Page 21 of The Prestley Ghost
“I think so.” Alex held up a hand, examined the wonder of it: not transparent, not cold. Alive, with a pulse in those veins. “I think…I know it’s not exact…it’s not the same. I could probablymakemyself not be here, or travel to my body, or something a bit…not human. But I can breathe. I can feel. I think I’m hungry. This floor is hard. And you’re so cold—not like I was, but you need warming up. I canfeelyou.”
“I’m here,” Charles said. “I’m here. And you’re here.” He held onto Alex, and his brother. He could feel the weight of Alex’s ring on his own hand; he did not recall putting it on, and in fact he would’ve thought it had been slightly small, but it fit. Reshaping the world, he thought. Rightness.
“I’m here,” Alex said, “and I’m yours,” and then he laughed, still naked, and buried his face in Charles’s shoulder for a moment. Charles kissed the top of his head.
“So,” John said, being a helpful prop on Charles’s other side, the three of them balanced on the floor, “my theory worked.” The last stroke of midnight rang out, with flawless timing. “And you can do…so much. More than we ever knew. My brother, bringing people back.”
“I’m not sure it’ll work again,” Charles admitted, truthfully. “It isn’t exactly resurrection. More new and sort of spectral construction. And it worked because Alex is…who he is. And I’m me, and I love him.”
“I love you,” Alex said, resurfacing from being tucked into Charles’s embrace. “And I want to see everything. Possibly starting with food.”
“I brought chocolate biscuits,” John said, “they’re excellent, and they’re up on the table,” and everyone considered the effort involved in getting up, for a while.
Alex found Charles’s hand. Gazed at his own ring, silverand emerald. “It looks good there. I did say you could use more color.”
“You can dress me however you want.”
“That is a question,” John said. “What are you two going to do next? Obviously you’re living here—this is your home, of course. And we’ve certainly got the space.”
“I think,” Charles said, tired and wildly happy and contented, “that we should travel. Oh, not much. But…Alex likes the idea of the new railway trains. And shopping. I thought, perhaps we could go to London. See more of the world. And then come home, and I can…not advertise, exactly, but…maybe let it be known that we, all three of us, are…open to helping people. Everything we can do, together.” He paused. “And while we’re in London, we’re going to invite your Eleanor to come visit. You know. We could collect her. In person. She’d love to see your theories put into practice. Er. As it were. And also you.”
“Oh Lord,” John said, exhausted and cheerful.
“I’ve no idea who Eleanor is,” Alex contributed, “but I’m in. Trains and shopping and…well, love. All of that.” He wove his fingers into Charles’s, tangible, warm now, alive. “It’s what I wanted, I think. What I was waiting for, after all. What I needed—you, life, all of this—for peace.”
“Yes,” Charles said. “I think this is everything I needed too.”
* * * *
A few days, a week, later, the Prestley ghost had not been seen again, and John and Charles had assured the mayor and everyone else they could speak to that, indeed, they had kept their promise, maintained the family reputation, and thoroughly handled the ghost. Charles tried and failed not to laugh at the phrasing; his brother managed to plant the tip of a very pointedcane upon Charles’s boot, and smiled angelically at the mayor.
A day or so after that, an absolutely beautiful young man began to be seen accompanying the rector’s brother about town; in fact, it became known that the young man was staying with them, and rumor suggested that he had long been secretly engaged to Charles, which of course accounted for Charles’s lack of interest in any of the young people of Prestley, everyone agreed, though really secret engagements ought not to be approved of. But the beautiful young man, whose name was Alex, was kind and enthusiastic and interested in meeting people, and the consensus was that he was likeable and engaging and genuinely delighted to be here, so Prestley decided to approve, after all.
Rumor also suggested that the young man was some sort of penniless unacknowledged descendent of the no-longer-extant Foxleigh family, no doubt the source of those eyes and eyebrows; he had not appeared with any money, but word spread that he was a writer, or at least working on a book of poetry. Most of Prestley considered this eccentric and a recipe for poverty, but also acceptably artistic and perhaps a draw for visitors, should young Alex ever become famous.
Alex said, laughing, looking at train timetables—planning their next London excursion—that he did not really mind not being famous; he just had a few ideas, and he’d been jotting them down. “I won’t let it get in the way of being your assistant, I promise. I know John wants us to look at that collection of alchemists’ texts for purchase, in Town, and I’m good at negotiations and at evaluating historical veracity. I like doing that for you. The writing is only when I’ve got some thoughts.”
“I think,” Charles said, “I’m going to be married to a famous poet, and I should know; I’m psychic,” which made Alex laugh more and kiss him in cool clear autumn sunlight in the library, a kiss that tasted like hot tea and ginger biscuits, allthe sensations; and Charles reached over and tugged Alex onto his lap right there on the sofa, loving the short happy weight of him, the line of his waist, the feel of his elbows and hips and legs. Winter was approaching; Charles thought about luxurious fabrics, quilted robes, bright colors, everything Alex liked. They’d do some shopping in London, he decided. For objects of delight. On behalf ofhisobject of delight.
He said, “Also I’m guessing you ate the last ginger biscuit.”
“Ah,” Alex said, “in fact I saved you half,” and he wriggled as if planning to reach for the plate; but Charles just held on to him, held him, until Alex gave up on moving and instead chose to kiss him more, tumbling him back onto the sofa in a tangle of ginger-spice flavor and busy hands and utter perfect peace.
THE END
