Page 55 of Ghostlighted
Why, why,whyhadn’t Oren reached out to me? It would have meant so much to have someone who knew my folks andlikedthem. My mom had been estranged from most of her family for years, first because she’d married my dad and then because of me. Yeah, being related to a bunch of racist homophobes was really freaking awesome.
“I’m sorry, Maz.”
“It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not.”
I sighed. “You’re right. But there’s absolutely nothing either of us can do about the past, so”—I gestured to the box—“moving on.”
Avi studied the box, head cocked. “Don’t we have enough unopened boxes in the house? You had to bring in another?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you busting my chops for not unpacking faster?”
“I would never.”
“You so would,” I muttered. “Sometimes I think you can actually channel Gil’s thoughts.” I looked down at Gil. He wassitting upright with his fluffy tail curled around his front paws, observing Avi and me out of slitted eyes. “Although the only reason he wants me to empty boxes is so he can sit in them.”
“Then we shouldn’t keep him waiting. What have you got?”
“As I was saying,” I drawled, flicking my gaze between Avi and Gil, “when Ricky and I came out of the falafel place, I noticed there was an occult supply shop next door. I thought it might be a good connection for Patrice, so we stopped in and Ricky gave the proprietor one of the psychic knitting shop manager’s cards.”
“You realize it’s not a psychic knitting shop, right? There’s no such thing as psychic knitting.”
I lifted a brow. “Many people would say there’s no such thing as ghosts.”
“Hmmm.” Avi rubbed the back of his neck. “Fair point.”
“Don’t worry.” I gestured from myself to Gil. “Nobody inthishouse is so ill-informed.”
“Much appreciated,” he said, his expression matching Gil’s.
“Anyway, the visit to that shop was incidental. The important thing was the flyer posted on the board outside the shop.” I patted the box. “For a company that sells paranormal investigation equipment.”
Avi frowned. “A little disrespectful, isn’t it? To post something so adversarial right by a store that sells supplies to encourage preternatural relationships?”
“I thought that, too. But it gave me an idea. I mean, whatever paranormal investigators do once they’ve identified a potential hot spot, they have to have some way to find it in the first place, right? To verify that something supernatural exists?”
“Yes. So that they canexterminateit. That’s why they’re called ghosthunters.”
I shook my head. “Not necessarily. Some of these folks are just looking for a connection. Communication. Proof of life.” Iwaggled one hand. “Well, proof of afterlife, I suppose. But to do that, they need a way to facilitate that proof more objectively than Victorian spiritualists like Thaddeus Richdale used sketchy mediums. In other words, technology.” I patted the box. “So I checked out their website and ordered a few gadgets.”
“Do I need to point out that you don’t require any of those gadgets, Maz? You’re communicating just fine.”
“Yes.” I met his gaze. “But you aren’t.”
He blinked. “What?”
“You can’t speak to anybody but me.” Gil mewed. “Well, me and Gil. What if we could find a way for you to speak to other people? To Saul? Patrice? Taryn? You wouldn’t have to be so dependent on me.”
I couldn’t identify the expression Avi’s face. Was it hurt? Anxiety? Hell, was it betrayal? “Am I imposing on you? Asking too much? I could?—”
“No! No, that’s not it. This isn’t for my benefit at all. It’s for yours.” I slid the box toward me and placed my palms on its sides. “You can’t interact with most physical objects other than paper and sawdust. That might change over time, but right now, you’re limited by that. You can use the Smith Corona, but not easily.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“One of the gadgets I ordered is a voice-to-text recorder based on radio frequencies. If we could identify your frequency, if you could record your voice, you could dictate a new book and I could transcribe it for you. Avi.” I leaned over the box, the pressure of my hands making it flex. “You couldwriteagain.”
Okay,thatexpression I could read—a desperate hope and longing that he pushed aside immediately.
