Chapter 4
It’s been several days since I visited Whitechapel, and I still can’t stop thinking about the strange occult bookshop or the images that flashed through my mind when I touched the door handle.
What the hell was that?
I’ve had flashes before, fragments of visions. But what I’d felt that day was far beyond anything I’ve experienced. Unfortunately, all it’s done is left me with more questions and a very unsettled feeling.
I glance across my shop from my seat in the corner, placing the book I hadn’t really been reading in my lap, when the door opens, and a rather odd sight steps inside. Blinking slowly, my eyes narrow as I try to focus on what I’m seeing.
The person who just entered looks like the man I ran into in Whitechapel but at the same time, it’s not him. Another person’s face is superimposed over the top of his, and I realise that I’ve seen that person too. The drag queen from the alley, the one that’s dead, and—
Oh.
The man and the spirit seem to have somehow been trapped together in the one body.
Usually with a spiritual possession, the owner of the body is shunted to the back of their mind, left in a kind of sleeping state, and the spirit then takes over completely.
But I’ve never heard of a spirit holding a possession for more than a few minutes.
I’ve certainly never heard of a conscious human and a spirit being smooshed together into some sort of weird hybrid.
London really is turning out to be a quite fascinating if not slightly terrifying city.
They turn their head in my direction, surprised to find me watching them.
“Oh, hello.” The dark curly-haired man smiles nervously. “Um, Harrison Ames?”
“That’s me,” I reply, rising from my chair.
As I do, my gaze drops to something he’s holding in his hand, and I blink in surprise.
“Where did you get that?” I point to the business card in his hand.
It’s one of mine, but a rather special one imbued with magic.
I don’t give them to just anyone. They are charmed so the information on the card only appears for those who are supernaturally gifted.
“I, uh…” He steps closer. “We ran into each other outside Whitechapel Occult Books & Curiosities the other day.”
“I know.”
“Yes, well, um, you dropped this as you were walking away. I tried to call out to you, but when I looked up, you were gone,” he explains.
“That’s impossible.” I frown. “I didn’t have any of those cards with me that day. They’re very special. I don’t just give them to anyone.”
“Um, I don’t mean to be rude but…you’re a witch?” he blurts out. “I need some help.”
I study the drag queen he currently seems to be sharing a body with. “You don’t need a witch, you need an exorcist.”
“Excuse you!” she bursts out indignantly.
I stare at the pair of them for several long moments, wondering idly how on earth they managed to wind up in such an unusual situation.
A strange, prickling sensation tickles the back of my neck, and a low hum buzzes in my ear, interspersed with fragments of sentences and odd words.
It’s like my brain is a badly tuned radio trying to pick up on a specific frequency but can only catch snatches.
“You have someone in there who doesn’t belong, Mr Everett,” I tell him.
“How do you know my name?” His eyes narrow in suspicion.
“Does it matter?” I don’t really want to try and explain something I don’t entirely understand myself.
It’s not that I’m clairvoyant per se, it’s just that sometimes I know things.
The information pops into my head. I don’t know where it comes from—maybe from the duo in front of me.
Maybe I’m tuning into their thoughts on an unconscious level. Who knows?
“To be honest, I don’t really care.” He slumps. “I just want my body back. This whole thing with Dusty was just bad luck, bad timing, bad everything, and we don’t know how to separate ourselves. She was just trying to protect me.”
“I see,” I murmur. I do feel bad for him. I can’t imagine it’s at all comfortable having to share your body with another entity.
“Please.”
“You are a curious one, aren’t you?” I study him.
“What does that mean?” He frowns.
“Look here, Ginger Spice,” the one called Dusty snaps.
“Are you just going to talk in riddles all day, or are you going to help us? I know that you don’t know us, and you’ve no reason to help, but Tristan is the kindest, sweetest man you could ever meet.
None of this is his fault. He helps people…
okay, dead people, but they’re still people.
He’s patient and loyal and really funny. ”
“Do you want me to help him or date him?” I ask dryly.
“Very funny, but I don’t think his sexy-as-hell detective boyfriend would appreciate that,” Dusty says flatly.
“We kind of got caught up in a situation where I had to make a quick judgement call, which may or may not have been a dumb-arse thing to do. If you don’t help us, Tris won’t be able to get his body back and move in with his super-hot boyfriend.
Delores won’t be able to resolve her unfinished business and go into the light.
The mortuary won’t end up in the stupid science journal because of the stitching thingy.
Henrietta won’t get her new fridge for the staff room, and I’ll have to explain to Bruce that I’m stuck in someone else’s body, and we’re supposed to be going on a date for Dia de los Muertos.
His family are expecting us and trust me, his abuela is not going to be happy if we’re a no-show. ”
“Dusty, is it?” I ask and she nods. “Brace yourself.”
“What?” she replies, a bit baffled.
I rub my hands together, generating friction and feeling my magic crackling between my palms. I lean forward and press my hands to Tristan’s chest. Although I’ve never encountered a situation like this, my intuition tells me this is going to work.
I hope.
The power rushes through me and bursts into him, shocking him like he’s been hit with a defibrillator. He’s thrown back forcefully and hits the ground hard.
Wow, that worked a lot better than I thought it would, I muse silently as I lean over him. For a moment, he lies there stunned and trying to breathe. He seems to be somewhat winded.
After a few more moments, I extend a hand and help him to his feet. He looks a little shaky, but I can now see him clearly, and his body appears to have an occupancy of one.
A pained groan comes from behind him, and we both turn to look. Dusty sits up from her position on the floor, her eyes wide and her hair enormous and smoking slightly.
“What the hell was that?” She blinks. “Did we get hit by a bolt of lightning?”
“You’re welcome.” I shrug.
“Thank you so much.” Tristan exhales, patting down his body as if he’s refamiliarising himself with it. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to be me again. I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough.”
“Just try not to let your body get hijacked again. The Higher Powers don’t like things like that. It messes with their grand plan.”
“What grand plan?” he asks in confusion.
I reach out without thinking and grasp his chin, tilting his pretty face as I study him. Just for a second, I see a small shape shimmer against his skin, like a birthmark but not. Then it’s gone. There’s something about this man, something I can’t quite put my finger on.
“You’ve been marked,” I mutter.
“What?”
“Someone or something has taken a very definite interest in you.”
“Who?”
“Well, that’s the question now, isn’t it?” I chew my lip, deep in thought.
“I saw…” He hesitates before speaking. “I saw a reaper, twice now. It looked straight at me. It was almost like it was watching me and then it disappeared.”
“A reaper and yet you live?” I stare at him in surprise. I’ve heard about them, of course, but…“No one has ever seen one twice, and it couldn’t have been looking at you if you weren’t its target.”
“What do you mean?”
“Reapers only go after those they’re assigned to escort into the afterlife. Any other living being is simply white noise to them. It shouldn’t have even been aware of your presence, and you should not have been able to see it,” I explain.
“What do you think it means?” He bites his lip in worry.
“I have no idea,” I confess. “I’ve never heard of anything like it.”
“Oh.”
My brain is full to bursting. I need some time alone to mull over this.
“Anyway, I have things to do, so run along,” I dismiss Tristan, and his rather sparkly spirit sidekick. “Try to stay out of trouble and tell your friend to stay out of other people’s bodies… Unless, of course, it’s consensual.”
Dusty the drag queen cackles in delight as I return to my chair in the corner and pick up my book.
“Thank you again,” Tristan says gratefully. “I really do owe you.”
“And I might just collect one of these days,” I mutter, certain this isn’t the last I’ve seen of the cute, bespectacled guy and his ghostly entourage.
I open my book, hoping I look more casual than I feel.
“Oh, and, Tristan,” I call out as he heads toward the door.
I point to the little old lady ghost I’d seen holding Dusty’s hand in Whitechapel, who’s been hovering in the corner of the room. “Take that with you, please.”
“Come on, honey.” Dusty throws me a look as she takes the woman’s hand and leads her out of the shop, Dusty’s still-smoking hair filling the air with the scent of extinguished birthday candles.
After they’ve gone, I sit for a long time, my book forgotten in my lap, staring at the quiet street outside the shop window.
My mind is turbulent, and I feel itchy and restless.
Maybe coming to London wasn’t such a good idea.
Right now all I want to do is call my dads and tell them about all the strange things I’ve witnessed, but I can’t, not yet.
I don’t want to worry them, and more importantly, I need to know I can do this on my own.