17. Ascending Stakes
seventeen
Ascending Stakes
Liam
Archer is so sexy, I cannot even. No suit today, he’s wearing a motherfucking apron.
He has clothes under there—a probably cashmere grey sweater that looks almost as touchable as his skin and some kind of expensive-looking jeans…
That apron though… It’s pink and soft and has little smudges of raspberry and flour, and I don’t think he’s actually realised he’s still wearing it.
And I’m not going to tell him.
He smells so good too, every time he moves; cologne, something citrusy, then fresh country air, because this house, his sunny stables, and his open windows and gardens are replete with it. But it’s more. It’s Archer.
And what was that he just suggested? Fix the ghost problem and get the man? That’s the kind of bonus I’ll definitely do my best to earn. Ultimate employee motivation program. I’m going to thrive in this business. I’m going to rise to the top and become this man’s chief executive fuckboy.
Shit.
No. Actually, I am here to work.
And as if I have the time for an actual relationship.
I need to stop ogling the boss, even if he looks like the house husband of my dreams tidying up in the kitchen like that.
But why does he think it’s okay to wear jeans that hug his ass so well? On the job and all… Super unprofessional. Not to mention the apron. Did I mention the apron? And damn it, now all I can see is Archer in that apron and nothing else. Reaching beneath it… undoing the string…
Jesus, fuck, fucking job I need to do…
“So this thing?” I cough, clearing my throat when my words come out way too raspy. “What’s our next step?” I’m trying to sound serious, as though I could be the one telling him the next step, but we both know I have fuck all experience with this. Or anything.
He lets out a sigh, folding the dishcloth, setting it on the side of the sink. “It was nice being down here. And not up there.”
He’s had the same realisation as I had about three seconds back. Time to get to work. Time to try to not die. Because that thing yesterday…
But now it’s not the thing I see in my mind’s eye. It’s my brother, dead and bloody, the touch of his icy hand on my shoulder.
That same sinking feeling returns—the worry that he’s still there at the hospital.
Why there? Why, if he’s a ghost, doesn’t he come to see me at home? Maybe he doesn’t know where we moved. Or maybe he can’t go there for some reason.
I only realise I’ve fallen silent when Archer comes back to the table, supporting himself on those nice arms as he talks. “I think I’ve given enough warnings for you to know what’s up there. You’ve seen for yourself what it can do.”
I have. Kind of. But I need to know a whole lot more. “Those ghosts last night…”
His brow dips, but his eyes stay clear, concerned, like he’s prepared to delve into this. Like he’s been waiting for me to start.
I can’t tell him all the details. He knows I saw my brother. He knows he’s missing. He doesn’t need to know the why or the how, or imagine I’m any part of the world that took him away from us.
“Were they really there?”
He holds eye contact for several more seconds, as if he’s trying to decide what to tell me. And that worries me. Because why wouldn’t he just drop the truth if he knows it?
Eventually, he settles on, “I’m not sure.”
First red flag of the morning. Last night he wanted to tell me none of it was real. And if I hadn’t seen Jem, I might have believed him.
The creature said my name. It knows who I am. I might have figured it followed me from this house, which could have explained that. But not Jem… How could it know about him?
I check the first explanation that leaps into my brain. “Can it read my mind? This thing?”
The tip of his tongue darts swiftly over his lips, and he stands tall again, less of a conversational stance.
It’s like he wants to move away, end this.
But he stays. And again, he takes a long time to answer.
And again, I have the weirdest feeling he knows exactly what I’m trying to get at.
Because if that thing can’t read my mind, then, hallucination or not, Jem must have really been there.
And that means, after all these years, I finally have proof, of a sort, that he’s gone.
Archer’s reply is slow, like a politician who knows every word is a soundbite that could sink him.
“This creature is… new to me. I don’t know it well enough to give you a reasonable answer.
All I can say is…” His fingers tap across the table, and he watches them rather than me.
“All I can tell you, honestly, is that it hasn’t been inside my head like that.
It’s created hallucinations for me, pathways to someplace dark—the same place it took us last night.
But it hasn’t… conjured anything, or anyone, I know. ”
“Do you know a lot of dead people?” Something bitter twists in the words, and I’m immediately sorry for it. Archer’s so kind. He doesn’t need me here—he could fire me any second. He’s taking this time to talk to me, to help me understand, and I don’t know why I lashed out like that.
If he felt it, he doesn’t show it. He only leans close and says, “I don’t.
No one but the old ghosts who visit this place.
If it wanted to show me a person I knew, who was dead, or who I thought might be dead, in order to scare me, it wouldn’t have one.
And that’s why I can’t tell you. I wish I could. ”
Guilt and sadness curl up together in the base of my gut.
Archer doesn’t move. Doesn’t shift his comforting presence away from me.
Only says, very gently, “If this is too much, you don’t have to do it.
Call Gerald, tell him that other guy walked off the job, and have him send someone new.
Maybe someone who knows what they’re doing this time. ”
“I’m beginning to think there isn’t anyone like that at the office,” I joke.
“Then maybe Gerald should come out here himself. See what you’re all dealing with.” There’s an anger beneath the words, and it brings me out of my pity party.
Poor Archer. He’s got a serious problem and nothing but losers to help him. And god knows what he’s paying for the privilege.
“Let’s go upstairs.” I’m already rounding the table, but I only get about halfway before my feet start to feel heavier.
When the gravity of what I’m about to do hits me, and the fear sets in.
The darkness that looms at the top of the staircase seems to thicken to forbidding, and I find myself shrinking closer to Archer. “How bad is it up there?”
“It’s fucking scary.”
I laugh a loud and anxious laugh at his candid answer. “Okay, good to know.”
“Just remember—”
“It’s not real. I know.”
“No.” He stands tall. He’s so close now his cologne fills my nostrils, and I can virtually feel the cashmere of that sweater.
“The front door is right there. No matter what you see or hear upstairs, the door is right there. That’s the way out of the house; that’s the way out of any hallucination it might create.
Leave the place, and it will stop. Just like it did last night. ”
Throwing a glance over my shoulder, “And the door won’t be locked this time?”
“No,” he assures me. “That was Simon messing around. He’s off somewhere else now, so you don’t need to worry.”
“All right.” The words come out calm while my insides are heaving. I’m thinking about that gun I left outside. That it’s more powerful than it looked. That this might be the ideal time to use it. “Should we shoot it?”
“Do you want to…” He glances at the door. Back up the stairs. Back to me. “Shall we just look before we shoot? I think maybe you’d want to discuss this a little further with Gerald or… or a higher-up. Later. Before we shoot.”
“Right. Yeah. Makes sense.”
Now I’m scared and embarrassed. A perfect combination for a man who might be walking straight to his death.
Or worse.
But I do walk. I walk directly to the stairs and force a foot up.
I make myself look into the darkness, and fuck.
Fuck, I could swear I just saw something.
Some shadow in the dark. And for all my attempted ‘calm and capable,’ I stop before I even make the second step. “Your, um… Was that your ghosts?”
“Hmm?” Archer, at my shoulder, studies the gloom. “They shouldn’t be up there. You saw Simon leave, and Lacey…” He takes a step past me, and screw being brave, he can go first. “Anyone up there?” he calls.
No sound comes back.
Archer looks around the room, studying our surroundings. “We’re not hallucinating. Not yet, away. So… maybe it was just a shadow?”
“A shadow of what?” I ask, even if I don’t really want to.
“A shadow of… um…” He blinks twice. “You know, we can leave. What if we just went to the village for—”
“I can do this,” I tell him firmly.
He drops back onto the step next to me. “I’m not suggesting you can’t. Only that—”
“Great, then.” My foot comes down hard on the next step. It’s not an angry sort of hard. It’s determined. Final. I’m here to hunt ghosts. I knew there would be supernatural things. I knew it would be scary. I agreed to do it. So I will do it.
And, what’s more, I just got a massive bonus for one day of spirit hunting. What will I get if I actually catch this thing?
From Gerald, a bigger bonus? A proud thank you? More work?
And from Archer…
I’d honestly just like to go for a pint with him. Somewhere sunny. One spring garden. Or some cosy fireplace. Or… or anything. Maybe if I could impress him by doing this job well, the idea of him ever seeing someone like me wouldn’t feel quite so ridiculous. If I held some worth for a man like him…
My mind’s turning over the possibilities as I climb up and up. The staircase is incredibly steep, and I feel like I’m higher already than it looked like it could get from the bottom.