Chapter Twenty

I jerked back. "What?"

He glanced down at Gil, who had folded his front paws under him, his eyes slitted nearly closed, probably in a chicken-liver coma. "He doesn't seem skittish. Quite the opposite. Are you afraid he'll damage something in the house?

"No. No, that's not it."

"Then what?" He placed a gentle hand on my knee. "I'd say to trust me, but trust is something that's built over time, not something that's granted by default. But I'd like to be your friend." His lips quirked. "Maybe more, if things work out. So if there's anything you want to share, anything that I can help with, I'm here."

Could I tell him about Avi? He hadn't been able to see him, although he'd seen the results of the library tornado. But it was one thing to see physical evidence of something—something I might just as easily have staged myself. It was another to blurt out I see dead people. One dead person anyway. Oh, and incidentally? He was a friend of yours.

I dropped my gaze to his hand on my knee. Would he think I was hallucinating? In need of medication? Of psychiatric help? Heck, did I think that? I was strongly attracted to Ricky and thought he was attracted to me, too. But if I expected us to act on what seemed to be a mutual feeling and take it further, I didn't want to hide things from him now that might come back and bite me on the butt later.

Building trust. Yeah, that. Might as well start now. His reaction might give me all the answers I needed.

"The thing is," I said, my voice probably a little too soft because he leaned closer. Not that I was complaining about that . "I'm afraid the house is haunted."

"Yes. Saul and Professor DeHaven seemed very excited about the… event. Is that why you don't want to leave Gil there alone? In case something similar happens?"

That was the truth, as far as it went. I could stop there and he'd understand. But I'd still be hiding something. The Big Thing . "Yes." I swallowed hard. "Because he's unpredictable."

Ricky's brows snapped together. "Gil?"

"No. I can pretty much predict what he'll do. His repertoire isn't that large. Eat. Sleep. Shed."

"Then who?"

Here goes nothing. "Avi."

He stared at me blankly. "Avi. The Avi who lived in this house? Avi Felder?" I nodded. "You saw Avi's ghost ?"

"Actually, I saw him twice. But, um, you didn't."

The frown was back. "What do you mean?"

"Remember when you thought I was asking about the blinds?"

"That was just yesterday, so yeah."

"Avi was at the table, staring at my laptop. He, um, objects to the quality of writing on a prospective project."

Ricky's smile dawned. "Well, he was a writer. It was probably professional outrage. He hated sloppy prose."

I blinked. "Wait. You believe me? You don't think I'm… imagining things?"

Ricky bumped my shoulder with his own. "My family celebrates Dia de los Muertos. In fact, the whole town does. The town is literally called Ghost. What makes you think I'd be skeptical about a sighting?"

I was a little miffed, if I was honest with myself. I'd expected the reveal to create a bigger reaction, something more than Ricky's unruffled acceptance. Where was the drama? The amazement? The horror?

"Well, I'm skeptical, so I think my apprehension is understandable. For all I knew, you'd run off and warn the whole town that I was a con man. Or else contact the authorities and have me hauled away for a mandatory 72-hour psych eval."

"Maz." He rose and looked down at me, his expression serious but somehow still open. "I promise I'm not dismissing your concerns, and if you'd still rather not trust Gil in the house alone, Tia Sofia will be happy to take care of him. But I'd like to help, if you'll let me." He held out his hand with a tentative smile. "So will you invite me inside?"

I gazed at his hand for a moment, probably a little too long because he started to withdraw it, his smile fading. So I grabbed it and stood up, nearly overbalancing him until I caught his other arm to steady him. "Okay. It's possible nothing will happen, though."

"Hey, this is Ghost." He grinned. "I'm game either way."

I fit the key in the lock, and for a wonder, it turned easily. I shot a glance over my shoulder. "At least the keyholes aren't jammed with sawdust again. My request must have worked."

He lifted one eyebrow. "Request?"

"When I left, I called out a plea not to stuff sawdust in the keyholes again. You know, just in case Avi was responsible."

"To tell you the truth, ghost interference makes more sense than super speedy mason bees."

I glared at him, my hand on the doorknob. "Are you taking the piss?" Greg certainly wouldn't have passed up the opportunity.

"No, I'm serious. Nothing natural could have filled up the locks that fast. While it might have been kids messing around, the kids in town don't come over here uninvited. Professor DeHaven freaks them out." He leaned closer and whispered, "They're sure she's a witch."

"It's a distinct possibility. Ready?" At his nod, I took a breath and opened the door—

And stumbled back into Ricky. Because Avi was standing in the middle of the vestibule, wringing his hands, his eyes wide.

"Man, good thing I wasn't holding the cake," Ricky said. "Did you trip?"

"No," I husked. "He's here. There."

"Who? Avi?" Ricky peered over my shoulder. "I don't see anything."

"He's standing just beyond the door." I brushed my hands down my shirt, my palms damp. "Avi? What's the matter?"

"Someone was here!" Even though his voice still sounded as though it were filtered by distance, I could hear the edge of panic.

"Where?"

He stamped his foot, which, I was interested to note, made zero impression on the hall runner. "In the house ."

"I realize that," I said with some asperity. "I meant where in the house?"

"I don't know," Avi mumbled.

I propped my hands on my hips. "Well, that's just great. How do you know somebody was here? Did you feel a disturbance in the Force or something?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't patronize me, Maz."

"Sorry."

"Did he say somebody was in the house?" Ricky whispered.

I nodded. "Yep. Although I'm not sure where or why he thinks so."

"Stop talking about me as though I'm not here," Avi snapped.

"From Ricky's perspective, you aren't here. He can't see you."

Avi's brows lifted toward his hairline. "He can't?" I shook my head. "So why can you?"

I shrugged. "No idea." I glanced over my shoulder at Ricky. "He wants to know why I can see him, but you can't." I turned back to Avi before he blew a gasket. "Let's table that discussion for later. Where were you when the intruder arrived?"

His shoulders slumped. "I don't know that either. I was…"

"Grieving?" I asked gently. He had only just realized Oren was dead—and that he himself was no longer among the alive and kicking.

He nodded. "When I'm not here, in the house, I'm just… not ."

"Not what?"

"Not anything. Not anywhere. But I could tell that somebody was moving around in the house. I felt it. Here." He thumped his chest with a fist, but it made no noise. "I didn't know what it meant at first. I thought it was just because I was sad."

"So it was a disturbance in the Force!" I crowed. When he glared at me, I held up my hands. "Sorry. But it's the best metaphor I can think of right now. This house is your space—that is, I assume you don't go anywhere else?"

He shook his head. "Here or nowhere."

"So if it's your space, in your present, er, incarnation, you're probably connected enough to it that you can tell something's wrong, yeah?"

"Maz," Ricky murmured, "maybe we should call Saul and Professor DeHaven."

I slapped my forehead. "Shoot! You're right. I promised them." I gave Avi a strained smile. "Is it okay if I let Saul Pasternak and Professor DeHaven know you're"—my gesture swept from his head to his feet—"manifesting?"

He bit his lip, clearly thinking. "Do you think they'll be able to see me?"

"No idea. But they investigated the library tornado—"

"Sorry about that."

"No worries. They were so excited about that, I thought they were going to plotz."

"Plotz?" A smile glimmered on Avi's transparent features, and I could suddenly see why someone like Oren, with a life and career elsewhere, would give it all up to move here and be with this man. "Aren't you Arabic, Maz? I'm the one who should be breaking out the Yiddish slang."

"Arabic heritage . Actually, I'm from Connecticut."

"Noted." He swept an arm out. "By all means, give them a call. I can't promise they'll see anything." Despite his grand gesture, his eyes behind his spectral glasses looked bleak and a little lost. "I haven't the vaguest idea how this works."