Page 17 of Giving Up The Ghost
Julian sucked in a breath and sat up straight. “Some parts of the house date back to the time of Richard III andyou didn’t tell me?”
“It’s not that big a deal,” I protested, wincing at his hurt tone.
“Oh my god. It’s like you don’t even know me!”
Ezra turned to Stephen. “I hate it when my dads fight.”
Stephen slapped the table, grinning. “If you want history, I can tell ya some history. The house is something of a local curiosity, isn’t it? All that stone they imported from god knows where. It sparkles like a unicorn fart.”
Ezra choked on his pie and Julian stifled his own laugh at that. “Anyway,” I muttered. “It’s just an old house. A very sparkly one.”
“The story was, ages ago, the fires were started by some unquiet dead,” Stephen continued, his tone taking on a very tour guide cadence. “The third fire, it killed one of the Fellowes women. Wife of the owner. Can’t recall which one. Before my time. Barely,” he chuckled, rubbing his hand over his thin, gray hair. “When they rebuilt it, it was with that special stone he’d had hauled up from France or somewhere like that. Real flash, showing off his money. The local legend was it was meant to appease some spirit or other, that the sparkles were diamond chips.”
“Grandmere always said it was just putting on airs,” I said, giving Julian a significant glance. “And that was coming from Violet Fellowes, who was a master ofairs.”
Stephen snorted. “Well, it makes for a fun story, don’t it? The place still did burn down a few times, and it is pretty unusual looking when the sun hits it. But”—he stood, rapping his knuckles on the table—“any ghosts that might’ve been there are long gone. No one’s had a good story out of there in years. St. Swithin’s, though. That place is haunted. Old as balls, it is, and used to be a Catholic church. The rectory has some priest holes. Allegedly some headless bloke or other wanders about on the anniversary of his own death, holding his hand like a bleedin’ football.”
Stephen traipsed back towards the bar to help Geoff with the influx of customers, leaving the three of us to pick at the remains of our food. Julian leaned in close, visibly excited. “St. Swithin’s was mentioned in that binder you were looking at when you fell asleep! I was able to take a look at a few of the others and there’s a list of some of your ancestors who weren’t allowed to be buried on the grounds, despite living in the area. We should go there. I want to take a look, see what’s what!”
Ezra took one more bite of his pie and shot me a look. “You wanted to get a leg over with the hot geek so bad and now look at us, working on vacation. See what following your dick leads to? Commitments.”
Julian flicked his last sprout at Ezra. “Hey. It also leads to near-death experiences. Don’t leave that part out.” He leaned over then and kissed me on my temple, sweet and quick and unexpected. A flutter, the same one I’d felt for him since the week we met, beat in my chest as I leaned back against him. Nothing over the past year had been what I’d planned, expected, or thought I wanted, but right then, sitting in an old pub in a boring little village, still feeling the vestiges of jet lag and regretting my choice of bacon for my first meal of the day… I didn’t want to change anything.
Even if it meant having to face the fact my dream of finding out my history, my roots in my abilities, would come with additional headaches and heartaches.
“There’s not going to be much they can tell us,” I said quietly. “You’d have better luck bribing Ezra with that gross salted licorice he likes to do a deep dive in university archives or something than just popping over to the churchyard to poke at graves. Unless you think—” I paused, Julian going oddly stuff against my side. “Oh. Are you… are you hoping youseesomething?”
“No,” he drew out. “I just prefer to start my research in person if at all possible.”
His pink cheeks told me differently. But I didn’t press, instead giving him a nudge as I got to my feet. “Well, come on then. Let’s go see if any of my ancestors are feeling talkative.”
St. Swithin’s was a bare two miles from the pub but all uphill, which meant a drive despite Julian’s protests that he was fine, everything wasfine. I had just enough time to shoot off a text to Heinrich, not bothering to read his previous ones just yet.
Me:
Did you know Landon Price died?
Heinrich’s reply was immediate.
Heinrich
Yes
Ask how I know.
Me
I’m guessing it wasn’t because someone gave you a ring.
Heinrich
If by ring you mean a visitation, yes.
Me
When you said you were afraid to come back, you weren’t being flippant.
Heinrich
