Chapter 39
thirty-nine
. . .
I bustle out through the train doors with everyone else, getting immediately engulfed by the speed-walking crowd that leads me up a ramp and out into the crowded main concourse.
Ensuring I don’t trip over any of the large number of suitcases being pulled behind and beside people, I weave in and out of tourists taking photos, commuters rushing around in no discernable direction, and other people weaving as I am.
I’d like to get to the street and then look up my path to the office, the crowds in the station sending nervous trills through me.
I make it out of the main concourse, moving closer to an exit, when I hear someone shout my name. I whirl around, searching for the source of that voice.
It’s like the crowds clear when I zero in on the tall man with raven-dark hair rushing my way. His eyes light up at the sight of me, and as I always do when I see his eyes, I know instantly it’s Kit. I haven’t seen him in a month.
I shouldn’t be happy; it’s not like my spell worked. He’s still a demon. He’s still in a body that is not his. Nothing has changed. But my heart is singing at the sight.
“Kit?” I whisper, crossing my arms to keep from throwing myself at him and his human host.
He grins widely and holds his arms out like he’s presenting himself. “What do you think?”
I take in the navy-blue irises, the pale skin, the lean muscles.
All of it so familiar, and at the same time, not.
It must be Kit’s effect, embodying this stranger with so much of himself.
He’s wearing green corduroy pants and a yellow and black-striped, long-sleeve Charlie Brown-esque shirt. “He doesn’t know how to dress himself?”
Kit cocks his head to the side. “Don’t you recognize me?”
I cock my head back at him. “Of course. I always recognize you.” I gesture to him, asking the same question I always do. “Is he awake?”
His eyebrows scrunch together. “It’s just me in here.”
“What do you mean?” A terrible thought occurs to me. “Oh, fuck, Kit, you didn’t take a recently dead body did you? That’s a major ick, man.”
“No.” He steps closer, so that we’re no more than a foot apart. “Lacy, baby, look at me. Really look.”
So, I do. Dark circles under his eyes. Hair messy like it hasn’t been washed in a few days.
Short, unkept beard that looks like it hasn’t been touched in a couple of weeks.
And…oh my god. There’s a small white scar hiding beneath the beard.
Right above his lip. I know that scar. I know this entire face, not just the eyes.
My hand finds his cheek, thumb tracing over the scar. “Kit?”
His head bobs vigorously. “Yes, Lace. It’s me. I’m alive. I’m human. This body is mi—oof.”
He’s cut off by my lips slamming into his.
I grasp at his face and pull him as close as I can manage.
My mouth covers his. I’m so hungry for him.
Starving, in fact. He groans happily as one hand slides around my waist and the other buries itself in my hair, fingers digging in.
His tongue slips through my parted lips, dipping in and taking its time making an introduction.
I don’t know how many times I’ve pictured kissing Kit, but this is so much better than imagined, electricity sparking between us so intensely my lips are tingling.
God, he smells…well, he smells like cheap soap and sweat, but he also smells like him.
Finally, he smells like himself. I want to bury my face in his neck to breathe him in, but am far too distracted and engulfed by his lips on mine to do so.
I back us up so he is pressing me into a wall as I pull him closer to me by the hips, my fingers moving just below the hem of his shirt, brushing the warm skin of his back.
I have so many questions. Was it my spell?
Which one? How long has he been back? Where has he been?
But all of that is taken over by one demand: that he never stop kissing me.
I don’t care that we’re in public, surrounded by so many people.
Honestly, there are enough people around that I doubt any of them notice us.
As his hand trails down to my ass, cupping it, I bite down on his lower lip, pulling another groan from the base of his throat.
“Lacy,” he murmurs, lips moving away from mine so he can swoop kisses down my jaw and to my throat. Against my pulse, he sucks hard enough to leave a mark, causing me to gasp and dig my fingers into his back.
My eyes fly open as I suddenly remember where I am.
“Kit,” I say, my voice ragged as I am so desperate to drag him to whatever dark and private corner I can get him into. “Kit,” I say again, more firmly.
“Hmm?” he asks, pulling back from my neck but with his head still dipped down so he is mere inches from my face. His gaze is dark and filled with a desire so tempting I almost pull his lips back to mine.
I refrain myself. “I have a meeting,” I whisper.
“Meeting?” he asks, eyebrow scrunching together. I like his eyebrows, dark and thick. And his.
My hand rests on his cheek as I am still so confused and overjoyed by the fact that he is before me, that I can touch him. Touch a body that is solely his. He’s really here.
“With the contest people.” My teeth drag over my lip. “They liked my submission.”
Kit throws his head back in an alarmingly loud cackle.
“What?!” he shouts, his face painted with an ear-to-ear grin as he bounces away from me.
He rockets back, throwing his arms around me and lifting me into the air with a spin.
I let out a surprised shriek, feeling a slight but ignorable pinch of pain where my cut arms press into him.
He settles me back on the ground, keeping his hands on my waist, saying, “Are you serious? That’s amazing. Oh, I am so proud of you.”
I can’t help but grin back as my arms tighten around his neck. “It’s nothing official yet, but it’s something, right?”
“It’s definitely something. When’s the meeting?”
I retrieve my phone to glance at the time.
“Shit. In about fifteen minutes.” I pull myself free from his grasp, sliding my hand down to catch one of his, because there is no way I will ever stop touching him, and start to pull him along.
Luckily, it’s a pretty straight shot. As I drag Kit out the Vanderbilt exit, I know generally where I am headed and charge full steam ahead.
As soon as we’re stopped by a don’t walk signal, I release Kit’s hand so I can instead hook my arm through his and pull my phone out to open the front-facing camera.
My fingers graze over my kiss-swollen lips, an inescapable grin growing in the screen.
Hopefully the cool air will calm them down enough that it won’t be obvious what they’re swollen from.
We start to walk again, Kit now leading me blindly as I attempt to fix myself in my phone camera.
There’s a red spot on my neck that will definitely develop into a hickey.
I pull my hair over it, taking advantage of the helpful bulk.
“Which way?” he asks.
“Just keep going forward.” I slip my phone back into my purse once I decide there is literally nothing else I can do to myself and take his hand again. I find the correct office building and march up to the front desk.
I give the security staff my name and ID and let them check me in. The man behind the desk asks Kit for his identification as well. Kit pulls out a passport that I have no idea how he obtained and hands it over.
“You’re not on the list,” he says.
“He’s with me,” I say.
The man frowns. “Sorry. Once you get up there, you can ask them to give him clearance, but if he’s not on the list, I can’t send you both through.”
“It’s fine,” Kit says before I can argue again. “Can I wait down here in the lobby?”
“Are you sure?” I ask him.
“Yeah.”
I pull him in for a quick peck. “Thank you for being here,” I whisper, knowing there is so much more I want to say to him, but unable to find the words to do so. I pull out my wallet. “Do you want to go get something to eat? I can give you my card.”
“No. It’s okay. Good luck, baby. I’ll be here when you get out.”
I resist saying, “You better be,” or, “Please don’t leave me.” I give him a small smile, squeeze his hand, then head for the elevators. This is too much. Kit is back. He’s here. He’s real.
I can’t even think about that, because I have to do this meeting. This extremely important meeting that I need to be fully present for.
I exit the elevators and find the reception desk. I greet the woman behind the desk and give her my name. She eyes the clock on the wall behind me. “Right on time.” Gesturing to a closed, glass office door, she says, “Stephanie is ready for you.”
I smile in thanks, take a deep breath, and knock on the office door.
“Come in.”
I enter.
“Please sit.”
I slide into a plastic chair.
A Black woman with short, tight natural curls looks up from her computer.
“Lacy. Thanks for coming in today. All right, I’ll get straight to the point.
We liked your video. A lot. You have skill in front of the camera and an easy-going persona with your investigations.
Now, we of course examined the video ourselves, but I’m going to ask you point blank, and I want you to give me an honest answer: Was any of your video edited?
With CGI or effects, I mean. It’s fine if it was, because it was well done, but I need to know whether you found real paranormal activity or not. ”
“It’s real,” I confirm.
“Perfect. And since you say that, I’d say it is safe to assume that you believe in spirits?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect. That makes this easier. We’ve also gone through many of the videos on your channel. All great.”
“Thank you.”