A Gift of Ghosts (Tassamara) (20 page)

And it might be interesting to see what Grace, with all the
resources of General Directions behind her, could learn about ghosts.

Akira took another bite of waffle, and delicately licked a
drop of syrup off her lip. Her gaze flickered to Zane. Yes, he was watching her
mouth. When he saw her looking at him, she smiled. That glow she felt? It also
had nothing to do with ghosts.

“You’ve had enough, haven’t you?” he asked.

She nodded, and put her silverware down.

“Thank God.” It was half murmur, half groan, as he stood
abruptly, reaching for her hand. She let him pull her to her feet, trying not
to laugh.

“Wait,” Grace ordered, putting up a hand to stop them.

“Nope,” Zane answered, stepping away from the table. “Go hire
some ghost busters or whatever. We’ve got plans.”

“I don’t know how to make a ghost go away,” Akira told Grace,
resisting Zane’s tug on her hand. “I’ve never had any luck in getting even the
ones I can communicate with to move on. But if I can answer your questions, I
will.”

“Tomorrow,” Zane interrupted. “She’ll answer your questions,
tomorrow.”

“Hang on.” This time it was Lucas. “I still want—need—to talk
to Dillon.”

Zane paused. He sighed. He looked at Akira and she could see
how badly he wanted to refuse.

She just smiled.

“Tell you what,” she answered Lucas. “We’ll hang out at my
house for a while. Say, maybe until noon? I’ll leave the car unlocked, and you
can come to talk to Dillon, and before we go kayaking, I’ll come tell you what
he has to say.” She looked back at Zane and kept her eyes steady on his, as she
said to him, with all the innocence she could muster, “I’m sure we can think of
something to do at my house for a couple of hours?”

Akira and Zane kayaked.

Eventually.

Akira didn’t see an alligator on their first trip, but she
did on their next, three weeks later.

Grace researched ghosts. Or rather Grace hired a researcher,
who spent days poring over books of ghost stories and wrote concise reports of
everything she’d learned for Grace at the end of every week. Grace brought the
reports to Akira and they went over them line by line, Akira highlighting any
kernels of information that fit with her experiences, crossing out those that
didn’t, and putting question marks by the ambiguous. The question marks always
outnumbered the rest.

Akira and Zane played pool. And Halo. Also Skyrim, Mario
Kart, Asteroids, Legend of Zelda, and even some Ms. Pac Man.

Grace hired a team of paranormal investigators to come
investigate the house. They were thrilled with their energy readings, and
excited about the EVP recordings they captured, but their suggestion to Grace
that she firmly tell the ghost to leave was met with polite derision from
Akira.

“Was your mom the kind of person who would have responded
well to that?” she asked. “I mean even before she became a psychotic ghost?”

Zane snorted, Grace sighed.

Akira and Zane went to the beach. They splashed there, and
swam at the springs, and floated in the pool in Akira’s backyard, which was
only three strokes across, even for Akira.

Grace interviewed mediums.

Of the three she found, two were actually sensitive enough to
know when Dillon was around. Akira was impressed. Unfortunately, neither could
communicate with him, even with the full trappings of a séance held in an
office at GD headquarters.

“I’ve never really understood the séance thing,” Akira mused
from an adjoining office. There was no way she was opening herself up to
ghostly possession, but she’d agreed to stay close enough that Dillon could
attend and she could talk to him. “Why does lighting a few candles make a
difference?”

“What am I supposed to do?” Dillon asked. “I don’t see this
spirit guide that’s supposed to be talking to me. Do you?”

“Nope.” Akira shrugged. “Maybe just try to knock on wood or
something? Let me know when you’re ready to quit,” she added, as she opened up
her Kindle. She’d just read a good book while she was waiting.

Akira and Zane went to Disneyworld. Akira screamed on Space
Mountain, got wet on Splash Mountain, and shot more aliens than Zane on the
Buzz Lightyear ride. They spent the night at the hotel that the monorail ran
through the middle of, and watched the fireworks from the restaurant on top.

Grace searched for a priest willing to perform an exorcism.
Apparently, though, the modern church required a bishop to grant permission to
perform the rites of exorcism, and bishops preferred not to get involved with
rumors of ghosts, especially non-Catholic ghosts. Akira was relieved: her
memories were cloudy but she had a vague sense that exorcisms posed more risks
than benefits.

As spring turned into summer, Akira got less enthusiastic
about doing anything outside. She’d known Florida was going to be hot, but she
hadn’t expected Florida heat to be so very different from California heat.

“It’s like living in a sauna,” she said, watching the fan
over her bed spin. It was so humid that she could almost see the blades of the
fan slicing the thick air.

“You should let me get you a new air conditioner,” Zane
mumbled. “The one you have is crap.” He was lying face down next to her.

“It’s a rented house. The landlord is the one who has to buy
a new air conditioner. Besides, I don’t want an air conditioner.”

He turned his head, opening his eyes lazily. “What do you
want?”

Mischief glinted in Akira’s eyes as she answered without looking
at him, “Guess.” She loved this game, mostly because he was so good at it. She
was sure that quantum physics could explain his gift somehow, but it still felt
almost magical when he used it on her.

He reached to touch her hand and she quickly pulled it away. “No
touching,” she said, laughing. “You have to get it without.”

“Hmm.” He squeezed his eyes closed and made a show of
thinking hard. “Nope, no idea,” he said, as he rolled over, tugging her until
she was securely under him, his long legs tangled with hers, his hand stroking
up her side.

She let herself be captured, lifting her lips to his, opening
her mouth as he took her and tasted, lingering in a long, slow, languorous
kiss, before pulling his head back and saying, tone almost startled, “Lemon
Italian ice? From Jeremiah’s? For breakfast?”

“Mmm,” she murmured her agreement, eyelashes fluttering open.
He felt so good, but it was so damn hot. “Wouldn’t it taste amazing? Cold and
tangy and perfect?”

“It would be good,” he agreed, sitting up and looking around
for his clothes.

“I didn’t mean we had to go right now,” Akira protested. What
was his rush?

“We’re not going.” He grabbed his shorts. “I’m going. You’re
staying there. Right there. Exactly like that.”

“Oh?” Akira smiled and stretched, loving the way his eyes
followed her movement.

“The only thing better than lemon Italian ice on a too hot
day,” he murmured, leaning over her for one last hard kiss, “is lemon Italian
ice in bed.”

“It’ll get all sticky,” Akira objected, but not very
seriously. She was already imagining his clever tongue cleaning up
accidentally-on-purpose drips.

“Exactly.”

Akira laughed as Zane grabbed his keys and wallet from the
bedside table. He was so much fun. He had his moments of serious, of
course—they’d had a few deep conversations late into the night, although there
were certain subjects, like his ghostly mom, that they both avoided—but she’d
never met anyone who enjoyed life like he did. Playing with him over these last
few months had been amazing, the best time she’d ever had.

“Wait, take Dillon,” she said as he turned to go. “He’s been
complaining that we’re getting boring.”

“Okay,” he said agreeably, turning back and scooping up her
keys from her dresser. “Back soon.” As he headed out the door, she heard him
calling, “Yo, Dillon. Mini road trip, bud.”

Akira shook her head, still smiling. He was so accepting. It
must have come from growing up in his family: if your older brother could read
your mind and your older sister could tell your future, maybe you just became
imperturbable from an early age. Zane talked to Dillon as if he was a physical
presence, albeit one who couldn’t talk back, and Dillon loved the company and
conversation.

She turned onto her side and looked at the clock. Jeremiah’s
was over by the highway, at least twenty minutes away. And Zane might want her
to wait right here, but she wasn’t going to spend forty minutes in bed staring
at the fan. She’d just do a quick load of laundry, she decided, and maybe make
some iced tea.

With the washer running, she put the kettle on to boil,
humming softly.

“Now there’s a cheerful sound,” Henry said from his seat at
the table. “It’s a fine day, isn’t it?”

“It sure is,” Akira agreed, turning to face him and leaning
back against the counter while she waited for the water. She loved chatting
with Henry. He was such a kindly presence, always pleasant, always warm.

But her smile faded as she looked at him, really looked at
him. Was it the light? She glanced at the window, at the sunlight streaming in.
She was usually at General Directions during the day, of course, and Zane was
an annoyingly early riser: they were often out of the house by this time. But
she’d never noticed the light making a difference to how she perceived other
ghosts.

“Something wrong?” Henry asked, noticing her expression and
looking concerned.

“No. No.” Akira shook her head, and turned back to the tea.
But her hands fumbled as she put the leaves into the strainer.

She could see through Henry. Not a lot, just a little. But he
was definitely translucent.

And he’d never been translucent before.

Outside the kitchen window, she could see the boys, faint and
almost transparent, running over the pool as if it didn’t exist, playing in the
heat as if it was spring instead of midsummer.

They were faders. Just memories of the people they’d once
been.

She glanced over her shoulder. Henry had turned back to his
newspaper, the ghostly paper that he read over and over again. And yes, she
could definitely see beyond him to the wall on the other side of him.

That meant that Henry . . . Henry was a fader, too.

***

Tea made and poured over ice, Akira took the glass and
slipped into the seat across from Henry.

She’d been thinking hard while her tea steeped. She hated
questioning ghosts. It was impossible to know what might set them off, what
careless phrase could change a peaceful encounter into a nightmare.

When her father had been alive, he’d been furious if he even
caught her speaking to a ghost. As far as he was concerned, she was safest if
she never even acknowledged that they existed, and he’d punished her harshly,
trying to teach her that lesson. But living that way had proved impossible for
Akira. And by now, she knew Henry. Or at least she thought she did.

“Anything interesting in the news?” she asked, voice casual.

“Oh, same old, same old,” he answered, folding up his paper,
and tucking it under his arm. “Hot enough for you today?”

Akira didn’t answer. She was frowning into her glass, trying
to decide how best to approach the subject. “Do you mind if I ask you some
questions, Henry?” Maybe if she had his permission, he’d be less likely to get
upset.

“Why, no. You go right ahead.” He sounded surprised, and she
understood why. They’d shared a table for months. Months in which they’d talked
about the weather, the garden, the food she ate, her plans for the day, but
never once anything personal.

“Do you remember how you died?”

“Of course.” His answer was matter-of-fact. He leaned back in
his chair, putting the folded newspaper on his lap. “It was cancer.”

“Cancer? But—” Akira’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“I’d had it for quite some time. Fought the good fight for a
good few years. But in the end—eh, I think I just got tired. I was ready to let
go.”

Akira frowned. Most ghosts died quickly. Unexpectedly. Often
violently. Akira didn’t know whether she’d ever met one who’d anticipated his
or her death before.

“I wasn’t a young man. It wasn’t a tragedy.” Henry reached
out a hand, as if to pat hers comfortingly, before pulling it back before it
could sizzle its way through her skin.

Akira took a sip of her tea. She put the glass down,
precisely on top of the ring of moisture it had already left on the table, and
then rotated the glass with her fingers.

“What else would you like to know?” Henry prompted her.

“How did you wind up here?” Akira asked. She gestured around
her, indicating the shabby kitchen. “Here, I mean. Rose once said that you’d
never lived in the house, but it must have been important to you.”