Hellsinger 01 - Fish and Ghosts (P) (MM) (28 page)

“Even if you don’t believe?” Tristan asked softly. “Because you don’t.”

“I didn’t,” he replied. “Not really. This place… fuck, this place changed so much of how I thought. I never really
knew
, but now, it’s like I’ve got to work harder. Maybe even come up with a way to really identify spectral analysis. I’m tired of my family hiding behind crystal shops and gypsy tents. Cin’s good at what he does, but people look at him and think, shit, there’s a grifter. Even when they’re handing him money to take care of their problems, some part of their brains doesn’t
believe
what’s going on. I want to prove that the bumps in the night actually aren’t just in our heads.”

“I’d like to meet Cin. Maybe if we can’t get Winifred out of the Grange, we can get him to come in and kick her out?”

“First, he’s on the East Coast working or I would have called him.” Wolf stood up and reached for the detector again. Bending over, he nipped sharply at Tristan’s neck, hard enough to leave a stinging mark. “Secondly, I saw you first. Last thing I want is for you to fall for the hot, bad-boy thing he’s got going on and toss me aside. So, Tristan Pryce, you’re stuck with the Hellsinger you were dealt. Now let me find this fucking ring so I can take you back into bed and show you just how nice it is to walk around with that throb going on inside of you.”

“I
T
’
S
SO
small.” Tristan held the ring up and examined it, turning it around as he blew off any remaining drops of water from its curlicue embellishments. “Who’d have thought it would cause us so much fucking trouble?”

Wolf couldn’t begin to answer the blond. Not while Tristan’s lips were pursed and blowing off specks of liquid from the stones. The motion reminded him of the agonizing minutes Tristan blew warm air over Wolf’s spit-wet cock, his changeable green-gold gaze going dark while he watched Wolf’s head respond to his breath. The memory seemed to make it impossible for Wolf to walk, but he forced himself to cross the room, heading to the fridge to grab something cold to drink. If the juice bottle’s mouth had been wide enough to dip his dick in, Wolf would have doused the heat of his cock in the liquid. With his luck, his cock would get caught and he’d have to explain to his mother what the hell he was doing when he tried to yank himself free.

He’d heard about a guy getting his dick stuck in a bottle once. From what he remembered of the story, it didn’t work out well for the guy, his dick, or the bottle.

Drinking the juice didn’t seem to do enough to calm his raging hard-on, but it was just going to have to do. Especially since Meegan sat down next to Tristan on the couch to examine the ring. If he wasn’t careful, she’d be knitting the blond one of her crazy-quilt scarves to keep him warm when
she
felt cold. He had about seventeen of the things and hated each of them. Tristan, however, would wear them around the manor proudly, and Wolf didn’t think he could stand to be around that much acrylic.

“Wolf, come over here so I can tell you what I think we should do with this ring.” Meegan waved him over. “I think I know of a way to get rid of Tristan’s problem.”

“She’s not
my
problem,” the man exclaimed. “It wasn’t like she was one of the guests.”

“Okay, so she’s like termites, but still, we need to get her out of here. Wolf, come on!”

“Well, so much for grabbing him and tossing him onto the bed,” Wolf muttered through a mouthful of sweet guava juice. Clearing his throat, he joined his mother and Tristan on the couch, nestling up to his lover’s side. “So what’s the plan, then? We’re going to dredge up Winnie, then go out for Chinese?”

“We’ll have to go into the city for Chinese. There’s nothing good around here.” Tristan looked up at Wolf from under his bangs.

“That was a joke, dear.” Meegan patted Tristan’s knee. “My son has a horrible sense of humor. I blame his father’s genetics. The man’s family is very uptight.”

“They paid for my college,” Wolf reminded her. “And for Ophelia Sunday’s braces. For Bach’s training in Europe too.”

“Ophelia Sunday did not need braces.” His mother’s nose inched upward, a sure sign of her growing repugnance. “She was pretty as she was.”

“Her family nickname was Piranha.”

“Kids can be mean.” Her nose ratcheted up another notch.

“Mom,
Grandma
gave her that nickname.”

“I am so glad I’m an only child,” Wolf heard Tristan mutter under his breath.

“Yeah, I tried to be, but Mom kept catching me trying to murder my siblings.” Wolf slung his arm over Tristan’s shoulders. He got a tingle in his belly when the blond scooted closer. “Mom, focus. What are we going to do about Winifred now that we’ve got her bubble-gum-machine ring? You said something about a séance?”

“Not here,” Tristan declared loudly and Boris looked up briefly from his spot on the floor. “Not in my apartment.”

“No, we’ve safeguarded this space. It would have to be downstairs. Perhaps in the lobby. She manifested there before. It’ll be easier to call her up.” Meegan patted Tristan again, rubbing at his knee absently. “And there’s a table down there already. Gidget and Matt are down in the ballroom doing whatever they like to do with those machines of yours, but they can help. I’ve got everything I need in the van, so we can do it before dinner.”

“So, Chinese really isn’t out,” Wolf mused. “Okay, but promise me one thing, Mom. If shit starts to get scary, you shut it down. Deal?”

“How scary can she get? A few broken vases. Some wind. We can work around that.” Meegan’s nose was practically high enough up in the air for her to drown if she were a turkey outside in the rain. “She’s just a little ghost.”

“She tried to grab my insides,” Tristan pointed out. “It was pretty fucking scary.”

“We’ll all be there with you,” she reassured him. “Nothing can happen if we’re all there. And Wolf knows what to do if she gets too close to you now. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“That’s what you said after the Brickyard job, remember?” Wolf’s eyebrows still twitched in fear when he thought back on
that
disaster. “I still can’t eat lamb because of what happened there.”

“We can do this, Wolfgang.” She leaned forward to stare her son down. “If you don’t have faith in my abilities….”

“I have faith. Faith. Acceptance. Love.” Wolf shook off her subtle accusation of betrayal. “I just want Tristan to have a house to live in when you’re done. Sure, let’s go drag Winifred up from the pits of hell and banish her from this plane of existence, but I’m holding you to your promise, Mom. One glitch, even a small one, and we’re pulling the plug.”

“Deal. You two meet me downstairs. I’m going to get my things out of the van.” Meegan was up off the couch before Wolf could say anything. “We might want to leave Boris up here. He’s a very sensitive soul. The séance might disturb him.”

Wolf took a good hard look at the sleeping wolfhound, his long gray body stretched out as much as his limbs allowed. His mother was as much of a ghost as Winifred, leaving a trace of glitter and confusion behind. Boris didn’t so much as flinch as the woman danced over him, her long skirt trailing over his face and shoulders.

“That dog is about as sensitive as the rocks I found on the bottom of the pond,” Wolf scoffed. “And about as intelligent as the algae growing on them.”

“I got him because he needed a home.” Tristan shrugged helplessly. “It’s okay he’s not smart. It’s not like I need him to play Scrabble with.”

“No, you don’t.” Wolf pushed him down onto the sofa, trapping Tristan’s legs between his. “From now on, I’m the only one you’re going to play word games with.”

“I don’t think what we do can be called… a word game.” Tristan was getting bolder. His hands were warm as they slid up inside of Wolf’s shirt, and he purred under Wolf’s questing mouth.

“Really?” Wolf grinned down at him. “Let me show you how to spell… suckle.”

Chapter 17

A
S
SÉANCES
went, Wolf had certainly attended some in worse places and with odder participants, most notably a yak with a sour stomach, a penchant to vomit, and fantastic aim for any human head within horking range.

The lobby with its polished lemony-scented floors and enormous high ceilings was a damned welcome change compared to most of the places his mother insisted were good to call up the spirits. The fact it was dry put it miles above some of the places they’d lived when his family took it into their heads to wander the countryside.

No, Hoxne Grange really only had one drawback—Winifred, great-grandmother of Matt. And as drawbacks went, it was a fucking doozy.

He also preferred the company.

Especially the long-legged hot blond dressed in old jeans and a tight T-shirt currently helping his mother spread a tablecloth over the enormous round table in the middle of the lobby.

A table big enough to make Tristan bend over its edge as much as he could to get the wrinkles out of the cloth.

Wolf was just about reaching a nirvana point in examining Tristan’s ass when a small red ball hit his bare foot, bouncing a few times before rolling up against the chair leg. They’d lined up the formal dining room chairs against a wall to give Meegan space to arrange her ritual, and Wolf thought he’d have enough time to really study his lover’s butt before he had to do anything remotely resembling spectral interaction.

Apparently, he was mistaken.

Looking down, Wolf found himself staring into the earnest light-blue eyes of a translucent cyan Jack Russell terrier. The dog grinned up at him, his preternaturally elongated tongue stretching down the front of his furry chest. The slender pale ribbon rolled up like a window shade every time the dog inhaled, an odd thing considering the canine didn’t actually need air. But there he was, breathing, panting, and nudging the ball against Wolf’s naked toes.

“Look, dog.” Wolf paused when the terrier cocked his head. “Okay… Jack. Thing is, we’re kind of busy right now and—”

Jack stood up and nudged the ball again, leaving a cold, damp spot on the top of Wolf’s foot.

“Jesus. Fine. But once the oooo-eeeee-aaaaah and smudging starts, you’re out of here. Got it?” He reached for the ball, then tossed it down the length of the lobby. Jack took off, a streak of light in the dark.

He kept the pseudo-dog busy for a few minutes, only stopping long enough to kiss Tristan on the mouth when the man collapsed into the chair next to him. His mother was gone, lost in the depths of her Volkswagen bus, leaving the lobby strangely quiet except for the squeak of the rubber ball hitting its slick floors.

“How much stuff does someone
need
for a séance?” Tristan shook his arms out. “I thought all you needed was a crystal ball and some candles. Maybe an Ouija board?”

“No Ouija board. That kind of shit is not what you want knocking at your door,” Wolf replied.

Wolf studied the table, taking in the crystals arranged around a large geode bristling with clear amethyst spires. There were only a few candles, really not enough to do more than provide light. His mother probably would be emptying out not only her van but also the manor’s supply closets, looking for pure beeswax if there was any to be found.

“Nope. It’s not done yet. Mom’s got to lay out a circle and probably a few runes or ghost traps.” He hefted the ball again, following the dog’s run down the long hall. “And a few more candles wouldn’t hurt. The clearer the light, the better.”

“There’s chandeliers.” Tristan pointed up at the high ceiling where several crystal monstrosities hung on long chains. “And lamps.”

“Nope on that too. The lights have to be off, and the curtains can’t be open. Electricity disturbs a ghost’s resonance so they can’t manifest as easily. Same thing with sunlight, even if it’s overcast. There’s still sunlight coming in. Sure, ultraviolet doesn’t penetrate the glass, but the rays usually are still strong enough to ripple the visible spectrum. Might not be enough to bother something on the spectral scale, but we don’t know. Not enough science to back it up, so it’s better to be safe than sorry.” Wolf stopped himself before he started rambling about visible light versus phantom energies. “It’s actually a science thing. Amid all the other craziness, there’s some solid foundation for the candles.”

“It’s just so… insane,” Tristan sighed heavily. “Okay, but if she catches anything on fire, save Boris. Okay?”

“What are you going to be doing while I do that?”

“I’m either going to be beating your mother or the flames out. Depends on which one I’m angrier at.”

Tristan intercepted the ball from Jack when the dog dropped it. Arching his arm back, he tossed it expertly against the far wall, bouncing it against a piece of trim. The ball skewed to the side and shot down the hall toward the ballroom with Jack in close pursuit.

“That was seriously impressive.” Wolf whistled.

“Yeah, I’ve had practice. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thrown that ball since I’ve moved in here. Or how glad I am that you’re throwing it now. I was beginning to get worried if my right arm was getting larger than my left and people would think I masturbated too much.”