Chapter 17
17
T his isn’t how things were supposed to go. This is all wrong!
I sigh and let my phone drop out of my hand as my head thumps dully against the closet wall. The third time reading back through my conversation with Noah from last night failed to bring things into a new light.
No, it only confirmed the mess I’ve made.
It was going so well. Noah was crushing on Jessie, and I was getting to have some fun with him. Yes, eventually we would’ve scheduled a date, but by then I would’ve come up with a good plan for how to handle it.
I didn’t expect Noah to call my bluff. I got flustered when he asked if I was a catfish, even though he was joking. I should’ve used one of the many lies I’ve come up with for why I’m not free to go out until a few weeks from now, but instead, I panicked and told him I’d see him next weekend.
It’s not enough time! I wanted to talk to Noah more. I wanted to tease him about sleeping with a ghost, and send him weird jokes, or messages that’d simultaneously frustrate and aroused him. I wanted…
Dammit.
I groan, rubbing my face with my hands as the aggravating truth washes over me. I wanted more time with Noah, period. What I told him was true—I’m into him. Not as a means to an end or because he can make me have ghost orgasms, but because I like him.
Ugh, this is a disaster. The whole point of talking to him as Jessie was to get back at him for hurting me. To give him the same experience of developing a connection, feeling hope, and then having it dashed when the other person vanishes. But somewhere along the way, I slipped up.
Try as I might, I can’t shove Noah into the enemy box anymore. Not when I feel fluttery excitement when I think about talking to him, and dread when I imagine our conversations ending.
Why am I surprised? Noah charmed his way into my heart once. Why wouldn’t it happen again?
I thought maybe I’d become tougher in undeath, but apparently not. No, I’m still the hopeless romantic who has a ridiculous crush on a guy she absolutely knows better than to be into. And now I’m going to have emotional déjà vu when things end abruptly. Only this time, it’ll be entirely my fault.
When next weekend rolls around and Jessie doesn’t show up because she doesn’t fucking exist, there’s no coming back from that. The connection will be severed and at this point, I doubt I’ll get any satisfaction from seeing Noah hurt the same way he hurt me.
I briefly consider texting Noah and confessing it’s been me the whole time, but the potential for that conversation going poorly is too high to risk it. He could decide I’m a monster and stop interacting with me entirely. I’d probably deserve it.
It’s been clear for a while that Noah is struggling with emotional turmoil, and there’s an almost constant nagging sense that I’m missing something. He’s not the fuckboy I’d made him out to be in my mind. The man barely leaves the house and had to be convinced by his sister to go on a dating app at all. On top of that, Noah had an in-depth conversation with the only woman he’s chatting with before considering sleeping with the ghost propositioning him. Not exactly what a guy just looking to get his dick wet would do.
Fuck.
I didn’t want to see it. I wanted a scapegoat for all of my anger and despair, and Noah was a convenient target. Only now am I seeing the truth. I’m a petty, vindictive monster.
I’m pacing through the house, running through a million different scenarios in my head about how to approach the mess with Noah, when there’s a knock on the door. Noah is still at work, so I ignore it. But then there’s another knock, louder this time, followed by someone calling out my name.
My heart leaps in my incorporeal chest as I realize who it is, and race to open the door.
Max, the private detective who saw me the other night, stands on the stoop, peering into the house straight through me. “I assume you’re there, Dot,” he says with a bemused smile. “Poke me or something if it’s okay for me to come in. Once we’re out of sight from prying eyes, I’ll cast a spell so I can sense you.”
I want to give him a hug because I’m so damn excited that he actually kept his word and came back, but I rein that urge in and gently tap him on the arm instead.
He nods and steps inside, closing the door behind him. I wait breathlessly for him to use his magic, and squeal when he mutters an incantation that causes sparkling motes of light to flood from his palms out to envelop my body. I don’t feel them touching me, but I can see the spectral outline they make atop my form.
“Whoa, that’s incredible,” I say, a little awestruck. I know I’m a ghost, but that was actual magic .
“Thanks!” Max says brightly. “I’m glad it can be of some use.”
“What other spells can you do?” I ask.
The pale redhead chuckles. “Most of my magic isn’t particularly exciting. I can make shadows or find hidden things. Nothing badass like a fireball, or helpful, like cure wounds. The sorcerer I’m playing in my fiancée’s new D&D campaign is a lot cooler than me.”
“Hah, fair. I still think any magic is amazing. All I can do is phase through objects, and that’s very hit or miss.”
Max gives me a considering look. “You haven’t been a spirit for long, right? I don’t want to assume anything, but your clothes don’t look outdated and you act pretty… alive.”
I nod, giving him a wry smile. “You almost say ‘pretty alive’ like it’s a bad thing.”
He shakes his head. “No! Not at all. The most lucid spirits are the ones that are anchored to something from their life, and therefore stay connected to what they were like in life. Take my dog, Nugget. He’s so bonded to Mona, my partner, that according to her, he acts exactly like he did when he was alive. I don’t even think he realizes he’s dead.”
Well, fuck, guess I’m screwed. “Oh,” I reply numbly.
I don’t have anything anchoring me here. Does that mean I’m going to go crazy from being a ghost faster? Is my ability to become incorporeal a sign that the deterioration of my mind has already begun?
The room starts to spin, and my knees buckle.
“Whoa!” Max reaches out to steady me. “Are you okay?” His simple ability to know where I am to keep me from falling makes tears spring to my eyes.
“I don’t know,” I groan. “I’m a fucking ghost. I have nothing anchoring me here other than the universe’s cruel sense of irony. And I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked that whole situation up, so with my luck, I won’t even have that to keep me from ghost madness.”
Max blinks in surprise at my morose proclamation. “I feel like I’m missing something. What’s ghost madness?”
I cross my arms and let out a loud huff. “You just said that the most lucid ghosts have an anchor to keep them human! I don’t have that. I’m doing things I’d never have dared to do when I was alive. I’m angrier, too. A real bitch, if I’m being honest. Doesn’t that mean I’m losing my mind?”
Instead of looking alarmed, Max shakes his head with a slight smile. “Sounds to me like you stopped worrying about things so much, not that you’re going crazy. That’s natural when you don’t have the specter of death or many consequences attached to your actions.”
He’s got a point. “Well, alright then.” I give him a feeble, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry if I ask you a million dumb questions about spirits. I’ve been winging it here, since I haven’t been able to tell what’s a reliable source of information and what’s total garbage.”
Max nods. “Don’t be sorry! I’m happy to answer your questions as best I can. And if it makes you feel any better, you seem to wing it pretty damn well. Being able to become fully incorporeal and phase through things is something that most spirits don’t figure out for decades. Possession takes even longer, unless you’re highly motivated or have a strong affinity for the person you’re possessing.”
“Really?” The idea that I’m doing well is almost laughable, but he’s the one with the ghost knowledge. “I thought you were joking about that whole possession thing. I can’t really do that, right?”
“Uh, yeah, it’s definitely possible.” Max cocks a brow. “But don’t get any ideas. Like I said, I’m warded. Most paranormals are as well, and other undead are immune to it.”
I grimace at the mention of other undead. “Of course they are. There goes the idea of finding that fucker Vincent and possessing him to get him to give me back all the money he stole from me.”
“You mentioned something about that the other night." Max’s brows knit together. “Who is this Vincent? What happened?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why do you care?”
There’s a pang of guilt at my rudeness, especially when Max looks taken aback by my acerbic response. But after what Vincent did, I can’t help being suspicious.
He shrugs, unbothered. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. But I’m a private investigator who specializes in paranormal clients, so… I might be able to help. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to find this guy, but I can at least give it a shot.”
“You’d do that?” I ask incredulously. “Didn’t you hear me when I said I have no money? I don’t even own this house. I have nothing except the guy who ghosted me living in my house, and he’ll probably move out once he realizes that I’ve been catfishing him.”
I know I sound like an absolute lunatic right now, babbling about all the absurd things that’ve happened since I died, but I can’t stop. He’s the first person I can talk to about my miasma of emotions and fears.
“Oh, wow. Okay. That’s, uh, that’s a lot.” Max clears his throat. “To answer your question, yes, I’ll help you and I don’t need you to pay me. I can feel how distressed you are and I can’t ignore that. Whether it was the gods or dumb luck that made us run into each other, I’m here now and I have the tools needed to help.”
His earnest words and expression take me aback. He’s serious.
I sniff, trying desperately not to cry from the wave of gratitude that surges through me. “Th-thank you.”
“It’s okay, Dot.” Max reaches out a hand and places it on my shoulder. “You’ve gone through a lot. I’ll help you figure this out, even if we can’t track down the person who stole from you.”
“I don’t know what I did to deserve your help, but thank you,” I say, attempting to smile at him, even though my eyes are growing blurry from unshed tears. I blink and swipe them away. “Don’t suppose you’re also a relationship counselor on top of being a magic PI, are you?”
He snorts. “Absolutely not. Sorry.”
“Damn,” I say with a sigh. “Guess I’ll have to figure that stuff out on my own.”
“The catfishing?” Max arches a questioning brow at me.
“It’s a long story. Basically, the dude who bought my house after Vincent sold it is a guy who ghosted me when I was alive. So I thought I could get revenge on him by catfishing him on a dating app and getting him to fall for me, then ghosting him back. But now, I’m feeling guilty. Especially now that we’ve started having sex.”
“Wait, how is he having sex with the fake woman you’re pretending to be?”
I shake my head, knowing how bizarre all of this must sound. “Not with her. With me. The ghost haunting his house.”
Max’s eyes go wide. “You really weren’t kidding about doing weird things, were you?”
I groan. “It’s bad. I’m a terrible person. The worst part is that I’m really into him, but he wants to meet up with the woman I’ve been catfishing him as. This weekend. There’s no way for me to show up, so I’ll have to stop talking to him and I’ll go back to being lonely all the time.”
Max places his hand on his chin. “Hmm.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh at his reaction. “Really? All that ridiculousness only gets a ‘hmm’?”
“Sorry, I was trying to think if my dad would have time to make you something by the weekend. Probably not, since it’s a tricky enchantment. Do you think a small dog collar would fit on your wrist? Or would it fall off? Maybe your ankle?”
I furrow my brow, completely lost. “What are you talking about? A dog collar?”
Max gives me an apologetic smile. “My dog has an enchanted collar that makes him visible and audible. I think it should work for you too, at least until I can get you something a little less silly to wear. It won’t solve all your, uh, problems, but it’ll let you show up for your date.”
I blink at him, attempting to process the gravity of his casual words. Something like that exists? It sounds too good to be true.
The prospect is thrilling, but makes my stomach lurch.
Noah will be able to see me.
Will I really be able to face him when the time comes? Surely it’ll be much easier to explain my side of things if it’s paired with my body language and tone of voice. Plus, even if he’s pissed, he won’t be able to ignore me if I’m there for him to see and hear.
What if he recognizes me? If he does, I won’t be able to lie and tell him my ruse was a harmless attempt to grow close to him because I had no other way to communicate. No, he’d figure out I did it to hurt him.
But if Noah doesn’t remember me, that’ll make everything I’ve done seem even more pathetic. It’ll justify my petty behavior, but at the cost of my feeble pride. I’ll have to live with him in my house, knowing our conversations meant so little to him he doesn’t remember me.
Fuck. No matter what, it’ll suck. Maybe I should refuse to take Max up on his offer.
I don’t. I smile and thank him.
I’m done hiding.I’m done playing games.I’ll show Noah who I am and deal with the consequences.