Halfway to the Grave © 2023 Odessa Hywell

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America.

First Printing, 2023

Author: Odessa Hywell

www.odessahywell.com

Edited and Proofread by Lynda Lamb @ Refinery Edits

Halfway to the Grave was originally published under the pen name Autumn Breeze as part of the Midnight Magic Anthology. The story has not been changed or expanded in anyway.

Halfway to the Grave

It’s surprising how easily a person can get used to telling a ghost to fuck off. And how quickly it gets old.

Sekani Aelor, private investigator, can see the dead—and he’s currently being haunted by a pretty, sassy Ghost Boy who can’t remember his name, much less how he died.

Three weeks and one broken coffee machine later, the former homicide detective is ready to commit murder. But you can’t kill the already-dead, just help them with their unfinished business.

In order to rid himself of his unwelcome house guest, Sekani will have to figure out what that business is.

On his quest for answers, Sekani stumbles across talented art student Callum Maslow. Someone wants Callum dead. They’ve tried once already; a second attempt may get the job done. As the questions pile up and answers seem further and further away one thing is clear—time is running out for Callum.

And for Sekani’s ghostly stalker.

Foreword

Thank you so much for grabbing a copy of Halfway to the Grave. Before you dive into Sekani’s story, you should be aware of a couple things.

This book was originally published under my old pen name [with the same title] as part of an anthology. No changes have been made to the story so it is a low heat, mostly low angst MM romance.

You can expect some on page kissing, handcuffs used for their intended purpose—sorta—and a handjob.

It’s simply a short, fun ghost story that I really enjoyed writing in . . . 2021. It also happened to land me, under that old pen name, on the USA Today Bestseller list so take that as you will.

Chapter 1

Sekani Aelor

We don’t ask for happiness, just a little less pain.

— CHARLES BUKOWSKI, “LETTER TO WILLIAM PACKARD,” JULY 1985

Seven letters. Two words.

It’s surprising how easily a person can get used to telling a ghost to fuck off.

And how quickly it gets old.

Once they know you can see them, hear them—unlike everyone else—they tend not to listen.

After twenty years of being harassed by the dead, I’m not surprised by much anymore. Certainly not by how rude and pushy they can be. I suppose they have good reasons. Most of them want peace—or at least some form of resolution—and until they achieve it, they’re stuck here with the rest of us sorry sons of bitches.

And I couldn’t give less of a fuck.

Just because I can see the dead doesn’t mean I have to help them. Been there. Done that. Never again.

This guy was persistent as hell though.

Three weeks ago, I made the mistake of speaking to him. In my defense, I’d thought he knew he was dead.

Nope.

Freshly dead.

Just how freshly, I didn’t know; I was ignoring him. He was not the first ghost to go all poltergeist on my ass.

But seriously, fucking with my coffee machine was a new low.

I hit the button again and—again—nothing happened.

No hot brown bean water to perk me up before work.

At five in the morning.

This is why I preferred the dead dead. As soon as they started walking and talking and fucking around in my life, things went south fast—like super fast.

A man could live without a lot of things. But coffee?

No.

Reaching behind the machine, I unplugged it on the off chance this wasn’t his doing. Have you tried turning it off and on again. I plugged it back in and hit the button.

A whole lot of nothing happened. Was I surprised?

Nope.

I glared at my unwelcome house guest. He’d been haunting me long enough to know just how much I depended on coffee to get through my day.

“Isn’t it your job to guide lost souls?” he asked.

I snagged my keys off the counter, checked my pockets to be sure I had my phone and wallet, and headed for the door. He was hot on my heels, as he had been for the last twenty-three days. Eventually, he’d get tired of following me around. It wasn’t as if I did anything interesting.

“Do you have any idea how frustrating this is?” He phased through my door as I turned the lock and shut it behind myself. “I know you can hear me!”

If he expected an answer, he was shit out of luck. I’d already opened Pandora’s box once. I wasn’t going to do it again. If I engaged with him in any way, it would just make him stick around longer. “This isn’t fair. You’re so mean!”

Life wasn’t fair. And he was very dead—technically, not a part of life. And no one said I was a nice person.

I headed towards the elevators but paused when a soft cry reached me.

It was coming from the stairwell, and it sounded disturbingly familiar.

My heart squeezed and my stomach cramped. I spun, skipping around ghost boy, and pushed on a heavy metal door with my shoulder. It popped open with a rusty groan to reveal the source of the sobbing.

Isla. My next-door neighbor’s three-year-old daughter.

“Hey, sweetie,” I cooed.

She waddled towards me, full diaper banging against her knees. Her cheeks were flushed red and fat tears dripped from her chin. I scooped down, gathering her against my chest.

“Shh. Shh. You’re alright.” I rubbed her back; she flopped her head down on my shoulder. Her frizzy blonde curls were encrusted with filth. If the smell was any indication, it wasn’t just urine soaking her diaper either.

She popped her thumb in her mouth as I pushed out of the stairwell.

How had she even got in there?

Of course, the better question was how did she even get out of her apartment?

“There, there.” I bounced her when she started to sniffle against my shoulder.

“So you do have a heart,” Ghost Boy muttered, following me back down the hall. I ignored him.

“Mrs. Taffett!” I banged on the wooden door of apartment C6 and waited a moment. No answer. “Mrs. Taffett!” I tried again; once more, my efforts went unanswered which wasn’t really surprising. This wasn’t the first time I’d found Isla in the hallway and her mother unaware she was gone.

“For fuck’s sake.” I tried the knob and it turned under my hand. I stepped into the apartment and gagged. It was a cesspool.

There was dirty laundry spilling out of the laundry room. Unwashed dishes covered the counters. The trash was overflowing with dirty diapers. Roaches scurried into the darkness. A fly landed on Isla’s cheek and I blew it away as she gave a sleepy yawn.

“Gross. Who lives like this?” Ghost Boy asked as he looked around.

At least I never saw drugs during these unannounced visits.

“Mrs. Taffett!” I walked deeper into the apartment, kicking toys out of the way. “It’s Sekani! I found Isla—again.”

No answer.

Was the woman dead? Or just not here?

“Mrs. Taff—” There was a thump, then a door swung open.

A young woman in a dirty t-shirt and panties stumbled down the hallway. “Isla!” She tripped over her own feet and banged her knee on the secondhand coffee table, but didn’t slow down in her bid to get to her daughter. “Oh God. Did she get out again? I don’t know how. I must’ve fallen asleep.” She reached for Isla, who went into her arms easily.

“She wasn’t tired from all the cleaning up she was doing,” Ghost Boy said from my side. It wasn’t as if I disagreed with him. This place hadn’t been cleaned in weeks.

“I’ve told you, you have to lock your door, Mrs. Taffett,” I said as she sniffed at Isla’s ass then yanked her back, gagging.

“I know. I do. I mean . . . I thought I did.” She snagged a diaper from the pile on the sofa and a pack of wet wipes. Isla lay across a sofa cushion, her thumb still in her mouth, as Mrs. Taffett began to change her. “She just keeps getting out.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose; the space behind my eyes began to throb. “I found her in the stairwell, Mrs. Taffett. She could have fallen.”

She sniffed, turning and rubbing her nose against her shoulder as she wiped shit from Isla’s ass. “I’ll do better. I’m trying,” she said, her voice cracking.

Her effort sucked.

But she loved Isla. I knew that much. The fact she was trying at all was the only reason I hadn’t called CPS. If this kept up though, I was going to have to. It was the last thing I wanted to do. The system wasn’t kind to kids—even cute ones with blonde curls and blue eyes.

“Lock the door behind me,” I told her as I turned away. My gaze drifted to her trashcan and I stopped beside it, giving it a hard kick to shake the bag loose. I tied it and yanked it out.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Taffett said.

I turned the lock on her door—because she probably wouldn’t remember to do it—and took her trash with me, closing the door firmly on my way out.

“So now that you’ve saved a little girl, save a lost soul.”

“There is no saving the dead.” I headed towards the elevator. “Pop off through your door and let the living get on with their lives.”

“My door?”

I glanced at him and frowned. He’d been following me for three weeks and . . . only now did I realize, not once had I seen a door—his door. At least, none of the doors I saw clearly belonged to him.

Shit.

Chapter 2

Ghost Boy

Endings are not always bad; most times they’re just beginnings in disguise.

— KIM HARRISON

He was an asshole.

He made everything so much harder than it needed to be.

I didn’t understand why he couldn’t just help me. It wasn’t fair. I was . . . dead. I didn’t even remember how I died. I didn’t remember anything about myself actually—name, age, favorite fucking color. In movies the Ghost Whisperer was supposed to guide the lost soul. Clearly the movies got it wrong.

“What do you mean, my door?” I asked.

This was the most he’d said to me in three weeks and, of course, the first thing he said was something I didn’t understand.

What did a door have to do with anything? Was it like seeing the light? I don’t remember seeing a light.

Or a door.

“Fuck me,” Sekani muttered as he jabbed the elevator call button. “The door that appeared after you died. That should have appeared, at least.”

I shook my head. “I don’t remember any doors.”

I remembered waking up on the street, not knowing who I was, what happened to me. I remembered begging people to help me, but no one ever responded. And I couldn’t ever get further than a block or two from the street I woke on before I was yanked back. It was like something was trapping me there.

Until I ran into this guy, the only person who could see or hear me.

And he was useless.

“What do you remember?” he asked.

“Waking up. Begging for help. Walking down the street, just a few blocks and then being back where I started.” As if I was an NPC who could only do what was pre-programmed in the world’s most boring video game.

“How did you die?” Sekani asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Was it normal for people to remember that?

“Where did you die?”

“I don’t know.” My voice cracked. I didn’t know anything.

“Do you remember anything besides waking up and walking?”

I could hear the annoyance in his voice as he tossed Mrs. Taffett’s trash away before he walked towards the parking lot.

“I . . .” I shook my head. He got into his car; I phased through the door and settled into the passenger seat. “I remember . . .”

I paused, squeezing my eyes shut.

Did I remember anything at all?

What happened to me? Why? Had I killed myself? Was it an accident?

I looked at my hands. “Paint, I think.”

I remembered paint. Smudges on my hands.

“Thank you. That was super enlightening and helpful.” Sarcasm dripped from his tongue.

“I don’t remember, okay!” I glared. Did he have to be so rude? He wasn’t calling CPS on the child abuse he’d witnessed, but he was being a condescending dick to the ghost without memories. I looked down at my hands again. “I don’t remember anything.”

“Then what do you expect me to do for you?”

“I don’t know. Help me? Please,” I begged. But could he even do that? I didn’t think Sekani helped anyone. Or . . . well, that wasn’t true. He helped the living—like that little girl. But fuck the dead, I guess. My eyes burned. What would happen if he didn’t help? Would I be stuck like this forever? “If you don’t help . . .”

He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. Of course he was heading to work. I knew his routine by now. He was a Private Investigator—former NYPD Detective—and he was surprisingly effective at his job. So why wouldn’t he⁠—

“You’re not giving me a lot to go on here, kid,” he said.

“I’m not a kid,” I snapped.

“Oh, so you remember something?”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Clearly, I’m not a child.”

“Clearly.” He wasn’t agreeing with me. I wanted to scream. Or to storm off. But where was I going to go? Better to stay and yell at Sekani than walk down the same street—trapped there alone—forever.

“You’re a detective; detect something.”

He glanced over at me. “You’re young. But legal, I’d guess. You’re well-dressed, so not homeless. Not a lot to go on otherwise. Where did you do your endless walk?”

“The street I met you on,” I said. “I was trapped there until you told me to fuck off.”

As soon as he’d spoken to me, it was as if I was free of that place—free to follow him. If I stopped following him, would I be dragged back there?

“Tethered.” He sighed. “You probably died in the area.”

“So that’s a clue!” I bounced in my seat as Sekani turned a corner. He was clearly heading towards the coffee shop before he went into his office. The man lived off glorified bean water. He should probably start taking better care of himself or he was going to be in the same boat as me.

“It’s something. But don’t get your hopes up,” Sekani said.

We didn’t have much to go on, but it was something at least.

“You’ll help?” I asked, voice far softer than I intended. Or was he going to pretend like I wasn’t hanging around screaming in his ear all day after this car ride? I twisted my fingers together.

“You’re not gonna go away otherwise,” Sekani said.

I smiled. “I’ll do my best to remember everything I can. I’ll be like your ghostly sidekick. And if we find my family they can pay your fee . . . I think.”

Did I even have a family? Was anyone missing me?

“Assuming you have a family.” Sekani voiced my thoughts.

“I hope I do.” Maybe there was someone else out there looking for answers. Or maybe someone already had all the answers. Maybe we needed to find that someone.

“Not everyone is so fortunate. But if you do, I’ll do my best to find them. I’ll make some calls later, get in touch with a sketch artist so we can get a basic image of you, show it to shop owners along the stretch of street you walked.”

“That sounds like some real detective work. Pounding the pavement and all.”

“Yeah, well, I was a real detective once upon a time.” Sekani said. I still didn’t know a lot about him—it was hard to learn anything about a person when they didn’t acknowledge your existence—but a couple of overheard phone conversations with his former partner had told me that already. It had seemed as if he enjoyed the work—had passion for it, even—and he was too young for retirement.

“So what happened?”

“I quit.”

Obviously. I forced myself not to roll my eyes.

“You didn’t like the work?”

“I liked it,” he said.

The short answers were annoying—no details, nothing to hold onto so maybe we could . . . I don’t know, become friends? If he was going to help me and I was going to be his sidekick for a while, it would be nice to know the guy a little.

I had this inexplicable feeling if I was alive he would be the kind of person I’d be interested in. Something drew me towards him that day on the street. Maybe his eyes, or his relaxed attitude. He was a dick, but he had an aura of calm around him and it was . . . nice.

“Are you going to open up and tell me or is it going to be like pulling teeth with you?” I asked.

“Neither.” Sekani said.

I sighed and folded my arms over my chest. “You’re so mean.”

Sekani chuckled. I glanced over. He’d never laughed before, and this hardly counted, but I smiled as I looked out the window. We were silent for a mile or two before Sekani spoke.

“I liked the job—did it for ten years. Sometimes, a change is necessary.”

He probably wouldn’t tell me why if I asked.

“Well, thanks—for helping.”

Chapter 3

Sekani Aelor

Being a private investigator wasn’t all that different from being an actual detective: footwork, paperwork, and sitting around with our thumbs up our asses.

This morning I was going to waste a few hours sitting outside some douchebag’s home to find out if his wife was having an affair. It promised to be brain-leaking boring—shit like this always was—but the paycheck was too nice to pass up and if she was cheating, the guy deserved to know.

I had zero reservations about informing him—I had a special dislike for cheaters. It was the worst thing you could do to a person short of physical and emotional abuse.

I’d parked in the perfect vantage spot and the wife never closed the blinds; if there was anything to see, I’d get it all on video. Plus, the client often returned at three. I was free to leave after that—it wasn’t as if his wife would be fucking someone else while he was in the house.

I kicked my seat back, stretched my legs out and settled in.

“How long do you have to stake out here?” Ghost Boy asked.

I glanced at him. “Client paid for the month.”

If by the end of his thirty-day contract I had no proof his wife was cheating, she probably wasn’t, but he was free to re-up and pay me for another week. I wasn’t going to say no to his money—not when I could still take on other jobs in the afternoon.

“So what do you do on a stake out then? Stay quiet the whole time?” He turned in the passenger seat to face me.

I shrugged. “Sit. Observe. Try not to die of boredom.”

He pulled one of his feet up and rested his chin on his knee. His dirty blonde hair flopped over his ears as his storm cloud eyes searched my face. “You used to have a partner, right?”

“I did as a detective.” It had been a few years since I left the force but I still went to dinner at her place from time to time, always showed up for her daughter’s birthday parties. She called, at least once a week, to update me on . . . everything.

“Was it like one of those cop shows and you had to quit the force because you and your partner fell in love and there was a huge scandal?” he asked, words slamming together, trembling out of his mouth as he started to vibrate.

“Uh . . . no. Barnet is married, for one.” My gaze slipped to the window so I could watch the house. No change. The wife was in the kitchen, organizing the cabinets. She wasn’t dressed for a visitor either. Or, I assumed she’d dress up for a meeting with a lover. The fluffy pink robe wasn’t exactly appealing. “And I was engaged at the time.”

“Engaged?” A furrow appeared between his brows; he grinned and shook his head. “I almost feel sorry for the woman who had to put up with you. You’re so mean all the time.”

“Man. And he liked me just fine—” or so I thought.

Turns out he didn’t like me enough considering he’d fucked my brother.

“You’re gay?”

“Is that going to be a problem?” I asked. He wouldn’t be the first homophobic ghost I’d encountered. As it turns out, dying didn’t make anyone less of an asshole. Sometimes, it turned them into bigger assholes, in fact.

He shook his head, blonde hair flapping against his cheeks and chin as his eyes widened. “No. I don’t mind. So why aren’t I harassing you and the Mister?”

I shrugged. “He’s dead.”

“Oh.” His voice dipped. “I’m sorry.”

“So, paint.” I glanced back at the house. The wife had moved on to the upper levels. She was yanking the blankets and sheets off the guest bed. Probably to wash them. “Do you know what kind? Was it the kind you’d paint a house with, or a canvas?”

“It was on my hands—smudges of it,” he said, looking down at his hands. His nails were painted a pale blue. Maybe he wasn’t straight either? “Canvas, I think.”

If he wanted my help, he needed to remember . . . something useful. Paint wasn’t much to start off with. “We can grab some supplies on the way home, see if anything triggers your memory.”

“You think that might work?” he asked.

“No clue. It’s worth a shot.” We had nothing else to go on other than the possible location of his death. If slapping a paintbrush in his hands didn’t help, we wouldn’t be any worse off than we were right now. But if he did remember something, we’d be one step closer to finding out who he was and how he died so he could move on.

Ghosts weren’t meant for this world. The longer they stayed, the worse their situation became. Some of them got stuck—doing the same thing over and over, like he had been. Others become angry—poltergeists, seeking only pain and suffering.

“Eventually, you’ll have to pass on. With or without your memories,” I told him.

“The door thing, right? But I don’t remember ever seeing a door.”

“To be fair, you don’t remember anything.” His door could have appeared and he just didn’t recall. Or maybe because he didn’t know who he was, his door didn’t come for him. Except . . . as far as I knew, doors always showed up for their spirit.

“So is the door like the gateway to heaven or hell?” he asked, resting his cheek on his knee.

He was pretty—pretty in that soft way I’d always liked my men to be. Too bad he was dead. I was a spirit medium—with a touch of my hand and a little willpower, he could be as solid as any living person, temporarily at least—but I didn’t sleep with ghosts.

I turned my gaze back to the house. No one had arrived yet. The wife was still occupied with her chores.

“Depends on the door and who’s walking through it.”

Ghost Boy wrapped his arms around his legs and blinked away tears. His eyes were so sad. “I just . . . I wish I knew how I died,” he whispered. “Or why.”

I sighed. “I’ll do my best to help you.”

“Thanks, Sekani,” he said as he smiled. His gray eyes softened and I looked away. If I could help him remained to be seen, but I was going to try.

Even something small about painting might be a clue. Maybe he had talent. Maybe if I asked the right questions— “So you think you’re any good with a paint brush?”

“Umm . . . yeah.” When I glanced at him, he was looking down at his hands again. A smile played on his lips. “I think I might be. When I think about painting I feel like I just want to gush about every detail I could put down on a canvas. So I’m either really good at it or delusional.”

I chuckled. “Which is it?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” he said. I looked at the house once more. To be fair, most cheating spouses didn’t bring their illicit lover to their home. The chances of getting caught were higher.

“Do we start stalking her when she leaves the house?” Ghost Boy asked.

“You should be good at that considering the last three weeks.”

“I didn’t stalk you,” he huffed. “I haunted you.”

“Same difference,” I retorted.

“You should be happy. Now you have a cute ghost as eye candy.”

“One,” I held up a finger. “You’re assuming I think you’re cute. Two,” I held up a second finger before he could smart off. “Even if I thought you were cute, you’re dead. I’m not into spectrophilia. If that’s your kink, might I suggest solo masturbation?”

“You’re a pervert. Ghost’s can’t masturbate.”

I lifted an eyebrow; my lips twitched. “How do you know? Have you tried?”

“N—no,” he stuttered, shaking his head. His hair fell into his eyes and he brushed it away. “I just . . . I’m dead. Why would I? Are you trying to say there are ghost orgies going on?” His gaze flickered around, dancing to the house and back to me. “I never even saw another ghost.”

I frowned. “You haven’t?”

How was that possible? Ghosts were everywhere in this fucking city. Right now, one of them was jogging down the sidewalk on their morning run without a care in the world. Chances were, they didn’t realize they were dead yet. It was only a matter of time.

“No.” He shrugged. “I guess they all know to stay away from you.”

I scoffed. They’d learned there was no point in bothering me—I wasn’t going to help them no matter how much they begged, pleaded, and went full-out poltergeist on my ass—but stay away? No. Plenty still followed me around, hoping they’d be the one I acknowledged. None had succeeded in gaining my attention, not until Ghost Boy.

Lucky him, I guess.

Chapter 4

Ghost Boy

Today, the woman did nothing but clean her house. We left when her husband came home and Sekani drove us straight to a craft store.

“I’ve done this before.” Excitement rushed through me as we walked through the art section. I remembered picking up pencils and sketch books, tossing them into a cart so I could move along to canvas and paints. Reaching out, I pressed my fingers against one of the black spiral-bound books. It was easy to touch and hold things—I’d learned how while haunting Sekani. If nothing else came of this, he’d made me a better ghost.

“Get whatever you want,” Sekani said. “Just, not when someone is looking.”

I made sure no one was around before I put the book in the cart, then a pack of pencils and some erasers. I didn’t know how I knew what I was looking for, but I did know. Some brands were better than others, some prices were too high and not worth it.

When we got to the canvas and paint, I stopped.

Did I like bright colors or darker ones? What type of paint?

“I don’t remember.”

“Get a little of each,” Sekani said.

I looked at him. He was pushing the cart and hadn’t complained about anything so far, but what was he going to do with all this stuff if . . . when my door appeared? Now that Sekani was helping me, I didn’t want to be selfish. What if he changed his mind? “I . . . I don’t want to waste too much of your money.”

“I’ve got plenty. Get whatever you need.”

Did I have him all wrong? Maybe he wasn’t a bad guy. Maybe he just didn’t like ghosts invading his space. To be fair, that was understandable.

I added a mixture of different paints to the cart. “Thank you.”

We walked to the counter. The couple in front of us got a few things that looked like the start of a DIY project. A guy in the line over had a basket that looked like ours.

“You paint?” the cashier asked as he started to ring up all the stuff I’d grabbed.

“No,” Sekani answered. “The ghost stalking me does though. Possibly.”

The guy did a double take and swallowed. How do you respond to something like that? He either thought Sekani was a dick, or crazy. He had no way of knowing there really was a stalker-ghost trying to flex their artistic skills. I giggled.

Sekani paid for everything and grabbed the bags. “Thanks. The safe combination is sixty-nine-forty-two. Don’t spend it on drugs.”

The guy’s eyes widened as we walked away.

Sekani loaded the bags in the car and we got in. He started out of the parking lot.

I quirked an eyebrow. “Safe combination?”

“His grandmother was shouting it in his ear. Pretty sure she was deaf.”

“Wait.” Some old lady was yelling, right there? I hadn’t seen or heard a thing. “Another ghost? So can ghosts not see each other?”

“Typically, they can.” Sekani’s eyes shifted from the road to me.

“Why can’t I?” Had the old lady seen me? What was wrong with me if ghosts could see one another—typically—but I couldn’t see them and they couldn’t see me?

“Fuck if I know.”

“Great. I’m broken,” I muttered.

How could I get being a ghost wrong?

“You’re dead,” Sekani corrected.

I sighed and combed my fingers through my hair. “Yeah. Maybe if we go back to that street another ghost might know who I am?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m not talking to any more ghosts.”

“But it could be a clue.”

“Sucks to be you then,” he countered.

“Why do you hate ghosts so much?” He could see us and I’m sure maybe it was annoying but why would anyone go three weeks being haunted and not say anything?

“Are you always this full of questions?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” It’s not like I could remember. But when you didn’t know anything it was normal to ask a lot of questions.

Sekani glared then turned his eyes back to the road. “Let’s play the quiet game.”

I started to protest but he leveled me with another glare. I snapped my mouth closed. The drive home was silent, just like he’d wanted. He carried the bags of art supplies up to his apartment and opened the door to let us in. I fished around for the sketchbook and pencils while Sekani went through to the kitchen.

As I started to draw I heard him banging pots and pans around, no doubt making himself dinner. I remembered food. I missed food. Maybe I was the kind of person who had a sweet tooth. Someone who preferred cake over steak. Whatever he was making smelled good, though.

Was it normal for ghosts to smell things? Could they taste things as well?

My mind wandered, skipping from one thought to the next before I recalled what Sekani said earlier in the day. He had to be pulling my leg. Ghosts couldn’t actually masturbate . . . could they? If they could, I hadn’t had the urge to since I’d died. Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice that Sekani was handsome as fuck.

His hair—so black it was nearly navy blue in the right light—was short on the sides and long on the top. His dark brown eyes, bright with some unknown inner light, seemed as if they could see through a person no matter if they were alive or dead.

Long legs, narrow waist, well-toned abdomen and broad shoulders. His arms were wrapped in muscle. His tall frame was built, like someone who took pride in their appearance, someone who worked out even when they didn’t want to and tried to balance out their meals. Even if they counted coffee as one of them. I turned the page and started a new sketch.

Lost in my drawing, I didn’t notice the sounds coming from the kitchen had stopped until the book was being pulled from my hands.

“Hey! Give that back.”

“This is . . . creepy.” A smile played on Sekani’s lips. “Good, but creepy.”

“Shut up. It’s not creepy,” I said, yanking the book out of his hands.

“If nothing else, it proves you’ve done your fair share of staring.” Was that laughter in his voice? Was he . . . teasing me? “Someone’s been watching me while I sleep.”

“I . . . well . . . Only because I was debating if I should wake you in the middle of the night,” I defended myself.

And besides, what else was I supposed to do? I didn’t sleep.

“Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that.” He sat on the sofa with his plate of food. “You think you can sketch yourself?” He forked up a bite of the pasta he’d made.

“Good enough to show people? Yeah. I think I can.” I looked down at the page. I’d managed a good rendition of Sekani, so I guess I was some kind of artist after all. At the very least it was something I was interested in, something I enjoyed and was passionate about.

“You’ve got talent,” Sekani said. I was happy ghosts couldn’t blush.

“Thanks.” I turned the page. Sekani turned the TV on and navigated to YouTube, finding a channel he favored.

RiverStyxs was one of those ghost investigation channels—they traveled all over the world checking out haunted places, uploading once or twice a week depending on the location. Sometimes they didn’t find anything; other times they did. It made the videos a little more credible that not every supposedly haunted place was actually haunted.

“I’d have thought you’d hate this kind of stuff.”

“When it’s not real, but River is legit,” he said around a mouthful of food. “Plus, I like to keep an eye on the dumbass. This way I can do that without having to talk to him.”

“You know him?” And River could actually see ghosts?

“Brother.” Sekani hit play on the latest upload.

“What’s up, guys? It’s your favorite ghostbusting team back at it again,” River said, upbeat. He always seemed to vibrate on camera; everything about him was constantly in motion. “Today we’re checking out Chaternella Asylum. It’s said to be one of the most active spots in the world.”

“If he can see ghosts, why would he go there?” I’d figured Sekani’s brother would be more like Sekani, stay as far from ghosts as he could. Instead, he hunted them down to . . . what? Have tea?

“Because he’s a dumbass.” Sekani said, but there was a crease in his brow. Was he . . . worried?

“I have the lovely Anna with me today, she’s going to be manning our live viewers. Jake is back at our base watching the monitors, and as always our sexy-ass cameraman Erik will be following us into the belly of the beast.”

“Asking for trouble as always, idiot,” Sekani muttered.

River slipped into the asylum. The first ten minutes was the normal stuff—giving everyone the history of the place, stories of sightings—as they wandered deeper into the dark. The set-up reminded me of a low-budget horror movie—the kind designed to scare the crap out of you without all the CGI.

“More ghosts there than dollar bills at a strip club and he’s bouncing around like a goddamn junkie, high on speed with a full pill bottle burning a hole in his pocket. Fucking idiot.” Sekani shoved another bite in his mouth and chewed aggressively as he watched the television.

“You can see the ghosts?” I couldn’t see anything.

“No. The camera can’t actually pick them up. But see how the image gets fuzzy from time to time? It’s because the camera is detecting something it can’t see, trying to focus on it.”

I shivered. That was unsettling.

“River, I just felt a cold spike,” Anna said.

“No you didn’t.” Sekani groaned. “Ghosts aren’t cold or hot. They’re nothing, you idiot. Fuck, River. How much do you pay these people?”

River rushed towards her to look at their detector. “Oh man, I think we’re getting close to something.” River said, excitement in his voice. “If someone’s there, give us a sign.”

Sekani facepalmed. I guess I understood why he was so annoyed. If there were a lot of ghosts—or none at all—River would know.

“If someone—” He stopped, stone still as his gaze jumped around.

“Is that part of the act?” I asked.

“No.” Sekani shifted to the edge of the sofa. “Something nasty’s there. He’s scared. He always rubs his chest like that when he’s fucking terrified.”

“Back out guys,” River said, his voice taking on a serious note. Erik and Anna started to back away. I gasped, covering my mouth when River’s body was thrown and he slammed into a brick wall.

Sekani was on his feet as if he could lunge through the TV, fists clenched at his sides. “I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna fucking make you a ghost, River Young!”

Anna was screaming. The camera jumped and the picture was nothing but fuzz, then the video cut off.

Sekani started pacing but the cut was quick—River and his crew were now in a hotel.

“Hey guys,” River said. He had a bandage on his head and a splint on his finger. “I got a little banged up but as you see, we’re okay. It was pretty intense there for a minute. Anna broke my finger trying to run away.” He laughed.

Anna smacked his arm. “Shut up. Don’t tell people that.”

“Look in a mirror. Look in a mirror. Look in a goddamn mirror,” Sekani muttered over and over as he sat on the edge of the sofa. He looked . . . I couldn’t describe it. He was pissed—the kind of anger that rolled off a person in waves—but . . . he was also scared—really scared.

“RiverStyxs is going on a little break until my finger heals, but don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it.” River waved along with his crew, and the video ended. My gaze dropped to the view counter. It had been uploaded sixteen hours ago and already had over a million views.

“You idiot!” Sekani exploded from the sofa. “You couldn’t look in one goddamn mirror?! I am killing you. Just you fucking wait.”

“What do mirrors have to do with anything?” I asked.

“Have you looked at your reflection lately?”

“No,” I admitted. “I’m scared to.”

Would I look awful? Maybe it would show all the horror my body suffered when I died, or my decaying body.

“You can’t see yourself. I mean, you can, but you’ll be fuzzy. Light doesn’t know what to do with you. Move through you? Move around you? And when a person is possessed by a hostile spirit, their image becomes fuzzy too—if they can see spirits, at least.” He sighed and rubbed his face.

One of the older videos started to play.

I really hoped River was okay.

Chapter 5

Sekani Aelor

There were two ways to become a spirit medium—supernatural at all, actually: genetics, or event-based.

Me, I was born with a little extra-spicy DNA. Who gave me the extra spice—a parent or some distant relative—I didn’t know. River’s affinity for ghosts was event-based. And my fault.

You hang around a guy who hangs around ghosts long enough, and shit happens—accidents happen. You get possessed once, twice, maybe three times if you’re really unlucky.

Maybe someone uses your door—because we all have doors that follow us around, even if they aren’t available to use while we’re alive—and ghosts stop being imaginary. They become very fucking real.

Me, I stopped fucking with ghosts a few years ago—four now. River though, he dived deeper every day. He loved it, being able to see them, even if he fucking sucked at it.

The weak ones—the ones that did the standard haunting, like my current roommate—he could pick up easily. They came to him like oxygen. But the big nasties he encountered when he went to places like that asylum—places branded as the most active spots in the world—those he couldn’t detect until their hand was around his throat and they were throwing him like a rag doll down a dark, dirty hallway.

Dumbass. He was a complete fucking dumbass.

I stopped pacing to check the time stamp on the video. It was posted sixteen hours ago. By now, he had to have looked in a mirror. If he was possessed, he would have fucking called. Right? Or would he . . . I shook my head.

No. He would call me, he knew I was best suited to help him shake off a hostile spirit riding his ass like he was an enraged bull at a county fair.

Fuck. I shoved my fingers into my hair and sat on the edge of the sofa.

It was almost bedtime, but there was no way in hell I was going to be able to sleep until I spoke to River.

I needed to be sure he was okay.

“Why not call, if you’re worried?” Ghost Boy asked.

Just as I snatched my phone off the coffee table, there was a knock on the door.

“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered as I stood.

It was probably Mrs. Taffett. Maybe she needed money for diapers, or to know if I could spare some milk for Isla. I didn’t have time for her right now. Still, I pushed to my feet, shoved my phone in my pocket and yanked my door open to see the one person I desperately wanted to see.

“You dumbass,” I sneered, grabbing River by the arm and yanking him into the apartment. One of my least favorite people in the whole fucking world followed him in, but right now I couldn’t deal with him.

“Good to see you too,” River said.

“Did you look in a mirror?” I asked. I didn’t need to shove him in front of a mirror to know he was being made a poltergeist’s bitch boy right now. His whole fucking form was fuzzy—like a black and white television with those old-ass rabbit-ear antennas.

The ghost riding him was doing so raw, without lube.

“Why do you think I’m here?” he asked, rubbing his hand over his chest.

My gaze cut to Waylin Eacker before jerking away. The sight of him pissed me off.

“And you decided this was a family affair why, exactly?” I shut the front door and dragged him into the living room.

“Hey,” River huffed. “He’s the one who attacked me in the airport.”

“Because you’re a dumbass,” Waylin muttered.

They were both dumbasses.

“Yeah, yeah. You two haven’t kissed and made up ye—Who’s the twink?” River’s gaze shifted to Ghost Boy tucked against the wall in a corner, like he was going to be able to avoid being seen by not one, not two, but three spirit mediums.

“I don’t remember my name, but nice to meet you.” Ghost Boy waved.

“You dog.” River grinned. “You’re always yelling at me but you’re banging that cute little ghost.”

“I’m not fucking him. He’s stalking me. I’m trying to get him through his door. But as you can see—” I gestured. No fucking door in sight. “But that’s a problem for another day. When was your last check-up?”

Since we were headed to the fucking hospital, where there was an abundance of free-standing doors, he could have a two for one special—see a door, see a doctor.

Oh, and as a freebie, enough ghosts to put a graveyard to shame. Hospitals were the absolute worst. People literally went to them to die though so . . . no surprise there, really.

“I guess I could get a second opinion,” River said as he rubbed his chest.

I sighed. “How bad is it inside?”

Because he was connected to the supernatural on a deeper level, River could feel the little fucker in there banging around, making noise as he settled in. He’d had at least sixteen hours to get acquainted with River. Much longer and things would get messy.

“I’d say we should work fast,” River said, looking down at himself. “I took a risk getting on a plane. I told my team to stay back. I don’t want to hurt anyone when I lose control.” His voice cracked and he swallowed.

My heart squeezed. He wasn’t embarrassed—River didn’t have the capacity for embarrassment—but fear . . . Yeah, he was terrified.

“Let’s do this then. Stay here, Ghost Boy,” I said, going to my closet and yanking it open. On the top shelf, there was a bag, a bag I hadn’t used in years. I pulled it down now and shook the dust off. The things inside rattled around as I turned to see Ghost Boy shaking his head.

“No way,” he protested as he crossed the living room. “I’m coming too. I have to stay close to you.”

I sighed. Did he, really? There was no point arguing. It would just be a waste of time.

“Keep ahold of him,” I said to Waylin, without looking at him. I couldn’t look at him, not anymore, not after what he did. Being in the same room with him made my skin itch as it was. My stomach rolled as I clenched my jaw. “The last thing I want to do is chase him down if he slips through a door not his own.”

“Okay. I’ll keep you safe,” Waylin said to Ghost Boy.

“Yeah,” I jerked my bag over my shoulder. “I just bet you will. Let’s go.” I yanked open the apartment door and ushered everyone out.

“Just like old times,” River sang as he passed by me.

“You’re possessed. He can’t unfuck my fiancé. Just like old times,” I replied, slamming my door behind us and starting towards the elevator.

“What?” Ghost Boy asked.

No one said anything.

River because he didn’t want to be in the middle of it; Waylin because he didn’t want to get punched. And me . . . me because there was nothing more to say. I’d said everything I needed to years ago, to Waylin and to Deacon, my dead former fiancé.

The elevator ride down to my car was tense and silent. River sat in the front passenger seat next to me; Waylin and Ghost Boy climbed in the back. River rubbed his chest the whole trip to the hospital. I reached over and grasped his thigh as soon as I parked.

I would always have his back. He was my little brother. Not by blood, of course—we grew up in the same foster home. It was haunted as fuck too.

Whether that happened before or after I arrived, I didn’t know, I just knew the ghosts were assholes and I’d been an asshole right the fuck back.

“I got you, River. Even if you flip your shit, you’re gonna be fine.”

He laid his hand over mine and squeezed. “I trust you. And you’ve never let me down before. Just don’t damage the moneymaker.” He pointed to his face.

I laughed and kicked open my door. “The way you look, it ain’t making you a lot.”

We started towards the hospital.

“We aren’t here on a sightseeing tour,” I reminded them as the entrance doors opened with a soft woosh. We avoided the reception desk, heading towards the map on the wall. I sighed. The unit we needed was halfway across the hospital. “I don’t care how cute the ghost is.”

River sighed. “Next time.”

I shook my head and walked away. They followed me down the hallway. I took all the necessary twists and turns until we came to a bank of elevators and pressed the up button. It was a short wait for the elevator to descend and we all climbed in.

“Shouldn’t we be taking him to a priest?” Ghost Boy asked.

I glanced at him.

“I’m too far past my best used by date for those fuckers,” River said.

I hit the right floor number, snorting. “Okay Choir Boy. But unless said priest is also a medium, all he’s gonna do is throw some holy water on River, say some prayers and send him home just as possessed as he is now,” I explained. “There’s only one way to get rid of what’s in him.”

“What’s that?”

“Shove it through a door,” I said as the elevator climbed. “You’re gonna wanna keep your distance. Going through a door not your own ensures a one-way ticket to hell if I don’t drag you back out.”

Or what I assumed counted as hell.

The world beyond the doors was the stuff of nightmares, which was why I’d never taught River or Waylin how to open them. They’d bounce through one like a baseball through a glass window. And probably meet the same fucking fate—lost forever.

The elevator doors slid open.

“Long term care unit. Someone’s bound to be taking a long fucking sleep. Less likely to be bothered too,” I said. “Look for someone alone, who’s been here longer than six months.”

The sad fact was, after you’d been out cold for that long, people tended to stop visiting. Life moved on, even when the dead couldn’t.

“We better make it fast too,” River muttered, his blue eyes lifting to meet mine. The fear in them had me reaching out and squeezing his shoulder before we started down the halls, peeking into individual rooms. If they were occupied, I simply apologized and placated the occupant with a lie. They waved me away without a fuss, and we carried on.

Opening the door to room D395, I peeked inside, saw a woman sitting beside a young man’s bed, and started to step back as she lifted her head. Then I stopped.

I knew that boy.

“Fuck me,” I whispered. Seriously?

“Can I help you?” the woman asked.

“Actually, you can. But I just remembered I have to talk to the doctor real quick. Are you still going to be here in twenty minutes?” I asked.

“I’m always here—dawn to dusk. Just come back when you’re ready.” She offered me a soft smile, then reached out and brushed blonde hair off the sleeping young man’s face. Only, he wasn’t sleeping. He was in a coma. I pulled back, shut the door.

My gaze slipped to Ghost Boy.

He wasn’t a ghost. He wasn’t even dead.

He would be soon if he didn’t wake the fuck up.

“Got one,” Waylin called from down the hallway. I started towards him.

“Let’s make this fast,” I said as we all entered the room.

A young woman lay—pale, with sunken cheeks and thin hair—in the bed. Her door stood some six feet away, waiting for her to finally give up the fight. By the looks of it, she would, and soon. I had no time to feel bad for her, not when River was rocking back and forth on his heels, his eyes jerking around the room.

“Sekani—” His voice cracked and broke. “I think⁠—”

“Don’t be a bitch.”

River squeezed his eyes closed and took a couple of deep breaths. Waylin dragged a chair over to the door, pushing it under the knob. I yanked my bag open, pulled out a salt chalk and a knife, and dropped to my knees to draw an intricate circle on the ground in front of the dying girl’s door.

It took a couple of minutes to get it just right but when I did, I stood up and turned to River. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” He attempted a weak smile. “It’s like riding a bike.”

“More like crashing a bike but okay,” Waylin muttered from behind us.

“See you on the other side, River.” I told him. He sucked in a sharp breath and I reached out, grabbing his throat and yanking him forward into the circle. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he started to shake. I released his throat, grabbed his hand and sliced into it with the knife. Blood dripped from his palm.

I really hoped this didn’t take too fucking long or I was gonna have to cut the shit outta him.

“Hey. Hey!” I snapped my fingers in his face. “You fuck in there. I’m talking to you, you dirty gaping asshole, you gonna shake like an epileptic all fucking night or come out and play? I’ve got a date with your mother and you’re making me late.”

The thing inside of River growled.

“Yeah. I’m talking to you. Question. You were in that asylum—the one they sent weak-ass crybabies to—right? What for? Did your mommy not hug you enough? Or did daddy hug you too much? No, I got it.” I snapped my fingers. “It was your uncle. Or hell, maybe all three.”

River lunged at me, his eyes snapping open, and I caught him around the throat. It wasn’t really River, but this ghost was wearing him so it was my brother’s angry blue eyes peering into mine.

“You gotta do better than that.”

He was still too deep in River; I needed him closer to the surface before I pulled him the rest of the way out. Best way to do that? Piss him off. I’d always been good at that.

“But what can I expect really from a two bit, washed up, old ass nutjob like you? I bet you were second rate before you got put away and fell so far down the totem pole even the guy hugging himself in a padded room had you on your knees.”

River snapped his teeth in my face, clawing at my arms and shoulders as he jerked in my hold. I could have pulled the ghost out now, thrown him through the door, but he was so twisted up inside of River that could end bad.

I needed this shithead to drop River like yesterday’s newspaper and really come for me. He was close, getting more and more angry by the second.

Dudes—especially ones from way back when—who served any time anywhere were always so fucking sensitive about their sexuality. They thought taking it up the ass or swallowing a cock made them less of a man. Personally, I thought if you could take six solid inches up your ass or to the back of your throat without crying about it, you were pretty fucking impressive. But hey, I was gay.

“I got an idea,” I whispered in River’s ear. “How about you get on your knees for me now?” I shoved River’s body down. His knees bent. The ghost inside of him rose up, detached more than attached now, and I leapt forward, shoving River’s hand against the door, opening it with his blood.

His back slammed against the entrance when the door opened. The ghost screamed as it fell through and the door slammed shut behind him. It was a one person at a time kinda trip.

River jerked and collapsed. I laid him out and rolled him onto his back. Waylin fell to his knees on the other side of River as I laced my fingers down and started chest compressions.

This part was always the fucking worst.

“One . . . Two . . . Three . . .” I counted to thirty before grabbing his face, tilting his chin up and pinching his nose. My mouth closed over his and I breathed out. As soon as I pulled back, Waylin took over the compressions. I may have hated him for what he did, but I knew I could always depend on him to show up when it mattered.

We worked on River together. It took a good two minutes to revive him, but he came back—gasping and panting and looking like he’d just died which . . . I guess, technically, he had been dead for two minutes.

“Guess that brings your count up to ten whole minutes of being dead. Let’s not add any more time, huh?” I patted his cheek and pulled him upright. Waylin grabbed his hand, wrapping it with bandages from my bag.

River sagged against us, wheezing for breath. I rubbed his back and gave him the minute he needed before my gaze shifted to Ghost Boy.

I still had to deal with him.

I guess today was a two for one special for me instead of River.

Chapter 6

Ghost Boy

The body in the hospital bed was me.

I wasn’t dead. Was I dying then?

The woman in the room with my body smiled when she saw Sekani.

It didn’t make sense.

He offered her a cup of coffee. “Sorry. It took a little longer than expected. I’m Sekani Aelor.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card and handed it to her.

The woman looked down at the card, a small frown pulling her brows.

“Did someone hire you?” She looked up at Sekani.

“In a manner of speaking. Do you recognize this young man?” Sekani pulled my sketch book from his bag and turned to the second page, where I had drawn myself.

“How do you have this? This is Callum’s drawing.” She looked at the body in the bed.

He . . . I was Callum.

How . . . how was this possible?

“Callum. I’m looking for his family—a mother, father, anyone really.”

The woman touched the hand of the body lying in the bed—my hand.

“I’m his mother,” she said. “How do you know him?” She gave my hand a squeeze, her eyes welling with tears. “Are you a friend of his?”

“I’m a private investigator assisting a young man with some memory loss. I believe he may have a connection to Callum.”

“Oh.” She reached over and brushed hair out of my face. I was there, in the hospital bed but . . . not. Because I was standing right beside Sekani.

“Can you tell me a little about Callum? What happened to him?” Sekani asked.

“He was in an accident. A drunk driver, they say—hit and run. The doctors said most of the damage has already healed but we just can’t get him to wake up. Callum was a good boy. I’m sure he would help your friend if he could.”

“I don’t doubt that. Is there anyone else I could speak to who knew Callum well? Friends, or other family members? They might be able to help shed some light on my client’s memory.”

“Oh, yes of course. I have his phone right here.” She dug inside of the table beside the bed, taking out a cellphone. “All of his friends’ contacts would be in there. We didn’t get it turned off. When he wakes up everyone will want to speak with him. Luke would know the most, he was Callum’s best friend.” She handed him the phone—my phone.

Could anything in there help me remember?

“Thank you . . . I’m sorry, I never asked your name.”

“Clare Maslow. I guess you know now this is Callum Maslow.”

“It’s nice to put a name to the face. Again, thank you for this.” He lifted the phone slightly. “And if you don’t mind, can I hang onto it? I’ll get it back to you as soon as I can, and keep in touch in the mean time.”

“I don’t see why not. Lately, besides my husband, I’m the only one who visits but the doctors say that he can still hear us. I’m sure Callum would have liked you.” I looked at Sekani then down at my body. I guess if I wasn’t a ghost, I would have liked him.

He was pretty hot and now that he wasn’t going out of his way to be mean to me, he was a nice person. He cared about his family, helped his brother out without questions. He and Waylin were at odds but I was sure that was because of the cheating.

Sekani grinned. “You think?”

“He had a type,” Clare—my mother—said, shaking her head. But when she looked down at my body she was still smiling.

It was a sad little thing that made me want to hug her. Maybe I could just sit down and go right back inside of myself. I reached out, trying to touch my body, but my hand went through it. I could touch other things. I could touch Sekani.

But I couldn’t touch myself.

Why?

“Ah. Well, maybe when he’s back in the land of the living, I’ll buy him a coffee. Until then, while I look into my client’s missing memory, if I find out anything about what happened to Callum, I’ll let you know. The police are a little more limited than I am in their investigation methods.”

“You’d take on a case like this?” she asked, a bright spark of hope flaring in her eyes. “The police told me there was nothing else they could do.”

Stupid cops weren’t even trying to find out who hit me? What the hell?

“It’s notoriously difficult to track down one driver in a city this big. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can to help your son,” Sekani said.

“Thank you.” She brushed away a tear even as she smiled. “If you think anything else from Callum can help with your client’s memory please let me know.”

“Of course. Thank you again,” Sekani said. My mother looked at the sketch of me one last time before handing Sekani the book. He turned, walking out of the room and back into the hallway where River and Waylin waited.

“—could feel good,” River was saying as Sekani and I rejoined them.

“Stop fraternizing with the dead. Fuck’s sake.”

River only laughed, not caring that he was busted. “You finished up in there?”

“We found my body.” I stepped closer to Sekani.

What did this even mean for me?

He frowned. “The only thing worse than the dead? When they ain’t dead.”

“It’s Cypress Hills Graveyard all over again,” Waylin said.

“Fun times,” River joined in.

“You’re remembering it differently,” Sekani told him as we made our way down the hallway to the elevators.

Waylin pushed the button and we waited for one to come. “That’s because he tripped me and shut the door in your face in a bid to escape.”

“We all lived. A win in my book.” River seemed like the kind of guy who would shoot you in the knee so he could get away from the zombies.

Sekani and Waylin both looked at him.

“Dying so many times is fucking with your memory, River.”

“Wait. He’s died before?” I asked.

River was very much alive right now. So how could he have died? Was it like when your heart stops for a moment and then someone has to bring you back? They did say his dead time total was ten minutes, but they’d only done CPR for maybe two or three.

“Today makes the fourth time. One day, I’m not gonna give you CPR.” Sekani said.

“You’ll always give me the kiss of life.” River shot back. A few doctors gave him a weird look as they got off the elevator and we got on. It didn’t seem to faze him.

“Gross. Don’t call it that.” Waylin said.

“Oh, you have a problem kissing your foster brother but not my boyfriend? How noble,” Sekani snarked. I had the feeling things could get really awkward, really fast between the two of them.

“So now that we know ghost boy isn’t dead, I guess it puts banging back on the table,” River continued. Was this his way of stopping the two of them from fussing?

“I have a name. It’s Callum.” Callum Maslow. That was my name. It still felt strange because I didn’t have the memories of being Callum.

“I need to call Barnet, see what she can tell me about your case,” Sekani said.

He’d mentioned Barnet once, when I was teasing him about why he’d stopped being a cop. His old partner.

Maybe they would be able to help too? Did they know Sekani could see and talk to the dead?

“Okay.”

We had my phone now too. Maybe one of my friends was with me when I was hit. Maybe they could tell us more about what happened, help me remember.

“I should get back to ‘Orleans. Now you’re not possessed,” Waylin said.

“Don’t leave so soon.” River wrapped an arm around Waylin’s. “We finally got the gang back together; we can help Sekani with his haunting and then go to Vegas for my new episode.”

“No thanks,” Sekani said.

“Come on guys!” River tugged at them both, pouting, like he was a toddler instead of a grown man. “We hardly see each other anymore.”

“Whose fault is that?” Sekani asked. “Oh, I know.” He glared at Waylin.

“Are you gonna be mad at me forever?” The both of them stopped in the hall. I was all for having a good blowout, but was here and now really the right time? Or the right place, for that matter? Couldn’t they at least wait until we got to the parking lot like a normal family?

“No. Of course not. I’ll forgive you right after you unfuck my boyfriend and bring him back from the dead ‘cause y’know, I found him hanging in our bedroom two days after you guys blew my whole life to smithereens.”

I shifted from one foot to the other. That . . . that was a lot to unpack. And now I really felt bad for Sekani.

How could Waylin have done that to him? They were brothers.

“It was one time, Sekani. It was a mistake. We both regretted it.”

“Regretted it so much you didn’t tell me for eleven years. Thanks for that.” Sekani walked away; Waylin watched him leave. I wanted to follow but he seemed as if he needed a minute so I stood with the brothers, looking between them.

Regret or not, how do you fuck your brother’s boyfriend, even just once?

“I really fucked up, River. I don’t think he’s gonna forgive me for this one.”

“Just let him punch you a few times and it’ll be squared,” River said.

I didn’t think that was how it worked but it wasn’t my place to say.

“Yeah . . . he did—a couple times—after Deacon came back as a ghost. I never told you,” Waylin said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking ashamed.

River sighed, pushing his fingers through his hair. “He just needs an outlet. He hasn’t gotten any since Deacon died. So we pop this cutie back in his body and you keep your dick away from him.” River tried to make light of it, but I could tell he was just as lost as Waylin.

Clearly, he wanted his brothers to get past this, but I don’t know. I kind of agreed with Sekani. What Waylin did was a lot to get past.

“How do we even get him back in his body?” Waylin asked as we started walking. “The last time we dealt with the not quite dead, they just wanted a little sip sip from your skinny neck.”

“Oh yeah. He was hot.” River said.

“So why did you trip me and lock us in a fucking crypt with him?” Waylin asked as he glared at River. “No way in hell was I having a three-way with Sekani.”

“A three-way might’ve saved you from all this drama now,” River said.

“Oh gross.” Waylin shivered. “He’s our brother.”

I shook my head and rushed to catch up with Sekani. He was out of the hospital and halfway across the parking lot already; I didn’t have a doubt in my mind that he was going to leave without either of his brothers in the car.

“I’m sorry,” I said, softly now that I was getting a better picture of things.

“For what?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I just . . . I’m sorry you’re hurting I guess.” I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him. He didn’t like ghosts but right now, he seemed as if he just needed a hug. And I wasn’t technically a ghost. I wasn’t dead—yet.

After a long moment, Sekani sighed and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I leaned into him and squeezed him tight, tucking myself under his chin. “I don’t know if I’m hurt or angry or a twisted combination of the two anymore.”

“If you keep it all bottled up, you’re going to pop.” Clearly he needed to get some things off his chest.

Maybe he and Waylin just needed to sit down and hash it out. If they used their words—or even got physical again—maybe it would help.

“Yeah. Maybe.” He rested his cheek on my head as I tightened my arms around him. He was warm and smelled like something spicy. “As much as I hate Waylin, he’s still my brother. There’s just shit I can’t say to him.”

I could understand not wanting to hurt Waylin’s feelings, but he might deserve a hurt feeling or two. “Why not? Maybe it’s shit he needs to hear.”

“A problem to deal with after we pop you back into your body condom. You’re dying, Callum. And I know why we haven’t seen your door. It’s glowing like a neon light about ten feet from the foot of your bed.”

“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t see it.” I guess I wasn’t quite dead enough yet.

“You probably won’t—not until you’re all the way dead, which won’t be long.”

I looked up at him. Knowing I was still alive, I wanted to stay that way. Somehow. We could go for that coffee he mentioned. “I . . . I don’t want to die.”

“I’m going to call Barnet, see what she can find out, show your picture around the long walk you did, contact some of your friends. If we can trigger some memories, maybe we can find some leads, discover what’s keeping you tethered here.”

Sekani’s arms loosened and I shook my head, keeping my hold on him. His grip tightened again as I turned my face into his neck. We stood in the parking lot for a long silent moment before he released me. We got in the car; Sekani turned the key as Waylin and River approached. He sighed, but he waited for them to get in before he drove off.

Chapter 7

Sekani Aelor

Was it against department regulations? Yes.

Could Barnet lose her job of almost fifteen years if anyone ever found out? Yes.

Did she still show up with Callum’s case file after her shift? Yes.

I took the file from her outstretched hand and flipped through it quickly. Several witnesses had identified the car, but there was no indication whoever was working Callum’s case had done more than a basic search on the make and model.

No mention of collecting surveillance tapes or traffic camera footage. It mentioned where the accident happened, the time of night, the weather conditions, a few witnesses and their statements but . . . nothing else.

“What kind of shitty police work is this? There’s fuck all in here, Barnet.” I flipped a page and looked at the signature at the bottom. Groaned. “Are you kidding me?”

Rayner.

I couldn’t stand the guy.

Detective Rayner was useless in every imaginable way. He wasn’t going to take my calls or offer any kind of fucking assistance—which is probably why Barnet brought me the file.

No doubt he wasn’t going to be missing it either. He probably hadn’t looked at it since two days after the accident happened. The guy cared about two things: donuts, and his truck, and not necessarily in that order.

“It’s the best I could do,” Barnet said. “I ran a search on the make and model of the car, but that’s like finding a needle in a haystack.”

I shook my head. Finding the car was gonna be damn near impossible, I’d known that. “Is there anything not in the file you can tell me?”

“You’d have to ask Rayner,” she said with an apologetic smile.

I rolled my eyes. “You know that asshole is gonna stonewall. Can you beg the case out from under him? Tell him you’re bored or some shit. If I find anything, you can make the arrest.” She peered at me for a long, silent moment. “Come on, Barnet. Do me this solid.”

“Is this one of those freaky gut feelings you get that usually lead to a commendation?” she asked.

“I’m not saying it is. But I’m not saying it’s not,” I told her.

She groaned long and loud as she tipped her head back. Her shoulders slumped. She shook her head and met my gaze. “Fine. But if you’re gonna log into the department’s database, your ass better do it while sitting in my driveway. The last thing I need is your apartment in my location history.”

“I owe you one.”

She waved me away. “Just remember I like my job.”

“But if you lose it, you can always go into business with me,” I said.

She scoffed. “My idea of a good time is not sitting on some rich asshole’s McMansion, waiting to find out if the spouse is boning the pool-boy.”

“Hate to break it to you, Barnet, but you went into the wrong profession,” I said.

Most detectives spent their time drinking cold coffee and eating fast food bound to kill them early while sitting on some rich asshole’s McMansion, waiting for something to happen. The only difference was I made more money in the private sector.

Oh, and I had a hell of a lot fewer rules to follow.

“Stay outta trouble, Aelor.” She squeezed my shoulder as she stood.

I followed her towards the door, Callum trailing behind us. “I’m never in trouble.”

“You are trouble,” she replied, opening the door and coming face to face with a crying Isla. She stood there pink in the face, her shirt pushed up over her fat belly, a dirty diaper hanging off one thigh. “Something I should know, Sekani?”

I pushed around her and scooped Isla up. “Neighbor’s kid. Escape artist.”

“They all are,” Barnet said as I bounced Isla on my hip.

“Thanks for this.” I flapped the folder at her. “Tell Ryan and Emma I said hi. I’ll come by for dinner sometime soon.”

“Let me know if you need anything.” She stepped around me and started towards the elevator.

“I will.”

As soon as the doors slid shut behind her, I tossed the file on the table sitting next to my front door and carried Isla down the hallway. “Mrs. Taffett!” I called as I knocked.

The door was yanked open. Mrs. Taffett stood on the other side, her hair up in a messy ponytail, sauce staining her cheek. Her shirt was painted red and her jeans looked wet.

“Isla.” She reached for her daughter as tears welled in her eyes. “She got into the fridge, there’s ketchup everywhere. My friend who said she could babysit isn’t here and I’m late for work. They’re going to fire me.” Isla started fussing in her mother’s arms and Mrs. Taffett sniffed hard, rocking Isla back and forth.

“Shh. Shh. Not your fault baby.” She looked back at me. “I don’t know how she got out this time. I even got a baby gate.” She knocked her hip against the door and sure enough, there was a baby gate halfway down the hallway, separating the main apartment from the door.

Unfortunately, there was also a box of toys pushed up against it.

Maybe I hadn’t been lying to Barnet—maybe Isla was a little escape artist.

I sighed and held out my arms. “I’ll keep her for tonight.”

Someone had to.

Mrs. Taffett froze. “R—really?”

“Yeah. It’s not a problem. Just give me her bag.” Mrs. Taffett couldn’t afford to lose another job. She’d already been fired twice since moving into the building two years ago. And anyway, I liked Isla. It really wasn’t a problem.

“I’m supposed to get off at eleven. If you keep her, I can pick up an extra shift. Would that be okay?”

This was gonna become a thing.

My eyes drifted to Callum who stood watching, not far away. “Yeah. Okay. I’ve got work in the morning. If you can’t get her by five, I’ll take her with me for the day. You can use the break to . . . sort yourself out.”

“I . . . I’m . . . I’m her mom. There aren’t any breaks. She needs me.” Her eyes welled with tears as she tucked Isla under her chin and rubbed her back.

This right here is why I hadn’t called CPS.

Mrs. Taffett loved her daughter. She was trying but her try hard just wasn’t enough at the moment.

“One won’t hurt,” I said, grasping Isla’s side and lifting her out of Mrs. Taffett’s arms. She released her reluctantly. “Grab her bag so you can get to work.”

“Sh—ipyards. I’m late.” She turned away from the door, leaping over the baby gate and running around like a chicken with her head cut off. She gathered diapers, more than enough clothes, and even shoved a couple of toys into the bag until it was spilling over.

“Don’t give her apple juice. It does something nasty to her stomach. She won’t sleep without Ell.” She pointed to a pink stuffed elephant that had seen better days. “My number is—” She patted at her pockets. “My phone⁠—”

She looked around, her eyes wide and wild.

This woman was a mess.

“I know where you work, Mrs. Taffett. I’ll call if anything comes up.”

She nodded like a bobble head, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Isla’s head. “I love you. Be good for Sekani.” She kissed her daughter again before pulling away. Her eyes were wet; she reached up to rub them. “I better shower and change. Thanks for this. I’ll pay you when I can, I swear.”

I nodded—it was better not to argue—before taking the bag and pulling it over my shoulder. “You know where to find us,” I told her, giving Isla a bounce. “Ready?” I asked the baby.

She flopped her head on my shoulder and popped her thumb in her mouth. I turned away from Mrs. Taffett, who stood in the door watching us until I slipped into my own apartment.

River and Waylin had come out of the back room now that Barnet was gone. They were sitting on the sofa watching one of River’s videos, an older one. He was strolling through some old ass house, no ghost in sight until the camera overfocused. Doors started slamming and windows started slapping open and closed. The River in the video rubbed his chest, looked at his crew and did what he did best when something nasty was bearing down on him—took off running, like a bat out of hell.

I snorted as he tripped halfway down a set of stairs. Waylin started howling with laughter. Admittedly, that was my favorite part of this video. It felt like justice.

“I would have paid to be there in person,” Waylin wheezed, shoving his sleeves up to his elbows. My eyes landed on the tattoos he was sporting and I frowned.

“Pay me and you can be.” River started searching for another gem in the playlist I’d titled River’s Greatest Hits. Mostly, it was him fucking up so completely no one could possibly take him seriously.

It was a good cover story—a way to keep the supernatural community off his ass. Plenty of members hated his channel, abhorred what he was doing. They felt like it exposed us more than necessary, and maybe it did. But as stupid as I thought it was for River to fuck around with ghosts, he honestly enjoyed what he did.

No one—aside from his stupid ass—was getting hurt either, so as much as I bitched and moaned and huffed and puffed, I’d never flat out told him he needed to stop. I bitched just enough to let him know I didn’t like it, but I wasn’t going to put my foot down and make him give it up.

“At the bottom of the list you’ll find the one where the big nasty dragged your ass into the well,” I said. He’d been yanked off his feet and almost drowned. Once again, he’d survived so we could all laugh about it now.

“You know I do have some videos where I look like a total boss.”

“I like these better,” Waylin said. “Reminds me of home.”

River huffed and went to find the one I’d mentioned.

The home had been haunted; River had been target number one. Maybe because he looked soft and sweet, like an easy target. He was in a lot of ways. But also not.

River could be scared out of his goddamn mind, two seconds from pissing himself, but no matter how many hits he took, he just got right back up and threw himself into the fray again. Put simply, fear never stopped him. Sure, he ran when things got nasty, but that was just fucking smart.

When Waylin had been locked in the attic, something clawing at his back in a bid to climb inside of him, it had been River who climbed out on the weak, rotten roof and threw himself through the glass window to save him.

When I’d been trapped in the basement, ghost hands around my throat, choking the life out of me, River had been the first one down the stairs, screaming like a little banshee.

So yeah, he might be soft and sweet, an easy target who ran when things got real because ghosts could be scary, but he didn’t run when it really fucking mattered. Except when vampires were involved. Then he was gonna trip a bitch, slam a door and wish everyone good fucking luck.

“Oh! That’s the one.” Waylin snatched the remote and fast-forwarded through until just before River, screaming like a little bitch, was dragged feet first into the well.

“You guys are mean,” River huffed. “I could have died.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared. I swallowed a laugh but there was no fighting my grin.

“But you didn’t.” I set Isla on her feet beside the sofa. She ambled towards Callum who was digging in her bag, pulling toys free.

Chapter 8

Callum Maslow

Now that everyone was asleep, the house was quiet.

What kind of house did I grow up in? Somewhere noisy, where we all laughed and made fun of each other like these brothers?

Or was I an only child? Something told me my house was calmer, that I had more time to myself so I could focus on drawing and painting. My upbringing probably wasn’t as loud or as chaotic as Sekani, River and Waylin’s.

I was dying. It wasn’t as if it really mattered if I had siblings, or how I grew up. Would something change once I was officially dead?

Since I was already a ghost, what would happen next?

More importantly, why couldn’t I just sink into my body, now that I knew where it was? Why couldn’t I just wake up?

Maybe I had to remember more about myself—like if I had a brother or sister, or if my house was loud and busy—before I could.

Sekani hadn’t had a chance to look through my phone yet, not with the pair of us running after Isla. My case file probably wasn’t going to shed any light on who I was. It was pitifully empty.

Maybe I should be at the hospital right now, spending whatever time I had left around my mother. But would going to sit with her, watching my body die, be giving up on myself?

“I can hear you thinking from the far side of the living room,” Sekani said.

“N-No you can’t.” He couldn’t read ghosts’ minds, could he?

“Are you sure?”

I frowned at him; actually, I wasn’t.

Was it one of his gifts? How much could he tell about ghosts? About me?

Sekani laughed. “I can’t, just for the record. But your energy is uncomfortable as hell. What has you distressed?” He popped up off the floor. Isla had been given the bed—he was camped out in the living room with River and Waylin.

His gray sweatpants were slung low on his hips as he walked over to where I was sitting on the floor.

I was distressed about a lot of things. I put my sketchbook and pencil down, not even sure where to start.

“I just feel like I have a ticking clock over my head.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “And once I’m really dead, why would knowing who I am even matter?”

Right now it seemed important—like the key to unlock something—but if I died, who cared? I’d be dead—pull curtains. The End.

“Knowing who you are might make it easier to pass through. But I’m going to do my best to make sure your door isn’t even an option for another sixty or so years,” Sekani said as he sat beside me.

I looked over at him. “It’s not fair,” I whispered.

My eyes burned and I reached up, rubbing at the sockets. The last thing I wanted to do was cry in front of Sekani, but I was in a coma because some dickhead decided to drink and drive.

“I thought it could have at least been something cooler—a murder mystery or something. But being hit by some drunk sounds lame.”

“I think there might be more to it than that, Callum. If you were just run over, you wouldn’t be tethered here like this. Something happened that night that isn’t in the file—something only you know. But the accident scrambled your brain, so the thing keeping you stuck is the very thing you can’t recall.”

Sekani dropped his arm over my shoulder; I leaned into him.

“What could have happened that would make me want to stick around?”

“Only you can tell me. How about we look through your phone for some clues? Neither of us is gonna be getting any sleep.”

“If there’s anything embarrassing in there, it’s not my fault.” I said.

“It’s your phone,” Sekani countered, but he got it from his jacket pocket and brought it back. The lock was already off. Either I had no fears about people taking my things or my mom took it off already.

I could feel the heat wafting off Sekani as I pressed against his side. He lifted his arm and I tucked myself against his ribcage. It was nice, being touched—even like this.

“Where do we look first?” I asked as Sekani flicked through the screens. I had all the popular social media apps, a banking app, some random games, other miscellaneous apps everyone seemed to have.

“Recent calls, text, email, social media, dating apps.” Sekani said.

He went into my text messages first. There were a few people pinned to the top and then a list of names and numbers.

“Your mom mentioned Luke was your best friend.” Sekani tapped the picture of a smiling guy with black hair who was listed as Loser Luke.

Only a best friend would save their best friend’s contact like that.

Loser Luke:

Okay. Let’s talk about it

So you’re going to ignore me now?

Callum, don’t be childish

Callum?

I can’t believe you would do this. It’s not cool

“Trouble in paradise. On the same night you got run over, no less.” Sekani said.

“Maybe I’m stuck because I want to make things right between Luke and me.”

Sekani scrolled through the conversation.

It seemed disjointed, as if there were calls between the text messages.

Loser Luke:

You act like everyone is supposed to worship the ground you walk on

You’re not that good

Callum:

Fuck you. You’re a POS

Those seemed to be the three messages that kicked things off. From there it was petty name calling back and forth for a few days, and then me saying something wasn’t cool.

“Damn,” I groaned as I rubbed my face. “Who am I to actually have phone calls?”

Most people lived life via text. Why wasn’t it all here?

“Maybe the conversation got so heated that texting wasn’t doing it anymore.” Sekani closed Luke’s message thread and started to sift through another. “I need to meet with Luke.”

“You can give him a call.” It wasn’t as if either of us knew where he was going to be otherwise. It was late though. Was now the time?

Sekani didn’t seem to care—he hit the call button, putting it on speaker.

“C-Callum?” an unsure voice, a male voice, answered.

“No. I’m sorry, this isn’t Callum. Is this Luke?” Sekani asked.

“Who wants to know?”

“I’m a friend of the Maslow family. I’m investigating Callum’s accident in conjunction with another matter I believe you could help me with. Clare Maslow said you’re Callum’s best friend? I was wondering if we could meet for coffee sometime this week—after three, preferably.”

“The police said Callum’s case was closed.” I could hear the frown in Luke’s voice. Why didn’t he sound happy that my case was still open? “It was a hit and run.”

“So I’ve been told. I, however, don’t work for the police. As I said, I’m investigating another matter in conjunction with that case and I believe you can be of assistance. Let’s meet for coffee on Thursday at four. The little place at the corner of Meadowlark and Rosewell.”

Luke sighed. “I guess, if you think it’ll help. What did you say your name was again?”

“I didn’t. See you on Thursday at four, Luke. Don’t be late.” Sekani hung up.

I looked at him, wondering if his detective skills had picked up on anything in that short conversation. This wasn’t a movie, though. He couldn’t just guess if Luke was hiding something from a phone call.

Sekani was looking through my phone again. He had opened my emails and was hunting through them. I looked as well, hoping something would trigger a memory. “You’re in college—a top rated art program, it looks like.”

“I guess I’m even better than I thought,” I said.

“I’m not surprised.” Sekani smiled at me; I smiled back. He really was handsome. And sitting so close to him made me feel . . . a complicated mix of emotions I didn’t want to look at too closely.

“Looks like you emailed your professor a few days prior, for a meeting. The meeting was set for—” he checked the email “—an hour after you got hit. You must have been on your way to see her.”

What was I going to see her for?

“The plot thickens,” I muttered.

Sekani tugged my hair and I laughed. He grinned down at me. “We’re getting somewhere now at least. It’s like a game of Clue.”

“I always liked that game,” I muttered, smiling. “Does that count as remembering something? I’m an art student who likes Clue.” I don’t know where that got us but I was happy to know one more thing about myself.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve got it somewhere around here. Up for a round?

I chewed my bottom lip and drew my knees up to my chest. “Maybe in a minute.” Sekani’s arm was still around my shoulder, his body heat warming me. “Can . . . can we just sit like this for a minute?”

He tucked my phone into his pocket and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Come here. I’ll cuddle you for a while.”

My gaze jumped to his face. “Really?”

“Yeah. Come on before I change my mind.”

I tossed my leg over his thighs and fell against his chest. His arms wrapped around my back as I buried my face in his neck. He was warm and smelled like the cheap coffee he preferred, but there was something else too—a burning kind of herb.

“We will figure this out, Callum. I promise.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and soaked up his warmth. “Thank you, Sekani—for everything.”

My first impressions of him were all wrong. He could have kept ignoring me, probably could have forced me through a door not my own instead of helping me, but actually . . . he was a nice person. Maybe after I was back in my body we could get that coffee.

I hoped so, anyway.

Chapter 9

Sekani Aelor

The suspicious husband got home early—thankfully—and I returned to my apartment, Isla in tow. She was babbling happily as she munched on a french fry when I knocked on Mrs. Taffett’s door.

She yanked it open, heaving for breath. For once, she wasn’t an utter mess. “Come in. I’m making dinner.”

I stepped inside and looked around. The whole place was spotless. The laundry had been washed. The dishes were put away. She’d picked up toys and organized the things that had been scattered everywhere. Compared to what I usually encountered when I ended up inside her apartment, this was . . . another planet.

“You can see the floor,” Callum said.

Mrs. Taffett lifted a steaming pot from the stove as I said, “It looks good in here.”

She laughed awkwardly. “Yeah. I got home this morning but you were already gone so I got some sleep and since you still weren’t back figured I could go grocery shopping and clean up without worrying about Isla. Thank you for keeping her.”

I set Isla down on the other side of the baby gate and she toddled towards her toy box. The house might be spotless now, but I gave it two point—nope.

Isla grasped the side of the toy box and the contents spilled at her feet. She flopped down, happily digging through them. Mrs. Taffett glanced at her as she tipped the pot and drained the water. It obviously didn’t bother her that Isla was making a mess already.

“It was no problem. She’s easy,” I told her.

“Yeah. Just a lot to stay on top of by myself. Thank you so much.” She squeezed a bag of cheese into the pot and grabbed a spoon, stirring it. “It’s not a lot but I had a little left over after I got food for the week—” She stopped mixing the macaroni and cheese and dug in her pocket, pulling out a wad of bills.

I shook my head as she extended them to me.

“It’s fine, Mrs. Taffett. I’ve got an appointment this afternoon so I’ve got to run. Also, you might wanna nix the toy box.” I pointed.

Isla was pushing it across the floor, right towards the baby gate. She was ready to make a break for it. If the kid ever ended up in prison, she was going to have the know-how to get out at the rate she was going.

“Shipyard!” Mrs. Taffett swore, abandoning the food. I turned the stove off as she picked Isla up and tucked her under her arm. She grabbed the toy box and dropped it on the other side of the baby gate so Isla couldn’t use it to climb.

“I’ll lock the door behind me,” I told her.

“Thanks,” she called as she fought to get Isla into a highchair. I shook my head, opening the door, turning the lock and closing the door behind me.

“She’s a mess but damn if I don’t admire her try-hard,” I told Callum.

She showed up, time and time again, even when Isla was doing her best to be difficult.

“She seems like she just needs a break and a good job,” Callum said.

“She at least needs a reliable babysitter,” I told him as I unlocked my apartment.

“You have two deadbeats freeloading off you for right now.” The deadbeats he mentioned were sprawled on the sofa, a bowl of popcorn between them. Oculus, a movie about a freaky ass mirror, was playing on the television as they stuffed their faces. “And a ghost.”

“I’m not sure I trust those two with a kid,” I said. River looked over his shoulder and grinned. His mouth was full of popcorn. There were crumbs on his chin. “Definitely not that one.”

He’d have Isla possessed in ten minutes, maybe five. Okay. More likely three.

“I’m great with kids,” River protested. I rolled my eyes.

“Uh huh,” Callum said, hot on my heels as I crossed towards the hallway. “You would introduce her to a ghost or worse—the internet.”

I turned to look at the two deadbeats and came to a dead stop as my eyes landed on Waylin’s chest. There was an occult tattoo there, but not just any old tattoo. Not like the stupid ones he had on his arms. Those were useless. They did jack shit. But the one on his chest—that one . . .

I was moving before I was aware of it. Waylin’s eyes widened as I jerked him to his feet and turned him into the light streaming through the window. “Wh⁠—”

“What the fuck is this?” I asked, poking at the intricate circle. “Why do you have it?”

When did he get it? Where? Had he lost his goddamn mind?

Waylin looked down at his chest. His face went a little pale, as if he’d just remembered it existed at all.

“It’s harmless,” he said. “Like the others.”

He was a shit liar. Always had been. “I swear to God, Waylin—” I gave him a shake so he knew I wasn’t fucking around, “—you’d better tell me if you’re using a Book of Shadows, right now. And don’t bother lying—even River can lie better than you and that’s saying something.”

“I’m not . . . anymore,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck.

My hand flexed around his arm. I shook him again. “Why? You know better. And this—” I poked him in the chest, over the tattoo, and he flinched. It was old—healed. “Trying to summon your own door? Do you have any idea how stupid that is?”

He had to know. He couldn’t be that stupid. It was one thing to walk through someone else’s door as a spirit medium but his own? Jesus, fuck! You walk through your own door, even before you’re supposed to, there’s no coming back.

“Even I know that’s stupid,” River muttered from the sofa, popcorn bowl in his hand.

“Where is the book, Waylin?” He shook his head. I jerked him back and forth as if he were a rag doll. “I’m gonna kill you. Then when you come back as a ghost, I’m gonna put you in someone else’s body just so I can kill you again. Where is the fucking book?”

“I burned it! Okay?” His voice dropped as he looked away. “It was . . . messing with me. So I burned it.” He tugged free and rubbed at the tattoo.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Why did it seem like bad things came in threes? Couldn’t I just deal with one problem at a time? “At least your stupidity has a limit.”

“If I may interject,” River said. I glanced at him. “Waylin would know better if you would teach us how to use the doors.”

I frowned as I looked from him to Waylin then back again.

“Fuck me. I don’t have time for this fight. But we’re having it as soon as I get back,” I told them both.

I had a meeting with Luke, who’d been fighting with Callum the night he was hit by a drunk driver. For the moment, that meeting was more important than this old disagreement.

“Why does everything have to be a fight?” River popped up from the sofa and followed me as I headed towards my bedroom, Waylin hot on his heels. “Even now you have two other spirit mediums, you still insist on going it alone.”

“One of you antagonizes ghosts for fun.” I glared at River. “Fuck if I know what the other one does but clearly it’s something just as stupid,” I said as I started yanking out of my clothes and jerking on a fresh set that wasn’t covered in baby drool, ketchup drippings, and one spilled sippy cup of milk.

“I’ve told you both a million times, the doors are not playthings. They’re dangerous.” I shoved my feet into my shoes and buttoned my pants.

“And they’re all around us,” River countered. “Don’t you think we should know how to defend ourselves? Maybe if you showed me more, I wouldn’t have to run to you every time I get possessed.” He crossed his arms over his chest. I glared at him.

Maybe he wouldn’t get possessed so damn much if I showed him.

And maybe that dumbass wouldn’t have a summoning circle tattooed on his chest.

“You want to learn about the doors?” I snapped as I shoved my arms through the sleeves of a shirt. “Fine. Just as soon as he gets that shit on his chest covered up. Every door for that idiot is his door. You better be glad I never showed you how to open them, Waylin. And you.” I looked at River. “Get a sigil of protection. There’s an artist on Eighth and Met that knows me. Just tell him I sent you and what you need done.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” River rubbed his hands together as he looked at Waylin with a grin. “You go have fun with your ghost boo. We’ll get our work done.”

They bounced out, chattering with open excitement.

“Ghost boo? He’s an idiot.” Callum said.

I shoved my fingers through my hair and stuffed my phone and keys in my pocket. “If you’re expecting me to disagree, you’re gonna be disappointed.”

“Are the doors really that dangerous?”

“The doors themselves—no. But the world beyond? Extremely.”

“What happens if a ghost never goes through their door?” he asked as we left my room.

“You get stuck doing the same thing over and over—like you were before, walking up and down the street. You turn into a poltergeist if you don’t go full-on crazy immediately.”

From there, things just got worse.

“That sounds awful,” Callum muttered, hugging himself.

I reached out and grasped the back of his neck before pulling him into my chest for no other reason than he seemed as if he needed the comfort. “I’m not going to let that happen to you,” I promised.

We were going to get him back in his meat suit.

He attempted a weak smile. “What happens if⁠—”

“No,” I cut him off. “I said what I said.”

“Sekani—”

I shook my head and tpped his head back with a finger under his chin. “Don’t make more problems for us. Alright.”

He searched my face for a long, silent moment before surging forward and pressing his mouth against mine. A shiver rolled down my spine and I frozen. Just as he went to pull back, I tightened my hold on the nape of his neck and licked into his mouth.

Callum went limp against my chest with a soft moan as our tongues slide together.

Kissing a ghost was . . . not that different from kissing a flesh and blood man. For me at least. Under my hand he was as solid and warm as any body. But he was a ghost.

I tore my mouth away from his and he stumbled forward before catching himself. “I . . . Sekani⁠—”

I shook my head. I couldn’t deal with this right now, not when I had so many other things to deal with first.“Let’s go see Luke.”

Chapter 10

Callum Maslow

There was a little coffee shop on the corner of Meadowlark and Rosewell, just like Sekani said. We arrived before four and sat where he could see everyone coming and going.

I looked around. “I know this place.”

Was it because I’d walked up and down this street for so long, or was it something else?

I felt like it was something else.

I knew this shop—the smell of coffee, the sweet scent of the bakery. I’d been here a lot.

“It’s not far from campus. You probably spent a lot of time here.” Sekani said.

I nodded but didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. Not after kissing him the way I had.

Instead, I looked around the coffee shop. Even now, students took up one of the back tables, talking and looking over each other’s work.

The chimes on the door drew my attention.

His hair was a little longer now, but it was the guy from the thumbnail. Loser Luke. And he was with another guy.

If I knew the other guy, he wasn’t someone I had pinned to the top of my messages.

Sekani watched them. He never told Luke how to find him, so how would Luke know to come to this table? Sekani wasn’t drawing his attention either. He just relaxed in the chair and waited.

Luke scanned the place as his friend walked over to the counter to order. He pulled out his phone and a few seconds later mine started to vibrate in Sekani’s pocket.

Sekani sat it on the table and Luke caught the movement; he frowned, but headed toward us and sat in one of the empty chairs. He reached for my phone but Sekani pulled it back before he could grab it.

“I guess Mrs. Maslow gave you Callum’s phone.”

“She did,” Sekani said. “It was enlightening, to say the least.”

“What? You found all the dick pics?” Luke leaned back. He was trying to look calm and in control. But he was nervous.

“Mmm. Tell me about the last time you spoke to Callum? Did he seem like he wanted to . . . hurt himself?” Sekani asked.

“Callum was . . .” Luke paused. “He was a tortured artist. He had a big project ongoing and he was freaking out as the deadline got closer.” He shrugged and looked at Sekani. “Nothing new, really. He was a drama queen.”

I frowned. I didn’t think I was a drama queen.

Did Sekani?

“How did he seem the last time you spoke?” Sekani asked, completely ignoring Luke assessment of my character. “Did you speak to him that night?”

“Sure. Not for long though. We were having one of our fights.” Luke paused when his friend put a cup of coffee in front of him and took a seat as well.

“Those happen. Did you know Callum as well, Mr. . . .” Sekani trailed off.

“Jason, but you can call me whatever you want.” He grinned at Sekani.

I glared at Jason. Was now really the time to flirt?

Sekani laughed. “Maybe some other time. What were you and Callum fighting about, Luke? I assume he was in his feelings about something.”

“I don’t remember.” Luke pulled his drink towards him.

“Sure you do,” Jason said, frowning at Luke. “Callum swore someone was stealing his work. He said he had proof but . . . then the accident happened.”

“Damn. Do you think someone was stealing his work, Jason?” Sekani clasped his hands on the table. “Was he even that good?” I frowned at Sekani. What did he mean, was I even that good? Of course I was! He saw my sketch.

But still, why would someone steal my work?

“He wasn’t that good,” Luke muttered.

“Don’t be jealous.” Jason elbowed Luke and pulled out his phone. “Callum was a genius.” He pushed his phone towards Sekani who pulled it closer, looking at the picture. I leaned forward and . . . was that really mine? If so, why didn’t I recognize it?

Sekani whistled. “Genius is putting it lightly. If he thought someone was stealing his work, did he say who? Who would he have contacted to report the theft?”

“No one was stealing Callum’s work. He was just paranoid,” Luke said.

Jason frowned again. “I mean, I don’t know if anyone was but they’d be pretty dumb.”

“Why’s that?” Sekani asked. Luke scowled.

Why didn’t he want to help? If Luke was my best friend, why was Jason giving Sekani more answers than he was? Did he know who was stealing my work? Was he trying to protect them?

“Callum was on a level of his own. And he has a signature so if you know what you’re looking for you can always tell one of his pieces. Besides, Professor O’Donnole loved Callum’s work. If someone else tried to turn it in she would know in a heartbeat.”

“That’s why I said no one was stealing it,” Luke said. “But Callum wouldn’t listen.”

“Professor O’Donnole.” Sekani said as he opened my phone again, looking through it. I looked over his shoulder. “He had a late meeting with her the night he was struck by a vehicle. He never made it. Do you know if anyone was aware he’d planned that meeting?”

“As far as I know, he was trying to finish the painting he’d been working on,” Jason said. “Our project deadline was a little over a week away and it was crunch time.”

“He said he needed to meet with O’Donnole to get the deadline extended.” Luke explained with a resigned sigh.

“Is that something typically allowed—an extension on a project like the one he was working on?” Sekani asked.

Jason and Luke looked at each other.

“It depends on the teacher and who you are. I’m sure a lot of our teachers would have given Callum extra time if he asked for it,” Jason said.

“He said he was having a hard time with the collection. The painting was the last one, he kept restarting it.” Luke said, rubbing his hand through his hair. “I told him it was perfect the first time, he needed to chill the fuck out—get fucked, smoke some weed, something. He wouldn’t listen, so things got heated. I said some pretty mean stuff I really shouldn’t have and I guess he got upset.”

“Like you said, tortured artist,” Sekani said.

I rolled my eyes. I didn’t think I was a tortured artist. I loved art. When I sketched I felt . . . at ease. At peace.

“Everyone around here thinks Callum shits rainbows because he can paint. But he wasn’t perfect. And when he really got into a project, it took over his life. He got moody and distant and mean.” Luke said.

“No one thinks Callum shits rainbows,” Jason argued. “But he loved art so when people asked for his opinion, he gave it—even if his opinion was . . . harsh. It rubbed some people the wrong way.” Jason paused before he laughed. “Remember when we all had to do those murals and Callum said all your line work was shitty and he felt bad for the wall?”

“Shut up,” Luke huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was going for an abstract. Callum just thought he knew everything.”

“No, it was really bad,” Jason said, still laughing.

Luke elbowed him.

“My client, the one I invited Luke here to talk about, lost his memories. But he keeps drawing Callum. He’s not sure if they were friends. Or how they knew one another. Is there anywhere Callum frequented where he might have come into contact with other artists—aside from school?”

“You should check out his building. A lot of students live there and some street artists too. I think even an art YouTuber.”

“Thank you, Jason. I’ll do that.” Sekani stood. “You’ve been very helpful—both of you.”

“Hey, if you’re asking all this stuff . . . did Callum wake up?” Jason asked.

“No. I’m sorry, he hasn’t.” Sekani reached into his jacket and took out a business card, giving it to Jason. “Call me if you remember anything that might be helpful—for Callum or my client.”

“I’ll call you,” Jason said, winking and smiling even as Sekani walked away. I gave the two of them one last look and followed Sekani out the door. “Some best friend you’ve got there, Callum,”

“He’s an asshole. I don’t know how we were ever friends, much less best friends. And . . . I think he’s lying about something. I am not a tortured artist.”

“I agree. I need to see your mother again. Then make an appointment with Professor O’Donnole,” Sekani said.

I nodded before my gaze shifted to him.

If Jason did call, would he answer? Was Jason his type? Did Sekani have a type?

I shook my head. It didn’t matter. I shouldn’t be thinking about that kind of stuff right now. We needed to find some more clues.

But if—when—I woke up . . . would I never see Sekani again?

Why did the thought of not seeing him again make me . . . sad?

Chapter 11

Sekani Aelor

Iheaded straight to the hospital upon leaving the coffee shop. Maybe it was all my years as a detective, or maybe it was the freaky gut feeling Barnet accused me of having, but I didn’t trust Luke.

I didn’t like him as a person either.

He was supposed to be Callum’s best friend, but he hadn’t had a positive word to say about him. That struck me as odd. Nor had he been particularly helpful, considering Callum was in a coma and the guy who put him there hadn’t been caught.

Luke should’ve been tripping over himself to be of use. Instead, he was just a massive shitstain. At least he’d brought Jason along. His information had been enlightening—at least, more so than Luke’s.

I knocked on Callum’s hospital door before gently pushing it open. Mrs. Maslow looked up and started to smile.

“Hello, Mrs. Maslow.” I crossed to her and extended a coffee. It was black but I pulled some creamer and sugar packets out of my pocket in case she wanted to doctor it. I pulled a chair from the corner. “How’s Callum today?”

She looked down at her son and shook her head. Her smile was sad as I sat down beside her. “Still sleeping.”

I reached out and squeezed her arm. “I spoke to Luke. He couldn’t help much with my client’s memory but after speaking to him I have some questions about the night of Callum’s accident, if you don’t mind answering.”

She turned towards me, her fingers tightening around her cup. “How can I help?”

“Luke mentioned that Callum thought someone was trying to steal his work. Did he say anything to you about that?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. Callum was so busy it was hard to get more than a minute of his time. I hadn’t spoken to him in days when—” She choked a little as her eyes grew wet. “His professor might know something.”

I nodded. “Professor O’Donnole. I’m going to make an appointment with her.”

She looked at Callum again and reached out, grabbing his hand. “Do you know if that police detective ever found his bag?”

“I’m sorry—” I shook my head. What bag?

“He took it with him everywhere. It was old as hell, paint stained and falling apart. The strap was mostly duct tape but he loved it. I can’t find it anywhere. It wasn’t with him when they—” she inhaled sharply, “—when they brought him to the hospital. I searched his apartment but it wasn’t there either.” She set her coffee to the side and dug in her bag for a pack of tissues.

“How about I give his apartment a second look for you?” It was the perfect excuse to get in there, maybe trigger a memory. “I’m sure, as his mother, there are some places you didn’t feel comfortable looking.”

Her lips tipped up. “A couple. I learned my lesson when he was a teenager. Life is never the same after you find your sixteen-year-old with a rainbow dildo.”

I choked on a laugh before I lifted my coffee and took a swallow.

“Please change the topic,” Callum whined behind me.

Mrs. Maslow dug in her bag, pulling out a set of keys. “Uh . . . sorry. He was always a character.” She held them out and I looked down at a couple of rainbow dicks along with assorted keys. “He’s a good boy though,” she whispered, grabbing Callum’s hand again. “He can be obsessive, but what twenty-two-year-old isn’t?”

I squeezed her arm. “I’ll let you know if I find his bag. Is there anything else missing? Or something I can bring from his apartment for you?”

She shook her head. “Just his bag. He’s going to want it when he wakes up.”

I sat back in the chair and kicked my legs out, resting my cup on my knee. “I keep hearing he’s a damn good artist. Is he?”

Her whole face lit up as she reached for her phone. “Since he was pre-teen. He took an art class at summer camp one year and that was it for him.” She snapped her fingers before she unlocked her phone and leaned closer.

“He was fourteen when he won the Scholastic Art and Writing Award. It was a big deal. They put his painting in an exhibit and he got a ten-thousand-dollar educational scholarship. I was so proud. Here. This is it.”

She turned the phone a little more and I looked down.

I didn’t know shit about art.

But I knew when I was looking at good art.

“At seventeen he won the Congressional Art Competition.” She flicked to another picture. Somehow, it was better than the first. He really was fucking talented. I was in awe. “They put his painting up at the Capitol for a year and honored him and several others with an awards show in D.C.”

“Gee, I’m such an overachiever,” Callum said as he leaned over my shoulder, but I could hear in his voice how proud he was, how excited knowing he was a good—a great—artist made him.

“He was going to enter the Chelsea International Fine Arts Competition this year but . . .” Her gaze shifted to Callum in his hospital bed, looking for all intents and purposes as if he was resting peacefully. “The deadline is in October. I don’t—” Her voice cracked and she wiped at her eyes.

“There’s still time,” I told her.

She offered me a watery smile. “Yeah.”

“So, should I tell you if I run across his rainbow dildo?” I asked.

She cracked out a laugh. “God. No!”

“Sekani!” Callum gasped behind me.

“Throw it away. I can’t imagine his dad finding it if—” She sucked in a sharp breath and shook her head. “He wouldn’t care—doesn’t care. But finding your son’s sex toy . . . just no.” She shivered and looked a little green.

I laughed softly. “Does he have any siblings?” I asked.

She nodded. “One sister. She lives in California.”

“So I’m not an only child,” Callum said, a happy inflection in his voice. “I was worried I’d have brothers like yours.”

My lips tipped up, but I ignored him. “Do they get along?”

Clare brushed hair off Callum’s face. “Have you ever seen The Aristocats?”

“A long time ago.” I took a sip of my coffee.

She smiled, as if remembering. “Aysha was Marie all the way. And Callum was Berlioz with just enough Toulouse to drive her absolutely batshit crazy. They never got violent, but I can’t remember the number of times I had to tell them to stop bickering.”

“I’ve got two brothers,” I told her and shook my head. “The years and . . . events have driven us apart but I like to think if I was ever hurt, they’d be there for me.”

River would show up. And Waylin, even with history standing between us, wouldn’t hesitate. I wouldn’t either. Even if I couldn’t stand the sight of Waylin, I would always be there for him when he needed me, same as River.

“She wanted to stay,” Clare said, her voice soft and cracking. “But she’s in her last year of medical school and quite frankly she was stressing me out. I sent her home.”

I chuckled. “What about your husband?”

“Here.” A man breezed into the room, shrugged out of his suit coat and set a briefcase down at the end of the bed. “You must be Mr. Aelor.” He folded his coat over the edge of the bed and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

I stood and shook. “Nice to meet you as well, Mr. Maslow.”

He released my hand and tugged on his necktie, pulling it over his head. It was . . . uncanny, how like his son he looked. He was about the same height, rail thin with bright blonde hair and matching eyes.

Had Callum got any of his features from his mother? Maybe her cheekbones—his were high and more pronounced than his father’s—but you only had to look at his father to know what Callum would look like in twenty or thirty years.

“You’re helping a friend of Callum, correct?” Mr. Maslow asked.

“My client lost his memory. I’m trying to help him find it,” I said. “But I’m sure Mrs. Maslow told you I’m looking into what happened to Callum now, as well.”

“Do you think the two are connected?” he asked as he stepped behind his wife and grasped her shoulder. “The detective on the case was less than helpful.”

“I’m familiar with Detective Rayner, from the time I spent working for the NYPD. Callum’s case is being reassigned to my former partner and I’m sure she’ll do everything she can to find out what happened.” Or I would do it for her and she’d play it off as if she did all the work, which was only fair.

“Anything we can do to help, just let us know.” Mr. Maslow smiled down at his wife before looking up. “Clare told me you run your own business so if you need your fees paid, we’ll gladly pay them.”

“Told you,” Callum muttered.

I laughed under my breath and shook my head. They owed me nothing. But Callum, when we got him back in his body, owed me a coffee because God help me, I liked him—I really fucking liked him.

“Consider this a freebie.”

Chapter 12

Callum Maslow

As soon as we stepped into my apartment we were greeted by the thick scent of paint.

Sekani flicked on the light and I took in the studio that was my home. It was filled with sketchbooks, canvases, paint, brushes.

There was a folding screen dividing the room, almost hiding a dresser and bed. A small, cluttered table was pushed against the wall near the kitchen. In the center of the room sat a stool and an easel with a half-finished painting.

“This is my house—my home,” I said. There were so many paintings on the walls and even more piled in corners. A wall had been dedicated to pictures of me with my friends and family. Hundreds of smiling people, all collaged together.

This was my life?

And someone had taken it from me.

“We did use the keys we got from your mother to unlock the door,” Sekani teased. I smiled but still poked my tongue out at him. “Do you recognize anything?”

I walked towards the canvas on the easel and touched a wide black streak on the painting. It was out of place and . . . wrong. “I was yelling at someone while I was painting. I got madder the longer we spoke because I would have to start over.”

It was ruined and I had put so much work into what I had already done.

“What were you yelling about?” Sekani asked.

I sat down on the stool in front of the painting and closed my eyes. “In the beginning, the art thief. I was upset because it was so obvious it was my work.” I shook my head. “But then it was about something else.”

Let someone else win for once.

I pressed my palms into my eyes as I frowned.

Someone had said that to me. I couldn’t remember who.

Let someone else win what?

“I’m gonna poke around. Why don’t you paint some?”

I glanced over. “I’m going to be really mad if you find that rainbow dildo.”

Mostly I would just be embarrassed.

“Why? Scared I’m gonna throw it away? I can always pack it in a bag to take with you when we leave,” Sekani teased.

Once more, I was beyond thankful that I couldn’t blush. If I could, my face would be on fire.

Even if he took it with us, what was I going to do with it? Use it? When? His house was crowded and I didn’t think it would be appropriate.

Though, I was starting to think I wasn’t the kind of guy who cared about what was appropriate. My keychain was covered in brightly colored dicks, after all.

“Maybe you should.” I bit my lip. Why did I say that?

Sekani made it clear early on he wasn’t into ghosts and even if I had a body, I wasn’t inside of it. In fact, I was dying, so sooner rather than later I would probably actually be a ghost if we didn’t figure out why I wasn’t . . . me.

The kiss hardly counted.

Sekani laughed and looped his arm around my neck, squeezing me for half a second before he released me. “Anything else you want to take, Ghost Boy?”

“I’ll let you know if I remember anything.” Though . . . if I was remembering correctly there was a whole box of sex toys in the back of my closet. I didn’t think that was the kind of thing I was supposed to share.

Sekani started to search my house for clues as I set up a new canvas.

“Hey, Callum,” he called, a barely suppressed laugh in his voice, sometime later. I paused. “I think I found more than your rainbow dildo.”

I scrambled off the stool. He was in my closet and . . . there was the box. I groaned as I dropped my face in my hands. “Don’t judge me.”

“Not even a little bit? ‘Cause these are handcuffs,” Sekani said, holding up a pair of black leather cuffs connected by a silver chain.

“You were a cop. You never cuffed a guy before?” I tried to snatch them out of his hands but he pulled them away before I could. “Fine.” I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest. “My safe word is penguin.”

He chuckled and twisted the cuffs around his index finger. The smug grin suited him more than I was ever going to admit. It really was unfair he wasn’t into ghosts because right now I was really into him. “Ever been handcuffed by a cop?”

“Once,” I said as I bit my cheek. “But that was for a drunk and disorderly.”

“I’ve used my cuffs for their unintended purpose a few times.”

I smiled and took a step toward him. “And here I was picturing you as the straight-laced kind of guy—in the dark, under the blankets, face to face.”

Really, I should have known better.

Sekani had a strong moral code and strong opinions. He wasn’t scared to do the right thing in the face of disapproval, but he wasn’t scared to bend the rules when necessary either.

Plus, how vanilla can a guy who talks to ghosts be?

Sekani grabbed my shoulder, turned me around, shoved me against the wall, and hooked the cuffs around my wrists.

I wheezed as he pressed against my back. His heat seeped through my clothes and—oh God. Was he hard? Because I was.

His breath was warm on my ear as he stroked my arm. “I’m not sure anyone has ever mistaken me for straight, Ghost Boy.”

“Sekani,” I whined. I hadn’t been hard once since I became a ghost, not even when we kissed, and now my body was throbbing.

Was it even possible to come as a ghost?

“What?” He tugged on the chain that linked the two cuffs. I shook my head, unable to form a response. “Anything else in this closet you might not want me to find?”

“A box of fun,” I huffed.

It was the same box he’d found the cuffs in though.

“Sounds a little like the box I already found.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know.” His mouth was warm as he pressed a kiss to my neck. “I’ve got questions. Which toy in that box is your favorite?”

His hand wrapped around my waist and I swallowed as he rubbed my hard cock through my jeans. It was him, so of course I could feel it and—fuck!

My fingers flexed behind my back. I wanted to touch him but I couldn’t so I settled for thrusting against his hand.

He laughed under his breath and I dropped my head against the wall. Was he just fucking with me?

“Please . . .”

What was I saying please for? What did I want him to do?

“Is this okay?” He popped the button on my jeans and pulled the zipper down. I didn’t need oxygen but I panted anyway as I nodded. “I need your words, Callum.”

“Yes. Yes. Touch me, Sekani,” I begged, and he slid his hands into my jeans, freeing my cock.

Heat built at the base of my spine as he pumped me from root to tip. It felt so good.

How long had it been since someone touched me? Did this only feel good because it had been so long? Or maybe he wasn’t just touching my body but . . . more—my soul.

“Sekani. That . . . It feels so good. Please, don’t stop.”

I was going to come.

There was no way I could stop myself as I thrust into his dry fist. He was applying just the right amount of pressure, squeezing me just how I liked as he teased my slit with his thumb.

It was a little unfair I wasn’t touching him back but sometimes the act of touching another person, giving them pleasure, was pleasure within itself.

“You gonna come for me, Callum?” Sekani whispered in my ear.

“Yes,” I gasped as I leaned into him. He supported my weight, twisting his fingers around my cock. “Sekani . . . Sekani, I . . . I’m gonna⁠—”

The heat that had built along my spine exploded outwards in waves as I pumped into his fist. There was no mess but it felt like an orgasm all the same and I sank against him, aftershocks rolling through my body one after another.

“Good?” he asked once I caught my breath.

I nodded and he unhooked the handcuffs. Once my arms were free, I turned to face him. He wore a warm smile as he tucked my cock away and fixed my jeans.

“What about you?” Did he not . . . want to?

Sekani leaned in, brushing his mouth against mine in a barely-there kiss. “Maybe later. You go paint while I keep snooping.”

“Are . . . Are you sure?” I bit my bottom lip.

Did he not want me to touch him because I was a ghost—sorta, anyway—and it wasn’t his kink?

If that was the case, why did he touch me?

Chapter 13

Sekani Aelor

Hours had passed since we’d arrived at Callum’s apartment.

He’d returned to his canvas and brushes on shaky legs after I’d jerked him off. I ignored the throbbing of my own cock and continued the search, looking for the backpack his mother said was missing.

The whole time I searched, I could only wonder if it counted as sex with a ghost if they didn’t touch you? I’d only touched him so . . . didn’t count, right?

Plus, Callum isn’t technically dead, just . . . slowly dying.

I needed to save him.

But how?

I sat on the end of his bed with my ankles crossed and my arms extended behind me, supporting my weight as I watched him paint.

He hadn’t started over on the painting but had painted over a large portion of it in white then dried it with a blow dryer. From there, he started to mix colors and fall into the rhythm of his work.

It was . . . amazing.

I didn’t have talent—not really. But he had it in spades.

I stood as he set his paintbrush down. The sun had set; even with the light on, the room was still pretty dim. But the painting looked done.

He looked out the window. “I guess I lost track of time.” He offered me a shy smile. “Sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” He’d looked more happy and relaxed than he had since I met him.

Maybe it was the hand job. Maybe it was the painting. Either way, I liked just watching him sink into something, leave his troubles behind even for a few short hours. I wished I could do the same so easily.

“So? Is it done?” Or did it just appear that way to me because I didn’t know anything about art?

“Yeah. What do you think?”

I laid a hand on his shoulder. “I think you’re amazing.”

“I put all my time and focus into this. Nothing else mattered,” he muttered as he looked at the painting. His use of color shouldn’t have worked but . . . it really did. I didn’t know why but it looked alive, like a living thing, not just paint on a canvas. “But if I never wake up it’ll all be for nothing.”

“Do you love it? Painting?”

“Yeah. I really do,” he replied as he stroked the edge of the canvas, smearing some of the paint before jerking his hand back. It didn’t take away from the painting in any way. Instead, it added to it—something imperfect to counter the perfection.

“Then it’s not for nothing,” I told him.

The doorknob jiggled before his apartment door was pushed open. I looked over to see Luke standing in the doorway, looking guilty as hell.

“What are you doing here?” Luke asked.

“Mrs. Maslow sent me to look for Callum’s bag. Have you seen it?”

He shrugged. “I figured the cops had it. He never went anywhere without that ugly bag.”

I shook my head. “He wasn’t brought into the hospital with it. Maybe I’m just missing it. Do you know what it looked like?”

“Why do you want his bag?”

“I told you. Mrs. Maslow sent me for it,” I replied, keeping my tone light and conversational even though he was a douchebag of the highest order.

Not just because he was obviously stonewalling me either. But because Callum was supposed to be his best friend and every time he opened his mouth, he had some kind of putdown ready.

“It’s an old messenger bag. It was green but now it’s so covered in paint, who knows? And the strap is mostly duct tape.” He wasn’t lying about that, at least.

“Why is he even here?” Callum muttered from my side.

“Did you need something from Callum’s apartment? Don’t let me stop you.” I gestured to the room.

“I just . . . Wait. Did you touch this painting?” Luke stumbled forward.

“Oh. No. But, he’s as good as everyone says.” I turned to look at the painting again. “It’s a shame he couldn’t submit his final project. Maybe I’ll talk to Mrs. Maslow about getting his paintings together and turning them in. It looks like he finished this one just in time.”

“I can’t believe he finished it,” Luke muttered, reaching out to touch the canvas. I grasped his wrist before he could discover the paint was wet and his gaze snapped to me. “You know you never told me who this client of yours is. All of Callum’s friends are mine so maybe I can help.”

“Sad thing about memory loss is the part where you lose your memory. He can’t remember his own name.” I shrugged and released his wrist when he pulled back.

“Maybe you should bring him to the hospital,” Luke said as he pushed one hand into his pocket. “I’m sure Mrs. Maslow won’t mind.”

My gaze dragged over him. “Actually, I think that might be a good idea.” Callum wasn’t remembering anything. We needed to get him back into his body before his body died and he was really dead. There was a way—a long shot to be sure but . . . worth a try. “Tomorrow. Four.”

“Great. I can lock up behind you,” Luke said.

“No need.” I smiled, tucking my hand in my pocket as well, and rocked back on my heels. “I’m going to do one last sweep for his bag. You grab what you need and head out. I’m sure you’ve got school bright and early tomorrow.”

He moved away, stopping at the wall of pictures and ripping some out from under the pins, not caring if he tore through them or not. When he was done, he shoved them in his pocket and left, slamming the door behind him.

I glanced at Callum who was frowning at the wall before he looked at the door.

“I’m starting to think Luke isn’t actually my friend at all,” Callum said.

“What gave it away?” I asked as I grabbed a chair from the table and dragged it to the door. I shoved it under the knob, kicking it hard to make sure it wouldn’t budge.

“The murderous intent coming off him when he sees you.”

“Yeah. That’s a pretty good giveaway.” I grasped his shoulder and squeezed. He inhaled sharply as his door appeared in the apartment. He couldn’t see it but since I used him to call it forth, he could probably feel its presence like a heavy, unpleasant weight on his chest. When it came for them, a person’s door was a hard thing to resist. It wasn’t here for Callum though—just me.

“I guess it’s a good thing my mom’s always there,” he said, his chest rocking even though he had no real need for oxygen. “He can’t kill me at least.”

“Meet me at the hospital—your floor,” I told him as I pulled a knife from my pocket and sliced through my hand.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you back in your body—hopefully. It might suck a little.” Or a lot. But the alternative would be so much worse.

“I’ll meet you there,” he said, his stormy eyes flickering around the apartment. I slapped my bloody hand against his door. It sprang open and I stepped into hell, or as close to it as I assumed a person could get before—and maybe even after—they died.

The unpleasant memories, as they were often referred to—the dead who took a door not their own—quickly took notice but I didn’t stop to look at them, to speak to any of them even as they took on the familiar shapes of dead loved ones.

It had been years since I’d used the doors and there were plenty of new faces, but no one rushed me. The older ones knew better at this point.

Still, one fell into step beside me. I looked over to see the washed out, colorless figure of my dead fiancé.

He grinned, the corner of his lips tipping up as if he was preparing to make a sexy suggestion, like he had a hundred times in the past. Anger unspooled inside me and I looked away, carrying on.

Deacon was gone. This unpleasant memory wasn’t him. It was just a desperate ghost hoping I’d free them from a hell of their own making.

My gaze skipped over the doors I passed, looking for the one I needed.

The great thing about them was just how organized they were. They lined up nice and neat in endless rows. Some of them were marked differently—those ones didn’t lead back to home, but deeper into this wasteland which I knew ended in a central room with a single door I’d never attempted to open.

It felt wrong.

I found the door I was looking for quickly, easily. I was used to navigating the maze. Plus, this particular pair of doors called to me, considering how often I used them. I really shouldn’t have been using them at all, but that bridge was already built. And this was easier than a phone call—this way they couldn’t ignore me.

Yanking one open, even as I felt the heavy weight of the unpleasant memory pushing against my back, I used my body to block the exit and poked my head out.

Thankfully, Dumb and Dumber were sitting on the sofa, watching another supposedly scary movie.

Their heads snapped up, River’s eyes wide, his chest rocking as he sucked in a startled breath. The only time a living spirit medium could see their own door was like this—some asshole popping it open.

“Get to the hospital,” I ordered before I slammed the door shut so the asshole at my back couldn’t push past me. The last thing I needed to deal with on top of everything else was an escapee.

Chapter 14

Callum Maslow

My parents were likely at home, since it was past visiting hours. I sat on the bed beside my body. It looked skinny and pale and . . . like it was barely clinging to life.

How long did I have until the door Sekani said was hanging out in my hospital room became visible to me? Something was telling me not long—not long at all.

So much was happening it was making my head spin. I felt as if I was missing something—something important. Aside from my memory.

Luke wasn’t being a good friend. Someone was stealing my art. On top of all of that, someone hit me with their car and probably didn’t even pump the brakes. It was just so much—too much.

And now . . . I felt strange—wrong.

This was the first time I’d been away from Sekani since I found him. Would I be able to stay here much longer? Would I be dragged back to the street I had woken on?

Sekani would come for me. Wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t just abandon me to my current fate, not after everything we’d been through together already.

I crawled onto the hospital bed and lay down inside of my body. Or tried to anyway. The heart monitor continued to beep at a steady pace. I was still cut off from my meat suit.

Could I really go back? Or was this it—a long sleep until I actually died. I sat up and looked down at myself. Even halfway seated inside of my body, when I touched myself I didn’t feel the heat of me like I did with Sekani. What did that mean?

Cold fingers washed down my spine and I gasped for breath. It felt as if my head had been shoved under icy water. Sekani appeared in the room from thin air.

How had he done that? Where had he come from?

“Figured you’re already a ghost so using your door couldn’t do more damage,” Sekani said. He came through my door? He could do that? Was that safe for me—for him? “Waylin and River are on their way.”

“How do we get me back in my body?” I asked as I climbed off the bed. He said that was the purpose of this visit. “What happens after I’m back?” I chewed on my lip.

Would that be it? Would the pair of us go our separate ways?

“I’m going to force you back into your body. I can’t promise it will work. Or that it won’t hurt like a son of a bitch if it does. It might actually kill you.”

My eyes widened. What did he mean it might actually kill me? I was dead enough already, thank you very much.

“You’re already dying so it’s a risk we have to take. When you’re back in your body, you might have all your memories. Even if you don’t, at least you’ll be in your body again.”

I looked down at my body in the bed. “Sekani,” I whispered, shaking my head. I couldn’t ask him for anything else. He had already done so much. “Never mind.”

Sekani grasped my arm and tugged me through the bed. “Just say what you gotta say now, Ghost Boy. You might not get another opportunity. The chance of you popping back in your body and forgetting the last couple of weeks with me are pretty damn high too.”

I shook my head. Forgetting him sounded just as bad as forgetting myself. “Promise . . . Promise if this works, even if I forget, you won’t . . .” I grasped the hem of his shirt and stepped into his personal space. “I want to know you—really know you.”

Was that silly? To want to know him in ways I didn’t already?

“How about we get coffee? When you’re feeling up to it.”

“Really?” Maybe he liked me a little too. He did wank me a few short hours ago.

“Yeah, Callum,” he said. “I’ve gotten pretty used to you being around.” I smiled and wrapped my arms around him. His arms curled around my shoulders and he squeezed. “It’s going to be fine. The important thing is getting you back in your body so you don’t get dead for real. The rest is just details.”

“Thank you so much for everything,” I whispered as I clung to him. I wasn’t ready to let him go—to say goodbye.

If this worked and I came out on the other side intact, maybe I wouldn’t have to.

“So much for not fucking ghosts,” River said.

Sekani and I pulled away from one another as River and Waylin, dressed as a nurse and a doctor, shut the door behind themselves. They looked ridiculous but the outfits most likely allowed them to slip past the nurses’ station.

“My dick has never been in one and I’ve never had a ghost dick inside of me either. Can you say the same?” Sekani asked.

“Uh . . .” Waylin raised his hand. “I can, just for the record.”

River shrugged, not looking guilty in the least. “So, what’s the plan?”

Something was wrong with him.

“In simple terms, I’m taking him through someone else’s door and pushing him out of his.” Sekani said.

River and Waylin looked at Sekani with wide eyes and gaping mouths.

“You can do that?” River finally asked.

“I can do a lot of shit we’ve never discussed. Now isn’t the time either,” Sekani said. “Right now, you two are about to get a crash course in unpleasant memories.

Basically, behind the doors are the dead who went through a door that wasn’t theirs. And they want back on this side of things—bad. They’re gonna be on us—him mostly—like white on rice as soon as I open his door to put him through it. And one of them might get out. If that happens, one of you is gonna get possessed.

But not a little possessed. It’s not gonna percolate in you like bad coffee. It’s gonna go full demon in two point zero seconds. Whichever one of you isn’t possessed needs to deal with it. And by dealing with it, I mean KO whoever’s getting bitched around.”

“Okay,” River agreed.

He sounded so at ease. Nothing about this sounded easy.

“Wait.” Waylin frowned. “What if more than one . . . unpleasant memory comes through? How do we deal with it if we’re both possessed?”

“Let’s pretend like that problem doesn’t exist.” Sekani said.

“Sounds like a bad idea.” Waylin crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m in.”

Clearly, River wasn’t the only one with issues.

This whole family needed therapy.

“Good luck, Ghost Boy,” River said, a far too excited grin stretching his mouth. I didn’t know which of the four of us needed luck more. One of them was possibly about to be possessed by something nasty.

Sekani turned to me. “It’s gonna be hard for you over there, Callum. You’re gonna feel all kinds of things. You’re gonna see your nightmares—your personal demons—come to life before your very eyes. And your deepest fantasies may speak to you.

Do not stop walking. Do not talk to anyone. Whoever you’re seeing isn’t really there. Of course, it might affect you differently than I’m prepared for because you’re a spirit. I can’t promise I can even get you out without letting you possess me.”

I wrapped my arms around my midsection. Possess him? Like something had possessed River? “Sekani . . .”

Should we really do this? Maybe it was better for me to just . . . let go.

“Callum.” Sekani grasped my shoulder and I looked up. “You’ve trusted me this far. Just keep doing that.”

I had trusted him so far. Why stop now? “Okay.”

He grinned. “Let’s get this show on the road. Maybe we can make tomorrow the best day of your mom’s life.”

I smiled in return. I couldn’t remember my family, but I knew they loved me. They were always here—my mom or my dad by my side, hoping for a miracle. I wanted to give them one, wake up and tell them I was okay.

More than that, I wanted to see Luke’s face when he arrived tomorrow and saw I was awake.

“I’m ready.” We had to do this if I wanted a life and . . . I did. There was so much I wanted to do.

Like get coffee with Sekani.

“Be careful you two,” Sekani told his brothers.

They still looked way too excited.

“We got you,” River said as Waylin passed over his doctor coat.

Yeah. I wasn’t nervous before but now, knowing it was those two watching over me on this side of the door, I was.

They seemed like an accident waiting to happen. Those two would do something dumb and I would be the one getting possessed.

“Don’t let anything in my body either,” I said.

“Oh yeah. Don’t let that happen. He’s empty right now so whatever gets in him isn’t gonna come out without a lot of try-hard.” Sekani said before we left the room.

We walked through the halls, peeking into different rooms. Sekani stepped inside one; there was an old man lying in a hospital bed.

“On the other side of the door, don’t use my name. You can call me Kani.”

“Kani,” I repeated.

“And just for future reference, if your memories of the last couple weeks are gone once you pop back in your body condom, what’s a sure-fire way to guarantee you agree to a coffee with me?”

I laughed under my breath. “You’re hot. Just ask.”

Sekani smiled before reaching in his pocket and taking out a knife. He cut his hand and blood spread across his palm. “I’m right behind you.”

He smacked his hand on nothing and shoved me forward.

Suddenly, I was in a different place.

It was dark and cold and felt like every bad day I’d ever had combined. My stomach cramped. A loud buzz sounded in my ears.

I was somewhere that shouldn’t exist but somehow did. And it was loud—so loud I covered my ears and dropped to my knees.

A warm hand wrapped around my arm and yanked me to my feet. Sekani, silent as a church mouse, pulled me forward. His steps were quick but he wasn’t outright running.

“They’re screaming,” I whispered. They were screaming, all together. The buzz was a hundred, a thousand, a million ghosts screaming.

Could he hear them too?

“You would too if this was home for all eternity.” Sekani said.

“It hurts.” My body ached everywhere. Every step made my bones rattle. It felt as if I was being pulled in a hundred different directions by just as many hands.

“Just a little longer, Ghost Boy. I’ve got you.” He dragged me forward but it was so hard to move here.

It felt as if I was running in a sandpit—being pulled down, on the verge of being swallowed. And there were so many unpleasant memories—screaming, screaming, screaming. I wanted to scream right along with them but I bit down on my lip to stop myself from howling.

Sekani stopped and I bumped into his back. There was a multicolored door in front of us—splashed with a hundred different colors. On either side of it were two more, glowing. “This is it. You ready?”

“Yes.” I needed to get out of this place.

How could Sekani stand being here?

“Put your back to mine and face your door. I’m gonna shove you through while occupying these fucks.” Sekani said. I

nodded and stepped around him, pressing my back against his.

“You owe me coffee, Ghost Boy. Don’t forget.” Sekani slapped his bloody hand against the door. It sprang open and he stepped backwards, shoving me through. I gasped and felt heavy—heavier than I had in the longest time.

My head pounded. My throat burned. And I was tired, so tired.

A pair of blue eyes peered down into mine but . . . I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

I just needed to sleep, just for a minute.

Then there was something else I needed to do, something important but . . .

Chapter 15

Sekani Aelor

By the time I arrived at the hospital a little after three in the afternoon the following day, Barnet in tow, Callum was awake and sitting up in his bed.

He looked better than he had when River, Waylin and I had left him. He had a happy smile on his face. Flushed cheeks.

The doctors were probably wondering how someone who’d spent six months in a coma could be functioning so well.

They could classify it as a medical miracle for all I cared. It was just good to see him awake—alive and kicking. His family seemed to agree as they gathered around him.

Last night, I wasn’t sure my plan would work. I mean, in theory I knew it had a good chance, but I’d never attempted anything like it before.

The risks were numerous. But in the end, it looked as if my gamble paid off.

Of course, whether Callum remembered me and our time together remained to be seen. If he didn’t, I’d ask him for coffee when he was on his feet and see what happened.

No risk ensured no reward, after all. And after spending weeks on end in Callum’s company as we tried to put his memory together, I’d realized he was worth more than a little risk.

Callum wiggled free of his mother’s arms, gaze tripping around the room, snapping past me before jerking back. His eyes widened as a smile tipped up his lips.

“Sekani.” Callum reached for me.

I grasped his hands and smiled down at him. “Hey, Ghost Boy. Looks like you’re back among the living. How does it feel?”

“I’m a little tired but the doctors said that’s normal.”

“You’ll be on your feet in no time and when you are, you owe me a coffee,” I said, not really caring that his family was watching, that Barnet was watching and probably wondering what the hell was going on. As far as they knew, Callum and I were strangers. We had been, before his brush with death.

“I haven’t forgotten,” he assured me as he squeezed my hands. “Anything.”

“But do you remember? That’s the real question,” I teased.

Did he know now who was stealing his art? Could he tell us anything about who ran him down?

My gut was telling me it hadn’t been an accident.

“Yeah. I mean—” He shook his head as his grey eyes met my blue ones. “I don’t know who hit me. But I was going to go see Professor O’Donnole because Luke was stealing my art.”

I sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his arm. “I’m sorry. I know he’s your best friend. If you’d made it to your meeting and reported him, what do you think could have happened regarding his schooling?” I asked.

Because, thus far, since Luke had been stealing his art and was about to be reported for doing so, it looked as if he had a strong motive to hurt Callum. We just needed to connect all the dots so if he was the one who ran Callum down, he would pay for it.

“He would have been kicked out for sure,” Callum said, his fingers tightening around mine. “I remember noticing my sketch book was in his bag. And that he was making changes to some of my pictures. When I called him on it, he got mad.

“A few nights later another friend called me and showed me a painting Luke said he did. Only it was a painting that used to be in my house. So Luke and I started to text because I wanted to know what was going on. He called and things got heated.

“I told him I was going to see the Professor. He thought I should just shut up and let someone else win for once.”

I glanced at Barnet. “Sounds like enough for a probable cause warrant to me. You?”

“You really think that’s worth trying to kill me over?” Callum asked.

“People get scared and they get stupid, Ghost Boy. He might not have been clear-headed at the time but he still needs to face the consequences. Plus, to be honest, the last couple of days, has he acted like a friend or someone who regrets their actions?”

Callum’s shoulders fell as he shook his head. I squeezed his hands and wished I could do more to comfort him, but now—with a room full of people—wasn’t the time or place. “He probably wishes I’d died and wasn’t just in a coma.”

“I’m sorry,” Clare spoke. We looked at her. “How would you know what Luke was doing the last couple of days?”

My lips tipped up as I looked at Callum. “Yeah. How would you know, Callum?”

Let him explain it to his mother.

“I . . .” He trailed off and glanced at me. “It’s like . . . uh . . . while I was here I also . . . wasn’t here. Not like I was asleep but like I wasn’t in my body.”

Everyone looked at him like he was batshit crazy and I swallowed a smile as he continued to talk. “I guess simply put my soul was roaming free and Sekani can see ghosts.”

His parents were looking at each other and Callum like maybe they needed to call a psychiatrist in to evaluate him.

“It’s true!” Callum said. “I was right there—” He pointed to the end of the bed “—when Sekani showed you the picture I had sketched of myself and you told him about finding my . . .” his gaze skipped to his father “—rainbow paraphernalia. I was here when you gave him my phone and my keys.

“You told him Aysha was stressing you out so you sent her home.”

“Mom!” Aysha whined.

Clare looked stricken as she stared down at her son.

“I’m a spirit medium,” I explained. “Your son contacted me eight weeks ago. He had no memory of himself or what had happened. The day I encountered you, Mrs. Maslow, I was here to attend to another matter.” The only time River getting possessed had turned out to be a good thing. I sure as shit wasn’t going to tell the fool that. “When I saw Callum in the hospital bed, I recognized him instantly.”

“This is a bit much to take in.” Clare swayed before she sat down.

“All you need to know is that Sekani helped me, Mom.” Callum reached out and Clare automatically grasped his hand. “He’s why I’m awake.”

“I can’t believe this shit,” Barnet muttered as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you saying all those gut feelings were ghosts?”

“Eh. Most of them?” I offered. She glared.

The fact that she wasn’t questioning the sanity behind all of this was proof just how good a partner she’d been, and still was when necessary.

“Luke’s going to be here in—” I checked the time on my watch “—twenty or so minutes. Maybe everyone should clear out before he arrives. If we can get him to confess, this can be wrapped up quickly.”

“Do you think he will?” Callum asked.

“He’s not very bright. Piss him off enough and he might. I’ll stay close with Barnet.” I wasn’t going to leave him open to another attack. “And New York is a one-party consent state so turn the voice recorder on your phone on. We want solid proof if he does confess.”

“Okay.” His voice cracked as he nodded.

I reached out and cupped the back of his neck. “You’re gonna be fine, Ghost Boy. I haven’t let you down yet, have I?”

He smiled and leaned in, pressing his forehead against mine as he closed his eyes. “I trust you, Sekani.”

I pressed a kiss to his forehead and straightened. “Let’s go in case he decides to show up early.”

Mrs. and Mr. Maslow leaned in, followed by Aysha, each taking a turn to kiss and hug him before we all left the room.

Barnet walked beside me, silent as we headed down the hallway. “So . . . no bullshit?” she finally asked. “You really see ghosts?”

“Since I was twelve,” I told her. “It’s not a secret. But it’s not something I put on my business card either so maybe keep it to yourself.”

I’d helped Callum but honestly, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to get back into the business of helping ghosts. They were still assholes for the most part.

“Now I know why we always had a high close rate, at least. When the victim can tell one half of the team who murdered them, shit’s a whole lot easier. Wanna come back to the department?”

I laughed, slinging my arm over her shoulder.

“I know what you make. It’s not worth the trouble.”

Chapter 16

Callum Maslow

Now that I was alone, I was nervous.

My mom, dad and more importantly, Sekani were in the next room over but that didn’t mean I wasn’t sweating bullets as I waited for Luke to arrive.

The door opened a handful of long minutes later.

Luke took two steps inside, and stopped. He had flowers in his hand, but now I suspected he only brought them as a show for my mom. He wasn’t actually wishing me well—he was probably the reason I was in the hospital to begin with.

“Callum!” He rushed forward.

I shifted in the bed, trying to move away from him.

My phone was already on the bedside table, turned face down and recording.

Luke sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re awake. I can’t believe it. How are you feeling? You look better.”

He sounded . . . concerned. But there was something in his gaze I didn’t trust.

“I woke up last night.” There was no need to lie to him about that, after all. I had just woken up. “I guess I was in a coma for six months?”

He nodded and squeezed my leg. “We were all so scared. I was starting to think you were never going to wake up. Are you doing okay?”

“So far. The doctors think it’s a medical miracle.”

Luke’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Where’s your mom?”

“She went to get some coffee.” I explained, clasping my hands together as I pulled my leg out from under his hand. I was proud of myself for keeping my tone even and calm. The last thing I wanted to do was give everything away. “Dad went home to get some clothes.”

“They must be so happy you’re up,” Luke said. “I can’t wait to tell everyone!”

I grinned and nodded. “The best part is, I can still submit my collection.”

Luke frowned and shook his head. “You can’t think you’re still going to finish it. You need to rest.”

“It was already finished,” I lied.

Technically, I finished it last night. Of course, Luke knew it was finished. He saw it yesterday; he was at my house.

“I don’t think you should stress about that stuff,” Luke said as he grasped my leg again. His fingers dug in.

“That hurts⁠—”

“I just think you should sit this one out,” he said. “You don’t need it.”

“It’s not like just because I submit my work, I’ll win. If someone else’s collection is better, they will get first place.”

“I need that award. I need the money. You don’t. You have enough!” Luke yelled, standing and pacing away from the bed. “Everyone thinks you’re so special. I could be as good as you. Better.”

“Ha! I’ve seen your paintings. You’re just a two-bit hack who rides my coattails. You couldn’t even steal correctly! You didn’t even have the talent to make my work your own.” I shouted back.

He leaped for me, his hands closing around my throat. I shoved at him, fought against his hold, but I didn’t have the strength to push him off as his fingers tightened around my throat. “I should’ve reversed! Then you’d be dead!”

The machines started to scream as I kicked my legs and banged at his chest. I opened my mouth but no sound came out.

Was I going to die for real this time? No.

No. Sekani wouldn’t let that happen.

Seconds later, Luke was gone and I was gasping for breath.

My throat burned as I wheezed.

“Are you okay?” Barnet tipped my chin back and inspected my neck. “Did you get everything on recording, Mr. Maslow?”

“I got it.” My gaze dropped to Luke. He was on the floor, blood streaming from his nose. Sekani had a knee on his back, holding him down.

Barnet turned, handcuffs ready, and Sekani yanked Luke to his feet. “Luke Swafford, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Callum Maslow. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

I fumbled for my phone and turned the recording off, then emailed the file to Sekani as Barnet dragged Luke from the hospital room. He could forward it to her later.

“You son of a bitch!” Mom’s voice echoed from the hallway. The cursing was more shocking than the yelling in the quiet hospital. I don’t think I’d ever heard my mom curse. “You tried to kill my baby!”

Sekani eased the door closed and stepped towards me. He pushed the call button to alert the nurse before cupping my neck. “You alright, Ghost Boy?”

“Yeah.” I touched my throat. I would probably bruise, but at least I was alive. I’d figured Luke would yell and bitch and hopefully admit what he did, but— “I didn’t think he’d attack me.”

“Neither did I. I guess he’s dumber than we both thought,” Sekani said.

“Don’t you love it when a story has a happy ending,” River appeared in the doorway with Waylin, who was holding a teddy bear as big as the actual child in River’s arms—Isla.

“Did you kidnap Isla? We’ve talked about this, River.” Sekani sighed. “You can’t just take people’s children. And where in God’s name did you get that monstrosity, Waylin?”

River sat Isla in my lap and I ruffled her hair. She’d never seen me when she was over at Sekani’s house, but that never stopped me from playing with her, or stopped her demanding to be picked up when she knew I was around.

“Gift shop. Isla picked it out. Welcome back, Callum.” He set the bear next to me.

“Thanks.” I might not have made it back if they hadn’t been here to guard the door. I owed them.

“So can you see ghosts now or are you still boringly normal?” River poked my cheek and grinned.

“You can’t poke people who just woke up from a coma,” I said as Sekani slapped his hand away.

The hospital door opened again and my parents stepped in. My mother’s hair was all out of place; she looked as if she’d just been in a brawl. Maybe she had. She’d laid into Luke at the very least. They paused and I smiled. “This is River and Waylin—Sekani’s brothers. And this cutie is Isla, a neighbor.”

“Can . . . Can you see ghosts too?” Mom whispered.

“Yes,” River said. “River Young from RiverStyxs.” I doubt my parents had heard of him or his channel. I’d be surprised if they had.

“You’re not that popular, River,” Sekani said.

“Yet.” River sighed when no one in the room was impressed.

“Where is Mrs. Taffett? Why do you have Isla?” Sekani asked.

It was a good question.

“She needed a spa day.” River said.

Waylin rolled his eyes. “She picked up an extra shift at work.”

River poked his tongue out at Waylin.

I laughed and shook my head. Some things never changed.

“We can’t thank you all enough for what you did for our family,” Dad said.

“They didn’t do anything,” I said, pointing to River and Waylin. “Sekani did everything.”

“You can hop off Sekani’s dick now,” River said, but he was still grinning.

“I haven’t hopped on it yet.”

“Callum,” Dad groaned, rubbing his face.

“This is the rainbow dildo all over again,” Mom muttered.

River started it. Who gets in an argument with someone in the hospital?

River.

And my mom.

Chapter 17

Sekani Aelor

Before long, Isla started to fuss. There was nothing interesting about a sterile hospital room and boring adults. Callum bounced her on his lap but she wasn’t interested—in him, or in the teddy bear he was waving in her face.

Clare scooped Isla up without a moment’s hesitation. She had two kids and they’d made it to adulthood, so she obviously knew what she was doing.

“How about we go down to the cafeteria and get you something to eat?” Clare cooed at Isla. “Is that alright?”

“Yeah. Nothing with apples,” I told Clare.

If Isla had a blowout at the hospital, it was going to be a long drive home.

Did River even bring her bag?

Clare pecked Callum on the forehead. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

“I’ll run by your apartment and grab some clothes,” Matthew said. Callum looked at me with wide, panicked eyes. Had we shut his closet door? Would his dad look in there? “Is there anything else you want?”

“I’m fine,” Callum told him. “It’s not as if I’m going anywhere anytime soon. But take Aysha with you.” He looked at his sister and a slow grin crawled across her face. Either she knew about his box of fun, or she had suspicions.

“I’ll stay with him,” I told Matthew and Aysha. “No rush.”

Callum and I had a lot to learn about one another. I’d done my fair share—more than my fair share—of talking about myself so now he had his memories back, it was his turn.

“Thank you, Mr. Aelor. Behave, Callum.” His dad leaned down and kissed him on the head, squeezing his shoulder before leaving the room. Aysha winked as she shut the door. Maybe she’d show Matthew the toy box. I almost felt bad for him.

“Is anyone going to tell that man he’s haunted?” Waylin looked from River to me.

River shrugged. “I only do hauntings when cameras are running.”

“Wait.” Callum looked between us all. “My dad is haunted?”

I nodded. “Little boy, about seven, just chilling beside him.”

Callum rubbed his head. “His twin died when they were kids.”

“Twins have the same door. They come through it together and have to leave through it together.” I sat on the edge of his bed and took his hand in my own. It was different, touching him now. I could feel him before but now he had heat, a solidity he’d lacked. “Nothing any of us can do.”

“So my dad’s just . . . had a ghost around him since he was seven?”

I shrugged. “If they’re twins, then yeah. It happens. You’d be surprised how many people are just casually haunted. Or maybe not. You stalked me, after all.”

“I didn’t stalk you,” he protested, swatting at my chest with his free hand. “I just encouraged you to help me. And look how great it turned out.”

I laughed softly. “How do you like your coffee, Ghost Boy?”

“With cream and a lot of sugar,” he said.

“Handy information to have for when you get out of here.” I squeezed his hand. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah.” He smiled. I reached out with my free hand, cupped his jaw and brushed my thumb along his bottom lip before leaning in and capturing his mouth.

His lips parted under mine and I swept into the space. He tasted like pudding, which is probably what he’d been snacking on since he woke up. I hummed softly against his mouth and he smiled as he leaned into me.

“Gross,” River whined.

I ignored him and laid my forehead against Callum. “Been dying to do that.”

“Me too, kind of literally,” he said.

I laughed and slotted my mouth over his.

“We’re leaving now,” Waylin declared. I didn’t pull away. Callum pushed one of his hands into my hair, pulling me down as he lay back against the hospital bed. I shifted and climbed up so I was straddling his thighs. “Let’s go. I’m gonna vomit if we stay.”

“Right.” River said. “That’s just wrong.”

“He’s in the hos—” The door shut behind them, cutting off whatever else Waylin was going to say. I bracketed Callum’s face with my hands, sliding my tongue against his and nipping at his bottom lip.

“Alone at last,” he whispered against my mouth.

“We probably don’t have long,” I warned. His mother was bound to return with Isla sooner or later. Hospital food wasn’t worth lingering over.

“We’ll have to wait until I’m out of here. Then the real fun begins.” His lips tipped up, gray eyes shining.

“I still have my department-issue handcuffs.” I nipped at his bottom lip again.

“Tease.” He groaned, low in the back of his throat, and I laughed.

Epilogue

CALLUM MASLOW

Two weeks later, I was finally discharged.

The doctors couldn’t understand why I didn’t need the same recovery time and assistance as would normally be required after six months in a coma, but I felt great—like I hadn’t been days from actually dying.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact I’d been a ghost, or the way Sekani got me back into my body. Whatever the reason, today was a good day.

Sekani unlocked the door to his apartment, and we were alone at last.

River and Waylin had business to take care of that would keep them away for a couple weeks. Mom was mostly done fussing, though she called at least twice—sometimes three times—a day to check on me. I never complained, but I was happy to be out of the hospital and here with Sekani.

The apartment didn’t look any different than the last time I was here—he’d spent most of the last two weeks with me at the hospital.

The art supplies he got me were still in the living room. It was weird in some ways, being here, here—as a person and not a ghost. It was like returning to a familiar place, though technically I’d never been here before.

“It’s strange. I pretty much lived here for weeks and yet this is my first time in your place.” I flopped down on the sofa.

Sekani sat next to me, looking around. “I feel like I should have dusted, sprayed some air freshener—something.”

I laughed and shook my head. “There’s no reason to make a big fuss.”

We still had a lot to learn about each other, but in a lot of ways it felt like we were already friends—more than friends, honestly. I knew, now that I was in a body—my body—I wanted to explore this thing between us.

“I guess you’ve seen all the mess already,” Sekani said.

“Yup. You’ve been the meanest asshole in the world and the nicest guy in existence to me so I think I can handle some dust.” I’d seen both sides of him, and even though I didn’t like him very much when we first met, he was actually a good person.

I hoped he liked me better now too. All the kisses we’d traded seemed to indicate he did.

“Now what?” Sekani asked.

I grinned. “You can show me your handcuffs.”

He smiled in return. “I can do that.”

Thank you for reading!

*.*.*.*.*

Also by Odessa Hywell

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THE SINFUL DELIGHTS SERIES

Always Oskar: Sinful Delights #1

Family Values: Sinful Delights #2

Blood Bound: Sinful Delights #3

MATE MISTAKE SERIES

For nEver Mine

Never Say Never

OMEGA WOLF’S CURSE

Cursed Omega’s Second Chance

SAY YOU LOVE ME COLLECTION

Say You Love Me: River & Forest

Say You Love Me: Alden & Harrison

Say You Love Me: Kai & Arie

STANDALONE NOVELS

Morally Ambiguous Duet

Twisted Together

Pinewood Lodge

Lovely in Red

Terrible Lovely Demon

About Odessa Hywell

Odessa Hywell is a taboo MM romance author with a book addiction and coffee problem, who lives in the Southern United States with her husband, their teenage son, who mocks her for being short, and way too many animals. 

Aside from writing and reading, she enjoys gardening, cooking, and playing video games. 

Her favorite season is winter—hello, snow—but in the summer, she travels as much as possible.  

Some of her favorite spots are The Grand Canyon, Yellowstone National Park, Dead Horse Point, Moab UT, Gatlinburg TN, Helen GA, Silverton CO, Roswell, NM—plus honestly, a lot more. The list is nearly endless. 

A few places she plans to go in the future are New Orleans, LA and Salem, MA during spooky season, Smuggler's Notch, VT during autumn, the Colorado Mountains during the winter, New York City, Washington DC, a cruise to anywhere, on a hot air balloon ride, on a train trip down the California Coast . . .

In 2021, she decided because she is married to a twin it was best NOT to publish her books featuring twincest and other questionable themes under her married name as her husband would not approve.

—His loss, honestly.—

If you know who Odessa Hywell is, don’t be a snitch. 

Like Benjamin Franklin said, “Three may keep a secret if two of them are dead.”

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