Page 35 of Dead Vengeance

“Well… what would you do in that situation?”

“I mean… probably not drop a chandelier on him.” There’s a moment of silence, then the smallest touch of a smile tilts the corner of his lips, and I find myself desperate for more of that.

“The one you met today, his name is Simon,” I vomit out, trying my best to get back on his good side. “And he’s an asshole, on occasion. He has telekinetic powers, so it was easy for him to drop the light on Raul.”

“So… he did do that?” He thinks it over a moment. “How did it get back in the ceiling?”

“Simon put it back.” I offer him a shrug. “Perks of poltergeist powers. Though clearly he’s able to appear in regular ghost form too. He’s had a long time to work on it.”

Liam’s gaze changes from surprised to curious. But still wary. He’s processing every word I’m saying and making judgements about me as he goes.

I flip to defensive, lest he stumble upon the truth. “At least I assume as much. He’s in some kind of old-fashioned clothing, from what I can tell. Looks like Regency to me, with an outfit like that.”

Liam’s gaze drops to my shirt, my suit, and I suppose he’s assessing my understanding of historical fashion, my ability to make a call like that. And he’d be right. I’m pretty good with Regency fashion, just as I’m pretty good with modern fashion. But it’s best I don’t let him explore the holes in my explanation for too long.

“There’s also Lacey,” I reveal, by way of distraction. “She’s a creepy girl who turned up one day, and now I can’t get rid of her. She doesn’t do much. Just peeks at me over the backs of chairs and things. Really quite creepy, though.”

His face is still ashen, but there’s the slightest spark back in his eyes now. “That sounds terrifying.”

“She is. I didn’t invite her in.” His eyebrows rise, and yep, looks like I’ve fucked up again. Talk on, Archer. “Or-or any of them, obviously. I wouldn’t invite a ghost in. But you know, the place is very old, converted stables and all that.”

“Did a lot of people die at the stables?” he asks, half incredulous, half entranced.

“No. I mean… maybe? Maybe. Horses can be pretty dangerous, I guess. And um. Hay bales. Falling on people. From the loft.”

He laughs, just lightly, and it does something, knowing I can pull him out of whatever sadness he fell into, even if it’s just for a little bit.

“There’s an old man, Tony, and he’s… Oh, he’s ghastly. Super grumpy. Stomps up and down the stairs at all hours. He’s the one you’d come across sitting at your kitchen table at four in the morning, staring at you, all white and angry and bitter. Stuff of nightmares.”

Leaning back for a cute and comical side-long glance, he asks, “Are you having me on right now?”

“No, I’m not having you on. Honest truth. It’s really scary in there some days.”

“Some days?” he prods. And there’s the full smile, like the ghost of the bright man who turned up on my doorstep this morning. I want so much to resurrect him in full. To make it like none of this happened.

But I can see now, from what he just saw in there, his scars run so much deeper than I could have imagined. This brother of his. This job he absolutely should not be doing. This man—handsome, beautiful, sweet—has something haunting him too.

“It’s only scary some days,” I tell him. “On other days…”

His head tilts a little closer, and the scent of whatever he uses to get his hair that soft-looking carries on the breeze, hits me, makes me want to sink my face into it.

The briefest vision catches me—of being closer to him, being able to go for a walk with him. Go on a date with him.

Then comes the memory that I don’t do that. With anyone. That I can’t do that. That my life is far too complicated. Especially for someone like him.

He must notice the way my smile fades. His shoulder bumps into mine in a friendly way, willing me to go on. “Other days?”

“Other days, someone like you turns up, and…” He waits, and I feel it, the tension in the air.

It’s like that will-he-won’t-he moment.

But I simply can’t.

“And here we are at the hospital. And I’m really sorry for everything. I tried to explain this morning, before everything went wrong, that this was something bad. I asked Gerald for his most experienced people because I needed help that went beyond ghosts. And now you’ve seen what I’m up against. It’s really scary. And it’s really dangerous. And I don’t know how to get rid of it.”

His head drops. Whether it’s because he’s mulling over the problem, because he’s about to quit, or because I didn’t say what I think we both knew I was about to say, I can’t tell.

But he’s tired. And he’s been through something terrible. Something personal, on top of everything else. Something I don’t want to ask about, because from the way he was crying a few minutes ago, I know it must still be raw.