Chapter Seventeen
A soft light spills into the hall from the lamp glowing in the corner of the lounge, welcoming any wakeful guests. Thankfully tonight the room is empty, it’s late enough that everyone is tucked away in bed. Not even George is up tonight.
I snuggle into the velvety cushions of the couch, as the small fire crackles behind the grill and the grandfather clock softly ticks. Callum pours a healthy shot of whiskey into each of our glasses, hands me mine and then leans back, cradling his.
‘Cute pjs,’ he says, pointing at my legs. My pyjamas are covered in tiny sheet-clad ghosts.
‘My sister gave them to me. I can’t decide if she was being funny or bitchy.’
His shoulder rests against mine. I don’t move away. ‘She still doesn’t get the whole seeing spirits thing?’
‘No one does.’
‘That’s not true. I do.’
‘Yeah, I guess you do.’ I gently nudge him.
He pushes up his sleeves, and my gaze trails his forearm, landing on the dark, circular tattoo just below the crook of his elbow. He once told me it was a ghost hunter’s talisman.
‘Do you think that works?’ I ask him.
He runs his hand across it. ‘Well, I’m still here so…’
‘Maybe I should get one. Maybe it’ll keep the spirits away.’
‘Do you want to tell me about the spirit that’s haunting you, talking to you?’
‘I nearly fell over when she spoke the first time.’
‘It’s really never happened before?’
‘Never. Not one word. Just noise. A screech, a yell. Maybe that’s why they yelled – because I couldn’t hear them. Or wouldn’t hear them. What if they’ve been trying to talk to me all this time?’ I take a sip of my whiskey.
‘Do you think it’ll change things for you?’
I consider this for a moment, then shake my head.
‘I get called in because the ghosts are scaring people. Terrifying them, usually, by the time I get there. It’s the living I take care of.
Whether I can communicate with the spirits or not, the living and the dead should not be sharing the same space.
That’s not how life works. Anyway, maybe it’s just this one spirit I can hear. ’
‘Why? Is she different somehow?’
I slowly nod. ‘She’s the girl from my dream, the one who was stabbed to death in the cellar. Her name is Elizabeth. Elizabeth Howell, a girl who disappeared during the witch trials. Her father accused Garrett Western of being involved somehow, but nothing ever came of it.’
‘What would Garrett Western be to Edward, great uncle times ten or eleven or something?’
‘Something like that.’ I toss back the rest of my whiskey and hold out my glass for a refill. Callum tops us both up.
‘Are you sure it’s her?’
‘Pretty sure. I asked her. She nodded.’ I take a beat. Am I going to tell him everything? Yes, I decide. ‘That’s not all. I think she might be an ancestor of mine.’
His eyes widen. ‘You think, or…’
‘My mother’s maiden name was Howell. She always said her family came over from England, way back.
I just didn’t think it was that way back…
’ I shift closer to him, chasing that safe feeling he gives off.
‘I don’t know for sure; I was trying to ask her when you burst through the door brandishing your boot and scared her away.
’ He winces, sheepishly. ‘But it makes sense. More than that, it feels right. It explains why she’s haunting my dreams and haunting me, and it explains why I feel a connection to this place and the house. ’
‘And why you haven’t obliterated her.’
‘Mm-hmm. I guess. I don’t have anyone else I can ask about her though. Mom’s gone. My grandparents are gone.’ I sip my whiskey and lick my lips. When I turn to Callum, he’s watching me, his gaze fixed on my mouth. He quickly looks away and quietly clears his throat.
‘Can’t you ask your dad?’
‘I’d feel weird calling him out of the blue about this.
We haven’t spoken since Labor Day. We sort of had an argument.
I was at his place for a cookout, but then some old family friends dropped around, and they know about my work.
They started asking questions I didn’t want to answer, so I excused myself and just left.
I didn’t even make it to the ribs. Dad was really upset about it.
I went home and ate Kung-Pao beef and watched TV instead. ’
‘Did you at least watch something good?’ he asks.
‘A couple of episodes of Dexter . I was feeling dark.’ I laugh. ‘Anyway, thinking about Elizabeth has made me realise I know very little about my family history. Is that normal?’
‘You’re asking the wrong person.’
‘Right. Sorry.’
He shrugs. ‘Did Elizabeth at least tell you what she wants?’
‘Sort of but… it’s like she talks in riddles and it’s up to me to piece it all together. You’d think if she wanted to tell me something, she’d tell me straight. But I feel like it takes everything for her to reach me, so maybe she can’t get the words out? I don’t know, the dead are so infuriating.’
Callum coughs out a laugh.
‘What?’
‘The dead are infuriating?’
‘You have no idea. Anyway, what she did say was she and I, we have to stop something, or someone. She said that I have to let her in. I told her I’m not going to do that.’
‘What if this whole “let us in” thing is exactly what Richard was trying to warn you about?’
‘I don’t think so. Actually, I think they’re both trying to warn me about the same thing. It’s just unfortunate that one is catatonic and the other is dead.’
Callum chuckles. ‘Well, at least you have a sense of humour about it. Give me the crib notes.’
‘Someone or something knows what I am – what I can do. And that might have made me a target. I have to let Elizabeth in so we can become team-Howell and save the world or something, I don’t know.
I think this is why I’ve never listened to the dead before.
They can’t string together a coherent sentence. ’
‘As much as you’re making fun of it,’ Callum says, ‘I don’t like the sound of any of this. And I agree, you shouldn’t be letting that spirit in, family or otherwise.’
I watch him throw back his whiskey, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and refills his glass, adding another splash to mine.
‘There’s something else,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t sure if I was going to tell you… You’ve just got to promise you won’t freak out, okay?’
He sits back. ‘Well, if I haven’t freaked out so far…’
‘On the highway, Elizabeth told me something else. She told me, do not trust the handsome man . She said something similar again tonight.’ I watch him as I wait for his response.
Deep lines ridge his brow. ‘Why would that freak me out? Who do you think she was talking about?’
I stare at him. ‘Seriously?’
His eyes scrunch shut for a moment in a wince. ‘Oh. You think she means me ?’
My gaze roams over his face, taking in his wrinkled brow and worried eyes. ‘No, I don’t. But I guess that’s why I was hesitant to tell you.’
Callum looks away, his frown still deep, his focus on the glass in his hands. ‘I’m not that handsome,’ he scoffs.
‘Callum. Don’t. Being coy is not a good look on you.’
We sit in silence after that, sipping our drinks, the crackling from the fire filling the space between our thoughts. When Callum clears his throat again, I jump a little.
‘I think we should leave,’ he says.
‘Oh. Okay. Sure.’ I pick up my glass and go to stand. He touches my wrist to stop me.
‘I mean East Mill. You’re getting warnings we don’t understand, I’m seeing spirits you don’t see, we both feel as if something’s off here. Let’s just forget about it. I’ll tell Western I’m not interested.’
‘But this is a big deal for you. You were excited about it. Holy grail and all that stuff.’
‘It’s just a haunted house. There’ll be others.’
‘What about the money?’
‘I don’t need the money.’
‘But I need the money. And I’m not going to be chased out of town by a ghost either.
I can’t let them win like that. Besides, that house has tormented this town for long enough.
’ I wiggle around to face him. ‘There’s something bad happening in this place, has been for years.
If there’s a chance we can stop it, then we should. ’
He smiles, one eyebrow kicking up. ‘Such a hero, Holly Daniels.’
I give him a teasing shove. ‘Shut up. Anyway, you’ll have my back, won’t you?’
‘Always, and for as long as you need me.’ His eyes meet mine, holding them for too many heartbeats to count.
Then he glances away, frowning again, as he looks down at his glass, spinning it around in his hands.
‘I’m not sure if I should say this or not but, if we’re telling each other everything, then there’s something I need to tell you. ’
‘Ohhhkay,’ I answer hesitantly.
He takes the last gulp of his whiskey. ‘I guess I wasn’t really expecting this.’
‘Expecting… what?’
His gaze remains fixed on his empty glass. His fair cheeks are flushed pink from the warmth of the fire, and the glow of the flames illuminates his skin. He practically shimmers.
‘From the moment Celeste first introduced us,’ he says, ‘I was into you. I think you know that. Hell, I’ve already told you that.
You’re beautiful and kind and smart.’ He looks up.
‘With this amazing red hair.’ He reaches out as if to touch a strand, then pulls his hand away, wrapping his fingers tightly around his glass again.
‘Then there’s your gift. Being able to see ghosts is pretty spectacular, but to expel them from this plane with just a few words?
That’s something else. I couldn’t believe it the first time I saw you do it.
We were at that old warehouse out in Brooklyn, remember?
I could see the disturbance created by the entity on my screen, and then you step up, say some Latin and then poof – it was gone.
Not even a flicker on the EMF. Nothing. It was magical.
You’re magical. I know you don’t like that word, but I don’t know how else to describe you.
’ His eyes flick to me again, as if making sure I’m still there.
‘God, I’m fucking this up.’ He rubs his brow.