Ghost Whisperer

by Serena Akeroyd

  “You mean, aside from loitering outside bathroom doors when a lady's in there showering? That kind of thing?”

  The twitch falls into a full-fledged grin. “Yeah, that could have been kind of creepy.”

  “Don't worry, it's not a part of my usual repertoire.” He sucks in a deep breath. “So, what do you think? Would you like to go on a date with me?”

  I study him for a second. Look into those velvety eyes, study the strong nose, the obstinate jaw, and for the first time in a long while, I feel something. Actually feel. There's nothing quite like it, I realize. After drowning in apathy, it's almost painful to react once more.

  A shiver runs down my spine at the realization this man was the one to awaken me, and slowly, I nod. “Yes, I'd like that. Very much.” When he licks his lips, I realize he's nervous. Finding the notion cute, I murmur, “We can go out now, if you'd like? I don't have much in the house to eat, so I can't offer you anything. You really should eat after your experience.”

  “Yeah, I'm ravenous.” He shakes his head. “Crazy, that. Ten minutes ago I thought my stomach was going to fall out of my mouth, excuse the imagery, and now I could eat a horse.”

  I shrug. “Like I said, he's fried your brain. Literally. It's wearing off now. Try standing up and walking about. As soon as you're good to go, we'll be on our way, okay?”

  “As much as I love the look, are you going out like that?”

  His teasing makes me flush when I realize I'm still dressed in a towel. “Whoops.”

  “You look beautiful, but I think it's risqué even for New York.”

  With a smirk, I retort, “Somewhere, this will be fashion.”

  “I'm sure it is.”

  “I'll just be five minutes, okay?”

  He nods. “Take your time. Hopefully when you get back my knees will have stopped knocking.”

  “I'm sure they will. Help yourself to…well, the little there is to offer.”

  “Thanks.”

  Shrugging off his thanks, I get up and head for my bedroom. Kenna pops up, startling me, and in a whiny voice, sings, “Jason and Drake sitting in a tree. K.I.S.S.I.N.G.”

  With a snort, I ask, “Since when were you five years old?”

  “Since I watched that display. Dear God, you two were like a bunch of high schoolers.”

  “You don't even know any high schoolers.”

  “Ha! That's just where you're wrong. David was one.”

  “Shit, he was,” I grumble, hating that she's right. “Still, I thought you'd be happy. We're going out, aren't we?”

  “Yeah, but you'll fuck it up. You always do.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “What? Don't act all innocent, you know you do.”

  I shake my head at her. “I think this time it's different.”

  She turns to me, her brows raised. “Seriously? Different how?”

  “I'm not sure. I just have a good feeling about it.”

  “Hell, I need to start looking into getting a new dress.”

  “What for?”

  “The wedding, of course!”

  “Shut up. Don't jinx it.”

  “Dear God! You're being serious.” When I glare at her, she staggers back against the wall. “I think I need to sit down.”

  “Stop making fun, Kenna.”

  “I'm not. I really do need to sit down. How long have we been together, you and I?”

  I shrug. “Too long.”

  “You haven't felt for a lifetime, but now, I can sense it. You're feeling. Christ, I can see it.”

  That Kenna had picked up on the lack of apathy floating about my psyche makes me nervously flick at my hair. I avoid eye contact with her as I head into my walk-in closet to pull on panties and a bra, then jeans and a nice sweater. Everything's casual, because that's how Drake's dressed, but the ruby red sweater offsets my hair, and the jeans are nice and tight, lifting my ass in an appealing way... Or so Kenna had informed me when I'd bought the damned things—under duress.

  “See,” she comments smugly. “I told you those jeans would come in handy.”

  After blowing her a raspberry, I apply some gloss to my lips and brush my hair. “How do I look?”

  “Pretty,” Kenna says with a smile. “Have fun, kiddo.”

  “Aren't you coming with me?”

  “No, I think you can handle this by yourself.”

  “Holy crap, now I'm the one who needs to sit down.”

  She grins. “You're growing up, honey bun.”

  Somehow that makes butterflies do a jig in my belly. “I've only just met him, Kenna,” I remind her.

  “I know, but for whatever reason, you're feeling again. That's something to celebrate, love.” She blinks at me, looking as astounded as I feel when she says, “It's been a long time since I've sensed it. Maybe before...”

  I pull in a breath because I know what she's going to say. “You can say his name.”

  “The last time was before Marty died and you had that huge argument with Derek and your parents.”

  Marty was my nephew, and he'd passed on six years ago, a few months after his seventh birthday. I'd taken his death hard, probably harder even than his parents. Why? Because when he died in a freak accident at home, he came to me as a ghost, and that meant his passing over was not peaceful and that something was holding back. He died too young to understand what happened to him, which meant I couldn't help him.

  Now, he spends his time haunting his family home, watching my brother and his wife going about their daily business.

  It hurts that I can help countless other ghosts and countless other families, but when it comes to one of my own, I'm helpless. Or as Derek, my brother called me, useless and good for nothing.

  Yeah, Derek and I didn't part well, and as a result, I never see Marty.

  Preferring not to dwell on how it still cripples me to know how badly I failed my nephew, I tell her, “I don't know what's changed. I've barely spoken to him.”

  “Sometimes a soul recognizes another one.”

  “Don't go on about soulmates,” I snipe.

  “I'm not,” she immediately denies, even though I know she's lying. “What I mean to say is sometimes, the connection is there. Other times it isn't. Don't let this one slip away if he makes you feel good, honey. Those ones don't come around often.”

  Nibbling my lip, I study the somber lines of her face. She means every word. “I wish I could hug you.”

  Her mouth twitches into a tiny smile. “Do you know how many times you've told me that over the years?”

  “Too many.”

  “Maybe, but I never get tired of hearing it. Go and have fun, love.”

  Nodding at her, I study Kenna a second longer before heading out of the closet. For once in my life, having fun is just what I intend on doing.

  Chapter Four

  Drake

  “Are you sure you're okay?”

  God, I wish she'd stop asking that, even though it's sweet of her to give a damn. I can't help but feel like a toddler in his mother's care though.

  The worst part is, I feel like hell. With a capital H. My bones feel like mush, my body still feels out of sync, and my head is aching like a bitch.

  The only highlight is the fact Jason and I are sitting in a small cafe, with thankfully dim lights, and we're about to be served coffee, cakes, and sandwiches. The weird mixture is Jason's choice. She picked up the menu and ordered what I'd consider to be a ten year old's selection, but Christ, who am I to judge? I want everything she asked for.

  “The sugar will make you feel better,” she promises, almost like she can read my mind. Who knows, maybe she can?

  The thought prods me to ask, “Can you read my mind?”

  She snorts into her water. “No. Sometimes, when a conversation is narrow, thoughts run parallel. That's all. I can only see ghosts. Like that's not weird enough.”

  I smile at her. “It's pretty cool from my viewpoint.”

  “Yeah, that's because I helped y
ou. Before, you just thought I was peculiar. Like everyone else does.”

  Guilt fills me because she's right. “I'm sorry,” I tell her, needing to apologize.

  “Don't be. For the most part, I understand. I think I'm a kook too. Hell, most of the ghosts in my pad do. It's just part of my life, that's all.”

  I let my gaze dart around the room. “Are they here with you now?”

  “What, the entourage?” When I nod, she shakes her head. “No, actually. Kenna must have made them stay behind. Usually they follow me.”

  “Are there any in here?”

  She looks around the small establishment. It's a place for little girls and grandmothers, so I'm as out of place as the Hulk at Sunday Mass, but Jason assures me their scones are the best in the district. Who am I to question why? Regardless, she couldn't be more right, because boy, do I need the sugar.

  Something about having my nerves fried, my brain frazzled, and my muscles zapped makes me need as many trans fats and sugary starches as possible. I've never experienced that kind of pain before, and I pray it never happens again.

  Imagine complete and utter paralysis, then being electrocuted, twice, before your muscles finally come back online. And if that wasn't enough, as they start to work again, you actually feel the agony of the electrocution.

  It's the damnedest thing, and not something I'd recommend.

  After shuddering a little at the thought, I watch as Jason glances over the doilies and fancy, frilly fripperies and purses her lips. The way she jiggles her head, I can tell she's counting the ghosts dining with us. “There are around seven in here.”

  “So many?” I ask, my voice almost a squeak.

  She grins at me. “Don't worry. They don't want to touch you. The connection's only there when the residual emotion is there too.”

  Despite myself, I'm relieved. I blow out a breath that makes her grin transform into a chuckle. “I'm glad you find it amusing.” There's no rancor in my voice, and she must pick up on that because she's still smiling.

  “Nah, it's just...you're being pretty nice about all this.” She shrugs. “A lot of people aren't once they've been touched. Or not touched, sometimes.”

  “Yeah, I guess that hurts. A bit of a kick in the teeth.”

  She nods. “Some people would pay millions to feel the pain you're going through now.”

  I huff, but the huff disappears when I let my still-slow brain process her words. “I guess you're right. I love that boy, and he loves me. That feels good, and it makes me happy that I came looking for you.” I reach for the coffee cup and take a deep sip. “Your coffee is better by the way.” When she flushes, I hide my grin behind my cup at her reaction, and sobering up, say, “It's been so long since he died, and his mother has just...I don't want to say she's over his death, but she's coping very well. I feel like an anomaly because I can't get over it.”

  “You're as unsettled as David is. It's only natural.”

  “You're right.”

  “I often am,” she teases.

  “Oh dear, that makes both of us. What a pair we'll make.”

  When we smile at each other, a warmth fills me. It's a warmth I haven't felt since David's death, and its sudden presence is almost as shocking as my nephew's touch.

  She ducks her head, breaking the eye contact we shared, and murmurs, “I've been wrestling with something that we can do to make Nate Cambright pay.”

  “What?” At the mention of that bastard's name, my spine straightens of its own volition. But hell, my entire body feels like it’s acting autonomously. I'm not too big to admit to stalking the guy's Instagram account, bitterness overwhelming me as I play silent witness to the schmuck's privileged life.

  It wasn't like his family even needed the scholarship David won to fund Cambright's college education. They're filthy fucking rich. It can only have been an ego thing. The bastard was pissed someone was better than him. I'd like to wring his neck, and the screwed up part is, the only thing stopping me is this woman here.

  My mind has dueled between wanting revenge and wanting to date Jason. It's crazy, I know, but I can't help the tangents my brain has taken me down.

  “I thought about doing a séance.”

  “A séance?” I frown at her, relieved she's broken my train of thought but still surprised by her words. “You don't hold them, do you?”

  “I don't.”

  “But for David you would?”

  At her embarrassed cough, I reach forward and grab her hand. Wrapping mine about hers, I murmur, “That's more than good of you, Jason. Thank you.”

  She shrugs it off, but there's a flustered air about her. God help me, it's charming as hell. “It's nothing. David told me he went to Holybrook High School. I have a few friends over there. Some of the parents, one of the governors. I'm sure I could arrange something.”

  “It's a pretty staid school. I'm not sure they'd allow it.”

  “Well, we can but try. And if they don't allow it on the campus, that isn't to say I couldn't hold it elsewhere. All we need to do is set tongues wagging, Drake. Words are poisonous.”

  I blink at her. “My God, you're right. If you speak to David in front of a crowd, reveal what really happened, and we start the rumor mill, then that gossip will plague Cambright forever.”

  She raises her coffee mug in the air. “That sounds good to me, does it to you?”

  My smile is a long time in coming, but come it does. I pick up my own mug and clink hers. “To the ruination of Nate Cambright.”

  When she shakes her head, I frown at her in question. “To us, and the ruination of Nate Cambright.”

  “You're right. That does sound better.”

  “See, I told you. You'll get tired of saying those words, 'You're right.'”

  I chuckle. “I don't mind stating the obvious. In fact, as a psychotherapist, I prefer it.”

  “Well, that's good then.” She studies me a second, her smile fading away. “We'll make this as right as we can. Nate Cambright will pay even if it’s not in jail time.”

  “I know. Thank you for doing this for me.”

  She shrugs. “Don't thank me yet. I have to build up the courage to do it.”

  “You? Seriously?” Astonished, I shake my head. “You're so confident.”

  “It's a front.” She purses her lips. “I've been vilified in just about every state in this country, Drake. Been slated and celebrated. Lauded and applauded one day, then dragged down into the trash the next.” Her sigh is deep and weary. “It's no picnic, this gift that keeps on taking.”

  “Why do you think I keep on thanking you?”

  “It's appreciated.”

  When the server appears with a platter of sandwiches and cakes, rather than serve myself from the whole cake placed in front of us, I take a piece, plate it, and hand it over to her. “Ladies first.”

  “See, you are a gentleman.”

  I wink at her. “In certain parts of my life.”

  “That sounds promising,” she teases, snorting out a laugh around a mouthful of Victoria Sponge.

  “Well, you're in luck. I always keep my promises.”

  “Good to know.” She lowers her gaze to the cake and takes another bite. “I like you, Drake.”

  “I like you too, Jason.”

  “You can call me, Jayce.”

  Somehow, I know that's an honor infrequently bequeathed on anyone. Accepting it with appreciation, I nod. “Thank you. It's a pleasure to meet you, Jayce.” When I hold out my hand, she takes it and we shake it over our platter of fairy cakes.

  “The pleasure's mine, Drake.”

  “No,” I tell her. “It's ours.”

  Chapter Five

  Jayce

  Three weeks later

  “You sure you want to do this?”

  Huffing out a breath, I glower at Kenna, snatching my attention from behind the curtain that leads into Natalie Jensen's front salon—she of the coffee machine fame.

  As Drake had predicted, David's fello
w pupils had been interested in the notion of a séance when I approached the administration about an educational look into the history of psychics, but the school hadn't. However, Natalie, whose eldest son fortuitously goes to Holybrook, had leaped at the idea because she knows I don't hold these damned things. Ever.

  For that reason, her overlarge Upper East Side mansion is playing host to around sixty guests, each one there to see me perform.

  And a performance it will be because séances aren't even real.

  All I'll be doing is putting on a freakin' act while I talk to my usual entourage. Oh, and David, of course. He's going to be at the center stage of this freak show.

  Rippling my shoulders, I try to let off some tension. “Stop bitching at me, Kenna.”

  “I'm not bitching at you. Once you do this, there's no turning back. I still think he's keeping quiet about something.”

  “I'm going to do this. I have to. For David.”

  “Bull. It's for Drake.”

  I ignore that. “Why would he hold something back when we're about to avenge him?” Then, I can't help but grin at her. “Am I as transparent to you as you are to me?”

  She huffs. “I'm transparent because I'm a ghost. You're just an open book to me.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I retort, flipping her the bird.

  “And I don't know why he'd hold something back, I just get the feeling he is.”

  “Well, if this doesn't resolve his reason for being brought back to this world, then we'll know he was lying about something.”

  She purses her lips. “There's a reason vigilantism doesn't work.” Then, something obviously pops into her head because she sniffs. “Although I'm not totally averse to your ruining Nate Cambright's name. One thing that David is telling the truth about is what Cambright did to him. That boy deserves an ass-whooping.”

  “And that's exactly what we're going to give him,” I tell her.

  Kenna studies me for a second, then remarks, “You look like an idiot, by the way.”

  “Wow, way to be supportive.”

  “What?! You do. I can't believe you went to a fancy dress shop to get a gypsy costume.”