Ghostly: A Paranormal Romantic Comedy (Perks of Being Paranormal Book 1)

Chapter 10

“There’s my girl! Come to momma!” Marge crossed into the hallway, swooped Rosalie up and let her lick her neck and chin. But the puppy soon started to wiggle, and Marge let her down, only for Rosalie to run back to Gabriel, rise on her hind legs, and start scratching his pants.

“Rosalie, it’s time to go,” Gabriel said.

Rosalie did the puppiest puppy eyes he’d ever seen.

He cleared his throat and scratched her behind the ears. “She’s just… she likes it.”

“Likes you!” Ida giggled in the living room.

Gabriel ignored her. “Now go back to your owner, Rosalie.”

With a bit more coaxing, Marge got her dog back. “Did you brush her?”

“Yes. A—uh, a friend said long-haired dogs need frequent brushing.”

“I know that,” Marge said, but with no malice in her voice. “I do it every day. But she didn’t resist you?”

“Uh…” Gabriel looked to Rosalie, who wiggled her tail. “No, no, she did. I’ve got war wounds all over here.” He indicated his arm, luckily covered by the sleeve.

More laughing from Ida. “Liar!”

“Oh, my good man. You’re a saint. And with all you had to endure, to think I also let you wait longer than I said! But you have to forgive me. Me and Rex, uh…” Marge blushed.

Oh, god.“It’s fine. No problem.”

“But will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Forgive me.”

“Of course.” Gabriel squeezed her hand. “No problem.”

“Thank you. Let’s go, Rosalie. Say goodbye to the nice man!”

Rosalie barked at him once, as if trying to say, “How dare you let me go”, then whined and ran after Marge, her fluffy tail swinging back and forth.

He was going to miss the little furball.

A light, shimmery feeling expanded in his chest. Gabriel needed a moment before he remembered why it felt familiar. The dinner!

Ida glided through the doorway. “Did you feel something just now?”

“Forgiveness,” Gabriel said, his eyes following Marge’s car. “Marge asked me to forgive her. And I…” He looked to Ida. For a few seconds, they stared at each other, then simultaneously ran for the contract. Gabriel removed it from the folder. Forgive, forgive, forgive—his heart fell as he saw the word, still clear and dark, as one of the conditions on the page.

He hadn’t succeeded. But then what was all this about?

“Gabriel, look.” Ida pointed at an empty space above forgive. “The warm up condition is gone. You had done it, just not the one we thought.”

A thought flashed through Gabriel’s mind—of course it wouldn’t be forgive, how could he expect that of himself—before he refocused on the other condition. “But I hadn’t done any warming up.”

“You warmed up to someone,” Ida said, eyes gleaming proudly. “That was clever!”

“But that would mean… oh, no. I’m not warming up to Marge. I’ll admit the Schuyler Sisters aren’t witches, but warming up is a far too strong a term to use—”

“Not Marge, dummy.”

Gabriel stared at her, mouth gaping.

“Admit it.” An amused smile played on her face. “You didn’t like Rosalie when she came here, but you could barely be torn away from her today.”

“Maybe I don’t dislike her anymore.” That was as far as any confession was going to go. “Let’s not over-analyze this and rather take it as what it is. A victory. And what do you do when you win?”

“You binge-watch the whole of Bewitched, the original series, to celebrate? Oh, please, Gabriel. I hadn’t seen it since the seventies.”

“I’m not watching Bewitched.” The Bachelorette was where he drew a line. A very firm line. “No, you keep winning. That’s what you do.”

Ida tilted her head and did a frighteningly good impression of Rosalie’s puppy eyes.

Gabriel let out a loud breath. “One episode. One!”

To continue his winning streak, Gabriel visited Marge in the library the next day. She allowed him to see the archives (while chatting about everyone and every upcoming event in town) and with a little organized digging, Gabriel discovered an old grave site, active in the late nineteenth century, where people of “dubious morals” would be buried.

Which, in their terms, he guessed meant Ida.

The site was beyond the edge of town, by the forest. It hadn’t been in use for decades and as such was appropriately overgrown, but a few wooden posts hinted at where a fence used to be, scattered stones and wooden crosses implied the graves, and a long-abandoned crypt-like building stood at the edge like a watchman.

Gabriel spent a good two hours cleaning various grave markers, trying to figure out which one was Ida’s. The stone ones had eroded so much it was hard to distinguish the engravings, even after he’d cleaned up the plants overgrowing them. Many had no markings at all; just a lump of stone or a cross indicating someone whose name was not worth mentioning had been buried there.

With his hands all scratched—for real, this time—and his knees hurting, Gabriel stood and stretched. Few undiscovered graves remained, and his winning high was starting to drift away. Two, three, five. Only 25% of the graves were named. He didn’t think any of them were Ida’s— the letters he could recognize weren’t right—but how was he to figure out the right one from the rest?

If she was buried here, at all. Maybe her asshole family didn’t think she was even worth that.

Discouraged, but not defeated, Gabriel sat by the next grave. One, two, three, four, five, six. Tear off the overgrowth, curse as it pricks you in the process. One, two, three, four, five, six. Use your car keys (he came woefully unprepared) to scratch the dirt off the engravings in the stone. He used a rag he found in the back of his car to wipe the stone clean. He was so ready to move on to another grave, to shake his head at another futile attempt, that he stared at the engraving for a good minute until he understood what he was seeing.

I. S. H.

1863-1888

Ida. He found her! The last bits of his winning high bubbled up inside him, and he stood and jumped in place. Three-quarters done, almost. Hell, yes.

Three-quarters done. Ida was almost three-quarters gone.

Gabriel kneeled and clenched his fists in his lap. There wasn’t a feeling that could equal a good, solid win—and he hated that an undertaste of loss had to sneak in. He was doing what he promised he’d do, what both he and Ida wanted. It made no sense to feel regret.

He shoved the thoughts away and, with renewed zeal, cleaned the space in front of the tombstone, accomplishing the task much faster than in six minutes, until he had room to place a pot of vibrant orange marigolds. He’d nearly gone for the chrysanthemums in the town’s flower shop when he’d spotted the marigolds. They shouldn’t even be here—not when the first frost has fallen already, and it was weeks after Dia de Muertos. But someone had gotten them to that shop, and all Gabriel could think of was how abuelita always insisted on marigolds when remembering the dead; the flowers were supposed to guide their spirits back to the land of the living.

Ida wanted the opposite—but first, she’d need to be remembered. Enlightened. And what would be better than a marigold?

Last came the candle. This close to Christmas, the general store offered only the super cheesy ones—red, gold, glitter, and snowflakes. But Gabriel thought Ida wouldn’t mind some pizzazz and picked a red one splattered with gold glitter at the top. He laid it by the tombstone and prepared a lighter. If this didn’t work…

He paused, staring at the grave. If it didn’t work, he’d used a lot of time and effort—but it was still worth it. He wasn’t getting paid in increments he’d used to clean the graves, he didn’t change anybody’s life, and probably, nobody cared.

But he’d done a good job. He’d forgotten how that felt—being satisfied from a non-work-related achievement.

He lit the candle and waited. The first drops of wax slipped to the ground. He couldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed, but—

The feeling came back. The same as at dinner, and as yesterday.

Enlightensomeone.

Oh, Ida.

Ida.

She’d have felt it, too. Feeling light and optimistic, Gabriel only used a minute to sprinkle a few marigolds on the other graves, then ran for the car.

***

Eyes closed, Ida let the flower-scented dampness of the tropical jungle permeate her being. Raindrops trickled on the canopy far above; leaves crunched in front, where Armando cleared the path with one powerful swipe of the machete after another, beads of sweat disappearing into his half-buttoned beige shirt.

Sweating was never that attractive in real life.

But Ida didn’t care, because it’d been a long time since she’d seen Armando —and Jane, his love interest, who presently trudged behind him, complaining about the uneven forest path.

“You’d require a path first for it to be uneven, missy.” Dark, wet locks flicked around Armando like in a cologne commercial as he looked back.

Oh, how Ida had missed Emerald Fever. She hadn’t seen the movie since before the internet was a thing, but back in the eighties, she loved it. Even with remembering every beat and every line, it never grew old.

Just like her, in a way.

Gabriel had left the TV on for her to be entertained while he ran an errand, and Ida couldn’t believe her luck when Emerald Fever came on. She haunted the TV, and therefore the movie, experiencing each scene as if she were on the set, only anything that didn’t make it onto the camera appeared as a blur. Trees and leaves and roots burst into existence as Armando and Jane pushed their way forward, and dissipated into a light gray mist behind them.

“How much longer is this going to take?” Frowning, Jane extricated her hair from a spider web and shook her hand.

“As long as it needs to.”

“I thought you were an expert.”

“And I’m sorry, but my expertise doesn’t extend to skipping ahead to a more interesting part, like we’re in one of your books.”

Ida laughed as Jane huffed. Jane was a successful novelist, who’d come to South America to research her next novel. Armando was a dashing adventurer, helping her on a treasure hunt. Romance blossomed like the vibrant tropical flowers around them (in ten minutes, Jane would attempt to pick a poisonous one, and Armando would save her) and Ida had the time of her life, going along as the invisible passenger.

Sometimes, she positioned himself in front of Jane and pretended Armando was speaking to her.

Off they went: to the edge of the jungle where a view of a magnificent waterfall opened up (and for a moment, Armando and Jane didn’t bicker but only enjoyed the beauty), down to that waterfall to find a secret cave with the next clue toward the treasure, to the ancient ruins nearby where the baddies caught up and this time, Jane saved Armando—and bandaged the scratch on his arm afterward, using the five different disinfectants she’d brought along. But sparks flew faster than bullets, and two days later, Armando and Jane’s bickering turned into a heartfelt conversation and soulful glances across the fire.

Ida perched on a log next to them, supported her chin with her hand, and sighed. The look in Armando’s eyes could turn water into steam. How would it feel to have a man look at her like that?

Armando hauled Jane onto her feet. Their bodies touched and she tilted her face upwards, lips parting. Ida stared, rather unabashedly, as Armando’s lips covered Jane’s, fingers touching her own. Armando led Jane to the tent, and the scene changed, with sensual saxophone music playing out of nowhere.

Usually, she’d skip out of the TV at this scene. Not that it showed anything revealing, at least for modern sensibilities. But this time, she remained, entranced by Armando’s hand, his fingers caressing Jane’s naked back, traveling down the indentation of her spine, dark hair spilling over her shoulder as he kissed her neck. Only a soft glow from the fire outside illuminated their intertwined bodies.

Ida didn’t get to learn much about sex when she was alive; her mother died when she was too young, and Harry would sink into the ground before he breached the topic with her. What happened between a man and a woman had seemed mysterious and scary. As time progressed and people shed their inhibitions, Ida gradually learned more through conversations, books, and movies, and what happened between a man and a woman seemed mysterious and fascinating.

When she watched Armando’s strong fingers press into Jane’s silky skin, it seemed mysterious—and desirable.

A warm, fuzzy, shimmering feeling spread in her chest. If she ever found a man who would make sparks fly just by a touch of his hand, she’d have loved to experience the mysterious and desirable. If she ever found anyone who gave her a glance, as scorching as Armando’s…

Something crashed in the jungle. No, not there—outside the movie. The saxophone music screeched and blurred as Ida jumped out of the TV.

Gabriel strolled into the living room just as the sensual tent scene ended and cut to the morning after, with Armando poking the fire.

Oh dear, oh dear, ohdear.

She knew she didn’t look any different, but she felt like a child caught doing something forbidden.

Gabriel paused by the sofa, not so different to Armando with dew drops clinging to the tips of his hair and splotches of dirt and grass on his knees and the sleeves of his jacket. Wherever he’d been, it looked as though he may have needed a machete.

“Did you feel it?” he said.

Ida froze, unsure where to begin her explanations. Or how to explain she liked to spy on love scenes and imagine—

“The enlightenment?” Gabriel strode to the bookshelf, paying no attention to the movie still playing, and brought out the contract.

The shimmering feeling! It wasn’t Armando. Well, not only him. It was Gabriel. Ida raised her eyes to his and whispered, “What did you do?”

***

Was the contract having an effect already, or was he only imagining Ida looked different? Her dress and hair hadn’t changed, but something about her had. The wave of feelings that hit him felt almost as if she were shining. And it felt beautiful.

“I lit a candle at your grave,” Gabriel said.

“But my grave isn’t in the town graveyard. I heard Harry talking, and they buried me somewhere, I don’t know…” She waved her hand.

“I found it.”

Another wave hit—surprise and happiness and confusion, but the good kind. And then a tinge of something underneath. Fear, or nervousness?

“How was it? My grave?” she asked. “I don’t think anyone’s visited in… well, ever.”

“It was…” He sat down, splaying the contract on the table. One task remained, and Ida would be gone. Victory with a loss. He cleared his throat. “It’s near the forest, a good spot. Maybe no one of your family visited, but…” Could he tell her how it truly looked like? How forgotten she and the rest of the people there were? “It’s still nice. Someone must’ve cared for it.”

Ida looked at him for a few moments before she joined him on the couch. “Good. That’s good. So you, uh, enlightened my bones?”

“Never thought I’d say that, but if it works…” He shrugged, and the short-lived tension dissolved. “Looks like we’re continuing our winning streak.”

“And you know what that means.”

“I said one episode of Bewitched. Five is already 400% over the margin. I’m not doing any more. I’m simply not.” He glanced at the TV, where two people crawled out of a rushing brown river. “And not whatever this is, either.”

Ida avoided his gaze. “I meant, there’s only one condition left.”

Forgive. The single word seemed to mock him. When they’d first found the contract, Ida said it was meant to be undoable, because as a ghost, she couldn’t fix things or communicate with people. Perhaps there was a grain of truth to that. However this damn thing worked, maybe it had some kind of magic to it that assured one of the conditions would be impossible to fulfill, regardless of who was doing it.

Ida, apparently not noticing Gabriel slipping deep into his thoughts, rattled on. “… just need to keep trying. Maybe it will happen unexpectedly, like with Rosalie. But we need to find some events that grant you the possibility, at least. Gabriel? Are you listening?”

“Yes. Events.” Wait, what did Marge say? “How about the Christmas fair? There’ll be one in town. According to Marge, pretty much everyone turns up. A lot of people to practice on. A lot of chances for random things to happen.”

“That’s good!” Ida’s eyes lit up, but then she grew serious. “A Christmas fair. Sounds lovely.”

“Eh, I’m sure it’s just…” He stopped as he saw her expression. Going all Grinch-like in front of her wouldn’t help. “Maybe it’s not a good idea, anyway. I’d rather stay here and you can make a selection of movies for us to watch. And I’ve plenty of work still to do on Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy’s case.”

“Gabriel.” Ida’s hand twitched, as if she was about to reach out. “Please, go. If not to fulfill the contract, at least to have fun. Do your best and tell me how it was.”

Whispers in the back of his mind told him he wasn’t going to be that busy with research; he could do what needed and still go to the Christmas fair, and have time left for other activities. If he did, would he get the same amazing feeling as earlier—a sense of accomplishment, satisfaction, that didn’t come from work?

“You asked me the same thing after dinner,” he said, raising his eyes to Ida. “Why are so you determined I have fun?”

She dragged a finger across the sofa, left and right, back again. “What I miss most about being alive are the little things. Feeling hurt as I stub my finger on a rosebush. Taking the first bite of ginger cake, the one Cook made when I was little. Letting a snowflake melt on my skin.” She scoffed softly. “You wouldn’t believe how much the little, seemingly unimportant things mean until you can’t do them anymore. They make you human.”

No offer of a movie, not even another binge session of Bewitched, would fix this. Ida wanted to go out, see life. Maybe for one last time.

And she couldn’t.

“Wait. If I do succeed, this is the last condition. Wouldn’t that mean you’d disappear?” His chest suddenly felt tight. “This isn’t a good idea. I should be here when you—”

“I don’t think it’s going to work that way. The contract only says it will allow me to pass through, not that I disappear at the moment of the last condition being fulfilled.” Ida’s smile was pale, but genuine. “See, you taught me well. It’s as much about what’s not being said, as what is. And nowhere in the terms does it say I have to go right away.”

He had to laugh. She was good.

“So, you go.” She nodded, as much to him as to herself. “And please, not just because it’s a good opportunity. Enjoy it. I’ll wait here to salute you goodbye.”

“Fine. But I’m letting you know, Christmas fairs aren’t my thing.” He wasn’t sure whether he was trying to convince himself, or make Ida feel better.

But how would that make her feel better? She’d still be here, all alone, her only companion a movie. And then she’d be gone, never sneak up on him again, never make the TV and the laptop hum as she haunted them, never—

Electronic devices. When Ida haunted them, she saw what was happening inside.

In a smooth, swift move, he turned to her. “You don’t have to be here all alone. I have an idea.”