Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Creaking the door open, Slate entered the ballroom. The ghosts had finished their work and went wherever ghosts go when they’re not here. The spectral colors remained, creating an oddly soothing rainbow hue. It wasn’t what Slate expected, but the important part was Gary and his friends were happy.
Slate paced along the walls, checking out the different displays.
Ghosts from a dozen decades decorated little sections of wall in their own style.
The room had been full of laughter and excitement as the spirits worked.
From the snippets of conversation he’d overheard, this was the first organized event for ghosts anyone could remember.
He and Dash gave the dead something special they could call their own.
Funny how that happened when all they wanted was to herd them out of town.
He stopped at Oliver’s space. The rustic decorations were muted compared to the vibrant colors the others used.
Unsurprisingly, it had been Dash’s favorite section.
Slate was the outlandish one. The one who wore period clothing for the effect.
Sunk into his hoodies, Dash stayed out of the spotlight, blending into the background as much as possible.
That was the problem.
Dash didn’t do things for show, or to make a statement.
When he took a stand, he was passionate about the issue.
The image of Dash walking out of the parlor played on repeat in Slate’s mind.
He’d left with no fanfare, no angry accusations.
Just that quiet “Right” before he stood and left the others.
Slate protected his family’s legacy. No.
It wasn’t just his family’s legacy he wanted to secure.
Though the portal had come at a cost to his great-grandmother and his family, it meant so much more.
Scores of souls had already used it to find peace.
Thousands more would use it over time. Two malevolent spirits who cared nothing about anyone but themselves weren’t worth risking something so important.
Banishment was the right decision. Being right, however, didn’t make Dash’s reaction any easier to watch. It also didn’t mean Slate handled the situation correctly.
Dash wasn’t angry Slate had agreed to banish Theodore and Wilbur.
Couples disagreed—they’d disagreed before.
Slate’s mistake was in not making sure Dash was heard.
The older generation dismissed his question without answering it.
They basically told Dash, ‘let the adults handle this,’ patted him on the head, and told him to run along while they decided important things. And Slate said nothing.
That wasn’t how partners were supposed to act.
Slate finished his tour of the room and left. He couldn’t undo what he’d done, but he could try to make things right with Dash.
When Dash left, he hadn’t said where he was going, but he’d left Blackwood Manor. Given the situation, Slate knew where Dash had gone to get air.
The converted Victorian mansion where Dash had rented an apartment when he arrived in Oriskany Falls was six blocks from the Commons.
His parents never told Slate the house had once belonged to the Reeves family, but he was certain they knew.
They’d brought Dash to town under false pretenses and then helped him ‘find’ a place to rent before he arrived.
It was too convenient to be a coincidence.
What even they hadn’t known was that the ERP Foundation, led by Dash’s grandfather, had purchased the building decades ago.
Dash used his position as co-head of the foundation to keep a key to the building. Slate hadn’t called Dash out when he suggested they keep a copy, “just in case.” Total pretext—they paid a management company to handle emergencies—but if it made Dash happy, Slate wasn’t concerned with the details.
Now he understood.
Slate turned the doorknob to find it unlocked. Had Dash expected Slate would follow? He took the stairs two at a time. The creak of his footsteps on the old wood filled the stairwell. At the top of the third floor, the door to the roof sat open.
Dash sat on the ground of the fenced balcony.
He’d slid his legs in between the gaps in the wrought-iron safety fence, and his feet dangled over the edge.
Seeing him that close to the edge, panic rushed through Slate.
The only thing keeping Dash from falling was a wrought-iron fence that probably predated World War I.
The old book Esmerelda had given them a year ago lay open on the ground beside Dash. He held the thin black bars and stared out into the darkened town. He looked like a prisoner in an old Western movie, searching for someone to free him.
The image wasn’t too far off.
Dash’s shoulders tensed when Slate stepped closer, but he didn’t turn.
Sitting with his back to the wall, he let the silence linger. Dash wore just a hoodie—surprising only because it got cold at night. As if on cue, a cold October breeze swept across the small space and Dash shivered.
Slate’s heart wanted to hug the cold away, but Dash sat on the roof for a reason.
“I’m sorry,” Slate said.
“For what?” Dash’s voice was flat. Not angry, just emptied out. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
If that were true, Dash wouldn’t be sitting on a balcony, shivering, with the book at his side.
“Yes, I did. I didn’t make them… I didn’t give you a chance to explain.
They shut you down like a kid, dismissing your opinion.
We’re partners—more than partners. I love you, I stood there and let it happen. How is that not wrong?”
Dash drew in a deep breath. Seconds ticked before he exhaled. “Thank you.”
The tightness around Slate’s heart loosened a little. “I know it’s way too late to ask, but do you want to talk about it?”
“Does it matter?” Dash turned, and the streetlight caught his face. “The adults told us what to think. And I guess I was a bit mad at you, but you fixed that.”
Dash smiled, and it banished the ache inside Slate. “The adults need us. They can’t make us do things their way. I meant what I said, Dash. You’re not invisible to me. I just… didn’t let you know in the moment.”
“They overpowered both of us,” Dash said. “Which is why I wasn’t really mad at you.”
“But you were a little.” Slate smirked and was rewarded with a smile.
“Like I said, you made things better.” Dash pulled his legs back onto the platform, moved closer. “If you still feel bad, a hug would totally be welcome.”
A laugh huffed out of Slate, but that didn’t stop him from collecting Dash into his arms. After a few seconds, they shifted, and Dash sat with his back against Slate’s chest. When he shivered again, Slate wrapped his arms around Dash and hugged him tight.
“We need to get you thicker hoodies for winter,” Slate said.
“A coat would probably make more sense.” Dash wrapped his arm around Slate’s. “Or so my super-smart and practical boyfriend tells me.”
They sat together, and Slate enjoyed the silence for a few more seconds. “Why don’t you want to banish Theodore and Wilbur?”
Slate tried his best not to make it sound like he thought it was a foolish idea. Whatever the reasons, they upset Dash enough that he ended up freezing on a roof to work through them.
“When your great-grandmother opened the second rift and nearly lost control, Ezra didn’t have to step through the breach.
” Dash slid the book closer. “But if he hadn’t, dark souls most likely would’ve escaped before they closed the rift.
Those spirits would’ve caused a lot of trouble before someone banished them. ”
Slate listened, but the explanation left him more confused. “Isn’t that what we’re trying to do? Stop these ghosts from causing more trouble?”
“Did you know Ezra was a Quaker?” Dash opened the book and flipped to a premarked spot. “A central tenet of his faith was to be a peacemaker. Taking a life, even a dark spirit, went against the foundation of his beliefs.”
Dash had never mentioned being religious, and he certainly hadn’t mentioned being a Quaker. “I didn’t know that about him.”
“Neither did I until I read the book again.” He shut the book and leaned back.
“I’m not a Quaker, but Ezra gave his life to prevent more souls from being banished.
The rush to expel Theodore and Wilbur without considering alternatives feels wrong.
Like we’re dismissing his sacrifice in favor of doing what’s easy. ”
Slate caught himself before he blurted out that he took exception to that characterization. Whether he agreed with the sentiment, he had to respect that this was how Dash felt. “I think they’re genuinely concerned about making sure the portal is safe. Something you were willing to die to create.”
“I agree the portal is important, but the whole ‘I have more experience, so you need to trust me,’ never worked for me,” Dash said.
“Besides, nobody knows what happens when you banish a soul. Maybe it’s peaceful, but more likely it erases them from existence.
” He pulled his knees up, making himself smaller.
“Ghosts fear banishment for a reason. I’m not willing to destroy someone—obliterate their soul completely—without at least trying another option first.”
The dismissal of his opinion had upset Dash, but that was only part of the problem. Even if they’d listened, Dash would still have been upset. Maybe not get-up-and-leave-to-go-sit-on-a-roof upset, but he wouldn’t have been happy.
“Would you really have been okay with the result if they’d considered your suggestion?”
Dash ran his fingers over Slate’s hand while he considered the question. The light touch did bad things to Slate’s libido. Not that he even thought about asking Dash to stop.
“Honestly? I’m not sure,” Dash said. “I doubt I’d ever be okay with banishment being the first option.”
“Are you suggesting we wait until they’ve harmed more people to act?
” It came out harsher than he planned. “Sorry, I’m trying to understand how you want us to deal with them.
We asked them to leave, but they made it clear they were sticking around.
And I know you felt them try to manipulate our emotions. ”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean we erase them from existence.” He twisted in Slate’s arms until they could see each other. “There are other options.”
Dash had chosen his words carefully. He didn’t ask if there were other ways to deal with the ghosts—he told Slate there were other options. “Such as?”
“What if we send them through the portal?”
Slate needed a moment to process the idea. “Through?”
“Yes. Through.” Dash barely held back a smile.
“We remove the problem, but we don’t have to banish anyone.
And according to Ezra’s journal, when they opened the portal for the first time, numerous dark souls wanted back into our world.
Sending Theodore and Wilbur through won’t be rewarding their unacceptable behavior. ”
Slate didn’t care about punishing them for their conduct, but preventing them from preying on anyone else mattered.
“Do you think we can force them through?”
“I don’t see why not,” Dash said. “Most souls go through voluntarily. Forcing someone through might change the mechanics, but it’s worth trying. If it fails, then we can say we tried before we terminate them.”
The ‘adults’ might not like it, but Dash’s idea achieved everything they wanted, yet stayed true to Ezra’s peacemaker legacy.
If they objected, it would prove their true motives weren’t just to preserve the portal.
Slate let them convince him there weren’t any other options. Dash proved they were wrong.
Slate might be susceptible to falling in line if his parents pushed hard enough, but he had plenty of backbone when he was right.
“All right,” Slate said. “Let’s do it.”