6

Cope

With everyone tired from the ride and the afternoon on the beach, they'd walked back to the pier and eaten at one of the restaurants there. The one they chose served American food, so there was something for everyone, even Aurora, who could be finicky at times. Fitz had gotten lobster for both of them, and his daughter was happy as a clam.

They'd all gone back to their rooms after walking back to the hotel with ice cream cones. Cope put the kids in the tub and put Lizbet down in her portable crib. It took longer to get Wolf to fall asleep for the night. Jude had put on the Red Sox game, and Wolf tried his hardest to stay up until the end but ended up falling asleep before the fifth inning ended.

Cope had trouble dropping off himself. Within seconds of Jude's head hitting the pillow, he was out cold, but two hours later, Cope was still staring at the popcorn ceiling. He tried to reach out to Cyrus Longfellow, but he wasn't sensing the murdered spirit.

His next trick was to count sheep. When he'd reached seventy-seven, he heard the unmistakable sound of water dripping. Jude had been the last one in the bathroom. Maybe he hadn't turned the tap off all the way? Getting up, Cope went into the bathroom and saw drops of water splashing into the sink. He turned both the hot and cold knobs, and the dripping stopped. Making his way back to bed, Wolf said something in his sleep that Cope couldn't quite make out. He hoped his son was having sweet dreams about going to the beach or the amusement park.

Getting back into bed, Cope cuddled up behind Jude, who was sleeping on his left side. Thankfully, his husband had warmed up after his icy plunge in the ocean. His eyes slid shut, and he was almost asleep when he heard another drip come from the bathroom.

Cope pulled away from his warm husband and got out of bed again, this time tripping on the edge of Lizbet's portable crib. He knocked the baby forward. She let out a yelp but thankfully didn't wake up. Wolf was another matter—when Cope cried out, the little boy sat bolt upright in bed and started speaking gibberish. The more Cope listened, the more it sounded like his son was speaking in tongues. He and Jude had never even brought Wolf into a church, so there was no way he could have heard those words, unless, of course, he was speaking in Navajo, which he didn't know either.

Another drip from the sink pulled Cope out of his head. He went into the bathroom and turned the taps again. He ducked his head into the shower stall and made sure the knob in the tub was turned the whole way off as well. He wasn't in the mood to spend the night in and out of the bathroom.

When he walked back into the main part of the room, Wolf was still sitting up. He climbed in on the other side of the bed and pulled Wolf close to him. He was about to ease his son back onto his pillow when he let out a bloodcurdling scream. Cope felt his heart hammer in his chest.

"Wolf!" Jude called, stumbling out of bed.

Cope gave his son's shoulder a shake. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wake Wolf up. He could see the look of fear on Jude's face. Nothing like this had ever happened to their son before.

Jude scooped the little boy into his arms and started chanting. Cope recognized the words as something he'd heard Running Eagle sing to Lizbet when he'd visited last Christmas. Thankfully, Wolf stopped screaming. Jude laid him back in bed and sat shakily on the edge of his own. "What the hell happened?" he asked when Cope sat beside him.

"I don't know." Cope quickly recapped the issue with the dripping sink and tripping over Lizbet's crib. "Do you think he was having a night terror?"

"Maybe," Jude said. "Or maybe it was Cyrus Longfellow haunting Wolf's dreams." Jude sounded pissed.

"Cyrus?" Cope said out loud. "Are you here?"

There was no answer.

"I swear to fucking God, if you're messing with my son, I'll make you pay." Cope's hands were balled into fists.

"Are you okay?" Jude asked, sounding worried. "In all the years I've known you, you've never cursed out a spirit before. Is he here?"

Cope was about to answer in the negative when a voice spoke from out of the blue.

"You and what army?" a sassy voice asked in the darkness. "Cyrus Longfellow at your service."

"Motherfucker," Cope whispered under his breath. "Leave my son alone."

"He's too cute and so easy to manipulate," Cyrus gushed, sounding excited.

"Don't fuck with me. You have no idea who you're going up against," Cope gritted out from behind his clenched teeth. He was going to give himself a headache if he kept this position much longer.

"Okay, I'll bite. Just who am I up against?" Cyrus sounded like he was having the time of his life.

"My name is Copeland Forbes. Not only am I a psychic medium, but I'm also a fifth-generation legacy witch from the Devereaux coven." His mind spun over different spells he could use against the spirit if he refused to leave Wolf alone.

"I didn't know Blanche from The Golden Girls was a witch." Cyrus laughed.

"If you are not very careful, you'll find yourself bound to the white supremacist dick I saw on the beach today. I'm sure you'd love spending an eternity with him and all of his asshole friends."

"Oh, the one with the ridiculous red hat about making America great? That tool? I'd have him shitting his pants inside ten minutes."

Cope found himself wishing Cyrus would do that to the man even if Cope didn't bind the spirit to him. "Is that what you're trying to do to my son, scaring the life out of him?" Cope asked, reaching for every last shred of self-control he possessed.

"Of course not, Cope. I wasn't here for a long time, but I am here for a good time." Cyrus laughed, his voice echoing through the room.

Cope sighed. He was exhausted from his long day, and the last thing he wanted to do was banter words around with this ghost. "Do you know why I'm here?"

"Fun, fun, fun, in the sun, sun, sun! Isn't that why we all go to the beach?" Cyrus asked.

"Yeah, but I have a feeling our definitions of fun differ slightly."

"You got that right," Cyrus agreed. "I was here to spend as much money as possible on fulfilling every single one of my needs. Fucking pussy, being fucked by dicks, licking and sucking and—"

"I get it." Cope held up a hand. He'd been able to see a few highlights of the Cyrus Longfellow fuckfest, and that was enough to last him a lifetime. "We came here originally for some fun in the sun, but there are other forces at work."

"What other forces? You mean like werewolves or vampires? Sexy witches with juicy tits and a juicier—"

"No!" Cope interrupted before Cyrus could finish his thought. "My husband got an email inviting us to come spend the weekend at a discounted rate."

"Oh, so your gorgeous man's got a big dick and no brains. Got it. Story of my life, man. Maybe I would have settled down if I'd found someone who'd had both." Cyrus barked a laugh. "Oh, who the fuck am I kidding. I never would have settled down. I had the best of both worlds; why the fuck would I have chained myself to only one meal for the rest of my life when I could have an entire buffet?"

As much as Cope hated to admit it, Cyrus and Jude would have been the best of friends had they known each other when the ghost still had a pulse. "Anyway. It turns out the sale email Jude got was from a man I think you know."

"I knew a lot of men. Lots of satisfied customers, if you catch my drift." Cyrus laughed. "Who's the piece of meat who's mourning my loss all these years later?"

Cope did indeed catch his drift, unlike the satisfied customers, who more than likely caught something else that could only be cured with antibiotics. "Chet Hines."

"That little prick from the news?" Cyrus sounded shocked. "He was clingy but knew how to suck a dick."

"Good to know," Cope said, sarcasm dripping from every word. "He covered your case at the time you were murdered and has done several follow-up pieces over the years."

"He's been here too," Cyrus said, sounding bored.

"What, to stay at the motel or to try and contact you?" Cope asked. He was looking forward to speaking with Hines as soon as he had more information.

"Yes, to both. He's got a hair across his ass about solving my murder. Over the years, he's brought three or four psychics who were complete frauds. I spoke to them like I'm speaking to you, and they didn't hear a word I was saying. I tried to write on the bathroom mirror when Chet was in the shower, but he thought that was members of the hotel staff playing a joke on him since they knew who he was. No offense, but Minkie and Suzi are too busy making up rooms and washing bed linens to pull that sort of shit. They take their work seriously. I always tipped them well. Make sure you do too."

"I'll make my husband do that." Cope winked at his husband, who sat on the edge of the bed with a clueless look on his face.

"There have also been countless ghost-hunting groups who've stayed in this room. Their equipment wasn't worth a damn. I did everything I could to communicate, but no one even knew I was here. Pretty disappointing if you ask me."

"Do you think Hines set me and my friends up, hoping that you'd reveal yourself to me, and then he could get the story from me?" Cope shook his head. The theory sounded crazy, he knew that, but why else would a news reporter fake an email and pay for three rooms at this no-tell motel?

"Doesn't sound crazy to me. Hines has it in his head that cracking my case will win him a Pulitzer. I hate to break it to him, but I'm small potatoes compared to what's going on in this insane world we all live in. Prizes like that go to reporters who are on the front lines of war or who uncover large-scale corruption or when priests behave badly. Spoiler alert: happens all the time. I should know, I've got a front-row seat. They're some of the kinkiest fuckers out there, and I mean that literally."

Cope gagged. The last thing he wanted to think about was priests getting their rocks off in the bed he'd been trying to sleep in. After that little bit of trivia, Cope might not sleep until they went home. "Is there a reason he's got such a hard-on for you?"

"Ohhh, you're totally interested in the dirt. I love it! Promise not to tell?"

"No," Cope said. "I need to tell Jude and our other friends what's going on, but truth be told, I'm dying to hear the dirt."

Cyrus groaned. "Boy, all your friends are hot as fuck! Especially the tall law enforcement guy. God, I would have fucked him until my dick—"

"Moving on," Cope said. "Fitzgibbon, Ronan, and Jude are all members of the cold case team from Salem."

"Witch City?" Cyrus gushed. "That's super cool. Are they any good at their job?"

"Yeah, they're the best. Which is another reason I think Hines wanted us all here. This way, he's got three psychics, three detectives, and another playboy."

"Hmm, you might be right. The little girl psychic next door is something else. It's like she can see into my black soul."

It was Cope's turn to groan. "Please do not let her see your greatest hits." There were times when Cope was jealous of Everly's gifts, but he didn't envy Ten and Ronan having to explain to their six-year-old what she was seeing.

"I'm not a monster, you know." For the first time in the conversation, Cyrus sounded serious.

"Oddly enough, I do know that. You seem like you were a cool guy when you were alive. My husband was promiscuous before we got married. You two would have gotten on like a house on fire." Just looking at Cyrus, Cope knew he was Jude's type exactly.

"He seems like he's a good guy and a good dad." Cyrus sounded a little envious of Cope's family.

"Jude is the best." Cope reached out for his husband's hand. "I've got one last question for you."

"Go for it." Cyrus laughed, sounding like he was really enjoying being able to speak with someone who could see and hear him.

"Do you know who killed you?" It was the most obvious question to ask. Cope wasn't seeing the answer in Cyrus's mind. He supposed it was possible that the killer was a stranger or that his death was so traumatic that he might not remember.

"Oh, I absolutely know who killed me, but I'm not telling!" Cyrus laughed.

"Huh." Cope sat with Cyrus's answer for a few seconds. "In all the years that I've been speaking to dead people, I've never met a murder victim who didn't want justice and for their killer to rot in prison for what they did."

"I felt that way at first, but now that I've had over a decade to think about it, I deserved what I got. I played the game, and I lost. I have no wish to out my killer. They got what they wanted in the end. As far as being dead goes, this is a great gig. There's plenty of entertainment at the motel. People fight, fuck, and get up to all sorts of trouble. The best part is that I'm still getting plenty of sex. Ghost orgasms, oh, mama, wait until you have your first one. It will blow you away."

In all his years of speaking to dead people, Cope had also never heard of ghost orgasms. It turned out Cyrus Longfellow was full of surprises. "I'll take your word for it. Okay, one last question, and this time I mean it. Have you ever seen the white light?"

Cyrus snorted. "Almost every damn day. I'm not interested in walking into it. I'm having too much fun here."

"I don't understand." Cope wondered if Cyrus was suffering from some sort of afterlife mental illness. If the man could have orgasms, then anything was possible.

"Look, before I was brutally murdered, no one knew my name. My family and former lovers did, but now the whole world knows who I am. There have been documentaries made about me, an episode of Unsolved Mysteries . Ghost hunters, kooks, ghost fuckers, and the like come to see me all the time. Why the hell would I want to walk into the light when I'm more famous in death than I ever was in life?"

For the third time that night, Cope was blown away by Cyrus Longfellow. He'd never heard a spirit say anything remotely like this before. Cyrus was certainly one of a kind. "I'm going to regret asking, but what are ghost fuckers?"

Cyrus laughed. "It's just what it sounds like. Ghost groupies who offer themselves up for my pleasure."

"You can have sex with the living?" Cope sputtered as he spoke. He'd heard of people claiming to have had sex with ghosts, but this was the first time a spirit had told him it was actually possible.

Jude shot Cope a fascinated look. Filling his husband in was going to have to wait.

"Only if they're willing, so your husband is safe." Cyrus laughed again. "For now!"

Cope's head was spinning. "The other detectives were going to dig up whatever they could find on your murder and on Chet Hines. I can't believe I'm asking this, but what do you want us to do about him?"

"Good question. He wants to know who killed me. I'll never tell. He also wants to fuck me, or at least he did when I was alive. We met at a gay club in Ogunquit a few years before I died. He wasn't my type. He was too needy and had no self-confidence. It would have only made things worse if I fucked him and was gone in the morning. I didn't do repeat performances. One night only."

Cope remembered Jude saying something similar when they'd discussed his past. Jude had never said the words out loud, but Cope knew he'd done that so he didn't fall for anyone. Well, until Jude met him, of course. "We're going to make arrangements to speak with Chet tomorrow. Do you want me to fill you in on what happens? I'm at a complete loss before. I've never met anyone like you."

"I've always been one of a kind, baby! Oh, and by the way, you're totally my type. Blond, handsome as fuck, with a tight ass." Cyrus let out a low wolf whistle Cope was glad Jude couldn't hear.

"Thanks, I think." Cope couldn't wait to fill Jude in on all of the details of this bizarre conversation.

"I'm off like a prom dress. I promise to watch if you and your hubby get down to Poundtown." With that last promise, Cyrus was gone.

Turning to Jude, Cope was at a loss for words. "You're not going to believe this, but Cyrus knows who kills him, and he won't ever name them. He also doesn't want to go into the light. He's having too much fun playing the role of voyeur and having ghost sex, which I'm still not sure I completely understand, although if Cyrus can be believed, he wouldn't mind showing me. I'm completely blown away."

"Why don't we get some sleep?" Jude slid under the covers and rolled to his right side. "We can figure out what to do in the morning after we hear what Ronan and Fitz dug up about Chet Hines."

"Sounds like a plan." Cope slid into bed beside Jude, who threw an arm over him and fell asleep. Cope had a feeling sleep wasn't going to be that easy to come by, thanks to his meeting with the strangest ghost of his entire life.