Page 2 of Ghostridden
Yep, I was moving to Ghost, Oregon, and given my profession, the irony was not lost on me, especially since I hadn’t had a paying gig since Greg started his online flame campaign.
The dark wooden front door was rounded on the top, with a leaded half-moon light at eye level. I didn’t peek through, though, any more than I peered through the windows that fronted the porch, because I wanted my first step across the threshold to rival the final reveal in all those house-flipping DIY shows.
That I may watch. Or binge. A lot. Hey, it’s forresearch.
I poised the key over the lock. “Here goes, Gil.” But when I tried to insert it into the keyhole? No dice. I couldn’t even get the tip inside.
Okay, nowthiswas more like my luck, not to mention my love life. I owned a house, but I couldn’t get inside. I narrowed my eyes at the gleaming brass lock collar. “Not very welcoming, house. We need to have a little chat.”
I crouched down to peer into the keyhole. Something was definitely jammed inside. It was stuffed full of something that looked like—
“You there! You on the porch! Back away. Now.”
I froze in my crouch, but lifted my armsslooowlyto the side, keeping my hands in full view. I’d had enough experience getting pulled out of line for extra scanning at airports to know a guy who looked like me, with my obvious Middle Eastern features and shoulder-length mop of black hair, shouldn’t make any sudden moves around skittish people who may or may not be carrying weapons.
“I’m standing up now,” I called.
“Drop whatever you’ve got in your hand. I’ve got pepper spray and a Taser, and I’m not afraid to use either one of them.”
Well, at least he didn’t have a gun. Unless he was saving that for later.
“It’s only my keys.” But I dropped them anyway. “I’m turning around now.” Because, yeah, I’d rather not get tased in the back, and although the pepper spray might be an issue, no way was Inotlooking this person in the eye. So I turned slowly, edging sideways as I did to block Gil’s carrier.
The guy at the foot of the sidewalk was about my age—late twenties, maybe early thirties—and good-looking in a sleek, expensive way that I’d never manage on my best day. One of those haircuts brushed back smoothly on the top, that only worked if you had straight hair and not corkscrew curls like me. He was wearing jeans, but they were clearly much newer than my faded 501’s, his loafers were shiny, and his button-down had nary a wrinkle. The contrast to my battered Converse and sweaty PSU T-shirt couldn’t be greater.
With his phone in one hand and the other digging in the leather messenger bag slung across his shoulder, he was obviously taking me in too, eyes narrowed in his clean-shaven face. Also obviously, he wasn’t impressed.
“You have three minutes to vacate the premises before I call the police.”
I pasted on a smile. “It’s okay. I’m supposed to be here.”
“I doubt that seriously. The house belongs to—”
“Me.” I shrugged apologetically, hands still in the air. “The house belongs to me.”
His square jaw sagged. “You?”
“Afraid so.”
“But… But…” He took a step toward me. “What’s your name?”
“Maz. Mazin Amani.”
He blinked. “Armani?”
“NotArmani.Amani.” Given his trendy clothing, I guessed that the missing R would have made a difference to him. “I inherited this house from my Uncle Oren.” Well, second cousin once removed Oren, but even though I’d never known he existed, let alone met him, I wasn’t about to look a gift house in the mouth. Er, porch. “And you are?”
He blinked again. “Oren Buckley was your uncle? I had no idea…” He withdrew his hand—thankfully Taser and pepper-spray free—from his bag and tucked his phone in his pocket ashe strode up the sidewalk toward me. “I’m so sorry. I’m Carson Clemenson. Avi’s cousin.”
It was my turn to blink. “Avi?”
“Avi Felder.” His eyebrows drew together. “Surely you knew about Avi.”
“Sorry.” I wiped my hands on my jeans. “I never even knew I had an Uncle Oren until the probate attorney called me.”
“Avi and Oren were…” He sighed. “Well, if Avi hadn’t died before the US passed marriage equality, I’m pretty sure they’d have been husbands. They were devoted to one another.” The guy’s eyes swam with unshed tears. He coughed out a half laugh. “Sorry. Avi and I were close. I still miss him.” He gazed up at the house. “We had some times in this place.”
At my feet, Gil made his opinion known with a snarly yowl. I winced.
