Chapter Twenty-Two

My knees were feeling decidedly wobbly, so I cuddled Gil to my chest for comfort until he squawked in protest and wriggled to escape.

Another ghost? I was just coming to terms with having one . And while this one was pretty non-threatening—sort of the Casper of Ghost, if Casper were adult, gay, and snarky—who knew what others might be like? Would I be able to see them too? If they were hostile, would I be able to protect myself? Protect Gil? Protect the house?

Protect Avi?

Because even though it had barely been twenty-four hours, and despite Carson's subtle trash talking, I felt closer to Avi than I'd ever felt to Greg. Maybe it was because of our connection to Oren, and through Oren, to the house. Since Avi couldn't figure it out any more than I could, I was a little leery of encountering any other… what did Professor DeHaven call them? Oh. Spiritus entities.

Regardless of what they were called, I needed fortification for this conversation, so I staggered down the hall to the kitchen. After I made a cup of tea and carved a huge piece of the tres leches cake, I settled at the table and motioned to the chair across from me with my fork.

"Please. Sit." When he didn't move, I set the fork next to the plate. "That is, can you sit?" Avi's glare was one of complete betrayal. "Come on, we're both still figuring this out, right? I watched you walk upstairs, but I'm not sure the stairs were necessary, since half the time you were an inch above them and the other half you were inside them. Is it just residual muscle memory? I mean, you can interact with the typewriter. And the books, given that you ripped all the pages out of one and threw the rest all over the room."

He stalked over—feet mostly on the floor—and sat down. That is, he folded his body in the shape of the chair, but his trajectory took him through the edge of the table. "That wasn't intentional. The library. I was just—" His shoulders lifted in what was clearly a sigh, although I couldn't hear him expel his breath. "Somebody who wasn't Oren was in my house. I'd been keeping it ready for him, everything perfect, because I wanted him to see it at its best."

I paused with my tea halfway to my mouth. "Wait. You ' re the reason the house was so clean when I got here?"

His brows knotted. "Of course."

"What did you do with all the dust?" I had a momentary vision of spectral Lemon Pledge.

"I—" An expression of confusion flickered over his face. "I have no idea. I just didn't want it to look like I couldn't take care of the place, if that makes sense."

Okay. So supernatural dust collection was a thing. Good to know. I took a bite of cake, and Avi's gaze tracked my fork. "Is that Sofia's tres leches cake?"

"Mmmhmmm," I mumbled around my mouthful. I swallowed and said, "Do you want some? I mean, can you eat? Drink?"

He extended his hand toward the frosting, lifting his brows. "May I?"

I pushed the plate toward him. "Knock yourself out."

He swiped a fingertip through the frosting—and I mean through , because the frosting remained pristine, as did his finger. "I guess not?"

I set the cake aside, because eating in front of him, now that I knew he couldn't share, seemed rude. "So the books were unintentional, an emotional reaction. But what about the typing? That seems a little more deliberate. Do you actually press the keys?"

He knotted his fingers together on the tabletop. "I don't remember." The napkins in the brass holder started to flutter, apparently the harbinger of another emotional tsunami—or at least a little squall.

"Hey." I held up my hands. "Don't worry about it. Maybe we can test it out later. Would that be okay?"

His smile was tentative, but the napkins stopped trying to stage an escape. "I'd like that."

"So." I curled my hands around my teacup. "Can you tell me about why you think Oren might be haunting the place, too? Or haunting you?" Uh oh. More napkin fluttering. "But only if you want to," I said hurriedly. "Otherwise, we can just tag all the stuff you'd like to move up to the attic and call it a day."

"No, I want to tell you. I want to understand ." Another lift and drop of his shoulders, which I think were broader than they looked under his oversized cardigan. "We… we fought."

My fingers tensed on the china, and I carefully set it aside so I wouldn't be tempted to throw it. "Did he—" I swallowed, wrestling with that domestic violence trigger again. From all I'd heard about Oren, I didn't think he was an abuser, but I had to ask. "Did he hurt you? Hit you?"

"No! Never! I didn't mean— That's not—" He ran his hands through his hair and I noted that while he didn't always affect the real world—the cake, for instance—his transparent fingers disarranged his transparent hair, no problem. Maybe it was an etheric frequency thing? Who knew?

"Oren was in Toronto for a project. Had been for two months while the renovations were completed here, which, I have to admit, I was a little angry about. I mean, no, he'd done his part of the work with the design. The construction crew was responsible for executing it. But I missed him. And it was our house, now. I'd put him on the deed before we started the work. And he'd known about the party for weeks. But he told me he couldn't make it. That he had to stay with the Toronto project until it was completed, and it would be at least another two weeks. I… yelled at him." His gaze dropped, and one napkin escaped. I flattened it to the table with my palm. "I told him I wouldn't reschedule the party. If he couldn't be bothered to show up, he could read about the good time we all had in Boos News . And then I hung up on him."

I winced. I knew all about angry words spoken in the heat of the moment, and the regrets that followed. "Was that the last time you spoke?"

"No. He gave me a little time to cool off and then he called me back right before I went to bed. He told me that he…" His voice choked, and he had to swallow. "That he understood. That he was sorry. But that he promised to make it up to me when he got home. He had a surprise for me, he said, and made me promise."

"Promise what?"

Avi lifted his chin to gaze at me, his expression bleak. "I promised to wait for him until he got home." The napkins flapped wildly. "I waited. I kept my promise. When will he keep his?"

The napkins made a break for it, and this time I didn't stop them.