Opposition

  I watched him head back inside before turning back to the car. Through the front windshield, I caught Bronte waggling her eyebrows and glanced at Rose, expecting the same teasing. But she was glaring forward, no doubt still ruminating on what Noah had asked.

  The minute I slid into the car, she exploded.

  “Can you believe him?” she snapped, smacking her flat palm against the steering wheel. “He wants to leave. Just like that! No warning, no talking, just poof. Going over to the…the…the opposition!”

  “They aren’t the opposition, Rose,” Bronte said with a wane smile. “They just want to help.”

  “They want to keep tabs on our terrifying badass,” Rose hissed. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sorry, Stella, no offense.”

  “None taken.”

  She let out a short, sharp sigh. “I don’t trust him.”

  “Why not?” Bronte asked, frowning. “He seemed nice enough.”

  “He runs the most formidable ghost-hunting organization in the country. That means he probably doesn’t do nice without a damn good reason. And yeah, he’s scared that Stella could talk him out of existence, but I think it’s more than that. Did you know they were trying to recruit Molly?”

  “Yeah, she told me,” I said, sliding forward, leaning over the middle console to see both of their faces. “What does that mean?”

  “I just think it’s strange,” she said, some of her fire fading. “She needs to be mindful of her perceptions, no doubt about that, but recruiting her right then? When her emotions are high, and she just had the scare of her life? I don’t know—just felt weird.”

  “The sooner she can protect herself, the better, right?” Bronte asked. “I mean, she didn’t even know she had psychic abilities.”

  “Want me to compel the truth out of him?” I offered.

  She laughed weakly, shooting me an appreciative smile. “No, let’s not straight out attack the most powerful psychic they have. I mean, did you see what he did?”

  Bronte visibly shivered. “That angel light spear? Yeah.”

  “Angel light?” I asked.

  Rose nodded, putting her key in the ignition. “Yeah, the Obscurity Consultant guys in the house with us called it that. Apparently, Leroy Carver’s psychic ability is creating angel light, a sort of malleable light he can shape into anything he wants. And it burns demons. Kills them. They call him the Sin Eater.”

  I shivered, the name sitting eerily in my thoughts as Rose drove us home. The car ride was silent, each of us lost in our own thoughts, until we pulled into Rose’s apartment complex. She killed the ignition but didn’t make to climb out of the vehicle. “Do you two…do you want to join Obscurity Consultants? Like Noah.”

  “Of course not,” Bronte blurted the same moment I snapped forward and gave her an incredulous look.

  She let out a shaky laugh, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Thank God. I would have let you, if you wanted, but I was really, really hoping you’d stay. Not sure how effective a ghost hunter I’d be without psychics backing me up.”

  “You’d be just like Zach Birmingham,” I snorted.

  “Heaven help me if that happens,” she mumbled, reaching for the door handle. She paused, her eyes darting between Bronte and me in the rearview mirror. “Ok, I know this probably makes me a total wuss, but I don’t even care: will you two spend the night tonight?”

  “Absolutely,” Bronte answered as I nodded.

  We climbed out of her car, heading in a line to her front door. Keys in hand, she unlocked it and flipped on the lights as she passed inside. Bronte moved next and I shuffled in at the rear.

  Then jerked to a startled stop.

  Cyril and Oliver were in Rose’s living room. Oliver was standing, making a beeline straight for Bronte, while Cyril sat on the couch.

  And our eyes met.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I’d imagined what he looked like a thousand times. Sometimes, when we weren’t with the ghosts, I asked Bronte. She’d described him as best as she could, and I always shifted my imagination with the tidbits she gave me, but the picture I conjured was always vague, blurred, as if out of focus.

  My brain’s way of refusing to nail him down, refusing to get an image in my mind that would definitely be wrong.

  And I was glad for it. Because nothing I had visualized would have done him justice.

  Broad shoulders, slender hips, muscular legs as he rose to stand. He was tall, far taller than I had anticipated, easily six feet or more. A shock of black hair, faded as all of him was from being nothing more than a ghost, unkempt and tousled. He wore simple slacks and a shirt, which made sense, considering he’d died in his compartment on a train. He moved with the coiled grace of a panther as he circled around the coffee table and marched straight for me.

  My gaze roamed over him but kept coming back to his eyes. Dark, almost black, burning with a potent intensity as he realized I could see him.

  I could see him.

  I backtracked, though not sure why, right out the front door. Cyril continued to press onward, moving through it, his form shifting as I slammed the front door and it caught him in the arced swing.

  Rose’s voice floated from her apartment. “Stella, what are you doing?”

  “Need some air,” I yelled back, staring up at Cyril as he stopped right in front of me. He towered, looking down at me. His eyes hadn’t left mine yet.

  “Ok, well, don’t go bending the reality of my front lawn. I kind of like how it looks.”

  “I make no promises,” I called, then waited for her reply. After a few pained seconds of waiting, I lowered my voice. “I can see you.”

  His hands snapped out, cupping my cheeks. They felt more solid than they ever had before, as if he had flesh and blood. The coolness leaked into my skin.

  “You can see me,” he whispered, his voice full of disbelief.

  My eyes moved to his lips, watching them move.

  Then he was crushing me to him, pulling me into a fierce hug that left me breathless. His arms wrapped around me. “God, I thought I was going to lose you.”

  I could smell him. Citrusy, like an orange or lemon. My eyes fluttered shut as I took in a deep inhale of him, amazed that I could feel his arms around me. Hear him mumbling prayers under his breath.

  He pulled back, his hands moving to cup my face again. His eyes locked with mine. “You were pulled out of the house and then you started convulsing, seizing, and I…I thought…”

  I hugged him, wiggling out of his hold so I could press my face into the crook of his shoulder. Taking in another deep breath, I sighed at the scent of oranges in the air. “I’m ok.”

  He clutched me tightly. “What happened?”

  “The others told me I was…possessed.”

  He stilled, just as I knew he would, the subject of possession undoubtedly a sore one given what he told me earlier tonight. My fingers, pressed against his back between his shoulder blades, felt the muscles tense as if he still had them. For a moment, I marveled at how intact his soul was, to project such detailed image. His voice came out breathless, masking his emotions. “Possessed?”

  “That’s what Leroy Carver—the head of Obscurity Consultants—said. He said it wanted me because of my ability. Which isn’t name invocation, by the way. It’s vocifery.”

  “I’m not familiar with that word,” he said softly. One of his hands moved to my hair, twisting strands around his fingers, combing through it gently.

  “It’s the ability to alter reality with words.”

  I expected him to tense again, but he didn’t seem as surprised by this revelation as the possession. I pulled back to study his expression, thrilled that now, after so long, I finally could.

  He looked down at me, his expression gentle but sad. Not a trace of surprise, I noticed.

  “You don’t seem all that shocked.”

  “I’m not,” he said with a sigh. His other hand, the one at my back, began to move in slow circles. As i
f he needed to reaffirm that he could still touch me, see me.

  I did the same thing, my fingers gripping tightly to the fabric of his shirt before flexing so I could feel him underneath the material. Then doing it over again. “You just happened to guess that I could bend reality by shouting at it?”

  He smiled, and my heart nearly stopped at how utterly gorgeous it was. I’d been going months without seeing this, only hearing it in his voice when he spoke, and I suddenly hated the universe had deprived me of that sight for so long. He smiled like he was a freaking angel.

  I tucked my head against his shoulder again. “Ugh, you look too freaking beautiful to stare at. Like sun-level, I’m-going-to-go-blind if I keep staring.”

  His chuckle vibrated through him and I felt it reverberate through me. “I guessed that perhaps we might have misidentified your ability beforehand. After all, for the last few months, we’ve been working strictly from Noah’s knowledge of the paranormal. It would make sense that some of our assumptions would be wrong.”

  “Obscurity Consultants is going to train us.”

  He nodded, then moved to rest his chin on the top on my head. “A sound plan. Especially with your perceptions deepening to the point where you can interact with demons.”

  “It possessing me…do you think that’s the reason I can sudden see you? Touch you more than I’ve ever been able to do before.”

  “A question we can ask Obscurity Consultants. In the meantime, I would suggest keeping that theory a secret from Oliver.”

  “Why?” I asked, jerking back to look up at him.

  He smiled down at me, and before he’d even spoken, I felt my own smile growing at the sight of him. “Because he’ll complain, no doubt, and feel cheated that Bronte’s perceptions are still at a lower level.”

  I shuddered. “Yes, well, the benefits might be worth it, but I never want to go through a possession again.”

  His grip tightened. “Neither do I. Did Obscurity Consultants tell you what other side-effects there might be?”

  “No, but we didn’t really get the chance to chat much. I’ll make sure to ask when we start—”

  “Ma’am?”

  Startled, I yanked back from Cyril and to the source of the voice. A teenager, dressed in a pizza delivery uniform with a stack of boxes in his hand, gave me a wide berth and an unsure look. “Are you ok?”

  I dropped my hands from Cyril. “Yes, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Ok, yes, that was mean. I knew he obviously couldn’t see Cyril, but he’d made me startle myself out of the best damn hug in my life. He deserved a smidgen of teasing for that.

  His eyes moved around, trying to figure out what he was missing, but he couldn’t see it.

  Not that he would.

  Or hear it, when Cyril started laughing.

  I resisted the urge to turn around and see what he looked like when he laughed. If it even held a tenth of the charm and appeal of his smile, I was a goner.

  Screw it.

  I turned to Cyril, watching his eyes crinkle, a smile spread across his face, head tilted back slightly as he let loose a belly-deep laugh.

  Yep. I was definitely a goner.

  “I’m just looking for the Iconic Apartments?” the teenager asked, uncertainty tinging his voice. “Is this it or…”

  “Down the road,” I said, waving in the direction he needed. “Gray paneling, brown roofs. Can’t miss it.”

  He beat a hasty retreat without thanking me, scurrying away from the crazy lady who looked and grinned at nothing.

  Cyril slid his arms back around my waist, tugging me closer. Humor still gleamed in his eyes, but it mixed with a more serious expression. “Now that we can touch like this…would you mind if I, well, I mean to say, would it be appropriate if…no, that sounds—”

  Laughing, I cupped his cheeks, pulled his face lower, and kissed him.

  ***

  To be continued in Book 3 of Apparition Investigations.

  Coming Soon

  ***

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  About the Author

  Eliza Lainn isn’t a USA Today bestselling author of paranormal fiction. She doesn’t have numerous awards, hasn’t won outstanding achievements–unless you count a Character Counts award back in the 5th grade–and can’t really name anywhere she’s been chosen as the best of something.

  But she’s trying.

  So if you’re interested in watching either A) someone crash and burn spectacularly or B) skyrocket to authorial success, then stick around. Because one of those two is bound to happen eventually. And won’t it be fun to see which it is?