  He refilled my first glass. “I’m keeping this one,” he said, taking the glass over to the desk. He spun the chair around and straddled it. “But please, help yourself.”

  I hoped these things costed a pretty penny. I hoped he had to pay for them, and they weren’t comped.

  “We told you that Cyril hadn’t done it. And your brother confirmed it. So, what’s the problem?”

  He eyed me curiously. “I see my little brother has a problem keeping his mouth shut about his abilities.”

  “What’s the problem?” I repeated more sternly.

  “What are your abilities, Stella?”

  Dang, scotch worked fast. I could already feel my cheeks warm and my head lighten. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Professional curiosity.”

  “Like hell it is.”

  He smirked at that, then took a sip of his drink. “Just wondering if your powers could have compromised my brother is all.”

  I froze. Could my powers effect his brother? I had his name, I could give him a command. Would his ability to perceive truth win out, or would my command?

  “I’m going to go out on a limb and say that the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind to corrupt my little brother, judging from that look on your face. That’s a relief, at least. But I will insist: what are your abilities?”

  I scoffed. “Corrupt?”

  He sighed, and setting his glass on the desk behind him, stood. “I need to know your abilities, Stella. My little brother is probably blissfully asleep in the room across the hall and I’m not going to have psychics with unknown abilities anywhere near him. You tell me, and I consider allowing your ghost buddies to remain, or you don’t, in which case I force the answer from you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I scoffed again, emboldened by the alcohol. "As if you could force me to do anything."

  His eyes narrowed.

  I waved a hand dismissively. “You can move things with your mind. Yeah, neat trick. But it wouldn’t exactly force the answer from me, would it? Any why didn’t you ask that when we were all together, if you’re so worried about knowing?”

  “I knew one of you would chase me down. Money was on either you or your little leader. Divide and conquer to get the information I need.” He casually took a few steps forward. “As to force…are you going to make me try?”

  “Of course not,” I snapped. “Because, unlike you, I’m a decent human being, and I don’t want you or your brother scared or nervous. You want to know our powers? Fine. Noah and Bronte aren’t a threat to your brother at all. Noah can make wards that ghosts can’t pass through and Bronte can see the life events of a person. Warding and bearing witness, we call them.”

  “Three of you have abilities?”

  “Surprise, surprise. Guess you were wrong about that one.”

  He held out his hand. For a minute, I didn’t know what he wanted. But then he pointed at the glass and I handed it to him. “And yours?”

  I passed it to him and scowled when he had his back turned to refill it. “Nope. Not a chance. Not until I get something from you.”

  “You mean, aside from the free drinks?” he asked, handing me my glass again. But this time, he didn’t retreat toward the desk.

  Even as I took a long gulp of the drink, I still had enough clarity to take a few steps back from him. “Obviously.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Your abilities. You’re telekinetic?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your brother can tell if someone’s lying?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think abilities are connected to our perceptions with ghosts?”

  “Perceptions,” he mused. “A good word for it. Yes. We’ve observed that certain people are able to spend more time around ghosts and increase their powers.”

  We’ve observed. That was an odd way of phrasing it. Clinical, almost.

  “Then why’d you bring your brother out here? He’s too young to be doing this. You mentioned it’s dangerous. It is dangerous—I’ve been hurt before. So why bring your little brother?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Did one of those ghosts hurt you?”

  “What? No, of course not. A monster did.”

  “A monster?” he asked, frowned. Then he realized something. “A Type 2.”

  “Type 2?”

  “Long? With claws? Depraved?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “We call them Type 2.”

  I waved a hand dismissively. “You’re getting off subject. Why is your brother here?”

  “Seth is going to hunt ghosts when he’s older. I want him trained properly—that means he comes out with me when I go on jobs now. Your ability, Stella?”

  “Why does he have to hunt ghosts when he’s older?”

  “Your ability, Stella,” he insisted.

  I finished my drink and set the glass on top of the dresser. “Name invocation.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Name invocation,” I repeated. “You give me your name and I can use it to command you.”

  His eyes widened—the first genuine emotion that had cracked through his carefully placed façade during our conversation. I felt a moment of triumph before his indifference slid back into place. “Powerful.”

  “Only if you give me your name.”

  “With a power like that, you really shouldn’t be hunting ghosts.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. This sounded like another male remix of the same spiel I’d heard from Noah, Oliver, and Cyril at various points. “Here we go.”

  “Seriously, Stella. What if you’re possessed? And the ghost uses your abilities as their own? You—or more accurately, it—could cause serious damage with an ability like that.”

  “Ghosts couldn’t do that,” I said, not entirely certain. Esperanza Gomez had been possessed. Why couldn’t I be?

  Great. Something else to worry about.

  “Not a Type 1 or 2, not to
a psychic. But a Type 3?”

  I frowned at him. “Type 3? The thing that comes after monsters?”

  He gave a shrugging nod.

  “You know what they are?”

  “I’ve seen one, once.”

  “Y-you have?”

  He focused on me suddenly, as if remembering who he was talking to. With a sharp shake of his head, he banished his thoughts. “It’s too late for ghost stories, Stella. Run back to your room.”

  “Wait. I told you our powers; now I want your word that you’ll leave Cyril and Oliver alone.”

  “I generally don’t give my word out on principle alone.”

  I gaped at him. “But you said—”

  “That I would consider it,” he interrupted. “And I will. But that doesn’t mean I have to give you my word one way or the other. I know your preference and I will take that into consideration should a situation arise in which your ghostly duo crosses a line. But I’m not promising anything. Goodnight, Stella.” Then he waved at the door.

  I’d been angry when I’d marched in here. It had softened somewhat during our conversation but now it flared back in full force with his curt dismissal. Added to the alcohol, it burned hotter than it ever had before.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I’d marched up to him, hand pulled back to slap him.

  He caught my wrist easily, lazily. Then he walked forward, my wrist still trapped in his hand. I had no choice but to back up, shuffling, until my back hit the wall.

  Pressing me up against it, he leaned down over me. “Want to try that again?”

  I tried to tug my wrist free. Not that it would do much good, with my arm trapped between my body and his. “Let go,” I snapped.

  “It seems to me that you’re lacking an understanding in three basic aspects of this job,” he said, his voice lowering. “Number one, ghosts are dangerous. Whether they’re in your corner or not. Something to keep in mind when you’re playing ghost hunter with your little friends. Their very existence is dangerous because Type 2 and Type 3 ghosts are drawn to them. And the humans they interact with.”

  I yanked at my wrist again. His grip only tightened, and he pressed in even more. “Number two,” he continued. “Just because you have abilities does not make you invulnerable. I have not given you my name, therefore, you’re entirely dependent on my mercy right now, Stella. You should pay particular attention to this because everyone has skeletons in their closets. You come around poking at the ghosts connected to those skeletons, and people might push back. And they won’t be as chivalrous as I am.”

  “This is hardly chivalrous,” I hissed.

  He gave me a fox-like smirk. “And number three. I make it a habit of completing my jobs to my employer’s satisfaction. Mrs. Marcus is concerned for the guests of her hotel. And if I find you’re lying, and Cyril and Oliver are a threat to the patrons of this hotel—yourself included, as you have a room just down the hall—I will exorcism them.”

  He took a sudden step back, letting go of my wrist as he turned and headed for the desk. “Now. Goodnight, Stella.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  I woke up to a perfect sliver to sunlight sliding in through the closed curtains. It burned behind my eyes, first waking me, then turning the inside of my eyelids yellow. Finally, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I rolled over.

  But I was awake. And despite my best efforts, I wouldn’t be going back to sleep.

  Sighing, I heaved myself up into a sitting position.

  “Sorry,” Cyril’s voice floated through the still room. “I should have thought to close the curtain.”

  “It’s fine,” I mumbled sleepily. I rubbed at the sleep in my eyes. “Bronte?”

  “Out to breakfast in the lobby, along with the others. And Oliver.”

  That woke me. My head snapped up.

  “It’s fine,” Cyril amended quickly. “We had a note taped to our door this morning. The Adair brothers promise to leave Oliver and myself alone. Conditionally.”

  A note taped to the door. Typical.

  Cyril’s voice turned hard. “Whatever you said to him last night must have worked.”

  I looked up at his tone. The Samwise figurine hovered near the window. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You came back with flushed cheeks last night.”

  Tends to happen when you’re being pushed up against the wall as a stupidly handsome man leans over you. With hazel eyes. Funny, though, but I didn’t think Cyril would appreciate hearing about it. “I had a drink.”

  “With the enemy?”

  “It was expensive, and he was going to have to pay for it. So, yes, I had a drink with the enemy. Or three.”

  Cyril sighed.

  “You said conditionally. What does Sebastian want?”

  For a moment, he didn’t answer. I had begun wondering if I’d be able to find the note somewhere in the room when he finally spoke, his voice tense and unhappy. “He advised the two of us to be on our best behavior. And that we should stay away from his investigation into the ghosts of this hotel.”

  “I bet Oliver didn’t appreciate that.”

  Cyril’s voice softened slightly, a trace of humor peeking through. “No. He didn’t.”

  I pushed off the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The cool air hit the bare skin my pajama shorts didn’t cover, and I shivered.

  A soft rattling sound drew my eyes toward the window. The Samwise figurine had been left on the desk, and instead, a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water floated toward me. They stopped at eye level, easily within reach.

  “Thanks,” I breathed, taking them. I popped two pills and downed the water.

  The glass and pill container were gently pulled from my hands. They floated back to the desk and then Samwise was airborne again.

  “Who left the Tylenol? I thought everyone was asleep when I came back last night.”

  “They were. Oliver mentioned it to Noah this morning. Noah mentioned it to Rose. Rose asked Bronte if she brought any.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “So, everyone knows I came back to the room a little buzzed?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Great.”

  Cyril spoke hesitatingly. “I don’t suppose…would you tell me what happened last night? After you left? You fell straight asleep when you came back—I didn’t get the opportunity to ask you then.”

  “Not much really happened. I asked him to leave you alone, he wanted to know our powers first, I told him, we got to talking about…” my voice trailed off as the conversation last night replayed in my mind.

  Concern flooded Cyril’s voice. “What?”

  “His word choice. The terminology. It all sounded strange.”

  “How so?”

  “Clinical. Precise. He kept calling monsters Type 2. And the things after monsters, he called Type 3.”

  “Like a hierarchy?”

  “Yeah. I remember thinking it odd at the time, but it seems stranger now. Why would two boys have such a seemingly stringent system in place?”

  “If they’re as experienced as the evidence suggests, it would make sense.”

  “Maybe. But I got the distinct impression that there was more.”

  “More what?”

  “I don’t know. Obscurity Consultants—did Rose do any research on them last night while you were here?”

  “Not that I know of. Why?”

  “What if their organization is more than just the two of them?”

  “Would that matter?”

  “Maybe. They’re both psychics.”

  “Yes, I gathered from last night. Telekinesis and the ability to perceive the truth, correct?”

  “Yeah. What if Obscurity Consultants has more psychics? He told me that he thought perception and abilities worked hand-in-hand.”

  Cyril lapsed into a thoughtful silence. “I could see how that would make sense, if they recruited psychics when they went out on ghost hunts. Special humans with deepened perceptions are
magnets for ghosts. The more ghosts, the deeper the perceptions can become. The deeper the perceptions, the stronger the ability?”

  “We’ll need to ask Noah about that one. He’s the one with the longest interaction with ghosts.”