Page 45 of Ghostridden
After an hour or so of traipsing around, saying, “Anything missing?” about a billion times, Saul and Professor DeHaven left. Ricky hesitated at the door. And took my hand. My breath hitched as he smiled at me, but Avi was smirking at me from the landing, and I wasn’t willing to put on a show for his benefit.
However, Ricky didn’t seem to have a goodnight kiss in mind, anyway. He squeezed my hand once and let go. “Call me when it’s convenient for me to move Avi’s things and I’ll be here.”
“Thanks.” I smiled down at him. “I really appreciate your support. For me and”—I jerked my head in Avi’s direction—“for him.”
He grinned and raised a hand in farewell to us both. “What are friends for?” As he headed down the porch steps, I scooped Gil up to keep him from following, and Avi joined me at the door.
“So we think nobody broke in?”
I shut the door. “There’s no evidence of it. But you felt something and since neither one of us knows how this works, I’m not about to say you were wrong.”
“I appreciate that.” Avi glanced down at the floor and his see-through shoulders rose and fell once, twice, three times.
“Avi?” I reached out but hesitated before my hand met his arm. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. Do you think it could have been another ghost?”
My skin prickled, my breath hitching. “I’m not sure, but I suppose it’s possible.”
“Maz.” He looked up at me, his eyes wide, although I couldn’t tell if the expression on his face was fear or hope. “What if… what if it was Oren?”
My knees were feeling decidedly wobbly, so I cuddled Gil to my chest for comfort until he squawked in protest and wriggled to escape.
Anotherghost? I was just coming to terms with havingone. And while this one was pretty non-threatening—sort of the Casper of Ghost, if Casper were adult, gay, and snarky—who knew what others might be like? Would I be able to see them too? If they were hostile, would I be able to protect myself? Protect Gil? Protect the house?
Protect Avi?
Because even though it had barely been twenty-four hours, and despite Carson’s subtle trash talking, I felt closer to Avi than I’d ever felt to Greg. Maybe it was because of our connection to Oren, and through Oren, to the house. Since Avi couldn’t figure it out any more than I could, I was a little leery of encountering any other… what did Professor DeHaven call them? Oh.Spiritusentities.
Regardless of what they were called, I needed fortification for this conversation, so I staggered down the hall to the kitchen. After I made a cup of tea and carved a huge piece of the tres leches cake, I settled at the table and motioned to the chair across from me with my fork.
“Please. Sit.” When he didn’t move, I set the fork next to the plate. “That is,canyou sit?” Avi’s glare was one of complete betrayal. “Come on, we’re both still figuring this out, right? I watched you walk upstairs, but I’m not sure the stairs were necessary, since half the time you were an inch above them and the other half you were inside them. Is it just residual muscle memory? I mean, you can interact with the typewriter. And the books, given that you ripped all the pages out of one and threw the rest all over the room.”
He stalked over—feet mostly on the floor—and sat down. That is, he folded his body in the shape of the chair, but his trajectory took him through the edge of the table. “That wasn’t intentional. The library. I was just—” His shoulders lifted in what was clearly a sigh, although I couldn’t hear him expel his breath. “Somebody who wasn’t Oren was in my house. I’d been keeping it ready for him, everything perfect, because I wanted him to see it at its best.”
I paused with my tea halfway to my mouth. “Wait.You’rethe reason the house was so clean when I got here?”
His brows knotted. “Of course.”
“What did you do with all the dust?” I had a momentary vision of spectral Lemon Pledge.
“I—” An expression of confusion flickered over his face. “I have no idea. I just didn’t want it to look like I couldn’t take care of the place, if that makes sense.”
Okay. So supernatural dust collection was a thing. Good to know. I took a bite of cake, and Avi’s gaze tracked my fork. “Is that Sofia’s tres leches cake?”
“Mmmhmmm,” I mumbled around my mouthful. I swallowed and said, “Do you want some? I mean, can you eat? Drink?”
He extended his hand toward the frosting, lifting his brows. “May I?”
I pushed the plate toward him. “Knock yourself out.”
He swiped a fingertip through the frosting—and I meanthrough, because the frosting remained pristine, as did his finger. “I guess not?”
I set the cake aside, because eating in front of him, now that I knew he couldn’t share, seemed rude. “So the books were unintentional, an emotional reaction. But what about the typing? That seems a little more deliberate. Do you actually press the keys?”
He knotted his fingers together on the tabletop. “I don’t remember.” The napkins in the brass holder started to flutter, apparently the harbinger of another emotional tsunami—or at least a little squall.
“Hey.” I held up my hands. “Don’t worry about it. Maybe we can test it out later. Would that be okay?”
