Giving Up the Ghost Read online

  “You’ve been doing this how long?” Melissa asked.?

  “Oh…” Nick thought for a few seconds. “Twenty years, give or take.”

  “And you’ve waited this long to look into something that will help?”

  John held back a sour comment about people who didn’t want to kill gold egg- laying geese. “He’s asking now,” he pointed out. “Can you help him? Because without something, if he goes back there ‑‑ and I know he bloody well will ‑‑ they’ll tear him apart.”

  “No, they won’t.” Melissa sounded confident. “We won’t let them. I’m still not sure why you didn’t do something about this sooner…” She patted Nick’s shoulders, then stepped back, shaking her hands as if she were flicking water from them. “I take it you’re the one who picks up the pieces?” she asked John.

  John rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “Well, I don’t know about that ‑‑” he began.

  Nick turned and smiled at him. “Yes, he does.”

  “Thought so,” Melissa murmured. “The rock and the sea…one shifting, curious, deep, the other solid, an anchor point.”

  God, he was more like a rotten stick of wood in a patch of quicksand than an anchor. John shook his head, feeling guilt rise up and choke him. He’d never be able to undo his betrayal of Nick, no matter how much he regretted it. His condemnation of Matthew seemed the height of hypocrisy now. Matthew, for all his faults, had never been unfaithful as far as John knew.

  He forced the words out of his tight throat. “What is it that he needs?”

  “First, he needs you to stop blaming yourself and focus on the present,” Melissa said, so frankly that it was difficult to be irritated with her. “Whatever it is…it’s not worth it. Believe me. I might not be able to see it that clearly, but I know that much. As for you…”

  She looked at Nick and moved to the other side of the room, passing by John again. Picking up a paper sack, she began to open a variety of little drawers in a large cupboard, scooping up what looked like dried herbs and dropping them into the bag. “Tea. Smells pretty bad and tastes worse, but it does the trick, at least temporarily.”

  “How does it work?” Nick asked.

  “Not as easy as drinking it.” Melissa peered into another drawer, then added what looked like a twisted stick to the sack. “You need a circle, with sea salt, and four candles at the quarters, and the still-warm body of a baby goat. What do they call those? Kids?” John blinked, and she grinned. “I’m kidding about the goat.”

  John wrinkled his nose up at the pun, which got him another grin. “Candles? Lit candles? Because last night the heavens opened when the ghosts came close.”

  “That wasn’t the ghosts; that’s just Florida,” she told him. “You get them lit and the circle will be sealed; if they go out after that, as long as the salt line stays intact, so will the protection. The tea is just to sharpen your senses and focus your power; it’ll let you separate the spirits out into individual voices; invite the one you want to deal with into the circle and ignore the others until you’re ready for them. When the tea’s power starts to fade, the circle will keep them back. Tell them to go, and they’ll listen; they’ll be scared of getting trapped inside the circle; if you invite them in and then step out without breaking the line, they’re stuck in there.”

  “The line has to get broken eventually,” Nick objected.

  Melissa nodded. “Sure. But he can do it, not you. They can’t hurt John, and if you’re far enough away, you’ll be safe. They usually can’t move far from where they died.”

  “Or where they’re buried,” Nick said, then shrugged when Melissa looked at him and smiled. “I’m not completely clueless, you know.”

  “Oh, I know.” Melissa looked into the paper sack, wrinkled her brow, and added one last ingredient. “This should be enough to keep you going for a while ‑‑ you only need a pinch, and I’ll write it all down so you’ll be able to make more later.” She thrust the sack into John’s hands and sat down again, reaching for a pad of paper. “I should probably type this out and make photocopies.”

  “There’s that many folk in need of it?” John asked in surprise.

  “Probably not.” Melissa glanced up from her scribbling. “It’s hard to know. I think it’s safe to assume there are a lot of people who deny what they are, or who don’t even recognize it. I think a lot of people have the ability as kids and then lose it because they can’t deal. But yeah, I’ve run into a few who could use this stuff, and it seems a little archaic to be handwriting notes from memory. I may be a witch, but this is the twenty-first century.”

  “Well, I don’t need it,” John said. “I can sometimes tell they’re there, no more than that, but I like it that way. The thought of them being in the room with me and not knowing gives me the creeps.”

  Melissa and Nick exchanged a small, private smile, barely there, and John sighed. “If there’s one in here now, I’ll be very cross, you know that?”

  “There’s always something,” Melissa said. “The earth’s too old for there not to be. It’s like a background hum; so faint we don’t hear it unless we try. But, no, there’s no manifesting spirit here, I promise.” She gave John a considering look. “So you can sense them? That’s interesting, but not all that surprising. You wouldn’t be such a good match for this one if you couldn’t.”

  “Well, if you’re right, I’d say the creepy-crawly feeling was worth it,” John said, meaning it. She was right, too; if John hadn’t been able to assure Nick with conviction that he believed in what he did, they’d never have got together.

  “I don’t know what I would have done without him,” Nick said. John looked over at him, meeting sincere eyes.

  “I can see that.” Melissa finished writing and tore the piece of paper off the notepad, handing it to John. “Come on out into the store and we’ll get the rest of the stuff you need.”

  In the main part of the shop, Melissa gathered some plain white candles and as many small glass cups to put them in.

  “Carrie, can you get these guys a package of the regular salt?” Melissa bustled over to the counter and set down her armful of supplies as Carrie bent down and took a regular supermarket package of salt from below the register. “We have the fancy sea salt for people who are into the ritual of expensive spell components, but the regular kind’s just as good and a hell of a lot more affordable,” she explained. “When you use this up, you can replace it with some from the grocery store.”

  That was good news. John couldn’t see the small shop on the island stocking anything fancy in the way of condiments for when they got home.

  It took a short while to get what they needed packed up and paid for. Melissa filled a sturdy bag with woven raffia handles with the supplies, and then, a gleam in her eyes, tossed in a small bottle of massage oil from a display on the counter. “On me,” she murmured.

  John blushed and then rallied. “No offense, but I’d rather use it on him,” he said with a nod at Nick.

  Melissa smiled, her gaze lingering on the handwritten sign beside the display. It was a little hard to read from where John was standing, but he thought he could make a guess at the theme since there was an awful lot of pink and red. He just hoped the oil wasn’t scented with flowers. “None taken. Enjoy.”

  “We will,” Nick said. He was still fairly quiet ‑‑ intense, John might have called it, and had been the whole time they’d been there ‑‑ but now he looked grateful. “Thanks. I really appreciate all your help.”

  “Well, you know where to find me if you run into any trouble,” Melissa said. “And I mean it. Call. My cell phone number’s on the bottom of that piece of paper.” She nodded at John, who assumed she meant the paper with the ingredients she’d given him, which he’d folded and tucked into his pocket for safekeeping.

  “I’ve got it,” he assured her. “Thanks.”

  He just hoped it worked.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nick sighed as he hung up the phone and le
aned back against the headboard of the hotel bed. Passing on messages from the recently deceased was almost never pleasant, even in Selena and Anne’s case when the message was something that made the family member feel better. “Well, that’s done,” he said to John, who’d been looking at the newspaper over at the table.

  “You’re good at that,” John said, glancing over at him. “I’m thinking it’s not easy, though? Sometimes they must not want to hear what you have to say?”

  “I guess.” Nick stretched his socked feet toward the end of the mattress. “I definitely like it better when I only have to talk to the ghost, that’s for sure.”

  Over on the wall the air conditioning unit was humming soothingly; sunshine streamed in through the sliding glass doors.

  “I don’t know if I’m all that good at it, really,” he went on, reaching for the paper bag from Melissa’s store and pulling it over onto the bed. He looked inside and found the bottle of massage oil that Melissa had given them, and grinned. Uncapping the bottle, he smelled the oil tentatively, but it was pretty inoffensive ‑‑ it smelled a little like cinnamon, maybe.

  John tossed the paper aside and came to join him, leaning over the bottle and copying Nick’s sniff. He must have approved, because a slow smile spread across his face as he lifted his gaze to meet Nick’s.

  “I was thinking we’d need to go shopping, but maybe this would do instead?” John’s mouth was close now, close enough to kiss, and Nick didn’t have any problems with that at all.

  Putting the open bottle down on the night table, he slipped his hand behind John’s neck and tugged him closer, John’s moan lost in the kiss that followed, their tongues meeting, tasting, exploring.

  Nick was hard almost instantly, like someone had flipped a switch. He lay back, pulling John down with him, on top of him, the weight of him arousing and comforting at the same time. He’d needed this comfort last night, but he hadn’t been in any condition for it then; now, he wanted the reassurance.

  From the way John’s hands began to touch him, eagerly, intimately, pushing up inside Nick’s shirt, they were both feeling the same way. John knew Nick’s body so well now; knew just where to make his fingers press a little harder, where to avoid because it was ticklish, and Nick didn’t like being tickled, curling up into a tense, irritated ball.

  John wasn’t doing anything wrong today, though. Nick relaxed into the gentle and not-so gentle caresses, his own hands busy tugging John’s clothes up and off, cooperating with John’s efforts, so that before long they were naked to the waist. John’s teeth teased at Nick’s nipple, sending shivers of arousal through him, John’s tongue swiping wet and hot across the hard, kiss-bruised skin.

  Nick gasped, squirming wildly, as John’s hand dipped down, cupping Nick’s erection and rubbing the heel of his hand against it roughly. “God, you’re in the same state as me,” John whispered thickly. “How do you get me like this so fast?”

  “Magic.” Nick laughed, squirming again, and rolled them until he was the one on top with John pinned to the mattress. He unzipped John’s slacks and shoved his hand down inside, groaning against John’s mouth as his fingers found hot, hard flesh, damp at the tip.

  He slid down, scraping his own teeth over John’s nipple and feeling the other man’s gasp and racing heartbeat as if they were his own. Maybe they were and he just couldn’t tell anymore. Nick mouthed at John’s collarbone, licked sweat from the skin, and squeezed John’s erection until another bead of fluid formed to slick his thumb rubbing across the head.

  The sounds he was getting from John were an echo of the ones in his head; wordless, needy, happy. This was simple. This, he could do without worrying or wondering. It was John, and he loved him, and was loved in return, and nothing was going to come between them again, because the way he felt right then, there wasn’t any room.

  They were one. One flesh, one hunger ‑‑ and all Nick had to decide now was how they were going to do this, because he wanted it all; John inside him, thrusting deep and smooth; John around him, open and welcoming.

  “God, why can’t we both fuck each other at the same time?” John said, in such a precise copy of Nick’s own thoughts that he was left blinking in surprise.

  He opened his mouth to answer and with an equally precise timing ‑‑ though much less welcome ‑‑ the phone rang.

  Nick was worked up and covered with a thin sheen of sweat ‑‑ even his lips were salty from tasting John’s skin ‑‑ and the last thing he wanted was to answer the phone. “Ignore it,” he muttered, rubbing his still-clothed cock against John’s hip and licking a stripe up the side of John’s throat on the way toward his mouth.

  “But shouldn’t we ‑‑” John started.

  “No.” Nick kissed him to keep him quiet, then kissed him again because it was so good, then a third time because he couldn’t stop. He steadfastly ignored the phone until it stopped ringing, but there was only a brief pause before it started up again, insistent, refusing to be ignored. He groaned and turned, reaching for it. “One minute,” he promised John as he picked up the phone. “Yes?”

  “I knew you were there,” a familiar woman’s voice said triumphantly. “It’s Alicia. We need to talk.”

  Oh, God, not her. “About what?” Nick asked, stalling and tucking the phone between cheek and shoulder. He reached for John’s cock again; it was sticking up out of John’s slacks, flushed and shiny, and he couldn’t keep from touching it.

  “You know what. Tell me what room you’re in; I’m coming up.” Alicia wasn’t, Nick knew, the kind of woman to take no for an answer, and if he didn’t tell her, she’d weasel it out of the hotel staff and be knocking on the door in five minutes anyway. For a minute he considered hanging up and letting her ‑‑ in five minutes he and John could both get off. But it wouldn’t be the same.

  “Six thirteen,” he said, and sighed as he hung up. “It was that Alicia woman. My father’s girlfriend. She’s coming up. To talk.” He knew that the disappointment and frustration he was feeling was clear in his voice, but apologized anyway. “I’m sorry. We’ll get rid of her as soon as we can.” Unable to resist, he bent and took the head of John’s cock into his mouth, sucking at it, the bitter saltiness washing over his tongue.

  “Stop it.” John groaned the words, his hand coming to Nick’s shoulder, starting to push him away, and then squeezing it hard. “Oh, fuck, no, don’t stop ‑‑” His other hand raked through Nick’s hair, tousling it with restless fingers. “Do we have time? Do we?”

  “Not for you to fuck me,” Nick muttered, stroking John’s shaft and licking the tip. “But for this. If you want to.” There wasn’t much doubt in his mind; he took John in again, sliding his lips down until he could feel the head of John’s cock at the back of his tongue, making his mouth and eyes water, hand kneading John’s balls.

  John convulsed under him, his hands clawing at the sheets as he fought to lie still. Nick appreciated the effort; any deeper and he’d choke and he didn’t want to do that because they were running out of time. His mind went to Alicia, picturing her standing, high-heeled foot tapping impatiently as she waited for the elevator ‑‑ no way she’d use the stairs. Waiting, walking through the opening doors just as his tongue swirled and swept across the cock stretching and filling his mouth; tapping at a button with a red, sharp nail as John’s hands flexed and tightened helplessly on the bunched-up fabric; watching the floor numbers change on the display as John cried out Nick’s name and came hard, flooding Nick’s mouth and throat, his hands reaching out to smooth over Nick’s head.

  And rapping at their door far too soon.

  Nick swallowed, licked John twice more to get him as clean as possible, and sat up, glancing down at himself. His slacks were loose enough that if he didn’t tuck his T-shirt in, he’d be fine. “Here, take your stuff into the bathroom and get dressed.” He grabbed John’s shirt and his own, then kissed John firmly, smiling at the still-dazed expression on his face as they both got up. He yanked his shirt over his
head on his way to the door, listening for the click as the bathroom door shut before opening the one that led to the hallway.

  “You should have answered the phone the first time,” Alicia said, pushing past him and into the room. Her hips swayed in her tight skirt as she turned to face him.

  “We were busy,” Nick said mildly.

  “I bet.”

  “I don’t have to talk to you,” Nick reminded her. “What is it that you want?”

  Uninvited, she walked over to the table and sat down, her eyes flicking over the rumpled bed knowingly. “Money,” she said bluntly. “I told you; Brian got lucky and he was going to share it with me. And you can say you don’t care about it, but we both know that’s bullshit.”

  The bathroom door opened, and Nick felt John’s reassuring presence at his back. Not that he needed help dealing with Alicia ‑‑ she was no threat to him, and she didn’t feel malicious, just greedy ‑‑ but it still felt good not to be facing her alone.

  “You know, your life would be simpler if you believed people when they were telling you the truth,” John said. “He doesn’t want money from a dead man he didn’t know or like that much, from what I can tell. Why is that so hard to accept?”

  Alicia sniffled and fumbled in her purse for a tissue, dabbing underneath her eyes the way women did when they didn’t want to smear their makeup, although it seemed to Nick she was deliberately going around wearing enough eyeliner that she closely resembled a raccoon. “I just can’t believe he’s gone,” she said, her voice suddenly different. “He would have wanted me to have that money, and without it…I don’t have anything. I need it. I didn’t want to say anything before ‑‑ I’m so embarrassed ‑‑ but I’m a month behind on my rent and my landlord says he’ll evict me if I don’t pay him soon. And I haven’t been feeling well. The doctors think it’s something to do with my lungs.”

  Yeah, all the cigarettes you’ve been smoking, Nick thought. “Look, I don’t want the money, okay? I didn’t even know about it until you told me.”