6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

I t was midnight before we realized it.

The workers were gently nudging people to leave, asking if they could get anyone anything else, and sitting at the employee table shooting beseeching looks at the lingering patrons. As soon as Phil noticed, he grabbed the bill, his camera, and my hand, and we left—after we tipped incredibly well. The night was clear. The air was brisk. The stars were alive in the velvety black sky.

"Do you mind if I shoot some night scenes while we walk back to the bookshop?"

I shook my head. My whole being too wrapped up in this surreal stuff of dreams moment. His fingers left mine, just for a moment, and then claimed my hand once more. Using his left hand, he panned around the street at the closed shops, at the moon hanging above us, and then at me. I was slowly growing used to being in the eye of that old camcorder. I pulled a goofy face. Phil snorted in amusement, prattling on about this night being the best night of his whole life. He loved to add dialog to his short films and life snippets I'd learned. The man was quite humorous. His earnest outlook on everything was fresh and sometimes quirky.

"Saturday night date night," he said as the camera lingered on my face. "I'm out with the cutest guy in Liverswell after getting two sacks and three tackles, one that resulted in a turnover."

"Yay, Phil!" I cheered, my words fogging in front of me before drifting off into nothingness.

"I got that first sack for you, Arch. Did you see me point to Rugger lying on the ground and then to you?" He bounced around in front of me, our walk stalling, his fingers clasping mine as the camera rolled. I nodded. My cheeks grew warm. He beamed. "I hope you can come to all of our games. You're good luck."

"I'm not good luck at all," I replied, my curse/blessing rising to tap me on the shoulder lest I forget that I was maybe somewhat normal. "I'm really odd."

He turned off the camcorder and shoved it into the front pocket of his jacket.

"Well, so am I. Who else do you know that attends LU and listens to Lita Ford?" I wasn't sure who that was, so I shrugged. His eyes went wide. "Seriously, Arch, you got to hear Lita!"

Before I could sputter out that I didn't need to listen to Lita, I had an earbud in my left ear. Phil watched my reactions with great expectations as Lita sang about being kissed deadly, which made no sense. How could someone kiss you in a deadly manner? I had little—aka none—knowledge of kissing, but surely some lip-to-lip action couldn't possibly end a life.

"It's bouncy," I said and got a hoot and a happy dance which yanked the earbud free.

"Oops!" He hurried to replace the earbud, and that was how we made our way to the front door of the bookstore, sharing some pop songs, him tipping to the right to ensure our differing heights didn't interfere with sharing a slow song about eternal flames that he belted out word for word.

"This is pretty," I said as we stood at my front door.

"It's the Bangles. I really like them." We stood facing each other as the song played out, the female lead singer's voice enjoyable and strong. A streetlight nearby flickered on and off. Phil's hand was warm in mine, his gaze soft as it held mine. "I really like you a lot, Arch," he whispered.

"I…I like you too," I confessed on a weak exhalation.

"Would you be okay with me kissing you?"

"I…that would…yes, I would be okay with that."

I rose up and puckered, eyes squeezed shut, and prayed this first kiss looked more like Rachel McAdams smooching Ryan Gosling in The Notebook and not like Amy and Bumper finally locking lips in Pitch Perfect 2.

When his plush lips met mine, I noodled into his arms, floating forward as my hands went to his wide shoulders. He tasted my lips once, then twice, the pecks gentle and timid. When my chest touched his, something changed, his grip got firmer, my fingers slipped up into those soft golden locks, and I tongued at the seam of his mouth. He opened. And it was at that moment that I knew exactly what Lita had been singing about. Yes, someone could kiss you in a deadly manner. Phil's tongue, still sweetly flavored by the tiramisu he'd had for dessert, slipped over mine and the world went sideways. I held onto his head to make sure I didn't fall off. Not that tumbling off the earth into space would be so bad as long as Phil's mouth was on mine. Nope, drifting aimlessly through the stars in a lip lock so sublime sounded perfect.

The kiss broke, both of us huffing, my dick now so hard I feared for the integrity of the zipper of my jeans. Phil gazed down at me, his big hands on my hips, his eyes searching for something.

"I should go," he said, his voice thick and raspy. He didn't sound as if he wanted to leave.

"Come inside and kiss me one more time," I pleaded.

"Just once?"

"Maybe twice."

Somehow, I managed to get the key into the lock. We stumbled into the dusty shop, his hands spinning me around the moment we stepped into the store. I clambered up over him like he was a towering palm tree and I was a randy monkey who had just had his first taste of coconut and needed more sweetness. Our mouths crashed together. He cupped my ass, lifting me from the floor as if I were a kitten. It turned me on. I licked into his mouth, greedy for more, and Phil was happy to oblige. I could vaguely hear music playing from his earbuds, which were dangling somewhere from his upper body. Then the thud of a book falling to the floor vibrated through the shop, jarring us from the sloppy makeout session. Phil looked over my shoulder, his back now pressed to the front door, and his expression morphed from passionate to shocked.

I craned my head, horrified to think that Grandpa had come downstairs for some reason and had seen us sucking on each other's faces like two horny Hoover uprights. What I saw was even worse. Reggie, Eloise, and Caleb the milkman were standing in front of the counter, copies of some yellow-paged tome in their hands. Well, Reg and Caleb still had their books. Eloise had dropped hers to the floor, her silent mouth open. She streaked out of the shop right through the plate-glass windows. Caleb went after her, book in hand, until he too hit the glass. Then the book fell, hit the front window, crashed into the small display of mystery novels, and lay there.

"What the…" Phil croaked, his grip on me slipping as his eyes rounded to the size of dinner plates. Reggie began to giggle. "What the…what the…"

"Phil, it's okay," I said just as my feet hit the wooden floorboards. "Uhm, it's just a thing that kind of happens around here."

His eyes flew from the sole book—a copy of William Shakespeare's Macbeth , which seemed pretty apropos given the moment—that would appear to him to be levitating to me.

"Books fly around in here?!" He was starting to get a little freaked out. Totally understandable.

"Well, no, not unless they're held by spirits," I explained and winced at the stupidity of what I had just said. "You look pale."

"I think I need to sit down." And down he went, his back gliding down the front door until his ass hit the floor. I knelt in front of him and began fanning him with my hand. He honestly did look washed out.

"The time has been, that, when the brains were out, the man would die and there an end. But now they rise again with twenty mortal murders on their crowns. And push us from our stools!" Reggie theatrically read aloud.

"Would you shut up!" I snapped at the ghost behind me. Phil's eyebrows knotted. "No, not you. I was talking to…" Reggie grew silent, a first to be sure, as I fanned Phil with more speed. "Okay, so I think we need to talk."

Phil's pretty blue eyes flew to Reggie. "Talk about why books fly around inside here?"

"Yes," I timidly replied, dropping to my butt, crossing my legs, and taking Phil's now clammy hands between mine. "Why don't we go to the sofa and talk?"

I wasn't sure who was shaking more, me or Phil? Reggie, who sensed the tension radiating off both the mortals in the room, gently carried his book to the counter and placed it down.

"Dreadfully sorry," he said as I led Phil to the plum couch. "I tried to remind you that the book club was meeting this evening, but you flew out the door with nary a god's blessing to us. Then, obviously, when you came tumbling through and fell on poor Philip like a jackal long denied any fresh meat, we all were suitably gobsmacked. Eloise, I fear, has never seen two men trying to swallow each other's faces and fled, which is better than a fit of the vapors but still the poor chit is probably scandalized. I, on the other hand, am titillated and quite proud of you!"

I threw him a dark scowl. Phil's eyes followed mine. "What are you glaring at? Is it a haunted book?!"

"No, it's not a haunted book. None of the books are haunted," I gently said as he fell onto the couch. I sat on the coffee table between two boxes of children's books. "Would you like some water?"

"Oh! I shall make tea!" Reggie flew off upstairs. I patted Phil's hand and tried to get my words properly lined up.

Phil sat silently, fingers gripping mine, waiting for me to say something that would make sense of it all. To be honest, I didn't think there was a sensible way to clarify what he had just seen. I couldn't say it was a weather balloon or the light playing tricks.

My fear, and it was justified, was that once I told him I spoke to the undead he would smile, nod, and then leave, never to be seen or kissed again. And hey, I wouldn't fault him for doing so. I was a weirdo. Who wanted a freak like me for a boyfriend? No one, which was why I was such a cherry person.

"Okay, so the thing is…" He blinked, waiting, hanging onto my every word. "Okay, so it's like this…" Damn it. "My family line is cursed." His eyes flared. "Or blessed, it depends on who you are talking to. I think it's a bit of a curse as it makes me an oddity. My aura is off and people sense that."

"I never sensed your off aura. I think you have a great aura. It's yellow."

I gaped. "You can see auras?" This might be easier than I thought if he possessed some supranatural powers as well.

"No, but I think yours would be yellow. Like a sunflower. I look at you and feel sunny inside."

Ancestors, please, help me hold on to this wonderful man somehow. I am so lonely, and he is so kind. I promise I will have food and incense next time I ask for help.

"Thanks." I didn't know what to say to his admission, so I just blushed hotly for a moment. "So, I know this is going to sound kind of crazy, but I swear it is all the truth. The Kee line is an old one. Many grandfathers back, I had an ancestor who possessed great powers. It was called the spiritual eye, and Kee Houng was a master of it. He also had distant vision, a way of seeing into the future, but I don't have that. Yet." Phil's shoulders began to loosen as I talked.

"Why is your ancestor's first name Kee when it's your last name?" Okay good, he was calm enough now to ask questions. I'd take that.

"When my great-great-grandfather came over from China, his paperwork was in Chinese, and his English was dismal. One of the workers at Ellis Island misunderstood and filled out his forms as Houng Kee, which was a total Western thing to do, but once it was listed, it was listed. Probably it could have been argued and changed, but the family was desperate to be American, so they left it."

"Oh bummer. If I was working the day he came over, I could have read the Pinyan and done it right for him."

I smiled and nodded. His Pinyan was not at the reading level yet, but it was lovely that he would have done something like that for us. "So, this vision of yours. Like you literally see dead people? Like in that movie with Bruce Willis?"

I nodded. "I do see dead people. And I can talk to them."

"No shit." He stared at me in wonder. "Does Grampy Kee also talk to the dead?"

"No, the vision skips generations randomly. My father had a small amount of powers, nothing like mine. He could sense things but not see or communicate. My grandfather says that was why he and my mother drowned when they were sailing on DianShan Lake in Western Shanghai. Grandpa swears that a water ghost sensed my father and attacked them."

"Oh damn, Arch, I am so super sorry," he gently said, his gaze growing melancholy. "I knew your grandfather raised you, but I didn't want to ask about how or where your folks were."

"Thanks. It was a long time ago. I was just a toddler. My dad loved to sail. Grandpa said he and Mom always spent long weekends on their sailboat. They took me with them most of the time, even though Grandpa disliked it. Lots of older Chinese people distrust the water. Guess he was right not to trust it because they were found floating on the lake, dead, on a calm day. I was about two, maybe three, and was sitting on the floor of the boat, crying and sunburnt, a little dehydrated but fine."

"Oh man, Arch." He flipped his hands to cradle mine.

The chill of that memory crept over me as it always did. "I don't remember anything, but sometimes I have dreams…" I wasn't ready to open that up to him. Not yet. This was more than enough to dump on the guy. "I'm scared of water too. I mean, terrified of it. I know that's stupid, but it's just a huge phobia, so don't ask me to go on a swimming date. Not that you'll ever ask me out again now that you know what a nutcake I am."

"Hey, no, don't even say that. I mean…" His just-kissed lips twitched. "Sure, this is a lot to take in. I don't mean you," he hurried to say when I opened my mouth. "I think your powers are cool. Kind of scary, yeah, but super cool. They make you even more unique."

"Thanks," I murmured, unsure if I wanted to be unique but realizing that I would always be that peculiar, queer Asian guy. Hearing that he wasn't too freaked out by me was heartening. But saying you were cool with something in theory was probably going to be a different story when it was displayed in real life. "You don't have to go out with me though if things get too—"

He stole a kiss, just a short, sweet peck. I blinked. "I like you. A lot. So I'm not planning on going anywhere just because of your sight. I think what I'm having the most trouble with isn't your gift because, yeah, it's super cool, but the fact that there are like undead people shuffling around." His gaze darted from my face to the now eerily quiet shop.

And yeah, I totally got that. Having your whole belief system tossed on its ass was disconcerting. Phil was taking this all pretty well. Much better than most would, I was damn sure.

"If it helps, not all the dearly departed are lunging around Liverswell like zombies. It's more like a lost souls sort of situation." His attention came back to me, so I explained the best I could about how some spirits lingered and why. He nodded along, his hands still holding mine, until I ran out of air. I waited on tenterhooks as he processed. "So, are you cool?"

"Huh?" He shook off whatever mind fog had claimed him. "Oh, cool, uhm, yeah. Mostly, I guess. So, like my grandma isn't haunting people?"

"I don't know, but probably not. Did she die at the hands of another?" He shook his head. "Then she's probably moved onto another plane. What that is depends on your religious beliefs, which I am not here to counter in any way. Perhaps she has come back as a newborn and will live a whole new life." That made him smile tentatively.

"Thanks, okay, that helps. So, like, are there a lot of ghosts in Liverswell?"

"A few." I didn't want to encumber him trying to sort out just how many specters roamed the world, or even our little village, so I'd keep things vague, and if he stuck around, I could slowly add to his understanding. "There are three that frequent the shop, two that were killed on this street and one that was killed in the basement. Reggie is a Revolutionary War British soldier and is trapped here on this spot because he was murdered unjustly. The other two were killed on the street and so they're bound to our street."

I thought to mention the Tewberry twins, but they were not exactly the gentlest of spirits, so I kept the knowledge of those two little shits to myself.

"Wow. Why was he killed in the basement? Oh! Did George Washington find him spying on him in the basement and shoot him with a musket?!"

"No, I don't think George Washington was ever here in Liverswell." Phil deflated. "He was found fornicating in the root cellar with another man. The owner of the tavern shot him on sight."

Phil grew sad instantly. "Oh man, that sucks. So he was shot simply for being queer?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Man, that is the worst . If I can ever talk to Reggie, I would like to say—"

It was at that time the door to our second-floor apartment creaked open and a tray holding our tea set floated down the stairs. Floating in Phil's eyes. I could plainly see Reggie, tongue between his lips, carefully treading the stairs so as not to spill. Sometimes he forgot he could just waft along like a balloon.

"Uhm…" Phil whispered, his grip on my fingers tightening.

"It's Reggie. He thought some tea would help soothe your fright."

"Ah, sure. He's British." With that, he rose slightly, still holding my hands, and yelled, " I'm sorry we dumped all that tea into the harbor in Boston! "

Reggie paused on the bottom step. "Do tell the lad that he does not need to bellow. I'm not deaf, just dead. And as for the whole unpleasantness in Boston harbor, it's all water under the pier. Actually, it would be tea under the pier!" Reggie sniggered at his own quip.

I glanced at Phil. "Reggie says thank you for apologizing."

"Cool." Phil eased back against the sofa, his grip steady on my hands, and stared right at me. "Does he make tea a lot?"

"No, he's usually just tossing things about like a toddler when something doesn't go his way."

"Ugh, such vile untruths." Reggie carried the tea to the table and waited as I moved to sit next to Phil, who was squinting at the tea service as if he focused hard enough he too would be able to see the marquis. "Please tell the young buck I am nobility, but since he is your paramour now, he may simply address me as Reginald."

"You can call him Reggie," I said while taking the tray from our resident ghost. "And he's very frisky, so if you feel a chilly pinch on the butt and there's no one there, it will be him."

"Oh okay." Phil gawked about. "Does he pinch butts often?"

"Only when they're tantalizing!" Reggie tittered madly. "Now, I'm off to the attic to visit with the twins across the alley. There is some titillating gossip to set in motion. Don't do anything that I wouldn't do!"

He disappeared with a tiny pop. Super. Undead tongues would be wagging about Phil's and my hot kiss. "If you let go of my hand, I can pour the tea," I softly said. Phil blushed hard and slowly released my fingers. "Thanks. I'm sorry for all of this. I guess I should have told you before that I was a medium."

"I would have thought you were a large."

"I…no, I mean, that I'm able to speak with ghosts. I am a size large."

"Oh cool. I bought you a jersey." He then bit down on his lower lip. The urge to kiss that worried spot was strong. I hurried to pour tea into a small china cup. My grandfather would not be pleased to see his mother's set in use. This set was only for important holidays. I'd have to wash, dry, and store it back in the bottom cupboard before I went to bed. "Okay, that was supposed to be a surprise, but the cat's out of the bag. It's one of mine."

"I sort of assumed it might be." I passed him a cup on a delicate saucer. Both looked like a child's toy in his large hands. "That's incredibly generous."

"Well, yeah, I mean, you were the only one in the girlfriend group that didn't have a jersey, so I stopped by the merch booth after the game but they were sold out of large. You'll have it before the next game, though." He sipped his tea thoughtfully. "This is good ghost tea. I think we should change the name of the girlfriend's group to be more inclusive."

"Right yes." I was fumbling to keep up with his leaps from topic to topic, but that was just Phil. He seemed to be a stream-of-consciousness sort of guy. "Totally. So, are you okay with everything I just told you?"

"Mm, I think so." He took another tiny taste of hot green tea. "I mean, probably. It's kind of creepy, though. Not you. Just the knowledge there are ghosts around us all the time. Are all of them cool like Reggie?"

I dropped a cube of sugar into my tea and stirred to give myself time to find the right words. "Well, no, not all of them. Most are," I hurried to say. "Most of the undead never interact with the living."

"Not unless you say their name three times," he interjected with a small smile.

"Well, sure, that will do it every time," I nervously teased. His eyes flared. "Only in the movies. Summoning a spirit is much more involved than reciting a name thrice."

"I like how you talk."

I felt my cheeks heat. "Reggie rubs off on me at times," I confided. "But as for malevolent shades as the Greeks referred to them, sometimes when the spirit of a person who was struck down before it was their time, those specters can linger in a place. Some are pleasant, like Reggie, some are mischievous like some twins I know, and some are sinister. I think I may have run into one of the angrier ones earlier today."

"Where?" he asked in a breathy exhalation.

"Out at Lake Killikee," I confessed, lowering my cup to rest the saucer on my knee. "It was…well, there's something very strong out there. It may be the reason why men are disappearing by the lake, or it may not be. I wasn't prepared for it, and it knocked me on my ass psychically. I had this killer headache and took a nap, lasting way longer than I had anticipated, which made me late, which made me totally blow by Reg, Caleb, and Eloise and forget about them meeting for their book club tonight, which…well, which led to us kiss-falling into the shop and you seeing them. Sort of seeing them." I drew in a shaky breath. "I'm sorry for rambling."

"No, hey, that sounds like a lot." He put down his tea to rub my bowed back. It felt marvelous. His touch lit up every nerve receptor I had and several I didn't even know existed. "So there are mean ghosts around?"

"A few, yes. I don't want to alarm you, but you should know that on occasion, I do run into them. Most are easily talked out of acting out against humans. I'm not sure how to approach the water ghost out at Lake Killikee, though. I'll need to read up more."

We sat there in silence, drinking tea brewed by a ghost as if it were the most normal of ways to end a date. I chanced a peek at him. He was watching me, his gaze tender.

"I think you're the prettiest man I have ever seen," he said so softly I had to strain to hear him. "And I would be super honored if you'd still go out with me. I'm not anything special like you. I don't have any awesome powers or a ghost in my dorm room—or do I?"

"I don't know," I replied. "I could visit and see someday?"

"Yeah, cool. That would be cool. If I do have a ghost, I hope he or she is good at writing essays." That made me chuckle. "But yeah, I'm not unique in any way like you are, but if you'd like to go out with me more, I would love that."

"Are you sure, Phil? I'm not exactly a prize."

"You're a blue ribbon date if you ask me, and since I'm the one dating you, my opinion is the only one that matters." He nodded as if that was all there was to be said about that, and so I let it go. For now. "Can I have one more cup of tea before I go home?"

I bobbed my head. I gave him two cups of tea and one sizzling goodbye kiss to get him home. After he was gone, with Eloise following him unseen to the corner, I slipped into the closed shop, rolling down the grate as I puzzled over how I had managed to find such a great, handsome, and damn accepting man. Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't spend eternity alone with just the wraiths to keep me company.