Page 50 of Ghosted
He hefts a giant, cellophane-wrapped gift basket stuffed full of different items onto the counter. It has various bags of whole bean coffee, two artisan mugs, a denim Brewed Awakening hat, multiple stickers, prepackaged snacks, and most importantly, a gift certificate giving the winner amonth’s supply of lattes. The whole thing is tied off with a chocolate-colored bow and a Brewed Awakening tag holding it all together.
I chuckle with him. “Yeah, The Veil is good for that. Walk in for a journal, walk out with that plus a tarot deck, a new sweater, and an antique.”
He shifts the basket in his arms a bit and leans in conspiratorially, to say quietly, “So listen, I know the ghost talker who works for you guys is top secret, but do you think she’d be willing to do a private party? We’d pay her in cash and swear ourselves to secrecy.”
I swallow around my suddenly dry throat and hope the panic doesn’t show on my face when I reply, “No, sorry. She’s pretty adamant about not revealing her identity to anyone.” I shift my attention to Wren, who watches us closely.
Robert nods slowly, disappointment clear on his face. “Well, I thought I’d ask. My wife and I have heard nothing but good things about her. We’re pretty sure our house is haunted, but it seems to be a benevolent spirit, which is why we’ve left it alone. We just wanted to try to help them out if they needed it.”
“Feel free to make an appointment with her,” I say cheerily, disguising how much I want to bolt away from this conversation.
He nods and hands me the basket. “Okay, maybe we’ll try that. Anyway, here you go. I hope it’s helpful and brings in a good chunk of change for you guys. We’ll see you Saturday!”
“Thanks again! I’ll be the one in red,” I say, thoughts shifting to the blood-red evening gown Wren talked me into getting from the thrift store ages ago. She said it would be a crime to put it back after seeing it on me. I haven’t had anoccasion to wear it until now, so I’m going to take full advantage.
“Here’s your latte,” Wren says, sliding it across the counter to me.
My hands are full, and the gift basket is surprisingly heavy. “Um, I’ll be right back. I’m going to go drop this off across the street.”
“Here, let me carry it for you,” Julian says, materializing from nowhere. Wren and I both squint at him, trying to gauge his angle. “What, can’t I do something nice?” he asks, offended.
I shrug. “Fine. Less work for me. Thank you.” I heft the basket into his arms and dig in my bag for my wallet, careful of the ancient book swaddled up and tucked to the side.
I pay for my coffee, say goodbye to Wren, and lead Julian across the street. We go inside The Veil, and I direct him to put the basket in the back room with the other auction items I’ve been rounding up.
“Hey, Rae? Mind if I take my fifteen now that you’re back?” Lenore asks, wiggling a pack of smokes in her hand. I blink back my surprise—a yogi who smokes honest to god cigarettes. That’s something I wasn’t expecting.
“Sure, go for it. I’ve got it handled,” I say with a smile. She smiles back, shakes out a fresh cigarette, and heads outside, rummaging in her bag for a lighter. I guess she and Aunt Clarissa have a few things in common.
I take a sip of the tasty (if not a little plain) latte and mentally run through my checklist again. I still have several stores to go to for auction items, I have three Medium appointments later this afternoon, I need to call back the DJ… Oh, and I should probably eat more than a stale office muffin. My stomach roils in protest at the thought.
Julian reemerges from the stock room and strolls towards me, nearly walking straight into the too-low chandelier. “Hey, Rae? Can I ask you something before I go?”
I nod, depositing my bag on the counter. “Sure.”
“Why does your sister hate me?” he blurts, looking genuinely interested in my response.
I blink away my surprise. “Uh, well—Hate’s a strong word,” I say, gathering the heavy weight of my hair and lifting it off my neck. “Wren is who she is. She’s mercurial and testy. Most of her attitude is all bluster. She holds people at a distance because it feels safer, I guess,” I say, stopping myself from revealing more for fear of incurring Wren’s wrath. “But you know, she’d probably be more relaxed around you if you stopped provoking her,” I offer with a raised brow.
Julian smiles sheepishly, and I’m reminded of how handsome he is. He’s got the whole bad boy, devil may care attitudeanda job that requires a lot of skill and precision. Hot. Too bad Wren would rather peel her own fingernails off and eat them for dessert than go on a date with him.
“I know you’re right. It’s just so easy to get her riled up. I should probably stop, though.” He pauses, seeming to mull something over. “Or at least tone it down. She’s been extra irritable lately, and it’s been hard to resist, but I’ll do my best. The workplace is getting a little toxic,” he says with a laugh.
“Good luck with that,” I reply, shaking my head.
TWENTY-NINE
I hugthe grimoire tighter to my body as I make my way up the stairs to my apartment. I feel a little like I’m stealing, but I’ll bring it back… Probably. I want to see if there’s anything in here that might be useful for me or my sister first.
It’s late, going on nine at night, and I finally came to a stopping point for the day. We had a huge influx of customers the last few hours, meaning I had to eat bites of my award-winning dinner (peanut butter and jelly sandwich) between ringing people up. And then I had my Medium appointments (only one of which was successful). AndthenI had to restock our depleted items because I knew I wouldn’t want to do it in the morning. Not to mention all the stressing and recalculating and spiraling I’ve been doing, trying to figure out if we’ll have enough money to cover the raise in rent and Aunt Clarissa’s grand retirement adventure.
By the time I keel over on the couch, I am bone weary, but still too keyed up to give into relaxation. I open up the grimoire,looking more closely at the first few pages to see if there’s a table of contents. Unfortunately, the author didn’t care to make the book navigable to anyone but themselves. So, I start flipping through carefully, scanning the first sentence or two on each page to see if anything catches my eye.
“What’s that?” Dean asks from over my shoulder.
I suck in a startled breath and turn a scolding glare on him. “I know you don’t have to knock anymore, but do you have to make a habit of appearing behind me?” I ask grumpily.
“Yes,” he chirps, peppering my brow with kisses until I smooth it.
