Page 4 of Giving Up The Ghost
Oscar shrugged. “Grandmere always felt it was too suburban.”
I turned a slow circle, taking in the expanse of land surrounding the house. The front lawn stretched for over an acre, by the looks of it, with a wide gravel drive bordered by overgrown blackthorns and viney rose bushes with dried hips. It split near the house, one branch continuing on to what looked to be an old carriage house and the other curving slightly and widening before curving back on itself to make a gentle loop, rejoining the drive in a circle. Oscar had parked in front of the stone-paved entrance, glints of quartz in the steps picked out by the sidelights. The entire thing had a weird fairy tale feel to it, with the thick ivy wrapped around the posts holding up the portico and the bright green front door. “Suburban,” I repeated. “Seriously?”
“Well,” Oscar hedged. “I think it was more the fact that this is where Grandfather died that kept her away.”
Ezra shot me a look over Oscar’s head. “It’s not too late for us to grab a room at the Green Man. You know they’ve always got a few open.”
“Yeah, because no one wants to stay there. It’s haunted as fuck.”
Considering the source, that was really saying something. “Seriously?” I repeated. “And you don’t want to stay there, check it out?”
Oscar shrugged. “We can, if you’d like. But honestly, it gives me a headache. The few times I went with Grandmere when I was a boy, the ghosts were too loud. All of them were just so demanding.” He sighed and looked back up at the house again, a thoughtful and slightly confused expression settling over his face. “This place is quiet, though.”
As if on cue, the door swung open, and a woman stepped out onto the glittering stone steps. “Oscar? It’s you! Hello!” She rushed down, brushing her hands down the front of her sweater and giving her short hair a smooth before reaching out to shake his hand. “So good to see you in person!” Her accent was light but present, with a lilt over some of the words and a fine blurring of consonants layered through her second language.
“Charlotte,” he smiled. “It’s lovely to finally meet you face to face.”
She grinned, and I could see the faintest resemblance to Oscar around her eyes and in the way her smile pulled at the corners. She was older than me by several years if I had to guess. Near fifty, if not a bit past it. Her russet hair had a few threads of silver mixed in, and the lines by her eyes weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. Definitely younger, though, than someone who should have been in Oscar’s grandfather’s cohort. Maybe her parents started late, I mused. Or she was a menopause surprise, like my own mother. Something which Grammy had never forgiven her for, really.
“I’ve made sure the fire is laid in the main bedroom,” she said, clutching Oscar’s hand. “It’s still chilly here at night, and you know this old place doesn’t exactly have the best insulation.”
His smile was soft, maybe a bit wistful. “I remember. I was telling Julian when we arrived?—”
Her eyes snapped up, finding me and Ezra lurking a few feet away, by the car. “Oh. Yes. Your friends. I do hope I don’t bore them, prattling on about family history and such during their holiday. I know it’s not everyone’s idea of a good time.” Her smile was bland and polite as she regarded Ezra and me, her gaze narrowed and searching.
Oscar laughed lightly at that, patting her hand where it still clung to his. “Julian loves history, the more detailed and obscure the better. And Ezra used to come here with me when we were younger, though not often. He knows the house as well as I do.” He cast Ezra a fond, speaking glace before waving me over. “Doctor Julian Weems, this is my cousin—er, cousin twice removed? Charlotte Valmont-Fellowes.”
“Cousin is fine,” Charlotte interrupted, her previously warm gaze now ice sharp. “I read up on you. Anthropologist, aren’t you? Specializing in burial rites or some such.” She sniffed. “A skeptic. Not one of us.” Subtly, she moved closer to Oscar, protecting him from my malign skeptical influence, no doubt.
Ezra mutteredone of us, one of us, one of usunder his breath, ducking his face to fuss with his hoodie’s raggedy drawstring. I barely managed not to snort aloud. “If you mean I’m not a medium, then that’s true,” I allowed. “But I can assure you that I’m 100 percent behind Oscar in all things.”
Yeah, I know how bad it sounded. Ezra’s snort only underscored that. But Charlotte seemed mollified, her expression softening just a fraction. “Well. I have the suite on the upper floor prepared for your friends, Oscar, and I’ve given you the old master suite on the main floor. I?—”
“Julian and I can share a room,” Oscar said breezily, missing the way Charlotte drew in a sharp breath and her lips crimped in apparent annoyance. Was she homophobic? Or just puritanical about unmarried couples sharing a bedroom? Or some secret third combination of both things that’d make the rest of this trip just delightful? “And if I recall correctly, there are three bedrooms on the third floor. Is the yellow one still open? I remember Grandmere had threatened to turn it into a storage room for Grandfather’s books and papers but judging by the sheer amount of them around the house where I grew up, I don’t think she ever made good on that.” He turned a sunny smile on Ezra. “Remember when we’d get tired of Grandmere’s visits with the others in her circle and build ourselves book forts in the upstairs study?” Shifting his attention back to Charlotte, he added, “I think Ezra should have the yellow room. It’ll be closer to ours and far less drafty than the upstairs suite.”
He was smiling, still patting her hand almost absently, absolutely excited as a puppy with two tails, either ignoring or just plain not seeing the sour look on Charlotte’s face.
“It’s fine,” Ezra put in, his attention caught by her expression as well. “The upstairs suite is the blue one, yeah? With the door to that funny wall attic? I don’t mind sleeping there.”
“Please,” Oscar laughed, “you were piss-scared of that room when we were kids!”
“It felt funny,” Ezra reminded him archly. “That was the room where you found that highwayman, remember?”
“He was such a tosser,” Oscar moaned, rolling his eyes heavenward. “This was before we really knew much about Ezra’s abilities,” he added as an aside to Charlotte. “He just knew the room made him uncomfortable.”
“It was more than that,” Ezra muttered, but Oscar was going on, hell-for-leather.
“It’d be better to move him down to the same floor as us—those rooms are fairly friendly.”
Charlotte hesitated, then gave a sharp nod. “Of course. I should have thought to ask first. I apologize.”
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “Nothing to apologize for.”
“Still. I’ve swooped in like I own the place and am not simply a relation, kindly allowed to stay here,” she murmured, abashed. “Mamanalways said I was, hm.J’etais autoritaire. Bossy?” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it was apologetic. “Apologies,” she added, “sometimes, it’s just easier in my own language.”
“Please,” Oscar chided gently. “We’re family. Now, I can’t wait to see those boxes you were telling me about,” Oscar continued, fairly vibrating. “Grandmere never told me about them. Julian, Charlotte has a dozen or more boxes of family artifacts dating back to the mid-seventeenth century!”
“Seriously?” I breathed, unable to quell the twinge of excitement. “That’s amazing!”
