Authors: Rhys Ford
Duck Duck Ghost (7 page)
“
I know Mara’s been a bit scarce too,” she remarked, taking back her ginger ale. “He’s mentioned it. Kind of in passing, but he’s noticed.”
“Shit, she was hoping he wouldn’t.” He swore lightly, rubbing at the fatigue clinging to his eyes.
“Mara’s been pretty much the only—person—he’s interacted with on a consistent basis for the past ten years. You don’t think he wouldn’t notice if she wasn’t around as much? He’s quirky, not stupid.”
“No, he’s definitely not stupid.” Wolf couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face, but hiding it was the next best thing. Pity his sister was as sharp-eyed as a Catholic nun, because her snort was nearly elephantine.
“You should see your face when you talk about him,” Ophelia Sunday teased. “You’re all rainbows and unicorns. It must be so humiliating for my big badass brother. Poor Wolf, falling in love.”
“I never said I couldn’t fall in love. Just that it didn’t seem possible,” he corrected.
The siblings had that particular conversation more times than he could count. Their brother, Bach, believed in true love, while Wolf sat on the other side of the spectrum, claiming everything was chemistry and personality. Ophelia Sunday was somewhere in between, so it’d been a kick in the teeth when he’d found himself drawing hearts over his
i
’s when he thought of Tristan.
“You guys are so cute. And so mad at each other. The make-up sex is going to be awesome!” His sister was merciless, and her toes were like daggers when she dug them into his shin. He made a grab for her ankle, but Ophelia Sunday jerked her leg back before he could catch her. “Oh, is this your way of asking me if I’ll cover for your sorry ass while you eat crow and apologize for being a dick?”
“I’ve apologized. I’m going to keep saying I’m sorry until I’m blue in the face,” he replied. “I wanted to see if you’ll be here—if you’ll stay here so I can drag him down to San Luis Obispo. Sey thinks she’s got a little bit of a gremlin—”
“You’re dragging him to a haunting?” Ophelia Sunday rolled her eyes. “Really? Why not down to the city? A five-star hotel—because your place is shit—some romancing. Wolf, you’ve got rocks for brains. Next you’ll be telling me you got him a vacuum for his birthday or something.”
“Look, Sey’s place is nice and relaxing. The town’s pretty mellow, and we can eat ourselves silly down there. And he’s good with it. I think he’s even looking forward to it.”
“Only you, brother.” His sister sighed. “I’m not planning on going anywhere. I’m already helping him out, and yeah, he needs to get the hell away from here for a bit. But please tell me you’re going to up the romance and not spend the entire time trying to make those machines of yours beep.”
“Promise.” He held his hand up to swear he’d behave. “Besides, it’s Sey’s place. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Y
OU
ARE
stupid in love with him. Just get over your shit and forgive him.”
If there was one thing Tristan could count on, it was Mara’s plain, blunt speaking. He looked up from his Wacom tablet and stared through her.
Literally stared through her. He stood up, unsure about what to say… what to do. Mara’d never been translucent, or at least not in years.
“Mara?” The stylus he’d been holding dropped and rolled someplace. He didn’t care where it landed. Hell, he didn’t care if he never found it. He could see
through
Mara as if she were one of the unsure, indeterminate guests who’d wandered into the Grange in the hopes of finding peace.
“Oh good, you
can
see me. I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to, but I pushed as hard as I could.” She went through the motions of sitting in one of the fluffy-sided chairs he’d dragged into his apartment because they reminded him of beanbags with legs. “Sit down, kiddo. You’re looming.”
His knees buckled, and she flickered when he sank back down into his computer chair. Boris grumbled at him when Tristan’s foot nudged his side, but the wolfhound didn’t bother opening his eyes. Tristan’s breath was tight in his chest, and there seemed to be a distinct ringing in his ears, as though someone was playing with a bicycle bell a few doors down. His vision seemed to be full of speckled dots, and Tristan blinked, trying to push away the clotted darkness swarming him.
“Put your head down between your legs, Tristan. You’re going to faint.” Mara patted lightly at his hand, but he didn’t feel her touch. “I wanted to talk to you before you left with Wolf tomorrow.”
“I’m not so sure I’m going with him.” Dropping his head down made him dizzy, and the blood rushing to his forehead was making his ears hot. “How long do I have to do this? And what is… why are you… like that?”
“One thing at a time,” Mara replied. “Fine. Sit up. You look like your dog licking his balls when you do that.”
“You’re the one who
told
me to do that.” He swallowed and peered into his coffee mug. It was empty, and his throat felt like he’d swallowed a ream of papyrus. “Shit, I’m losing it. I won’t be able to see the guests anymore. Fuck! Or you. Or Cook—”
“Get a hold of yourself there, kid,” she scolded lightly. “You’re not losing anything. I’m here to talk to you about the Grange and, well, to ask you to go with Kincaid.”
“He thought I drugged him,” Tristan protested. “On purpose. Then he said I made up all the shit that happened.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t an asshole—”
“There was a tongue! A big black sticky tongue coming at me like a spongy slinky, and
he’s
the victim?” He threw his hands up in surrender, and Boris woofed in his sleep, either alerting Tristan there were shenanigans going on or, more than likely, to lead an intruder to the silver drawer so they didn’t have to search the house for it. “Fuck him, Mara.”
“Honey, it’s about time you fucked him,” she said baldy, and his face caught on fire. “You were the oldest virgin in the state. Hell, I’ve got shoes who’ve had more sex than you have.”
“I didn’t need to know that,” Tristan protested loudly. “Shit, you’re going out again. What’s going on? Do you know?”
“I think you’re burning out,” Mara admitted slowly. “That’s what they call it, right? When you start to lose your mojo?”
“How can that be? I’m not doing anything different than I was before.” He refused to accept Mara’s explanation. “It’s got to be something about what they did to Winifred. It broke Uncle Morty’s ritual.”
“They strained it,” she agreed. “But it’s not broken. Maybe once the ley lines recharge the Grange, everything will be back to normal. It’s just going to take time. At least I hope so.”
“Is that why you’re—” He waved his hand in the air. “
—
like this?”
“Partly. It’s harder for me to come over here in the afternoon, and there’ve been times when I’ve come to see you, and you haven’t seen me. It was happening before the Kincaids did—well what they did here. It’s just a part of how things work, Tristan.” Mara smiled at him, a gentle, beatific expression on her face. She was so familiar to him, from her cotton-floss silvery hair to the spray of freckles on her slightly wrinkled left cheek. “I tried really hard today, because I
do
want to convince you to go with Wolf. It’s important.”
“How is it important? You just said the Grange is going to recharge.”
“But you’re not,” she explained. “You haven’t left the Grange for longer than a day in how many years? When was the last time you went down to the city and stayed overnight? Or the weekend?”
“I went to that conference in Vegas….” He couldn’t remember when that was, but it’d been a disaster. By the time his agent found him holed up in his hotel room, he’d drained the minibar and eaten every single candy bar he could find just to avoid going downstairs to the buffet. “It was different then. I was younger.”
“You’re not much different, honey.” Mara was gentle but firm. “Your Wolf is good for you. Whether you realize it or not, he challenges you—”
“Challenge is not always a good thing. Maybe I get tired of arguing with him.”
“You love fighting with him.” She scoffed at his small protesting noise. “Admit it. He makes you feel alive. More than living in this tomb does.”
“Hoxne Grange isn’t a tomb.” It was something his Uncle Walter said all the time, and hearing it come from Mara’s lips felt like the deepest of betrayals.
“Not for you, kiddo, but for me and Cook? It is. For the ones that come through those front doors, it’s a path to elsewhere.” The ghost bent forward until she was nearly nose to nose with him. “You sit here in this house waiting for death, and it comes to you. Little bits and drabbles of the dead who share their lives with you. You are living
through
them, Tristan. Can’t you see that? Mostly everything you know about the world is what you heard from the dead. That’s not healthy, kiddo. Not at all.”
“So I’m just supposed to say fuck it and climb into a car with him?” He sat back, sending the hydraulics squeaking. “And dump all of this on Ophelia Sunday?”
“She’ll be fine. And whatever she can’t handle, I’ll do,” Mara insisted. “You need to get some air. Some sun. Hell, eat something other than your own cooking or delivered pizza.”
“I get Chinese sometimes.” He knew he sounded petulant, but there was no helping it. There suddenly was a corner behind him, and he’d been backed up into it. “I just don’t like… leaving you here. Not like this.”
“I’m going to leave you some day, honey,” she reminded him softly. “One day that might happen. Even the afterlife has to end sometime. You’ve got to start living now, while your body can enjoy that man you’ve got in your back pocket. You need to drink some wine, eat crusty bread, and watch a sunset. Hell, go fuck in some place you could get caught, like under a bridge or in a park.”
“Are you nuts?” Tristan shuddered. “I’d catch something. Or get arrested. Probably both.”
“See, that’s what I mean. You need to learn how to live a little bit, Mr. Pryce,” Mara teased. “So what if you get caught? What’s the worst that can happen?”
“I get arrested for indecent exposure and lewd behavior. I write children’s books, Mara. That is
not
something my agent or publishing house wants to spin.”
“Okay, so you don’t get your groove on in public, but go
do
something. Hell, eat something from a street taco truck and get food poisoning.”
“Your idea of a good time is a hell of a lot different than mine. I’m beginning to wonder what you’re watching on television,” Tristan shot back. “Can’t I just… shit, I don’t know, Mara. It’s… too big, you know? Wolf—he’s overwhelming sometimes.”
“You give as good as you get, honey,” she replied. “I taught you that. You’ve got everything you need to make it out there in that too-big world. You just need to take that first step out of the front door and go.”
“What if… you aren’t here when I come back?” She was his mother and savior all in one. An incorporeal, flimsy echo who’d taught him how to cheat at poker, make an omelet, and swear in at least fifteen different languages. There was a fear inside of him, a fear of loss, and Mara was the only family he had—or at least counted. Losing her—hearing her admit she could be lost shook his soul, and his eyes stung with tears. “I can’t come back and find you gone. I can’t—”
“I’m not going to promise I’ll stay. None of us have that kind of power over life and death.” Mara firmed, and now he felt the brush of her fingers on his arm. “You’ll have your memories of me. That’s all we have. Whether someone is alive or dead, that’s what keeps us going—the remembrance of people we love. There will always be some part of me with you, just like I will always have a part of you with me, whether I am here at the Grange or gone to the beyond. It’s how we fill our souls.” Mara pressed a kiss to his temple, a light, feathery touch on his skin. “So, yes, you silly thing, go and have a good time, and don’t worry about what you leave behind. Go make memories, and promise me one thing.”
“What?” He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.
“That the two of you fuck like bunnies,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Wild, mad fucking bunnies.”
Wolf kept silent. In the hours since they’d left San Francisco, Tristan spent most of his time staring out the window at the fog-shrouded Pacific. Wolf chose to take the coast highway, especially after hearing Tristan’d never been on a road trip. It’d been a long morning, a challenging one—for Tristan’s stomach, anyway.
He’d liked the Blue Raspberry Slurpee, and although the Sno Ball was a challenge for him to eat, Tristan devoured its layers and probably was riding a sugar high from the coconut-marshmallow-covered chocolate cupcake. Wolf, however, would be left eating pork rinds alone for the rest of their lives. Tristan took a piece of bubbly crackle and nearly gagged at the pop of skin on his tongue.