Nothing but the Ghosts

Chapter 2-2

The kitchen is a warm, safe refuge. I’m tempted to pour that cup of coffee for myself (no sugar, just half and half), sit at the kitchen table, and send Belinda eye messages while she prepares brunch with Jack.

She’s standing at the stove, clutching the spatula almost like a sword, as if she’s ready to do battle. But it’s Jack who speaks.

“Who the hell is that?” He’s at the kitchen sink. Plump raspberries sit in a colander, their juice staining the white porcelain. He looks as if he’s ready to charge into the living room, but his state of dress isn’t much better than Malcolm’s.

“That’s Malcolm’s father.”

Belinda exhales and swears. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were.”

A sardonic smile twists Jack’s lips. “Well, that’s awkward.”

I spear him with a glare. “It’s been an awkward morning.”

A blush streaks up his cheekbones. He turns back to the raspberries.

“He’s one of those badass necromancers, isn’t he?” Belinda says.

I nod, slowly. “I guess so, but I don’t know for sure.”

“I do,” she says. “He’s got that vibe.”

“What vibe?” There’s a vibe? If so, it’s news to me.

“You all have it.” She turns back to the French toast on the griddle and starts flipping the slices of bread. A sizzle fills the kitchen, its steam scented with vanilla and a hint of cinnamon.

“We do?” I touch my fingers to my chest. “I do?”

“Sure. I mean, I never realized it until recently. I just thought it was something special about you and your grandmother.”

“My grandmother wasn’t a necromancer.”

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t contradict me. “Then when Malcolm and Nigel came to town, it made sense that they’d have it too. But now I can tell it’s different for each necromancer.”

“I don’t get that vibe.” I frown, wondering if I simply haven’t noticed it or if it’s something I can’t notice.

Belinda’s sense of ghosts is as good as mine, even if she can’t catch them. When she was little, ghosts—mostly harmless sprites—were even her friends. She chatted and played with them. Her parents chalked it up to imaginary playmates. But the fact she’s so receptive makes her a target for the nastier spirits, the sort that will corner you, taunt you, truly haunt and torment you until they’ve drained all they can from you.

I know my grandmother tried to teach Belinda how to capture ghosts. While we’ve been roommates, so have I. I don’t understand why she can’t.

And I really don’t understand what a necromancer vibe is.

I pull two cups from the cupboard and start in on the coffee. I suspect Malcolm will need a fresh cup. I’m dumping a couple of heaping tablespoons of sugar into the second cup when Jack makes a gagging sound.

“Whoa. Really?” His face puckers. “That’s a lot of sugar.”

“He said extra sweet.” I pick up both cups and head for the door.

I can’t help but wonder if this is the only sweet thing about Darien Armand.