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

Chapter 25

The restaurant hosting the dinner party was on the top floor of a skyscraper, offering stunning views of the city. Hundreds of lights buzzed below, converging into rivers of cars that ran through the maze of buildings; far beyond, the lights stopped in a ragged line, halted by the darkness of the shore. As much as he fed on the energy of the city, Gabriel wondered how lovely and peaceful it would be on those dark waters. Just a boat and him. Well, him and…

Not Ida.

He turned away from the wall-to-floor windows, spanning the entirety of the restaurant, and reached for another hors d’oeuvre as the waiter passed by. A special area of the restaurant had been cleared of tables and set apart for the party; the invited, the men all somber and proper in their black tuxes, the women stunning in elegant evening dresses and glittering jewelry, gathered in small groups.

“Vane!” A rotund man with a receding hairline approached him. “All alone here, huh? We were talking about the Brentsen case, you know, the one where the toilet…” The man’s chuckle died off. “Right. Forgot you weren’t here for it.”

Forgot, my ass.

“Anyway.” The man clasped his shoulder. “Glad to have you back.” And he walked off.

Gabriel had no idea who the lawyer was, and he doubted the other man knew him in person. An annoying voice that kept resurfacing, despite Gabriel trying to keep it smothered under his tight daily routine, whispered to him—you’reabout as glad to be here as they are to have you back.

Wynona, clad in a hard-to-miss burgundy cocktail dress, broke off from a group after shaking hands with a man, and headed to Gabriel.

“How is it going?” he asked.

She flicked a perfectly curled lock of hair over her shoulder. “Well. Most of them are very dull, but I’ll take dull over dismissing. Now, you?”

Gabriel forced a smirk. “I’ve only had one person ask me whether I’m sleeping with my current client.” He’d known these people were (fittingly) judgmental assholes before but… had he always found them so exhausting?

“Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy?” Wynona sounded amused. “Isn’t she well over seventy?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” he said, and Wynona laughed—a perfect, melodic, slightly restrained laugh, to fit into the polite environment.

She looped an arm around his elbow. “We’ll get used to an occasional barb. And they’ll get used to us. You’ll see. After the news spreads of what a happy couple we are, they’ll forgive much easier.”

Gabriel looked at their interlocked arms. He’d met Wynona at a party just like this one; their fingers accidentally brushed as they reached for the same champagne glass, and back then, he thought he’d felt something at her touch. He was so certain he did. So where had that feeling gone?

“You’re frowning.”

He tried relaxing his facial muscles, but only grimaced more. “Did you ever consider how ridiculous these dinner parties are?”

“You mean you call it a party, but all you do is talk business?”

“Yes, but also…” He spread his free arm. “We’re in a restaurant with two Michelin stars, and the best, most filling food we get is this?” He raised the tiny half of a quail egg, topped with some pate, on a thin slice of zucchini. “It’s absurd.”

Wynona drew her eyebrows together. “You want more food?”

“I want proper food!” Gabriel lowered his voice as a nearby man glanced at him in alarm. “I’ve been working for twelve hours a day, every day, since last week. Today I’ve had thirteen coffees and some stupid protein bar Ollie brought me. I’m hungry.”

If he was back at home—no, in his rented house in Buttons—he’d have dinner by now. Maybe he’d even invite his neighbors, and Ida would be there…

Wynona’s mouth made a tiny O. “Then eat more of these? Or, I saw some cheese over there—”

“That’s not the point.” He shook his head. “No, wait, that is exactly the point. This isn’t food, it’s something to munch on so you look busy while you wait for someone to come suck up your ass.”

“Gabriel.” Wynona tightened a grip on his arm. “I don’t know what’s come over you, but get yourself together. How about you drink something? That will make you feel fuller.”

His stomach, maybe. But he didn’t dare think of the other emptiness inside.

But to play along, he still glanced around for the closest passing waiter with the champagne. Instead, his gaze stopped on a black-clad figure, looming on the other side of the room. “No way.”

“What?” Wynona followed his glance.

“No way she’s here. Don’t move.” He wriggled himself out of Wynona’s grasp and headed for the inner wall of the room. Natalie Waller, the one and only, stood by a table with more useless “food” and drink. Her lips were pressed together tight, her eyebrows lowered, as she examined the room. Even out of her daily suit, in a simple black dress and an updo, she stood out from the crowd; perhaps she simply didn’t have the ass-licking energy everyone else had.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed as he approached.

“Mr. Vane. What a surprise.”

“Yes, I can hear that in your voice.”

“Oh, no, I truly am surprised.” Natalie’s eyes lazily passed over the crowd. “I’ve learned to control my voice. It’s better not to show any emotion when dealing with your kind.”

He would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so annoyed.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” she said.

“You thought I wouldn’t bounce back?”

“No.” Natalie’s voice remained flat and serious. “I thought you didn’t care.”

He scoffed. “Why wouldn’t I try to regain my rightful place?”

Liar,that same annoying voice went. You know you would’ve been happy tostay in Buttons if things had worked out with Ida.

Natalie picked up a champagne flute and lazily twirled it between her fingers. “When I was Buttons, talking to the locals, I found out a lot about you. Interesting, because at that point, I was no longer asking about you.” She fixed him with a curious stare. “There I was, trying to sniff out their secrets, and they wouldn’t shut up about the marvelous Gabe. For someone who was supposed to be hiding, you surely got friendly. ‘Such a kind man, helps me carry the groceries,’ one would say. ‘He took care of my dog for a week, and I swear, she now likes him more than me.’ An elderly lady in the pawnshop told me how it’s a shame you don’t seem to be looking for romance—”

Oh for god’s sake, Mrs. Rosenberg—

“—because she has a niece that would be a perfect match for you. And Morgue Man—”

“Jason,” Gabriel ground out.

“He overheard us, and said you’re not interested because you live in that haunted house and are probably in love with the ghost.”

Gabriel’s stomach clenched.

“He has a strange sense of humor, so I’m not sure how much of it was sarcasm, but I suppose at least the haunted house part is true.”

“Stop.”

“If I had known about this whole legend of a young woman—”

Gabriel slammed his fist on the table, unleashing a wave of clinking glass. “Stop talking about her!”

Natalie drew back, eyes wide, then flicking over his shoulder.

“Gabriel, darling?” Wynona’s voice came from behind. She lightly touched Gabriel’s shoulder as she stopped beside him. “Who were you talking about?”

Natalie’s look was somewhere between stunned and amused. Gabriel tried to calm himself by following the bubbles, violently rising from the disturbed champagne.

“This is Natalie Waller,” he said. “And we were talking about… us.”

Wynona tilted her head, staring Natalie down with a perfectly practiced look of a high school mean girl. “Ah, the reporter.”

“You must be Mrs. Sinclair.”

“Ensfield, if you may. I decided to discard my ex-husband’s surname.”

“Ensfield,” Natalie repeated slowly, as if she had trouble processing the word. “And you two are…?”

“Together,” Gabriel said. Wynona gave him an encouraging smile, which somehow managed to fill his stomach with pure acid. “You’re quite the matchmaker. I never knew what I had in Wynona, and I’d never have discovered it again if it weren’t for your article.”

“Aw, darling.” Wynona turned his face toward hers and kissed him. She’d done it seventeen times since he came back, but Gabriel was still waiting for something, anything, to wake.

Eighteen. Still nothing.

“Well. I see you two are one happy, happy couple.” Natalie sounded even less impressed than Gabriel was over the dinner menu.

“So that’s the conclusion to your story.” He forced himself to smile. Had pretending always been so tiresome?

“Darling, I think the gentleman over there wants to talk with you.” Wynona’s smooth black hair brushed his shoulder as she looked behind. “If you’ll excuse us, Ms. Waller? Gabriel is so in demand ever since he got back.”

“I don’t doubt it. You must be shaking off the paparazzi. Ah, the exhaustion of being rich and infamous.” By turning back to the table, Natalie let them know she was done.

Wynona led him toward a group, cast another look over her shoulder, then stopped. “She was saying bad things about me, wasn’t she? And you got all riled up. Aw, babe.” She pecked his cheek and smoothed back a lock of hair that had fallen on his forehead.

It had to be the food and champagne, right? He wasn’t feeling this sick because of Wynona.

“I’d say we’ve done enough here. How about we go do something more fun?” Leaning in, Wynona bit her lip. “Your place or mine?”

A cold shiver ran down his back. Wynona asked this question almost every day, and he was running out of excuses. I just came back, and I need to get mybearings first. I’m tired. My head hurts (he used that one twice already). Ihave work to do.

It shouldn’t be this hard. When he stripped the matter down to the simplest meaning, it was just sex. There was barely any meaning to it at all, besides fun. They’d done it before. It had been fun—and not just because it was a secret, forbidden affair. Wynona was a beautiful woman, and now, she was also his… girlfriend? Something official, at least. She knew his needs, he knew hers—so why couldn’t he just say, “My place, right now,” and get this over with?

Just say yes. You’re not doing yourself any favors by running from a lifeyou can’t run from.

“Sorry. I’m tired from work.”

“But, babe…”

“I need to get some cheese.” He walked away, more frustrated with himself than her.

***

“Switch to anything. Please. Anything but chess.” Ida threw herself over the couch, a few inches away from Shawn. The new tenant’s name didn’t fit him at all: Ida imagined a Shawn to be cool, active—a baseball player, not a couch potato who spent nine hours a day watching chess matches and six hours (spread in between the matches) calling people to sell them his pyramid scheme.

Shawn wore the same mud-brown pants with a crease in the middle every day, and changed his knitted vests between a beige one with a green snowflake-like pattern, and an orange-brown striped one that eerily resembled the living room wallpaper.

Shawn liked to eat ready-made food, but not some nice piece of meat, a colorful Thai mix, or a salad that at least tried to look healthy. It was all weird and mushy and brown, and when Ida passed through one of the soups—maybe it looked bad, but it would be delicious!—the aftertaste of rotten eggs and sand stayed with her for three whole days.

“Come on,” she said, stretching out on the couch. “How about... billiards? Can we at least consider that?” She lifted her head.

Shawn continued to watch the chess match, though he had yet to show any enthusiasm expected of someone who spent so much time on chess.

“I won”t even begin asking for an action flick then.”

No response.

Shawn went to sleep very early and woke up when there was barely light outside. He brushed his teeth only for one minute per day and so far, had showered once (not that she watched).

In conclusion: she hated Shawn.

But it wasn’t a true hate—the anger she used to feel once, one that bound her to this world, made her do terrible things, froze windows and plucked out nails from the furniture. Ever since she’d created the second locket, that anger was gone. Or maybe it wasn’t the locket—it was Gabriel, and all the kind words he said to her, all the reassurances and help he’d given her.

So maybe she didn’t hate Shawn. She only pitied him, and herself for being stuck with him.

Shawn turned off the TV (a rare occurrence) and walked to the bookshelf.

With some maneuvering, Ida composed herself back into a standing position. “Books? You want to read?”

Shawn checked out a few titles, but returned them all to the shelf.

“That’s okay. Most of them are pretty boring, otherwise people wouldn’t have left them here. But you can get more!” Ida floated around him. “There’s a library in town. Or you could buy e-books… although you don’t seem like a tech type.”

Shawn grumbled something, left the living room, and returned with a bag. “That’s right! To the library we go!” Ida pumped her fists in the air. “Or, well, you go. Bring me something nice, will you? But no romance, please.” Eh, he didn’t look like a romance type, anyway.

But instead of going out, Shawn came to the bookshelf and started sweeping books into the bag—just threw them in, like they didn’t matter, like he was—

He was going to throw them out.

“Oh, come on. All you give me is chess, and now you’re going to take the few books I still have?” But Ida forgot all about that problem as she glanced at the shelf. A yellow folder peeked out from a thin book, wrapped in purple leather.

The ghostly book. And the first contract. Gabriel had forgotten them here.

Or maybe just didn’t want to take them with him.

It didn’t matter which—Shawn was going to throw them into the trash! “No, no, no. Stop. Stop!” She passed a hand through his body.

Shawn shivered and rubbed his chest, spreading a stain—something like mustard—over his vest.

And then, unperturbed, continued with the book cleanse.

“No!” Ida ran to the hallway and knocked.

“Mmm?” Shawn only looked at first, then got his lazy legs in motion and walked toward her.

What else to distract him? She floated up the stairs and repeated the knocking there. Like a good—if slovenly—puppy, Shawn followed. She floated into the bathroom.

There!A pipe under the sink. She strained, gathered her energy, and burst it. Given how infrequently Shawn washed, this wouldn’t cause him a lot of problems; but it would distract him for a few minutes as he assessed the damage.

She waited for him to enter the bathroom and notice the mishap, then floated straight down. Carefully, she lifted the book and the contract off the shelf and carried them upstairs. Judging by the grumbling and clanking noises coming from the bathroom, Shawn was trying to fix the pipe.

Thank you, buddy.You may be lazy, but at least you didn’t fail me this one time.

She prodded open the door to her bedroom—Shawn never even went in there—and hid the book and the contract by the fireplace. On impulse, she checked the contract. She didn’t know what she thought she’d see; if Gabriel had finally fulfilled the last condition, she would’ve felt it. And she wouldn’t be here anymore. She slid her fingers over the single word remaining in the middle of the page.

Forgive

She snorted. No need to worry about this being fulfilled any time soon; not with Gabriel returning to the world where forgiveness was a weakness, a detriment to his profession.

No, she and Shawn would be best buddies for a while more.

***

“Sir, you have a call from a Natalie Waller.”

Gabriel repressed a sigh and pressed down the button to answer Ollie’s call. “Tell her I’m busy.”

“I have told her. The first three times.”

“Then tell her nothing has changed since. And don’t bother me with anything that’s not related to work.” Gabriel canceled the call, regretting his sharp tone a moment later.

He refocused on the document he’d been reading, a deposition from Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy’s latest husband. Gabriel’s eyes slid over the lines, trying to find the place where he’d left off. Loophole in the prenup, conditions notexactly specified… Good luck with that. Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy’s prenups were iron-clad, always. One did not get through five husbands without some meticulous legal work.

The phone beeped. “Sir, I’m so sorry, I really am…”

“Ollie, this had better not be about Ms. Waller.”

“But she’s so scary. Her voice is like a psychopath’s. All even and… disturbingly calm.”

Fuck.He didn’t have time for Natalie to drive Ollie insane. “Tell her I’ll meet her after work. But she has to stop calling now.”

Considering he wasn’t disturbed (at least not by the reporter) for the rest of the day, Ollie still had his wits together enough to convey the message.

Gabriel leisurely lengthened his work into the evening—letting Ollie go home sooner—and spent an additional hour just creating new labels for his emails. Surely, Ms. Waller had better things to do than wait for him.

Yet, as he headed over a half-empty parking lot at twelve past nine, a shape emerged from the shadows.

“Mr. Vane. Not rushing away without talking to me, are you?”

So close.Almost to his car. Gabriel took a deep breath and turned to her with a phony smile. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“And you’re rude, but we already knew that.”

“So, what can I offer you? Another show in public? A tour of my apartment? ‘And you see, here is where the affair got started…’”

“Let us dispense with the sarcasm for a moment, shall we?”

“Were you sarcastic? I couldn’t tell. Your voice never changes.”

Natalie sighed. “I didn’t come here to argue. Believe it or not, I want to help you.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “So now, you’ll write an article about my good behavior?”

“No. I try to stick to the truth.” She smiled. “Mr. Vane, do you remember the name of the P.I. you hired to take photos of Mr. Sinclair? The same one who also took photos of you and Mrs. Sinclair—pardon, Ms. Ensfield?”

“Yes,” Gabriel drawled. What kind of trap was she luring him into now?

“You might want to check the list of his clients. Not too recent ones. A few months back.”

“I’m in the middle of a big case. I don’t have the time to chase your random suspicions.”

“Maybe you’ll want to chase this one.” She nodded in goodbye and turned.

“Why?”

“Because,” she said over her shoulder, “I saw how you were in Buttons.”

“Down in the dumps, defeated?”

“No. That’s not what I meant.” The heels of her shoes echoed across the empty concrete plain as she walked away.