Chapter 4 #3
“We’re not,” Skye says, patting my arm. He can probably hear me grinding my teeth. “Kieran just feels responsible for everyone here at Mannix Estate. Plus, we’re friends.”
“Do you mind if I just go back to what you said before, about clingy souls being the reason we have ghosts?” Josh interrupts, giving me time to get my killing urges under control. “That’s because ghosts are souls who hold on to their memories, right?”
Connor smiles approvingly. “Exactly. Did you work that out yourself?”
I explode. “Could you sound any more fucking condescending?”
Three pairs of eyes turn to me, two with shock, one with smug disdain.
“It’s not something everyone knows,” dickface Connor says with that goddamn smirk. “Most mediums don’t even work it out, not unless they’re taught by someone who knows. So I was actually being impressed and complimentary.”
Ugh. Why does he have to be so superior and smirky? It makes me hate him so much, I want to tie him to the reception desk and let complaining visitors whine at him all day.
Fortunately, he turns back to Josh. “When someone dies unexpectedly, or too young, or dies feeling that they’re needed by others—unfinished business—or just really loved that particular life so much that they don’t want to leave it, their soul can get extra clingy.
When the body dies, usually the memories of life and personality are scattered and the soul moves on to rest before being reincarnated, but sometimes it doesn’t let go, and… ” He shrugs. “Ghost.”
That’s actually interesting. I look around the room. I can’t see the ghosts right now, but I’m pretty sure they’re still here. And knowing them as I do, the fact that they’re too stubborn to move on makes perfect sense. I’ve gone up against that stubbornness many times before.
“So…” Connor looks at me expectantly. “Gateway?”
Fuck. I still have to make this decision. “Could you tell us what it is, exactly? Where does it lead? What’s its purpose? And, uh, how did it get here?” We thought we knew that last bit, but we were wrong. We think.
“Are you stalling? Because I have other things I could be doing. If you’re not going to voluntarily show me the gateway, just tell me now so I can get on with it.”
If I wasn’t a hundred percent convinced that “get on with it” meant “force my way to it,” I’d have invited him to go ahead, just to get rid of him. That would probably be the wrong decision, though, since we need him. Dammit.
“Yes and no,” I say with total honesty. “We don’t want to take you there until the guests have gone to dinner and there’s minimal risk of anyone stumbling across us.
So, yes, I’m stalling. But we also genuinely want the answers to those questions.
Try to understand, we’ve been flying blind on all of this. ”
Those bright eyes study me. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a very open aura? I can read you like a book.”
Is he serious? Rage boils up in me, all the frustration and worry from the past few days—past few months—that have been simmering away beneath the surface suddenly churning with the need to erupt.
Skye clamps a hand on my arm as Connor laughs delightedly.
“Yep… there it goes. You really do have a redheaded temper, even if you keep it under tight control. You know, it’s not healthy to repress yourself like that. You need to let go and cut loose every once in a while.”
Josh scrambles to his feet as four ghosts pop into view wearing shocked and indignant expressions.
“Don’t listen to him, Kieran!” Hattie exclaims, then turns on Connor. “Shame on you! Taunting poor Kieran like that. He’s a good boy who works hard and takes care of us all.”
“It’s fine, Hattie,” I begin, reining in my temper—which, thanks to years of experience, I can usually keep under control—but Connor doesn’t seem fazed by having a ghost scold him.
“But what I’m saying is, who takes care of him? Someone’s gotta pop that cork every once in a while, or he’ll die of a heart attack before he’s forty.”
“Oh my god,” Skye mutters as my cheeks get hot. I glance over at him, expecting to see commiseration, but instead my friend seems delighted.
Before I can ask him if the body-hopper ate part of his brain, there’s a light knock at the door, and then it opens and Ewan sticks his head around it.
“You’re still here. Good.”
He and Daniel stroll in and close the door, both of them focused on Skye.
“You look normal,” Daniel says. “For you, anyway. Are you definitely okay?”
“Sometimes you make it really hard to hate you,” Skye replies. “I’m fine. The thing’s all gone, thanks to Connor.”
On cue, we all turn to Connor, who flips a hand in a wave.
“Connor, meet our blacksmith, Ewan, and our farm manager, Daniel,” I introduce, only a little bit reluctantly. I’m not going to be rude and sink to his level. I’m not. I’m really not.
“Good to meet you,” Daniel says, extending a hand to shake, as congenially friendly as always. “Thanks for fixing Skye. We promise we don’t blame you for not getting rid of his personality flaws as well.”
Skye narrows his eyes. “I should have just let you lose the use of your hands,” he hisses.
“I remember you from the phone,” Connor says dryly. “Look, it’s nice to meet you etcetera, but I need to answer some questions for Red here so he’ll let me see the gateway and I can get on with my life.”
Ewan frowns. “I’m sure if Kieran”—he puts special emphasis on my name, god love him—“has questions, they’re important and relevant.”
Connor smirks. “That’s cute.”
Even Daniel stops smiling.
“Look, we’re all a bit tense after the last few days,” Josh jumps in, giving me a pleading look.
I know he’s desperately hoping Connor will teach him some things about his abilities, so I guess we should all just deal with the prick being a massive prick.
For Josh’s sake. All our sakes, really, since we do still have the vortex—excuse me, gateway—open in the Garden Suite, letting spirits wander in to possess our staff willy-nilly.
This is not a situation my training in hotel management prepared me for.
“I’m sure you have a lot going on too, Connor,” Josh continues. “The guests will be going in for dinner soon, so if you could just answer some questions while we’re waiting…?”
Connor shrugs and re-seats himself on the coffee table. I bite my lip to keep from asking him if he wants an actual chair. “Sure. What were those questions, again? How’d it get here, what does it do, where does it go?”
I nod. That’s close enough, and I don’t want to speak and risk him getting off-track again.
“A gateway is literally a rip in the fabric of our dimension, leading into the one next to it.”
Jaws drop, including mine. Whatever we all thought we’d hear, that wasn’t it.
“So it isn’t a portal to hell?” Freddie ventures, taking out his handkerchief and dabbing at his brow. “That’s such a relief.”