3. Big Spanking #2
He’s wearing a grey suit that fits so perfectly it looks like he was sewn into it.
The purple of his shirt is deep and rich and more vibrant than any flower in this garden.
His hair’s trimmed short but stylish, black, and his skin, a deep umber, is flawless.
Flawless like the bright grin he flashes us now, skipping down the stairs with a luminous energy even as he checks a gold watch that glints brightly in the sunshine.
“Right on time,” he announces, his voice deep and a little husky.
This can’t be him. This beautiful young man who looks like he could buy and sell me over lunch cannot be—
“Archer Gravely,” he says, holding out a hand.
My colleague takes it immediately, unlike mine. “Raul Vasquez,” he says. “ExorSquad.”
“And you?”
Archer Gravely’s hand is in front of me. His eyes are on mine, sparkling amber in the morning light.
Fuck, he’s handsome.
Fuck, he’s so handsome.
I lift my hand, but no sound makes it to my throat.
He couldn’t really care what my name is. What does it matter what my name is?
What is my name?
Do I have a name?
His hand closes around mine, perfectly manicured nails, warm skin, gold jewellery flashing on his ring and pinkie fingers.
Ring finger.
Fuck, I hope he’s not married.
Did I just think that?
What does it matter if he’s married?
It doesn’t matter at all if Archer Gravely is married!
“And you?” he asks again, his voice dropping lower, his head with it, though he’s still way taller than me.
“Liam,” I reply softly.
“Liam,” he repeats. Not like a question. Not as though he’s confirming. He just says it, and it sounds good on his lips.
His lips look posh. Posh and plump and polished. Too posh for me.
There’s a sort of avalanche of conflicting, confusing emotions that run through me all at once.
It’s not just that he’s good looking—like ‘model’ good looking, like I shouldn’t actually come across a man who looks like this in ordinary life.
And it’s not just that he smells delicious, as if he’s just stepped out of a spa day having had expensive oils massaged into his skin for a solid eight hours.
There’s something else about him—about his presence.
There’s a warmth, but not like when your grandma makes you tea.
It’s enveloping, deeply comforting. And it’s only as his fingertips slide from mine that I realise the oppression that hit me when I set foot on this road…
it’s lifted. Since he stepped out that door, there’s a freshness back in the air, there’s a…
I don’t know that ‘safety’ is the word. But I don’t know what else to call it.
The unease, the dread that I felt walking down the road to get here, has disappeared. And—
“Kraaaa,” comes a screech, accompanied by a flap of wings and a black blob resolving itself into a bizarrely massive raven perching on a branch high above us.
Not the same raven? No, it couldn’t be. But…
“The birds,” I say out loud, completely by accident, as my thoughts try to make sense of themselves.
Both men look at me.
“Weren’t singing,” I add, as if that will make it make sense.
Because they weren’t. The road was eerily quiet all the way here, and since that man walked out that door, it’s as if someone hit play on nature. Birds, insects, all the sounds of the village on the way out here, alive again. And, of course, that big black bird up in that big tree, watching us.
But I can’t expect them to understand this. Raul certainly doesn’t. I can tell by the way he’s frowning at me, like I shouldn’t say anything at all—as if my very existence here is making him seem less professional.
“He’s new,” he informs Gravely, confirming my worries. “First day jitters.”
Gravely glances at me again, and this time for several long seconds, then he suddenly snaps, “I’m sorry?” directed harshly at Raul. “First day? I asked for experienced ghostbus—”
“‘Spirit Extraction Specialists,’” Raul sharply corrects him, for whatever reason. “And you won’t find anyone more experienced than me. Not even Brad bloody Harrington. Especially not Brad bloody Harrington. This one’s a slight liability, I admit—”
“I’m not a liability!” I break in, wondering slightly who Brad bloody Harrington is and swiftly concluding he’d have to be a much better partner than this guy.
Raul, of course, ignores me. “While I, on the other hand, am one of the most highly esteemed members of the ExorSquad. You name it, I’ve seen it, I’ve killed it. Now, what kind of spirits are we dealing with? Your perp sheet wasn’t very clear.”
“My perp…” Archer breaks a slight grin. Some kind of sly, almost-mocking type of grin. “You call it a perp sheet?”
“What are ghosts if not supernatural perpetrators?” Raul shrugs. “They’re entering your space unlawfully, probably causing some property damage. The law doesn’t stop applying to someone just because they’re dead.”
“I’m pretty sure it does,” Archer argues, archly.
“Does not,” Raul argues, stubbornly.
“What about the laws of physics?” Archer prods.
“The laws of…” Raul breaks off, and when Archer’s eyes cut across to mine, I could swear there’s a twinkle in them.
It’s only a millisecond, then his face drops straight back to normal to listen to Raul’s flustered, “Any laws. All laws apply to spirits, as they do the living. Just because it’s easier for them to break those laws doesn’t mean we’re going to let them get away with it.”
He lifts up the toy-like gun he’s still holding, opens a little cartridge on the side, then snaps it closed again before I can see what’s inside. “Locked and loaded.”
That grin’s playing at the corner of Archer’s lips again, but my mind’s reeling. What the hell is that thing? “What the hell is that thing?”
He tsks his tongue so loudly I want to punch him. “Didn’t you read your manual?”
“I did. I did, but there wasn’t anything in there about that… whatever that is.”
“That,” he says exhaustedly, as if he’s not actually supposed to be training me on the job, “is the Plasma Pulser Pro-Performance Polter Pocket Pistol. It’s your basic model, bottom of the line stuff.
Good for dealing with your pesky lower-level entities.
” His head twitches back towards his car.
“Clearly, I keep the big guns, so to speak,” here he drops an annoying, smug laugh, “for the bad boys. Assuming you have any. Generally, we find most household hauntings are around your Level One or Two entity disturbances. They might seem scary, but trust me, I’ve dealt with worse. ”
He takes a step towards the front door, but slow and controlled, Archer’s arm stretches out, holding Raul across the front of his shoulder. “I don’t recommend you go in there just yet.”
A laugh cracks out of Raul. “No need to be frightened, Mr Gravely. I know what I’m doing.”
He tries to take another step, but Gravely’s arm doesn’t budge.
There’s the slightest shift in the tendons of his handsome hand, that I obviously barely notice, as Gravely applies pressure to keep him back.
“I’d like to discuss the matter a little more before we approach the house. Make sure we’re both on the same page.”
“All due respect, sir—” Raul turns towards him with what might be the least respectful expression of superior contempt ever “—the professionals are here now. Please keep calm and allow me to do my work.”
“I don’t think you understand,” Archer says, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him look a little flustered since we arrived, which is kind of odd for a man who thinks his house is haunted, come to think of it.
He moves fast, elegant, coming to stand between Raul and the still-open front door of the property.
“What’s in there is something I’ve—I mean, you’ve almost certainly never dealt with before. ”
“I assure you, sir—” Raul begins, but Archer’s hands land on his shoulders, and he stops talking as Archer leans in close.
“It’s not a ‘Level One entity,’ and it’s not a ‘Level Two entity.’ It’s not even a Level Five, and if your entities went up to Level Seven or Eight, I still don’t think you’d hit it.
What’s in there is dark and dangerous, and if you go inside half-cocked and arrogant, you’re going to end up smeared all across the wall, and I just had my hand-painted, golden silk, Georgian reproduction peacock wallpaper put up, so I would really prefer you don’t do that just now. ”
The intensity of his manner, and his words, drop my stomach down through my shoes, burying it six feet under.
I don’t believe in this stuff, any of it, I never have.
But Archer clearly does. And I can see it’s affecting Raul too, because for the first time since I met him, a touch of that repugnant smugness that seems to be his entire personality slips with his smile.
“Kraa!” The weird raven cuts in.
Archer’s head turns sharply, and “Sshh!” he hisses at the bird.