Midnight Magic, page 185
“Did you look in a mirror?” I asked. I didn’t need to shove him in front of a mirror to know he was being made a poltergeist’s bitch boy right now. His whole fucking form was fuzzy—like a black and white television with those old-ass rabbit-ear antennas. The ghost riding him was doing so raw, without lube.
“Why do you think I’m here?” he asked, rubbing his hand over his chest.
My gaze cut to Waylin Eacker before jerking away. The sight of him pissed me off.
“And you decided this was a family affair why, exactly?” I shut the front door and dragged him into the living room.
“Hey,” River huffed. “He’s the one who attacked me in the airport.”
“Because you’re a dumbass,” Waylin muttered. They were both dumbasses.
“Yeah, yeah. You two haven’t kissed and made up ye—Who’s the twink?” River’s gaze shifted to Ghost Boy tucked against the wall in a corner, like he was going to be able to avoid being seen by not one, not two, but three spirit mediums.
“I don’t remember my name, but nice to meet you.” Ghost Boy waved.
“You dog.” River grinned. “You’re always yelling at me but you’re banging that cute little ghost.”
“I’m not fucking him. He’s stalking me. I’m trying to get him through his door. But as you can see—” I gestured. No fucking door in sight. “But that’s a problem for another day. When was your last check-up?” Since we were headed to the fucking hospital, where there was an abundance of free-standing doors, he could have a two for one special—see a door, see a doctor. Oh, and as a freebie, enough ghosts to put a graveyard to shame. Hospitals were the absolute worst. People literally went to them to die though so . . . no surprise there, really.
“I guess I could get a second opinion,” River said as he rubbed his chest.
I sighed. “How bad is it inside?”
Because he was connected to the supernatural on a deeper level, River could feel the little fucker in there banging around, making noise as he settled in. He’d had at least sixteen hours to get acquainted with River. Much longer and things would get messy.
“I’d say we should work fast,” River said, looking down at himself. “I took a risk getting on a plane. I told my team to stay back. I don’t want to hurt anyone when I lose control.” His voice cracked and he swallowed. My heart squeezed. He wasn’t embarrassed—River didn’t have the capacity for embarrassment—but fear . . . Yeah, he was terrified.
“Let’s do this then. Stay here, Ghost Boy,” I said, going to my closet and yanking it open. On the top shelf, there was a bag, a bag I hadn’t used in years. I pulled it down now and shook the dust off. The things inside rattled around as I turned to see Ghost Boy shaking his head.
“No way,” he protested as he crossed the living room. “I’m coming too. I have to stay close to you.”
I sighed. Did he, really? There was no point arguing. It would just be a waste of time. “Keep ahold of him,” I said to Waylin, without looking at him. I couldn’t look at him, not anymore, not after what he did. Being in the same room with him made my skin itch as it was. My stomach rolled as I clenched my jaw. “The last thing I want to do is chase him down if he slips through a door not his own.”
“Okay. I’ll keep you safe,” Waylin said to Ghost Boy.
“Yeah,” I jerked my bag over my shoulder. “I just bet you will. Let’s go.” I yanked open the apartment door and ushered everyone out.
“Just like old times,” River sang as he passed by me.
“You’re possessed. He can’t unfuck my fiancé. Just like old times,” I replied, slamming my door behind us and starting towards the elevator.
“What?” Ghost Boy asked. No one said anything, River because he didn’t want to be in the middle of it; Waylin because he didn’t want to get punched. And me . . . me because there was nothing more to say. I’d said everything I needed to years ago, to Waylin and to Deacon, my dead former fiancé.
The elevator ride down to my car was tense and silent. River sat in the front passenger seat next to me; Waylin and Ghost Boy climbed in the back. River rubbed his chest the whole trip to the hospital. I reached over and grasped his thigh as soon as I parked.
I would always have his back. He was my little brother. Not by blood, of course—we grew up in the same foster home. It was haunted as fuck too. Whether that happened before or after I arrived, I didn’t know, I just knew the ghosts were assholes and I’d been an asshole right the fuck back. “I got you, River. Even if you flip your shit, you’re gonna be fine.”
He laid his hand over mine and squeezed. “I trust you. And you’ve never let me down before. Just don’t damage the moneymaker.” He pointed to his face.
I laughed and kicked open my door. “The way you look, it ain’t making you a lot.”
We started towards the hospital.
“We aren’t here on a sightseeing tour,” I reminded them as the entrance doors opened with a soft woosh. We avoided the reception desk, heading towards the map on the wall. I sighed. The unit we needed was halfway across the hospital. “I don’t care how cute the ghost is.”
River sighed. “Next time.”
I shook my head and walked away. They followed me down the hallway. I took all the necessary twists and turns until we came to a bank of elevators and pressed the up button. It was a short wait for the elevator to descend and we all climbed in.
“Shouldn’t we be taking him to a priest?” Ghost Boy asked. I glanced at him.
“I’m too far past my use by date for those fuckers,” River said.
I hit the right floor number, snorting. “Okay Choir Boy. But unless said priest is also a medium, all he’s gonna do is throw some holy water on River, say some prayers and send him home just as possessed as he is now,” I explained. “There’s only one way to get rid of what’s in him.”
“What’s that?”
“Shove it through a door,” I said as the elevator climbed. “You’re gonna wanna keep your distance. Going through a door not your own ensures a one-way ticket to hell if I don’t drag you back out.” Or what I assumed counted as hell. The world beyond the doors was the stuff of nightmares, which was why I’d never taught River or Waylin how to open them. They’d bounce through one like a baseball through a glass window. And probably meet the same fucking fate—lost forever.
The elevator doors slid open.
“Long term care unit. Someone’s bound to be taking a long fucking sleep. Less likely to be bothered too,” I said. “Look for someone alone, who’s been here longer than six months.”
The sad fact was, after you’d been out cold for that long, people tended to stop visiting. Life moved on, even when the dead couldn’t.
“We better make it fast too,” River muttered, his blue eyes lifting to meet mine. The fear in them had me reaching out and squeezing his shoulder before we started down the halls, peeking into individual rooms. If they were occupied, I simply apologized and placated the occupant with a lie. They waved me away without a fuss, and we carried on.
Opening the door to room D395, I peeked inside, saw a woman sitting beside a young man’s bed, and started to step back as she lifted her head. Then I stopped.
I knew that boy.
“Fuck me,” I whispered. Seriously?
“Can I help you?” the woman asked.
“Actually, you can. But I just remembered I have to talk to the doctor real quick. Are you still going to be here in twenty minutes?” I asked.
“I’m always here—dawn to dusk. Just come back when you’re ready.” She offered me a soft smile, then reached out and brushed blonde hair off the sleeping young man’s face. Only, he wasn’t sleeping. He was in a coma. I pulled back, shut the door. My gaze slipped to Ghost Boy.
He wasn’t a ghost. He wasn’t even dead.
He would be soon if he didn’t wake the fuck up.
“Got one,” Waylin called from down the hallway. I started towards him.
“Let’s make this fast,” I said as we all entered the room. A young woman lay—pale, with sunken cheeks and thin hair—in the bed. Her door stood some six feet away, waiting for her to finally give up the fight. By the looks of it, she would, and soon. I had no time to feel bad for her, not when River was rocking back and forth on his heels, his eyes jerking around the room.
“Sekani—” His voice cracked and broke. “I think—”
“Don’t be a bitch.”
River squeezed his eyes closed and took a couple of deep breaths. Waylin dragged a chair over to the door, pushing it under the knob. I yanked my bag open, pulled out a salt chalk and a knife, and dropped to my knees to draw an intricate circle on the ground in front of the dying girl’s door. It took a couple of minutes to get it just right but when I did, I stood up and turned to River. “You ready?”
“Yeah.” He attempted a weak smile. “It’s like riding a bike,” he said.
“More like crashing a bike but okay,” Waylin muttered from behind us.
“See you on the other side, River.” I told him. He sucked in a sharp breath and I reached out, grabbing his throat and yanking him forward into the circle. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he started to shake. I released his throat, grabbed his hand and sliced into it with the knife. Blood dripped from his palm. I really hoped this didn’t take too fucking long or I was gonna have to cut the shit outta him. “Hey. Hey!” I snapped my fingers in his face. “You fuck in there. I’m talking to you, you dirty gaping asshole, you gonna shake like an epileptic all fucking night or come out and play? I’ve got a date with your mother and you’re making me late.” The thing inside of River growled.
“Yeah. I’m talking to you. Question. You were in that asylum—the one they sent weak-ass crybabies to—right? What for? Did your mommy not hug you enough? Or did daddy hug you too much? No, I got it.” I snapped my fingers. “It was your uncle. Or hell, maybe all three.”
River lunged at me, his eyes snapping open, and I caught him around the throat. It wasn’t really River, but this ghost was wearing him so it was my brother’s angry blue eyes peering into mine.
“You gotta do better than that.” He was still too deep in River; I needed him closer to the surface before I pulled him the rest of the way out. Best way to do that? Piss him off. I’d always been good at that. “But what can I expect really from a two bit, washed up, old ass nutjob like you? I bet you were second rate before you got put away and fell so far down the totem pole even the guy hugging himself in a padded room had you on your knees.”
River snapped his teeth in my face, clawing at my arms and shoulders as he jerked in my hold. I could have pulled the ghost out now, thrown him through the door, but he was so twisted up inside of River that could end bad. I needed this shithead to drop River like yesterday’s newspaper and really come for me. He was close, getting more and more angry by the second.
Dudes—especially ones from way back when—who served any time anywhere were always so fucking sensitive about their sexuality. They thought taking it up the ass or swallowing a cock made them less of a man. Personally, I thought if you could take six solid inches up your ass or to the back of your throat without crying about it, you were pretty fucking impressive. But hey, I was gay.
“I got an idea,” I whispered in River’s ear. “How about you get on your knees for me now?” I shoved River’s body down. His knees bent. The ghost inside of him rose up, detached more than attached now, and I leapt forward, shoving River’s hand against the door, opening it with his blood. His back slammed against the entrance when the door opened. The ghost screamed as it fell through and the door slammed shut behind him. It was a one person at a time kinda trip.
River jerked and collapsed. I laid him out and rolled him onto his back. Waylin fell to his knees on the other side of River as I laced my fingers down and started chest compressions. This part was always the fucking worst.
“One . . . Two . . . Three . . .” I counted to thirty before grabbing his face, tilting his chin up and pinching his nose. My mouth closed over his and I breathed out. As soon as I pulled back, Waylin took over the compressions. I may have hated him for what he did, but I knew I could always depend on him to show up when it mattered.
We worked on River together. It took a good two minutes to revive him, but he came back—gasping and panting and looking like he’d just died which . . . I guess, technically, he had been dead for two minutes.
“Guess that brings your count up to ten whole minutes of being dead. Let’s not add any more time, huh?” I patted his cheek and pulled him upright. Waylin grabbed his hand, wrapping it with bandages from my bag. River sagged against us, wheezing for breath. I rubbed his back and gave him the minute he needed before my gaze shifted to Ghost Boy.
I still had to deal with him.
I guess today was a two for one special for me instead of River.
GHOST BOY
The body in the hospital bed was me. I wasn’t dead. Was I dying then? The woman in the room with my body smiled when she saw Sekani.
It didn’t make sense.
He offered her a cup of coffee. “Sorry. It took a little longer than expected. I’m Sekani Aelor.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card and handed it to her.
The woman looked down at the card, a small frown pulling her brows.
“Did someone hire you?” She looked up at Sekani.
“In a manner of speaking. Do you recognize this young man?” Sekani pulled my sketch book from his bag and turned to the second page, where I had drawn myself.
“How do you have this? This is Callum’s drawing.” She looked at the body in the bed. He . . . I was Callum. How . . . how was this possible?
“Callum. I’m looking for his family—a mother, father, anyone really.”
The woman touched the hand of the body lying in the bed—my hand.
“I’m his mother,” she said. “How do you know him?” She gave my hand a squeeze, her eyes welling with tears. “Are you a friend of his?”
“I’m a private investigator assisting a young man with some memory loss. I believe he may have a connection to Callum.”
“Oh.” She reached over and brushed hair out of my face. I was there, in the hospital bed but . . . not. Because I was standing right beside Sekani.
“Can you tell me a little about Callum? What happened to him?” Sekani asked.
“He was in an accident. A drunk driver, they say—hit and run. The doctors said most of the damage has already healed but we just can’t get him to wake up. Callum was a good boy. I’m sure he would help your friend if he could.”
“I don’t doubt that. Is there anyone else I could speak to who knew Callum well? Friends, or other family members? They might be able to help shed some light on my client’s memory.”
“Oh, yes of course. I have his phone right here.” She dug inside of the table beside the bed, taking out a cellphone. “All of his friends’ contacts would be in there. We didn’t get it turned off. When he wakes up everyone will want to speak with him. Luke would know the most, he was Callum’s best friend.” She handed him the phone—my phone. Could anything in there help me remember?
“Thank you . . . I’m sorry, I never asked your name.”
“Clare Maslow. I guess you know now this is Callum Maslow.”
“It’s nice to put a name to the face. Again, thank you for this.” He lifted the phone slightly. “I’ll keep in touch, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. Lately, besides my husband, I’m the only one who visits but the doctors say that he can still hear us. I’m sure Callum would have liked you.” I looked at Sekani then down at my body. I guess if I wasn’t a ghost, I would have liked him.
He was pretty hot and now that he wasn’t going out of his way to be mean to me, he was a nice person. He cared about his family, helped his brother out without questions. He and Waylin were at odds but I was sure that was because of the cheating.
Sekani grinned. “You think?”
“He had a type,” Clare—my mother—said, shaking her head. But when she looked down at my body she was still smiling. It was a sad little thing; it made me want to hug her. Maybe I could just sit down and go right back inside of myself. I reached out, trying to touch my body, but my hand went through it. I could touch other things. I could touch Sekani. But I couldn’t touch myself.
Why?
“Ah. Well, maybe when he’s back in the land of the living, I’ll buy him a coffee. Until then, while I look into my client’s missing memory, if I find out anything about what happened to Callum, I’ll let you know. The police are a little more limited than I am in their investigation methods.”
“You’d take on a case like this?” she asked, a bright spark of hope flaring in her eyes. “The police told me there was nothing else they could do.”
Stupid cops weren’t even trying to find out who hit me? What the hell?
“It’s notoriously difficult to track down one driver in a city this big. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can to help your son,” Sekani said.
“Thank you.” She brushed away a tear even as she smiled. “If you think anything else from Callum can help with your client’s memory please let me know.”
“Of course. Thank you again,” Sekani said. My mother looked at the sketch of me one last time before handing Sekani the book. He turned, walking out of the room and back into the hallway where River and Waylin waited.
“—could feel good,” River was saying as Sekani and I rejoined them.
“Stop fraternizing with the dead. Fuck’s sake.”
River only laughed, not caring that he was busted. “You finished up in there?”
“We found my body.” What did this even mean for me? I stepped closer to Sekani.
He frowned. “The only thing worse than the dead? When they ain’t dead.”
“It’s Cypress Hills Graveyard all over again,” Waylin said.
“Fun times,” River joined in.
“You’re remembering it differently,” Sekani told him as we made our way down the hallway to the elevators.
