Nothing but the Ghosts

Chapter 2-4

Even without inviting Gregory and Terese, Belinda and I have managed to host the most awkward morning-after brunch ever. Malcolm has pulled on his tuxedo trousers, and the outfit looks stylish and deliberate. But he squirms next to me in his chair like a small boy who’s nervous about the next words that might come from his father’s mouth.

Belinda is breezy in a sundress. I opted for jeans and one of the few blouses I own. I usually pair it with a blazer when we visit the one and only law firm in town. (Lawyers end up haunted more often than you might guess.)

If not for Sadie, I suspect the entire meal would have disintegrated into sullen silence. She sits next to Darien and has somehow kept the conversation going despite everyone else’s monosyllabic responses.

In fact, she’s in her element. I imagine that back when she was married to Harold that she must have hosted dozens of awkward dinner parties. What’s one brunch with a wayward father-in-law?

“Nigel tells me you’ve traveled all over the world,” she says to Darien now. “That must be fascinating.”

“It is.”

“Do you have a favorite place?”

“Each region has its merits.”

Malcolm nudges me in the ribs. When I glance at him, he rolls his eyes.

Sadie is undeterred. That, I think, is her strength. She continues as if he’s just regaled us with a tale of scaling the Andes.

“Nigel and I will be leaving soon on our honeymoon.” She pauses to beam at her new husband. When she does, Nigel loses the sour expression and smiles in return. He gives her a nod of encouragement before bringing his fingertips to his lips and blowing her a kiss.

“It’s not much of a trip,” she continues, “but we plan to stay in a bed and breakfast up north, perhaps do some antiquing. I like to restore old things.” Sadie gives a little shrug. “It’s a hobby.”

Darien slices a thin strip of French toast, his silverware making the barest clink against the china. “I prefer not to be weighed down by material possessions,” he says before taking a precise bite.

Malcolm pokes me again. Before he can treat me to another eye roll, Nigel tosses his napkin on his plate. He stands and plants his palms on the table.

“Stop being rude. You’re a guest in this house. The least you could do is behave.”

Darien tilts his head in Nigel’s direction. “You sound like your mother.”

Sadie places a hand on Nigel’s arm. “He meant no harm. Everyone’s allowed their opinion on subjects. I like to restore antiques. Your father does not.”

“That’s just it. He did mean harm. He meant to be rude.” Nigel glares, but Darien doesn’t return the gesture. Instead, his gaze is fixed on Sadie.

“Oh,” Darien says, as if making a sudden discovery. “You’re a sensitive, aren’t you?”

Her brow crinkles. “A what?”

“He means you’re sensitive to ghosts,” Nigel says. He relents under the steady pressure of Sadie’s hand and sinks into his chair. He turns to her, his expression gentle. “That you can sense them when others can’t. Like with your sprites. You know when they’ve snuck in before I do.”

“Yes, it’s true. I do sense ghosts quite easily,” she says to Darien. “Just ask Katy.” She shoots me a quick look before returning her attention to him. “So I guess that makes me a ... sensitive.”

“Nigel’s and Malcolm’s mother is one. It often works out that way, a necromancer pairing with a sensitive. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.” Darien gives Nigel a sidelong glance. “Given your ... predicament, I suppose this makes a certain amount of sense.”

Nigel’s eyes narrow. “You mean my addiction.”

Through all this, Malcolm’s hand has found mine. He laces our fingers together and tugs me just a bit closer.

“Your hand is cold,” he whispers.

Both my hands are cold and have been ever since we sat down to eat.

“You okay?” he adds.

I nod, but I’m not certain that’s a true answer.

“I guess that would make me a sensitive, too.” Belinda gives us one of her homecoming queen smiles, looking anything but sensitive. “Just ask Katy,” she adds, echoing Sadie. “So do necromancers always pair off with a sensitive, or do they ever marry or partner with each other?”

As if on cue, I feel everyone’s gaze land on Malcolm and me. His fingers tighten around mine. I think the blush that started in the living room will become permanent.

“Usually not,” Darien says.

“But it’s not unheard of,” Nigel adds, his words quick.

“I suppose it isn’t, but necromancers are far too competitive. There’s too much risk of betrayal. The Armands have learned that the hard way.” Darien gives his head a shake as if he’s shrugging off old regret. “Such arrangements never last.”

Tension radiates from Malcolm’s hand into mine. He leans forward, on the verge of jumping up. I’m poised to do the same arm-calming maneuver that Sadie performed on Nigel a few moments before.

Instead, Sadie stands and breaks the spell that has settled on all of us. “I think it’s time for some coffee. Katy, that’s your specialty. Will you help me in the kitchen?”

Malcolm gives me a quick nod. With his hands at my waist, he propels me to my feet. Belinda hops up, grabs the empty French toast platter, and rushes after us.

“I’ll help too!” she sings out.

On my way to the kitchen, I peer over my shoulder at Malcolm. Despite everything, he gives me one of his sweet, dark-roast grins. It’s meant to reassure me. I return the smile—or try to—but Darien’s words ricochet through my mind, clouding my thoughts with words like betrayal.

And I wonder if he’s right.