Page 1 of Almost You

ONE

Christopher

The ghost was annoying and in my way.

He hovered in front of me, blocking the trail I needed to take.

“You’re the psychic, right? A human who visits here? I want to hire you. I don’t have money on me, obviously. But if you find my family, they might. Maybe we could figure out a payment plan?”

“Medium, actually, is the preferred term.”

“You look more like a rock ‘n’ roll roadie than a medium.” He glanced at my leather jacket and ripped jeans.

I guessed the roadie part was ’cause of my burly size and the visible neck tattoos, which included a musical note. Or maybe it was my unkempt dark hair that skimmed my shoulders. Abby used to beg me to cut it. Said she wanted to see my blue eyes more.

Abby no longer had a say in my looks. Besides, I dressed for comfort when scouting ghosts for clients. The landscape in this realm was always changing, so being too dressy made no sense. Layers were key.

This ghost was my opposite: slender to my stocky, pretty-eyed and youthful to my street-smart and jaded. He was irritatingly handsome, even in death.

“I don’t remember my name.” He frowned. “But I must have a bank account.”

“Good luck accessing it.” I examined his threadbare T-shirt and scuffed sandals. Who was he to judge my looks?

He followed my gaze. “Yeah, my clothes aren’t the best. If I’d known this was my for-all-eternity outfit, I’d have dressed better.”

He locked eyes with me and smiled.

I didn’t smile back.

I’d had a crap year. Not business-wise—many people were contacting me for séances. I’d done guest spots on talk shows, had a few celebrity clients. Things were good there. No, the crap part was my personal life, which had left me exhausted to the point where escaping the human realm was a massive relief. I’d been hurt by my ex in ways I’d never imagined. Abby, who was so kind and loved everybody and everything, couldn’t love me anymore. What did that say about me?

I moved past him. I needed to go—in the human realm, I currently sat with my distraught client, and I’d yet to complete the job of contacting her dead father.

I doubted the ghost even saw the green path behind him. Ghosts had terrible perception their first days—they had to learn to use their five senses again.

“Wait! Please?” The ghost dogged my steps. “You’re the first to even talk to me here. I need help.” His face was etched with pain.

Fuck. It was a beautiful face.

Most newbie ghosts arrived frail with old age or sickly features, mostly around their tired eyes and saggy skin. Not him. He’d died in the prime of his life. He didn’t have a clueabout death-mode versus altered-mode. After a while, the ghosts realized they could change appearance at will and were not stuck in death-mode. Immediately, they’d change to their younger, fitter selves. It was like having the best filter imaginable. No need for plastic surgery when you could make your nose smaller or cheeks sharper. A homely ghost or two would try altering things completely, but it rarely worked.

I couldn’t imagine this ghost improving on his looks, though. His lips were perfectly full. His dark hair and dark eyes, offset by his creamy skin, were the picture of good health.

And shit, why was I focusing on this?

“See ya around,” I said.

He went taut. “I can’t do this.”

“You’ll be okay.”

It might have been only minutes in the human realm, but my time was valuable. Not to mention, I didn’t like all these strange…feelings.

“God.” He ran a hand through his thick hair, ignoring my attempts to leave. “I’m fuckingdead.”

“You’ll be okay,” I repeated, but softer.

He stared at me, wordless, scared as hell.

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