10. A Shakespearean revelation #3
His words hit me like a punch in the gut, and I can only stare at him, at a loss for words. By us, he probably means queer people. Gay men. He lived during a time when getting high in opium dens was acceptable, but not loving another man.
And here I am, afraid that the worst that can happen to me was getting my heart broken. How silly it suddenly sounds, when I have the freedom to actually get hurt for all the right reasons, and not just because of who I am.
The ghost puts his elegant hands on my shoulders, and I’m surprised to feel the weight of them, even if they’re cold. He’s strong enough to pierce through the veil and interact with the material world.
“Take your hands off him!” James shouts, ignorant to our heartfelt exchange in French.
The blue zaps from his PolterPulse hits the Nobleman and he lets out a high-pitched scream before disappear through the ceiling.
James pulls me to him. “Are you okay?”
I nod, in a daze. “Aye... He wasn’t doing anything bad to me. He was just... talking.”
The great hall suddenly appears too dark and quiet, hollow. Or maybe it’s just how I feel.
He frowns. “Why didn’t you banish him?”
I hesitate. “I don’t know, I just wanted to know what he had to say, I guess.”
He sighs. “You and your big heart. Come on, let’s hunt him down.” To my surprise, he waves at one of the cats who's been observing the scene from the staircase. “Hey little one, can you lead us to the lunatic please?”
Pearl meows and runs upstairs, her white tail cleaving the dark, and we try to follow.
Up and up we go, to the fifth floor, both breathing hard from all the steps we have to climb.
She leads us to a wooden door we never used before, and it swings open before we even need to put our hand on the knob.
“I’ll never get used to it,” James mumbles.
“Thank you,” I say to the house.
The dusty light bulb above our head flares, as if in acknowledgement.
We enter what looks to be the attic of the house, right below the rafters.
There are a few cobwebs and forgotten items in trunks, an old bicycle, a broken cat tree, boxes of Christmas decorations...
Pearl leaves adorable footprints in the dust as she leads us to a window.
It opens on rusty hinges, groaning. It leads to the roof, the dark slates covered in green moss.
The cold breeze carries soft singing in French.
“This must be the window they used to clean the chimneys and do repairs on the roof,” I say, climbing out.
“Ewan...,” James says behind me. “This is a terrible idea.”
“It’s okay. He’s not an evil ghost. I’ll be right back.”
“There’s no way I’m letting you do this alone.” He follows me.
I hold on to the window frame as I give him a hand. His grip is almost too-strong.
We emerge from the spire and onto a wide roof.
It’s not slanted enough to be truly dangerous, and it’s large enough that we’re far away from the edge.
Edinburgh’s skyline spreads before us, and I can’t help but to gasp.
There are a thousand chimneys, spires and towers, but no skyscrapers.
And on the hill at the centre of Edinburgh, the castle with its turrets and battlements.
“This city is truly something,” I say.
The night is bright, and the crescent moon hangs in the sky.
“Yes.” James is still holding on to my arm. “I don’t like heights, so let’s please hurry.”
The Nobleman is sitting at the end of the roof, looking at Arthur’s Seat, the green hill dominating Edinburgh from the east. It’s the only spot where the artificial lights are completely absent. The ghost is singing to himself. A sad song about a man who went to war and never came back.
“Let me talk to him, please,” I say to James.
He hesitates for a moment, then, “Alright. But I’m staying with you.”
We carefully walk to the opposite end of the roof, until we can both sit by the Nobleman. He eyes us wearily but says nothing.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him in French. “My teammate takes my safety very seriously.”
The ghost sighs. “It must be nice, to have someone like him care for you, even for a short time. For what is living, if not a series of moments, each briefer than the last, but blazing so bright?”
I nod, heart in my throat. “It is.”
I didn’t expect having talk about the meaning of life with a ghost on a roof at two in the morning. This job is full of surprises, to say the least.
James is watching us, a perpetual frown on his face. He doesn't understand a word we're saying, and it frustrates him.
“We have swallowed the stars,” the Nobleman says, eyes on the horizon.
“I’m sorry?”
He gestures at the sky. “The stars. The more we built and expanded the city, the more stars we swallowed, and now they are almost all gone.”
I shake my head. “They aren’t gone. They’re just hiding behind all the light pollution. It’s all about perspective. Just walk out of the city, and you’ll see them again.”
“Will I? That’s good to know. I haven’t been able to leave this place for over two centuries. I watched as the world changed, but I stayed the same.”
I wonder how it must have felt for him, to see people like us finally get recognition and the freedom to love, while his life was already gone.
“You can be free,” I say. “You can leave now, I release you from this house.”
He takes a shuddering breath, and I think I can see golden threads fall around him, like silk unravelling.
“Oh. I was scared it might hurt,” he whispers. “But it’s quite pleasant. Thank you.”
I smile and feel tears prickle my eyes.
The Nobleman gets to his feet, robe flying around him in a phantom wind, and he floats to the edge of the roof.
“The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch, which hurts and is desired!” he says in English before falling off the edge dramatically and disappearing into thin air.
“Shakespeare again?” James asks by my side after a moment of silence.
I nod. “I think so.”
He snorts. “What a drama queen.” I laugh wetly, and his gaze snaps to mine. “Ewan... Are you crying again?”
“No?” I say unconvincingly.
He laughs and pulls me into a hug. “You silly, adorable man. Why?”
“I think I’m having a Shakespearean revelation.”
“Is that so? And what is this revelation, may I ask?”
I pull back just enough to see his face, and my eyes drop to his lips.
When I meet his gaze again, he’s watching me attentively, but he doesn’t make a move.
This needs to come from me. I lean towards him slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wants to.
But when my lips touch his, his mouth is warm and welcoming.
I kiss him tentatively, at first, but then he groans and grabs me by the back of my head and devours me.
Kissing James feels like missing a step, adrenaline rushing through my veins and needles prickling my skin.
It feels like walking in a river during a warm summer day, and the current suddenly taking me away even though I was so sure I could cross easily.
It reminds me of risks taken, not knowing what the outcome will be, but wanting to know, to see, to feel...
His hands have a hold of me and our kiss deepens, until his tongue touches mine, hot and demanding, and I welcome it.
I moan, and he pushes me gently until my back hits the roof and he’s on top of me, caging me with his body.
He’s much smaller than me, and yet it always feels like he’s towering over me, no matter what he does.
Shirley called him a short king the other day when we talked about him just the two of us, and it fits him so well.
He is a king, and all I want to do is swear my allegiance to his crown.
I gasp and moan as he licks and bites and kisses me. Why did I try to resist him? I can’t remember. It all seems so futile now that I have his lips on me. His hands are in my hair and on my body, roaming, lighting me on fire.
Then James moves closer still and undulates his lower body against mine, rubbing our erections through our clothes, and the last bastion of my sanity crumbles to the ground.