Chapter 3
Chapter Three
The following morning, I laid in bed while Phil went for a run.
He didn’t say it, but I suspected he was hoping to run off some of the worry he was carrying on his wide shoulders since our after-sex talk last night.
He’d not been happy about the glow party stream at all.
Phil was a worrier. He loved me. He did not want to see me get hurt or drained of my life force.
I didn’t want that either, and I certainly did not wish to see him put in danger either.
If I closed my eyes and let my mind wander back in time, I could clearly see Phil being yanked into Lake Killikee like a rag doll.
Angry spirits could possess incredible strength.
So, we had a long talk, we made vows to each other about cutting off the feed if anything got too wild, and then we curled up close to try to sleep.
It was a fractured rest for both of us, which was why I begged off a run.
Also, my legs were too puny and weak to run again.
I’d need rest. Say like a year. So, after listening to Phil try to sneak out of our place without being heard and failing miserably, I tried my best to fall back asleep. Forty minutes later, I got up.
Tea and toast would fix me right up. I entered the kitchen, the apartment still quiet save for Reggie sitting on the counter, leg crossed and bouncing, humming “Camptown Racetrack” with a gleam in his eye.
“It’s too early,” I grumbled while filling the teakettle.
“Oh posh, it’s never too early for a ditty,” he parried before returning to his song.
Ignoring the ghost, I plugged in the kettle and then padded over to the bread drawer.
“When I was back home, before I was shipped over to the colonies, I used to have quite a fancy for racing. Still do if truth be told, bloody exhilarating sport! Also, not to crow too loudly, but it was known far and wide through the ton that the handsome Marquis Birkenhead had a good eye for horseflesh.”
“What is it with you and horses lately?” I asked while staring down into the toaster to watch the coils grow red.
“Is it my fault that equines pop up of late over morning tea? Regardless, there were several times that I attended races with a few of my favorite chaps, many, like myself, members of the Jockey Club.”
I threw him a look. “You were a jockey?”
His nose crinkled. “No, you silly nob, I was not a jockey. I was a marquis,” he sniffed.
“Oh, my mistake, please carry on with your worship.”
His eyes rolled. “You are too droll. As I was saying, many a day was spent racing. King’s Plates was quite the rollicking good time.
Newmarket, Salisbury, Winchester. Oh, to be among the elite while spurring your horse on!
A few of my finer steeds from the Birkenhead stables grabbed silver and gold plates. ”
“Yay for your horses.” I sighed, wishing the toast would toast faster. I loved Reg, truly I did, but when he went on these tangents about the snobbery, I zoned out fast.
“Yes, well, yay indeed. Your sarcasm is misplaced, Archimedes. I’m trying to import a bit of knowledge and culture into your life.
” I sighed. He took that as a sign to continue.
Six-thirty in the morning was just too early.
If I had wanted this kind of information in my head, I would have signed up for a British history class.
Did we even have one of those on offer at Liverswell?
“If you’re done being a snipe?” I nodded just as my toast popped.
“Where was I? Oh yes, days spent at the races with some schoolmates. Lovely chaps. Well, aside from the Duke of Jennings’ second son.
Nasty bit of fluff that one, but he had the most delightful mouth.
Truly, the envy of the ladies for its plumpness and natural red coloration.
I dare say those fat lips looked smashing wrapped around my jolly stick, but I digress…
” I fought off a yawn as I slapped some grape jelly and peanut butter on my toast. “So yes, as it has been now clearly pointed out, I know a fair share about horse racing and never in all my days have I seen a jockey larger than the horse he was riding.”
The bite of toast sat on my tongue for a moment while Reginald tittered behind his hand. I chewed and swallowed. “That was a long way to go for a bad pun about Phil and me. Also, and I cannot emphasize this enough, please stop peeping at us having sex!”
“Please, I do not peep. Peeping is below my station. I merely happened to be passing through your room on my way to the window to try to summon the twins for a bit of late-night gossip when I spied young Philip bouncing away on your kidney prodder like a rider atop Eclipse. I did not tarry overmuch, so you may wipe that disgruntled look from your face. Given how Philip seemed to be enjoying his time bestride you, I should think you would be feeling your oats about how well he was being pleased.”
I thought to comment again or make note of the oats bon mot, but I let it all go for now. “Speaking of the twins, have you spoken to them of late?”
That brought him up short. Something that didn’t happen frequently.
A look of concern pulled at his brow. “No, in truth, I have not, which was why I was trying to contact them. Generally, if one tosses a few tidbits at their garret window, they appear. They do love a good chinwag, but it’s been a good fortnight or so since they’ve roused to my calls.
” He leaned forward, hands on his knees, to stare at me intently. “Have you snuck over to exorcise them?”
“No, I have not. I don’t have that kind of power, and you’ve asked me not to try.
” I did smudge the house on occasion to try to limit their reach into the household.
I could speak to the dead. Though I was not a ritual exorcist like the Fangxiangshi that I read of in the book Grandpa had brought over from China but claimed was given to me by the gods.
I couldn’t invoke deities to assist in expelling unwanted demons or unhappy spirits.
I could ask them nicely to vacate but poltergeists were notorious about staying put, and the twins had died in that attic so they were bound to that parcel of land just as Reg was to this one.
“Thank you. I know you dislike them—”
“They try to open portals to the hells to bring forth demons,” I pointed out as I jabbed a half-eaten slice of PB & J toast at his pointy nose.
“Oh, that’s just childish pranks. They’ve never summoned anything stronger than a dominus. You mortals do tend to make mountains out of mole hills.”
“Okay, moving on. Do you think there’s something wrong with the twins?
The other day when I was jogging, one of the spirits in the cemetery mentioned them to me.
” He seemed to deflate a bit at that. “So you do think something is up?” He nodded silently.
Well shit. “Okay, I’ll come up with something to visit the neighbors and poke around in their attic. ”
“That would be most kind, Archie. I know you are not a fan of the Tewberry girls, and yes, they can be precocious, but I get to speak with so few that I feel the loss of any of my otherworldly friends deeply.”
I nodded softly. Reg was a social person, or had been, and it had to be hard to be stuck in this dusty old bookstore with only me, a mute girl from the ’70s, and a milkman from Sunny Moo Dairy to converse with.
Did I like the twins dabbling in dark arts?
No, totally not, but they were kids after all.
I’d not been to too many parties as a preteen, but I’d been to a few.
Witnessing your classmates calling forth Bloody Mary while standing in front of a mirror and then actually having to converse with the mutilated phantom never sat well with me.
That’s why after I screamed at the kids to stop calling forth the dead, they never invited me back to their parties.
“I’ll check it out.”
He smiled at me. “Thank you. You’re a good lad.” With that, he turned into nothingness but could still be heard humming “Camptown Races” for a few long seconds. Today was looking to be a real humdinger, as Monique was known to say.
***
There are humdingers and then there are humdingers.
I should have known things would go off into the stratosphere the moment I sat down with Grandpa and Monique over their breakfast to explain about the upcoming stream. Both lit up like firecrackers.
“Sūnzǐ, this is asking for more pain,” Grandpa exclaimed as Monique nodded vigorously. “We all saw how depleted your chi was after that last show.”
“That was because I opened myself up to a possession. There will be none of that this time. We all learned our lesson. This time it’s just a few hours traipsing around the old asylum with blacklights, popping a cork at midnight, then crawling into sleeping bags to pretend we’re sleeping there.
Once the stream is over, we leave, go to a hotel, and return the next morning to film a little epilogue. ”
Both the seniors at our little kitchen table looked unconvinced.
Rightly so, but I had things in hand. I’d spent the better part of two hours sipping tea while reading the leather-bound journal of the followers of Zhong Kui.
Zhong Kui was a god known as the biggest and baddest vanquisher of ghosts and evil spirits in ancient China.
This tome was older than dirt—far older than Cantonese, which is two thousand years old—and consisted of rubbings in oracle bone script, an incredibly old script made up of marks and forms carved into animal bones or tortoise shells.
The book wasn’t strictly about Chinese ghosts, spirits, and demons.
It held knowledge from around the world all precisely inked onto brittle pages.
Some of the languages I had yet to figure out even with the internet to help.