Page 5 of After Life
Julian’s cheeks were bright pink when he pressed his fingers over my lips. “Alright, alright. I won’t rank the sexy times.”
I nipped his fingers till he pulled them away. “Why are you embarrassed for me to talk about our sex life in front of you?”
“I’m not!”
“You just covered my mouth,” I pointed out, not unkindly. “And you’re blushing.”
“I’m not embarrassed. Just...” He sighed, shaking his head. “Awkward, I suppose. We’ve done things that former partners and I never have—” Pausing, he sighed again and let his head fall back on the pillows. “Less embarrassed and more thinking about it turns me on and I’ll absolutely come in my pants like I’m new at this,” he muttered.
I trailed my fingers down his chest, following the thin line of fine hairs that thickened just below his navel, turning into the nest of curls at the base of his still-hard cock. Julian’s eyes fluttered closed, his exhalation sounding like yes as I wrapped my fingers around his length.
The tremendous crash downstairs was a more effective cock-block than sharing an apartment with Ezra. We both flew apart, Julian shouting in surprised pain when he rocked onto his bad hip. “What the fuck?” he demanded, scrambling to sit up.
I was less encumbered and got to my feet first, shoving my feet back into my shoes. The room wasn’t huge—it took all of three steps to get to the door and fling it open. “Hello?” I called. “Sandra? Are you alright?”
Dead silence.
Julian was shrugging on his shirt when he reached the door. “Maybe something fell over.”
“It sounded big,” I murmured. “Come on. If something’s broken, we need to let Sandra know. She seems the sort to blame us for falling masonry or the like.”
Julian made a disgruntled sound and grabbed his cane from beside the door before we picked our way down the stairs.
All was as we’d left it, as far as I could tell. Sandra hadn’t offered us the tour, but it didn’t take much to tell the rooms—even the ones we hadn’t seen before—were in order. Nothing was on the ground, no cabinets hung from the walls, no dishes broken in the kitchen. Everything was museum-neat. And very distracting for Julian. “Sorry,” he muttered, dragging his attention away from the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in what was either the home’s library or a very nicely appointed study. “Just... books.”
I smiled faintly, linking our fingers as he stepped out of the room, starting to reply when the soft murmur of low voices brought us both to a halt.
Tipping my head to one side, I strained to hear where they were coming from, but it was like catching fog. “It sounds like they’re in there,” I murmured, nodding at the study. “But...”
“It also sounds like the voices are coming from further down the hall,” Julian finished. We both stood still for several long moments, the hushed rumble of voices rolling like waves, one moment beside us and the next far away, bouncing off the glossy wood walls of the corridor before coming back to the study. “I can’t make out what they’re saying.”
“Me either,” I whispered. “They sound angry, I think. Or just intense.”
Julian nodded.
“You know what I have to do, right? It’s a compulsion.”
He groaned. “But we’re on vacation,” he complained.
At his pointed look, I shook my head a little and admitted, “Fine, I was thinking the same thing. Shall we?”
“After you.”
We stepped back into the study. The voices fell silent. A heavy, expectant air smothered us, wrapping around us blanket-like.
The room is holding its breath, I thought, stricken by fancy. The house is waiting. “My name is Oscar Fellowes. This is my partner, Julian Weems.” Beside me, he stiffened. I could practically hear his scrambling thoughts—partner, what did he mean by that, oh my god, wait is boyfriend too much what—and shot him a quelling glance. He pressed his lips into a thin line and stared straight ahead at the massive painting of a ship under full sail, secured over the room’s cold stone hearth. “We don’t mean to interrupt your conversation, but we couldn’t help but overhear you. Is there anything I—we—can help you with?”
It didn’t take much effort to open myself to the supernatural. It had been part of me for as long as I’d been alive, easy to access as breathing most of the time, but standing in the study at Honey Walk, opening to potential spirits wasn’t as easy as typical for me. Instead of a small nudge, opening the metaphorical door just a crack, they flew wide, blinding me inside and out. I couldn’t hear Julian’s words, just his sudden sharp tone as everything blurred out and became dark and cold. The world heaved, rolling toward me, then away, sending me sprawling onto my back. Voices exploded around me, muddled and thick, only one word standing out: Fire.
The darkness shifted, patches growing lighter while others deepened, taking forms like people. One of them moved close to me, reaching out a hand to cup my face.
Their voice wasn’t so much loud as... surrounding. It filled my head, expanding to press against the inside of my skull. Not yet. You’re not ready for me yet.
“Oscar! Jesus Christ—” Julian’s voice was too loud, too sharp. My eyes peeled open like paper with too much glue. He was leaning over me, face close to mine, pale save for the dark rings of his eyes as he stared down at me. “Can you hear me? Say something!”
“I’m okay,” I said, though the way my voice slurred and muddled would paint me a liar. “Did I fall? What—”
Julian helped me sit up, wincing at his own pain but brushing off my attempt to apologize. “No, it’s fine. I’ll live.” He pushed up awkwardly to stand as I rose, limping to rest against the heavy leather armchair near the hearth.
