Page 2 of Shaman

Ghost gave himself a firm mental shake. No. This boy needed a family. What was one more stray to this eclectic dog pack of misfits?

Ghost clapped him on the shoulder, and he jumped, frowning at his own reaction. “I gotta check on the baby. Go in, grab a beer. Kick Aidan’s ass down on the floor if you need a place to sit.”

Ian turned to glance at him over his shoulder, panic mounting in his eyes.

Ghost squeezed his shoulder. “It’s fine. I promise.”

He nodded and let out a shaky breath. “Yes. Well. Thank you.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Ash needed a diaper change, which Ghost handled with a bit of a mental pat on the back for his deftness – it had only taken three kids, but he’d finally gotten this dad thing figured out –, and when he returned to the living room he found Ian perched awkwardly on the edge of a dining room chair someone had dragged in, a glass of Maggie’s favorite white wine in his hand. No one was staring at him or interrogating him. Mercy was laughing at something that was happening on TV.

Tango shot a worried look at Ghost, though, and he patted the air in a soothing gesture. Whatever was wrong with Ian, Ghost would handle it.

He walked through and caught the dealer’s eye. Tipped his head toward the kitchen in silent question.

The Englishman got up with a grateful look and followed him into the other room.

Ghost fixed himself a fresh drink. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you ain’t here to try and sneak Mags’ Christmas cookies.” A glance over his shoulder proved that Ian had fallen into a chair at the table and pushed his hair back with both hands.

“No,” he said, miserable.

Ghost sighed and went to sit across from him. “You know you’re welcome to just come and hang out–”

“No, you’re right. That’s not why I’m here.” He sat back and folded his hands on the table. Attempted a bitter, self-mocking smile. “I can’t exactly be one of the boys, can I?”

“I never said that. You can if you want to be.”

His gaze flicked away and he nodded. In the last few weeks, Ghost had come to learn that little motion meant he was touched, and didn’t know how to handle it. “I appreciate that. But.”

“You know,” Ghost said, “I think this is the least I’ve ever seen you talk. I could get used to it.” He chuckled, but the joke fell flat.

Ian lifted his head, gaze direct and imploring. “I want to kill someone.”

Ghost blinked. “Okay.”

“I don’t want to have Bruce do it. I don’t want to hire anyone. I want to do it. Myself.”

“Okay.”

He lifted the wineglass to his lips and drained it in one go, voice rough afterward. “You don’t have to help me, but–”

“No, it’s alright. I’ll help.” Ghost reached across the table and patted his arm.

Ian started to flinch away, and then relaxed with obvious effort. He wasn’t used to people touching him with kindness, in the simple spirit of friendship. If Miss Carla wasn’t already dead, Ghost would have throttled the bitch himself.

“How ‘bout you explain it to me?” And explain what the past few weeks had been about while he was at it.

Ian nodded. “Yes. Alright.” He passed a hand down his face, trying to subtly wipe at the moisture that glazed his eyes, but not quick enough to hide the gathering tears. “Okay. From the beginning, then.”

“Feel free to leave out certain details,” Ghost offered.

Ian snorted, a smile touched his lips, and he began.

Two

One Month Ago

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