Chapter 22 #2
Kit sucked his lip into his mouth, gnawing on it, so Quin took the lead. “Have you guys ever encountered a ghost?”
“What?” DJ asked, head whipping from side to side. “Is there one in the room with us right now?”
Quin glanced down at Kit, who didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. He didn’t either, because there very well could be. Whatever fuelled Lawrence, however, seemed not to give him enough juice to be constantly present, at least.
Shaun studied Quin’s face, then his intent gaze focused instead on Kit. “What aren’t you saying?” Shaun asked.
“Do you have…dreams about him?” Kit asked in a quiet voice. Quin’s heart clenched.
“Nightmares, more like,” Shaun said.
“But was it ever more than a nightmare for you?”
“What do you mean?”
Kit stuck a finger in his mouth and chewed on the nail. Quin gently pulled it out of his mouth and held his hand instead, giving him the space to talk. “Like he was really there. That he could do things—leave marks, move you around, control you.” Kit’s gaze slid to Quin. “Possess you.”
“No,” Shaun said, shaking his head. Rake’s hand was gripping Shaun’s hand so tightly it had to hurt. “No. That’s not—”
“It is possible. It’s been happening for months now,” Kit gritted out, as if the words were painful to utter.
“Months?” Rake asked.
“No,” Shaun said again, vehement. “That’s not possible.”
“I’m sorry,” Quin said, meaning it. “But it’s real. He possessed me.”
“But I killed him,” Shaun whispered.
“Not as permanently as we’d hoped,” Kit said.
DJ—who had apparently been stunned into silence—moved behind the sofa and put his hands on Shaun’s shoulders, squeezing. He blinked slowly, as if still parsing the information.
Rake sat up straight and asked, “In what way did he possess you?”
“Took over my brain and body. I couldn’t wrestle control back at all.
Kit ended up having to knock me out to get him gone.
We don’t know when he might be back,” Quin said, trying to stay calm and stick to the facts.
Rake seemed like a person who appreciated facts over emotion, and Quin’s emotions were too close to the surface for his own liking.
Tamping them down and being there for Kit was more important than having a freakout over being possessed.
“When?” Rake prodded. “Or do you mean ‘if’?”
“I suppose we can’t be sure,” Quin said.
“But,” Kit cut in with, “he came back most nights until now. I think we’re on borrowed time.”
Shaun had his head in his hands, both Rake and DJ touching his hair and neck, DJ murmuring soft reassurances. “This can’t be real,” Shaun said.
“I wish I could tell you otherwise,” Kit said, and Quin wrapped his arm more tightly around him at hearing how timid his voice was. “I’m sorry to involve you, but we need help.”
Shaun’s head whipped up. “Don’t be sorry!
Kit, we kinda owe you. Without you coming to Brighton, we’d all be dead.
If you hadn’t got me free from Lynette’s custody, then I wouldn’t have made it back to Rake in time to recreate him.
Lawrence would have killed DJ, too. I was the only one who could get into the flat, so even if Lynette had tried to help, she couldn’t have. ”
Kit worried his lip. He looked like he didn’t believe Shaun’s words.
Shaun smiled, and though Quin could tell it was genuine, it was lacking the warmth that had been there when the guys had first come through the door. “Whatever you need, we’re here for it.”
“Especially if it means killing Lawrence. I missed out on the party last time,” DJ added.
“How do we kill a ghost?” Rake asked, his thick brows pulled together. One of his hands gripped the nape of Shaun’s neck, around his leather collar, as if Lawrence might swoop in and try to steal Shaun right out from under him.
“That’s why we’re involving the witches. They’re our best bet for knowing how to get rid of ghost Lawrence,” Kit said, his voice sounding croaky. Quin hoped he wasn’t about to cry—Kit would be embarrassed, and Quin wouldn’t want to let go of him for hours.
“Okay,” Shaun said, nodding. “You need us all to go to the St Andrews nest for backup against the vampires who tried to kill you, to speak to the witches who cursed you, to get rid of the ghost of our abusive creator?”
“Pretty much,” Kit said.
“Sounds straightforward,” DJ said with a shrug.
Shaun sighed, but the light that had gone from his eyes had returned. “DJ, you realise you’ve jinxed us now?”
“That’s all we need,” Kit said. “More bad luck.”
DJ blew a raspberry. “We don’t need luck. We didn’t have any last time, and we won anyway.” The rest of them were silent, and Quin waited to hear what else DJ would say. But after a few seconds of pregnant silence, DJ looked around, confused. “Oh, did I accidentally start a pep talk?”
“And you didn’t even finish,” Shaun said. “So unlike you.”
“That’s it,” Kit said. “I’m banning innuendo from this house.” He crossed his arms together in front of him. “This is an innuendo-free zone.”
“You’ve just outlawed ninety percent of DJ’s humour,” Rake commented.
“I’m sure we’ll all survive,” Kit said over DJ’s offended gasp.
“At least we’ll always have sarcasm,” Quin said, poking Kit’s side.
Kit raised a brow. “Whatever would we do without it?”
“Right, so what’s the plan for tomorrow night?” Rake asked, bringing them all back to the matter at hand. “Are we storming the nest and demanding an audience with the witches?”
Kit shrugged and looked at Quin. “It’s as good an idea as any.”
“I say we ask to speak to them first, but that can be the backup option,” Quin said.
“It’s a plan,” Shaun said, decisive enough that Quin felt confident in their idea.
“Our plans have always worked out before,” DJ agreed.
Rake frowned at DJ. “Your recollection of events doesn’t match my own.”
On second thought, Quin just hoped they weren’t completely fucked.