Chapter 6 #2
“She’d planned to leave many years ago, but then Joyce died,” Millicent said. The sadness in her voice told Slate how she felt about Dash’s other grandmother. “No matter how much Dash pushed, Meredith refused to leave until she was sure he was stable enough to stand on his own.”
The kettle whistled, and Slate poured water over tea leaves and let it steep. Dash had told him how bad it had been losing Joyce, but hearing it from Millicent made it more real.
“It was hard on Meredith too, but she tried to hide it from Dash,” Morten said.
“Dash being Dash saw through her and pretended to be better. She didn’t buy what he was selling.
Finally, he graduated, got his first job, and she put her life back on track.
As you see, distance didn’t break their bond. ”
Slate busied himself setting out teacups and small plates. He’d experienced some of the pain Dash carried, but nothing like his grandparents hinted at. “And she’s happy now?”
“Very,” Millicent said. “She still misses him, but they keep in touch. I remember when she first learned about you. We got a call five minutes after she hung up with Dash. She wanted to know everything about ‘this Slate person.’ Were you good to him? Was he happy? Did she need to fly home and kick someone’s derrière? ”
He highly doubted Meredith had said “derriere.” Pouring tea, he sat across from his guests. “I’m doing my best to make sure she doesn’t need to kick me in the behind.”
“Your butt is safe,” Morten said with a chuckle. “You let him be Dash without asking him to be less. That’s all we wanted for him. Meredith says she came to meet you, but she misses him. It was a good excuse.”
The words settled in Slate’s chest next to that too-full feeling. Having someone look at him and Dash and simply see that they were good for each other mattered more than he’d expected.
Footsteps overhead let them know the house tour continued. Dash might forget sometimes and say it was Slate’s house, but seeing him so eager to show it to his sister meant he knew it was his home too.
“Thank you for making this happen,” he said. “He’s been happy since he moved in, but this… it’s a different kind of joy than I’ve seen.”
“Don’t let her fool you,” Millicent said. “Meredith is every bit as happy as Dash. I know she loves her new life, but she misses all of us.”
The bond they shared had been forged through hardship and heartache, but it was something wonderful to see. Slate never had the same closeness with either of his sisters.
“How are those two young ghosts doing?” Millicent asked. “Are they still dancing around each other?”
“It’s complicated.” Slate rubbed the back of his neck.
“Neither has a clue what to do, and that doesn’t even address the trauma both suffered.
Thomas looks at Oliver like he hung the moon, and Oliver thinks Thomas is the sun.
And they pretend not to have feelings for each other.
Dash and I agreed not to meddle, but it’s getting hard. ”
“Young love is still the same,” Millicent said, her smile turning soft. “Even after death, apparently. Morten and I dated for six months before he worked up the nerve to tell me about the family gift. Thought I’d run screaming.”
“You nearly did,” Morten said mildly.
“I did not. I very calmly asked if you were pulling my leg, and when you proved you weren’t, I very calmly decided I was in too deep to back out.”
They shared a smile, but when Morten realized Slate was still there, he cleared his throat. “Dash mentioned they’re gathering intelligence on the party situation?”
Slate sipped his tea to hide his amusement.
It was incredibly sweet how they still cared about each other after all the decades of marriage.
“Yes. And they’re surprisingly good at it.
They’ve convinced many of the ghosts how important it is not to draw undue attention to the town.
Most recognize how valuable the portal is to other spirits. ”
Footsteps on the stairs announced Dash and Meredith’s return. They came into the kitchen, Dash gesturing as he explained something about the manor’s original gas lighting fixtures.
“—and we’re not sure if we want to convert them to electric or keep them as decorative—” He stopped when he saw everyone looking at him. “What?”
Dash looked like a puppy chasing its new owner around—happy and checking for signs he was being good. “Nothing,” Slate said. “Tea?”
Meredith took the seat next to her grandmother, and Dash dropped a hand on Slate’s shoulder. His hair was mussed, as if someone—his sister—had ruffled it during the tour.
“This place is incredible,” Meredith said, accepting a cup from Slate. “You’re doing amazing work.”
“Slate’s doing amazing work,” Dash corrected. “I just live here and occasionally hold the flashlight.”
Slate didn’t look up, but placed his hand on top of Dash’s. “He’s lying. Not only does he surprisingly have good taste, but he’s also way handier than I expected from a computer nerd.”
“See?” Meredith said to her grandparents. “Nauseating.”
Before anyone could respond, the sound of the front door slamming open echoed through the house. “Slate?” Slate’s mother’s voice carried down the hallway, sharp with urgency. “Are you here?”
Dash’s hand tightened, and Slate was sure he looked like a deer in the headlights. “Kitchen.”
Seconds later, Marjorie swept into the kitchen, Clifford close behind. She took in the family reunion and paused. “Morten, Millicent. I forgot you were coming.” Her gaze fixed on Meredith. “Are you…”
“Dash’s sister.” She stood and offered her hand. “Meredith Reeves. I take it you’re Slate’s parents?”
“Good guess,” Clifford said, accepting her hand. “Nice to meet you, Meredith. Mort, Millie.” He nodded at them. “Sorry to burst in like this. Marge didn’t want to wait.”
“I told you we should’ve changed the locks,” Dash whispered in Slate’s ear.
“Twenty minutes ago, there was an incident,” Marjorie said, either not hearing Dash’s comment or not caring enough to respond. “In the town square—right in front of the festival vendors—objects started levitating.”
After all the success Thomas, Oliver, and Cain had achieved, Gary messing things up angered Slate. “What objects?”
The temperature in the kitchen plummeted. Dash’s hand went to his neck, and a prickle shot up Slate’s spine. A second later, three translucent figures materialized near the doorway.
Thomas’s usual composure had cracked, Oliver frowned, and Cain’s mellow affect was completely gone.
“Gary’s been practicing,” Cain said, looking directly at Slate and Dash. “He wants to make an entrance. He thinks the living festival would be more fun with a little spectral enhancement.”
“We tried to stop him,” Oliver said. “But he said people would love it. That it would make them happy.”
“He doesn’t understand what he’s risking,” Thomas added, frustration bleeding through his carefully controlled tone.
“What did he levitate?” Dash asked.
“How did you know—” Oliver began.
“First, three jack-o’-lanterns from the pumpkin display,” Clifford said, his voice tight. “Then a basket of gourds. And finally, someone’s poetry collection.”
The front door barged open again, this time hard enough that Slate’s parents flinched. He heard Liv’s footsteps before he saw her.
“That ghost is out of control,” she gasped as she burst into the kitchen and then pulled to a stop. “Oh, hi. You’re Dash’s sister. You two look alike. I bet he’s so happy he’s about to burst.” She glanced at Dash. “Yeah, totally. He’s got that ‘my sister is here’ happy vibe working.”
Meredith looked stunned for a second and then moved closer to give Liv a hug. “And you’re Olivia. I’m reasonably sure I heard you on a few calls.”
Eight living people and three ghosts crammed into a kitchen that, thankfully, was big enough for twice that many. Slate’s mind was already reeling; he didn’t need to add overcrowding to his irritation. “What happened?”
“Pumpkins, gourds, books,” Liv said, waving her arms about. “Everyone saw it. The mayor. The entire festival committee. A tour bus from Syracuse. Everyone had their phones out.”
“How did people react?” Morten asked.
“From what we overheard, they think it’s a haunted house promotion,” Cain said. “They were all holding these black rectangles with a mini-TV screen in front.”
Slate had never wanted to banish a spirit as much as he did at that moment. Not only was Gary putting the portal at risk, but he also threatened to ruin Dash’s day. “Just great. Soon those videos will be all over social media.”
“Maybe that’s not a terrible thing,” Dash said.
Everyone stared at him like he’d lost his damn mind.
Everyone except Meredith. She didn’t understand what was at stake yet.
“Wow. Tough crowd. Hear me out. What is Oriskany Falls known for? The Halloween celebration. And what has anchored the end of the festival?”
He paused and rolled his hand around. When no one answered, he scoffed. “Everyone is so good in a crisis. We’re known for the Blackwood Haunted House.”
Slate didn’t see where this was going, and from the blank expressions of everyone else, neither did they.
“Oh my God, Doc!” Meredith was wagging a finger at her brother. “You’re brilliant. Of course, I’d have thought of it if I lived here too. But it’s still brilliant.”
“One of you two Bobbsey Twins want to explain what you’re yammering about?” Morten asked.
“If people think it’s a promotion, we make it a promotion,” Dash said.
If Dash hadn’t looked so pleased with himself, Slate would’ve let out a strangled growl. “And that helps how?”
“Marketing, handsome,” Meredith said. “We come up with a way to make it seem like this was all a prank to get free publicity for the haunted house.”
Dash nodded, and Slate pushed the irritation away to focus on the idea. It had great potential, but they needed to execute. He scanned the confused looks in the room, and when his gaze landed on Thomas, Oliver, and Cain, something clicked.
“If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, I think it will work,” Slate said.
“That’s a whole lot of thinking,” Liv said, plopping her hand on Slate’s shoulder. “How about you tell us your idea?”