The Elf King (The ParaNormal Series : Book Two)

By M.L. Harveland

SeLenora Kelly dreams of a normal life...whatever that means for an 18-year-old just discovering her psychic abilities. With the evil entity that haunted her now gone, Lenora can use her retro-cognition abilities as a fledgling member of Cambridge Society for the Paranormal (CSP) to help solve a disturbing new case: a terrified mother who believes her son is possessed by a malevolent entity.

But, while investigating the case, Lenora is plagued with eerie dreams.

As several Cambridge children inexplicably die from the mystifying Sleeping Death, Lenora dreams of a nefarious shadow that leads children on a mortal march, a dark rider from the mist who snatches children and brings them to death. He is familiar, this phantom who seduces her with his black waltz...he resembles Nicholas, the man she loves.

Fighting to solve the CSP case while struggling to separate dream from reality, Lenora races to help save a boy, a family, her relationship, and her credibility. But, will she win the battle before becoming victim herself?

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.L. Harveland
• Release date: Feb 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9780984769810

M.L. Harveland

M.L. Harveland is a freelance editor and writer with a Master’s degree in English Literature. Her first novel, The Seventh Soul (2011), won the 2012 Indie Reader Award in Paranormal Fiction at the International Book Expo in New York, NY. Though born and raised in North Dakota, she now resides along the haunting, ethereal forests of the Greater Seattle area with her husband, Dan, and their critter menagerie.

Book preview

Prelude

"Will it hurt?" the doe-eyed little one whispered, lower lip quivering, arms wrapped securely around her teddy bear.

The Emissary grinned. This was a centuries-old question. That, and the incessant plea to bring a sentimental trinket: a tattered teddy bear, treasured baby dolls or stuffed animals, toy soldiers, a spinning top. Once, a little one asked to bring the family’s pet dog. That was where he vehemently refused.

What continually struck him as odd was that none of them voiced concerns about losing their lives. None appeared overwrought about leaving behind parents and grandparents, siblings, friends, life experiences. Their concerns focused on their little trinkets, treasures, and pets.

And pain.

Fear of pain trumped all others. It gave him an amusing pause. Yes, there was even a time or two when he felt pity. But, the feeling was uncommon and quickly passed. This was one of those moments when he felt a wrenching pity aching in his gut. He disliked that.

He measured the depth of the girl’s eyes—irises the warm color of chestnuts—glistening with droplets of fear. She batted her long, black lashes at him.

Only a little, he muttered, tapping a finger to his chest over his blackened heart. It will only hurt right here. Fighting his amusement, he tried giving her a reassuring smile. It’s not physical pain, like the kind you have when falling off a bicycle and skinning your knee. It’s a different kind of hurt…like when all your friends have ice cream and you have none. He paused. Does that make sense?

A pearlescent teardrop trickled down her cheek. Will my mum and dad be sad? And my puppy Kibbles, will she be sad too?

He lowered to one knee and took her tiny hands in his. I cannot lie. Yes, they will all be sad. But, you mustn’t worry. You shall see them sooner than you think.

I will? When?

Soon enough. He gazed into her eyes. Where you are going, time is inconsequential…it means nothing. Though you might be sad to leave them now, you won’t have time to miss them. It will seem as if mere minutes have passed. Understand?

But, do I have to go now? We just got my puppy. Can’t I bring her along? She’s small, you know.

Again…another request to bring the dog.

He inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to regain his diminishing patience. He gave her an apologetic look and shook his head sadly. Yes, it is your time to go. And, my apologies, but we cannot bring…Kibbles, is it? She nodded, eyes brimming with fresh tears. My instructions derive from a much higher power, and he’s decided that it’s your time. I can only take you and no one else.

A lie, of course.

Who are you? Where am I going?

He took a deep breath in preparation for the rehearsed oration. This speech was for the little girls; boys received their own version.

I am an emissary, your guide, if you will, he explained, smiling widely and playfully touching the tip of her nose. "You, my little sprite, are going to a wonderful place. In this place, the sun shines brightly every day, and you can walk barefoot in the cool, green grass. It is a place where the birds sing sweetly, the air is fragrant with jasmine and honeysuckle, and a breeze blows soft and warm through your hair. You will have everything and will need for nothing. Shortly, you will be joined and surrounded by the people and pets that you loved in your lifetime. In this place, you will never, ever be sad."

It was the same, tired discourse he had recited thousands of times before. Sometimes, it made an easy sale; others, he had to be more industrious…inventive. This little one was proving a challenge. Her eyes spoke of dubiousness, apprehension.

You still look a bit afraid. I promise, you have nothing to worry about. He sat on the ground, crossed his legs, and patted his knee. Sit with me a moment, and I shall tell you exactly what to expect.

She did as instructed, taking a seat on his knee, crossing her arms and shivering. He removed his black cloak and placed it around her shoulders. It was completely unnecessary; no temperature existed in the place they occupied.

Soon, you shall take my hand, and we will walk over a long bridge together. At the end of this bridge is a beautiful meadow with long grasses waving in a gentle breeze and wildflowers resplendent with vibrantly colorful butterflies. I will guide you through this beautiful meadow toward the biggest oak tree you’ve ever seen. Tied to one of the tree’s branches is a swing, its ropes braided with hundreds of sweet-smelling flowers. Waiting there for you will be an agreeable fellow who will help you sit upon the swing and will push you as high as you want to go. Close your eyes, sing your favorite song. When you have finished, open your eyes. Your mum, dad, and puppy will be there with you. It’s that quick.

Promise?

Most certainly!

Her expression eased, and he knew he had the compliance he sought. He gently pushed her off his knee and rose, offering his hand for her to take. She slowly raised a tiny hand to his, and he clasped it gently. They turned and walked together down the darkened street toward the bridge.

Not once did she glance up at him, but walked alongside, fully trusting where he took her.

He smiled.

As they approached the bridge, her grip tightened. He reached over with his other hand and patted hers. It’s all right. Remember the beauty that awaits at the end of this bridge. To cheer you, I could sing to you a song from my childhood. Would you like that?

She glanced up at her dark guide, eyes wide with fear. A pitiful smile played on her face. She acquiesced.

He sang a song in German to her, once a poem with nefarious meaning turned into song. Though the words bespoke of underlying wickedness, his added lilt gave it a cheerful, soothing resonance. She brightened, appearing to enjoy his song, never once requesting translation.

None of the children ever asked.

They reached the other side of the bridge. She stopped abruptly, her tiny fingers winding tightly around his. He knew the reason behind her sudden fear.

The picture before her didn’t match his description. Rather than a lush, green meadow, she was greeted by blackened ground and ashen trees. The promised warm breeze and sunshine were replaced with mist and grey. The large oak stood proud atop the hill; however, it loomed forebodingly, its branches black and leafless.

The girl glanced up at him, her dewy eyes glinting like mist in the moonlight.

Where are we?

Exactly where we need to be. His pity ebbed.

But…but this isn’t…I-I’m scared.

She squeezed his hand. Tiny, sharp fingernails stung his flesh. He grimaced, peeling each of her fingers free and gently enfolding her hand into a tiny fist, which he patted. I know this place isn’t as I described, but I forgot that it’s winter. It’s much nicer in the summertime.

Footsteps approached. The Emissary stood, awaiting the figure’s approach, that familiar mixture of unease and elation seizing him. He placed his hands atop the girl’s shoulders, more to keep her in place than for comfort. She brought a little hand up to one of his and held on.

Both held their breath…he in eager anticipation, she in fear.

The mist thickened, but a dim light shone through, illuminating the looming figure. Finally he emerged, the shadowy figure looking dapper in top hat and tails. His ebony cane clicked the stone with every step, the ruby eyes of the cane’s ornate grip glinting through the darkness. He stopped just short of them, his face obscure beneath the brim of his hat, except for the white gleam of his unnaturally wide grin.

Instinctively, she knew this man. The little girl quivered. The dark man smiled.

It was him—the Hat Man, the Lord of Shadows—and he was here for his prize.

The Hat Man picked up his cane, placed it in the crook of his elbow, and then fished in his jacket pocket. He produced a small, black gift box, topped with a shiny red bow. He extended his arm, offering the gift in his outstretched hand.

I brought you a gift, my child, he said in a silken, sonorous voice.

The girl recoiled, hugging her guide’s arm with intensity. Mummy told me not to take presents from strangers.

The Emissary scoffed inwardly at her impudence. Children were just as gullible now as they were a century ago, but they were also less trusting. It made his job more difficult.

I’ll not hurt you, the Hat Man said, affecting a gracious smile. In fact, if it makes you feel better, I can open the box for you. And, if you don’t like it, I’ll give it to one of my daughters.

Daughters? The girl’s grip loosened, and the Emissary wrenched his arm free.

Yes, I have many daughters, the Hat Man confessed. In fact, I have one that’s exactly your age. She waits for me to bring you home for her to play with. Don’t you want to meet my little girl?

The girl thought a moment, looking skeptical. What’s your daughter’s name?

The Hat Man flashed an angry look at the Emissary, who grew increasingly uncomfortable. The Hat Man was unaccustomed to wasting precious time coaxing a distrustful child. It was the Emissary’s job to weaken their resolve.

The Emissary turned to the girl and got down on a knee. It took everything in his power to assuage his temper. I realize my description of the beautiful meadow turned out to be untrue. However, I had forgotten that it’s winter, not summer. But, everything else is true. Do you remember what I said earlier about the nice man who waits atop the hill to push you on the swing and sing songs with you?

The girl nodded, biting her lower lip.

This man before you is the one of whom I spoke. Only instead of pushing you on the swing, he’s going to take you home to play with his daughters.

Will Daddy and Mummy be there?

Not straightaway, but soon.

How will they know to find me there?

I’ll visit them when you and I part company and will bring them here myself when they’re ready. He gently squeezed the girl’s shoulders, looking for signs of her reassurance. When none came, he became stern. Eva, you must listen to me and follow this man, or I’ll be forced to tell your parents of your insolence. You don’t want me to do that, do you?

The girl’s lower lip trembled and large tears splashed down her cheeks as she shook her head.

Excellent, he said, exhaling heavily and rising to his feet. Now, be a good girl and take the gift that the nice man has offered. Can you do that for me?

She quietly agreed and took a step forward.

The Hat Man walked toward her, opening the top of the box. Look inside; you will adore the gift!

The girl dropped her teddy bear and peered inside the box, her eyes widening with pleasure. Oh! It’s a little dolly!

She had no more than uttered the last word when the skin on her face lost its luminosity and then dulled. Her visage wavered and smeared like a watercolor in the rain. Suddenly, her body appeared to be pulled into the box. The girl let out a whimper of fear and reached out to the Emissary, who only smiled and waved goodbye.

The Emissary watched as the girl’s body was pulled into the gift box like sand through an hourglass. When most of the body had stretched into an arc in its final descent, he reached out and touched the sinewy wisps of her soul as it slowly dissipated. He marveled at how warm and granular her spirit was, like sifting fine, powdery sand through one’s fingers on a hot summer’s day. It was the only part of this process that he relished, looked forward to. Bit by bit, he let the sands of her soul slip through his fingers until the last wisps stole away, locked into the little black box.

He looked to the ground where the teddy bear that the girl had held so tightly now lay. He picked it up, examining its state of wretchedness. The light brown fur matted and sticky, eyes nearly falling out of their fuzzy sockets, and the once pink bow, worn to near white.

Curious, the value humans place on trivial things, he thought, tossing the bear to the ground.

The Emissary watched the Hat Man as he removed the dagger from his cane and cut the silvery strands of the girl’s soul. He replaced the lid on the gift box, adjusting the bow as if readying it for gifting. When finished, the Hat Man regarded the Emissary with his cold, red eyes.

You grow weary, he smirked.

Centuries of harvesting does that to a person.

Interesting word, ‘person.’ The smile left the dark man’s face. Stop bleating; you know what I do to those who protest too much.

The Emissary recoiled. He knew what happened to those insolent enough to protest their lot. I just thought it might be time for my year’s withdrawal.

The Hat Man shook his head and laughed. Aww. It wants a vacation.

"Yes, it does." The Emissary checked himself; the sardonic tone was unmeant and instantly regretted.

You receive furlough when I grant it. The Hat Man’s red eyes glowed under the dark brim. You know the deal.

The Emissary relented. I need to…find another place. He hunts me—his discovery is imminent.

The Hat Man’s lips stretched into a menacing grin. The hunter is evermore the hunted. I like that. He closed in on the Emissary. The air grew colder, and a fine mist hung like a specter between them. He folded his arms, considering a moment. If I create a…diversion…will it help you harvest more for me here, in this place?

Undoubtedly. But, how do you plan to divert him from the hunt?

I’ll give him something…someone….to play with.

One

A slow smile crept over Lenora’s face as she touched the material of her dress and thought about tonight’s events. Heart thumping in anticipation, she glanced at the clock.

Excellent. It’s two minutes past the time when I last looked at the clock.

Time slogged slowly along as she waited for night to come. It had been awhile since she’d actually looked forward to nighttime, especially considering her recent disturbing dreams.

So many kids…

The little girl with the big, brown eyes crept into her mind. Her heart sank.

She shook the thought away.

Happy thoughts, Lenora, happy thoughts.

While sitting at her makeup table, a glimmer of golden light shone in her eye. She glanced to her right at the event invitation lying on the desk. She smiled.

Initially, she thought she’d received the invite by mistake, until Ian explained that everyone associated with the University got one, and because she was part-time staff, she was invited. His matter-of-fact tone didn’t make her feel entirely special.

She recalled feeling grateful to have received the invite, but knew that she wouldn’t be going. This was a charity ball, and though she was invited, it was an invitation to buy tickets, which cost £100 each. It was a price too exorbitant for her, so she resigned herself to not going. Then, her dad came around the corner the next day, tickets in hand. He had purchased two for himself and two for her.

Take the date of your choice, he’d said, winking.

She couldn’t believe it.

Lenora had never been to a ball before, let alone a masked ball, and she was beyond excited. The University was hosting their annual Halloween Masked Ball for Charity; this year’s theme was Black and White. The minute she clutched those tickets, she asked Nicholas to go as her date. Barely had he uttered the word yes, then she ran to the store to purchase a sleeveless, black sheath dress with long, black silk gloves to match. Finally, she had an event to attend where she wouldn’t be stared at for wearing gloves.

I can’t wait to get control of my ability so I don’t have to wear the stupid things anymore.

Wearing gloves nearly all day, every day, was tiring. But not wearing gloves meant that every time she touched something, she’d go into a trance, seeing the past of all who touched that item. Thus, the curse of one possessing retro-cognitive ability.

Until she learned advanced techniques from Rose and Ian on how to control her visions and trances, the gloves remained on her hands. The worst part was trying to explain to people why she wore gloves all the time. Adults didn’t ask, but her classmates did. Her dad told her to tell them she had Eczema, a condition where her skin broke out in a red, itchy rash, and that she wore the gloves to prevent flare-ups.

Most people bought the explanation and moved on. Others in her class were mean about it. But, she didn’t care about what they thought.

Lenora’s stomach fluttered with anticipation as she looked at her reflection and straightened her gown. She felt sophisticated. The pièce de résistance was the mask. She held up the black velour half-mask with black feathers plumed to one side, secured by a small, emerald butterfly pendant. She had just begun arranging her hair strategically around the mask when a quiet knock sounded at the door.

I’ll get it! she shouted, tripping and nearly falling in her haste.

Geez, Len, don’t kill yourself before the ball, Tom smirked. He leaned in the doorway of his study, looking casually formal in his black trousers, white button-up, and black tie hanging loose from his collar.

Lenora grinned. Yeah, that was a close one. She stopped, looking at her dad thoughtfully. You clean up pretty good, old man.

Tom’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Giggling, Lenora opened the door before he could respond. And then she gasped.

Nicholas stood before her, looking striking in a vintage black tuxedo, long black cloak, black silk top hat, crisp white gloves, and black silk half-mask. She was about to tell him how handsome he looked, when her stomach rolled and she felt lightheaded. She breathed in, but felt no relief.

The room grew hazy and turned to black.

Lenora? Wake up, sweetheart.

Lenora looked up to see her dad hovering over her.

Dad? What happened?

You passed out. Tom helped his daughter sit up. Then he reached up and took a glass of water from a gloved hand. Thanks, Nicholas.

Lenora took a drink and then stopped. Oh crap….Nicholas. Mortified, she slowly glanced upward. Nicholas stood behind Tom, looking concerned. Instantly, she felt her face grow hot while cold droplets of sweat dribbled from her armpits.

How humiliating. She flashed an uncomfortable smile at Nicholas and then allowed Tom to help her up. Embarrassing, she whispered.

Not at all, Nicholas offered, sounding equally uncomfortable. That sort of thing happens to me every day. He chuckled nervously.

Lenora laughed. Tom did not. Listen, Len, you need to eat; you haven’t had anything since breakfast. Lord knows why. You just bought the dress, so I know it’s not a matter of whether you’ll fit in it or not. He looked at Nicholas and exhaled. Women.

It wasn’t that… she trailed off. She couldn’t explain the real reason why she blacked out—the strange feeling of déjà vu upon seeing Nicholas in top hat and tails…the connection to her dreams of late. Nicholas had no idea about her retro-cognitive abilities or involvement with the Cambridge Society for the Paranormal, the University’s underground paranormal research team. And she had no plans to tell him just yet.

She tried an annoyed expression. I was saving room for the righteous nosh at the ball.

Righteous…what? Tom looked confused.

Oh, thought you’d understand if I used your generation’s language.

Nice try, but you should have said ‘groovy’…and now I’ve dated myself. At least get some juice and crackers. He eyed Lenora, gave Nicholas a nod, and then went back to his study.

I suppose…juice, she said, awkwardly pointing toward the kitchen and taking a step forward. Joosh, jooshy, joosh, she sang aloud in a non-descript tune. Nicholas chortled as he followed her to the kitchen.

Shut up, Lenora! She couldn’t believe how she was acting. She gave Nicholas an apologetic smile.

He held up a hand, still chuckling. No need to feel embarrassed, Lenora. You get chatty in uncomfortable situations. However, I was unaware that you made up songs, too. It’s cute…really. He smirked.

Lenora held a can of soda in one hand and a bottle of orange juice in the other. Hmm…which one? she said under her breath.

Uh, the juice, Nicholas said, eying her. You passed out; juice is a better choice. Lenora gave him a defiant look, put the juice back in the fridge, and popped the top to the soda. But…of course, you’ll be stubborn and choose what you wish. He sighed.

Lenora grabbed a sleeve of saltines and her soda before heading for the living room.

She and Nicholas had just taken a seat on the couch when Tom joined them, easing himself into his chair. He straightened his trouser creases and then eyed Lenora’s soda. He gave her a reproachful glance. I thought I’d said juice.

Yes, well, she had both in hand, and after I repeated your assertion that juice was best…

Ah, Tom nodded, she got stubborn and chose the soda.

Precisely, Nicholas affirmed, raising an eyebrow at Lenora.

Lenora glanced from one to the other and rolled her eyes. Stop. I’m fine, and both have sugar, so what’s the difference?

Tom sighed, giving up. It turns out we have some time to kill; my date is apparently running late. She just called.

Oh yeah…her, Lenora thought.

Rose Aldridge, the gifted clairvoyant on the Cambridge Society for the Paranormal team, or as its members referred to it, CSP. She was beautiful, brilliant, and mysterious. Rose mentored Lenora on how to hone and control her ability. Lenora adored her…but not the idea of her dating Tom.

Lenora wasn’t thrilled that Tom had asked Rose to the ball; Lenora’s mother had died less than a year ago and she felt that this date was too soon. Tom assured her that it was strictly platonic, not romantic. Lenora was somewhat placated until he started referring to Rose as his date.

Her sneer did not go unnoticed.

Stop it, Len. I don’t owe you any more explanation on the subject.

Lenora was about to say something when Tom clicked on the TV, switching to the evening news. Making it apparent that he wanted to hear no more on the subject of his date with Rose, he turned up the volume, giving her an annoyed sidelong glance.

Lenora carefully nibbled on crackers, trying not to get crumbs on her dress, while glazing over the sportscast. Nicholas chatted with Tom about the various teams and their chances in some playoff or other. She didn’t care about that, either. Sports was not her thing.

Then, the anchor lady came on, looking quite serious about some breaking news.

Sad news tonight, as CAM1 News has learnt of two more children in Cambridgeshire who have died of apparent mysterious causes. This brings the count to an astounding twenty-eight children. Cambridgeshire parents are stunned, leading them to wonder: Is my child in danger? Vera?

The newscast then turned to a field reporter.

Vera Abel, here with Inspector Billy Rood, who is in charge of the investigation of these mysterious deaths. She turned to her interviewee. Inspector Rood, is there a link in these deaths, and should parents in Cambridgeshire be worried about their children?

Inspector Rood, obviously uncomfortable with being on camera and seeming equally disturbed about talking to a reporter, shook his head. We have no evidence that these deaths are linked. The Coroner’s Office has issued a statement that the children have all died of natural causes. No foul play is suspected in any of the circumstances.

If parents have questions regarding their children’s imminent danger, whom should they contact?

The Inspector gave her an irritated glance. They should contact their pediatricians or family physicians for an exam. Though the number of deaths is certainly alarming, we have no cause for suspicion at this point.

The reporter flashed a brief look of discomfort before turning to face the camera. Thank you, Inspector Rood. For CAM1 News, I’m Vera Abel.

The newscast then returned to the anchors in the newsroom, who moved on to the next story in the lineup. Lenora was amused by how irritated the inspector had seemed with having to speak to a reporter.

Lenora still found it surreal that Inspector Billy Rood was a descendant of William Rood, the detective who solved the Gentleman Killer case of the early nineteen-hundreds. Because of William Rood’s thorough investigation, Bartholomew Booth was tried and convicted of murdering six women. He was sentenced to death by hanging on June 23, 1917.

This serial killer once lived in the very apartment in which Tom and Lenora currently resided. It wasn’t long after moving in when they discovered that his spirit still remained, forever haunting the place where he murdered those poor women.

Thinking about Bartholomew Booth sent chills through her body. The entity tormented Lenora for months. Thoughts of ethereal murmurings in her ear, ghostly fingers touching her body, and invisible forces that pushed and scratched her still terrified.

However, she needed to give herself a break; it had been mere weeks since CSP helped her and Tom rid their apartment of Booth’s evil spirit. The fear was still fresh in her mind; the feeling of foreboding still lingered within her.

She was grateful to have had CSP’s help in removing the entity from their apartment. Moreover, she was proud to have been a part in the investigation. Reading the background story was her task in helping uncover the entity’s human persona, and it was the catalyst for helping solve the case.

When reading Booth’s case file, Lenora recalled seeing a picture of Inspector William Rood and feeling shocked at how closely Billy resembled his ancestor; it was like staring history in the face.

I feel for the parents of those poor children, Tom said, disturbing Lenora’s reverie. No parent should outlive his or her children. So sad.

A quiet knock at the door interrupted the brief silence that passed between them.

Oh, that must be Rose, he remarked in a higher tone than usual while striding over to answer the door.

Tom came around the corner with Rose, who looked absolutely stunning. Rose’s white, floor-length gown had a slim-fitted bodice with a keyhole opening in the front, showing just enough cleavage to make Tom look all gaga and Nicholas distracted. At just mid-thigh, the fitted dress flowed gauzily, and a slit running the length of the skirt revealed her creamy white skin. Silver heels adorned with sparkling stones graced Rose’s dainty feet.

Show Len your mask, Tom said in a sickeningly giddy tone.

Rose withdrew a silver, baroque-style mask decorated with silver and aqua crewelwork, beads, and sparkling cut glass over aqua blue ostrich feathers. She held it up to her eyes, the aqua feathers and crewel making Rose’s ice blue eyes vivid, striking.

Nice, Lenora uttered, pursing her lips. She could barely take her eyes away from her dad’s hand resting gently on the small of Rose’s back. It unnerved her, made her a little angry. She felt disgusted. The blood rushed to her cheeks.

Ignoring Lenora’s sullenness, Rose immediately fixed an icy gaze on Nicholas. Hello, I don’t think we’ve met.

Oh, how rude of me, Tom chuckled. This is Lenora’s….date….Nicholas.

Geez Dad, you can’t even say that he’s my boyfriend? Lenora rolled her eyes.

Nicholas took Rose’s hand. Pleased to meet you. I presume that you are Rose.

Rose nodded curtly and then glanced at Lenora. Lovely to see you again, my dear. She offered a taut smile.

Yeah, I’ll bet. The words emerged more sardonic than she expected, but she didn’t retract them. She wanted Rose to know that she didn’t approve of their date. She narrowed her eyes.

A slight smile played across Rose’s lips. She turned to Tom. Shall we go?

Tom started. Oh, well, I thought we’d all go together.

Rose gave Lenora a sidelong glance. I don’t think they need chaperones, Tom.

Oh. Tom sounded disappointed and slightly uncomfortable. Sure, we can go. He offered Rose his arm, glanced at Lenora and Nicholas, and then sighed. Remember the curfew.

Don’t worry, Mr. Kelley, I’ll have her home on time.

Tom eyed Lenora. Okay, then, if I have your word. He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved his mask. Rose, would you tie this for me? Rose set her clutch and mask on the back of the couch and secured Tom’s plain, black pleather mask with the black ribbon tie. When Rose finished, she secured her own mask. Tom glanced at Lenora, beaming. Well? What do you think of your old man? Do I look masquerade ball worthy?

You look like Zorro in that mask, Dad.

Tom’s smile faded only slightly, apparently unwilling to allow Lenora’s surliness to affect his mood. He glanced at Rose. Guess I should have ordered a sword.

Who’s Zorro? Rose asked, semi-interested.

Tom guffawed. I’ll tell you on the way. Cheers! He clumsily bowed to each of them and waved goodbye.

Lenora sighed. She couldn’t help but notice, as Tom placed Rose’s wrap over her shoulders, that Rose’s dress was backless down to her tailbone. She scowled. After Tom and Rose left, she sat in ill-humored silence.

Nicholas frowned. Do you feel all right?

Lenora gave Nicholas a downtrodden look. I’m okay. It’s hard seeing my dad and Rose together. My mom died only eight months ago.

And, you feel it’s too soon for your dad to start dating, Nicholas finished.

"Yeah. Also, I wonder if Rose isn’t taking advantage of the situation."

He’s an eligible bachelor who’s more than fiscally comfortable and emotionally vulnerable. Nicholas nodded. I can see how you would come to that conclusion. However, it doesn’t appear that way to me.

Yes, and I have to get over it and not let it ruin my night.

Taking the cue that the subject was closed for discussion, Nicholas brightened. Good, then let’s go and enjoy the evening, he said, standing and offering his arm. Are you ready?

Excited, Lenora stood and took his arm.

Two

Walking arm-in-arm with Nicholas through the Great Gate at Trinity College felt surreal. As they walked past the gate and into the courtyard, a crisp evening breeze blew through Lenora’s hair and billowed her gown. At that moment, life slowed its motion, adding to the dreamlike grandeur of the moment. She squeezed Nicholas’ hand, and he reciprocated, smiling at her affectionately.

Trinity’s Great Hall was breathtaking, bedecked with black and white garland and balloons. White twinkle lights hung from wires above, creating a dreamy, starry night effect. Tables flanking the sides of the hall were cloaked in black tablecloths and draped in white bunting. Silver service ware and candelabras glistened amongst the white tableware. Lenora picked through the various black and white-themed finger food: mini marbled black rye bread sandwiches, chocolate and vanilla cupcakes, black olives stuffed with mozzarella, and various black and white beverages. She picked the white sherbet punch; it was frothy, sweet, and fizzy.

The enchanting atmosphere left Lenora feeling dizzy with exhilaration. She glanced around at the attendees. Some were milling about and socializing, others danced, while some sat in chairs on the periphery, seemingly waiting for someone to ask them to dance. All were dressed exquisitely.

Lenora caught a glimpse of Rose in one corner of the room visiting with a couple. She didn’t actually appear to be doing any of the talking; the woman of the couple was speaking animatedly, while the gentleman (if he could be called that) had his eyes focused directly on Rose’s cleavage.

Sickening.

Lenora stared at Rose, her insides gnarling unpleasantly. She’s clairvoyant. She should have seen this coming, maybe have worn something that wasn’t so…low cut, she thought with spite. Her eyes stared daggers until Rose turned and met her with icy regard. Lenora’s eyes narrowed. That’s right, Boobs McGee, I’m talking about you.

Rose’s eyebrows raised. She flashed Lenora a knowing smirk and then refocused her attention on the couple. Taken aback, Lenora wondered whether Rose could sense or hear her thoughts. If so, Lenora was in for trouble from her dad. She scanned the area for Tom, but couldn’t see him anywhere near Rose. Admittedly, it made her inwardly happy to see that they weren’t together.

Widening her search, Lenora spied Tom at nearly the opposite end of the hall talking to a group of men in tuxes. This time it was Tom who animatedly talked while the others listened intently, smiles on their faces. Apparently, he was telling a funny anecdote. Lenora wondered about what academic people found amusing. She didn’t think her dad was that funny.

Not too far from her dad were Phillip and Amelia. Lenora loved these two. She tapped on Nicholas’ arm. Do you see that couple over there? The tall man with dark hair and the woman next to him with short red hair?

Yes.

That’s Amelia and Philip. They both work with my dad. Amelia’s a lot of fun and super smart. She’s getting a PhD in Folklore.

How do folklore and psychology meld? Nicholas asked, looking puzzled.

My dad thinks all fields link in one way or another, especially to psychology. Right now, Dad and Amelia are working on a study linking human psychology and its effect on myth and legend. It sounds seriously interesting so far.

She’s also CSP’s resident linguist and research expert, she thought.

Nicholas raised his eyebrows. That would be a fascinating topic.

Her boyfriend Phillip, Lenora continued, is a professor…

They’re called Dons here, Lenora, Nicholas corrected her.

"Yeah. He’s a Don of Social Anthropology, so he actually works in Dad’s department." And, he’s also lead researcher for the CSP team. On the other side of Amelia is Maggie Prescot. She’s getting a PhD in Computer Speech, Text, and Internet Technology, as is the guy standing behind her. That’s Joe Boyd.

Joe is a PhD student?

Yep!

He looks quite young.

He’s twenty-one. He graduated from high school at thirteen.

Prodigy, Nicholas murmured. Impressive. Joe and Maggie both work for your dad, too?

"Well, they don’t work for him, they do consulting work."

So, your dad believes all fields can be cross-discipline. What do computers have to do with psychology?

Maggie and Joe work with current technologies and how they affect human psychology. Maggie is actually doing on an interdepartmental major, focusing on artificial intelligence. Joe is more interested in the social impact of technology. You can ask them, though…I’m a little hazy on what they do. Sometimes, they just fix the department’s computers.

Nicholas chuckled. Are Joe and Maggie a couple, too?

Lenora smiled. No. I thought that when I first met them, too. They’re funny together. They finish each other’s sentences, bicker like an old married couple, and spend almost every minute together. But, they’re just friends. They date other people. In fact, I think that tall guy next to Maggie is her date.

Excited to see people she knew and introduce them to her boyfriend at last, Lenora grabbed Nicholas’ hand and led him straight to the group. She tugged on Phillip’s sleeve. He turned around, taking a second before recognizing her.

Lenora! He visually scanned her. You look lovely.

Thank you, she answered, blushing. You clean up real nice, too.

Nicholas cleared his throat.

Lenora glanced at him apologetically. Sorry. Nicholas, this is Phillip. Phillip, this is my boyfriend, Nicholas.

Phillip grinned widely, moved forward, and shook Nicholas’ hand vigorously. Brilliant! Excellent meeting you! Lenora was shocked at his enthusiasm; he was usually quite subdued. Still shaking Nicholas’ hand, Phillip called to Amelia. Come meet Lenora’s man!

Amelia broke through behind Phillip and took his hand from Nicholas, replacing it with her own. Her handshake was gentler and brief. Sorry about Phillip; he can be a little much to take when he’s excited. Rather a close-talker, if you know what I mean. She chuckled. I’m Amelia Ross. Pleased to meet you. It’s nice to finally have a face behind the oft-mentioned name. She smiled at Lenora, whose face was bright red.

Nicholas glanced at Lenora and smiled. The pleasure is mine.

Maggie stepped forward from beside Amelia and extended a hand to Nicholas. Hi, I’m Maggie, and this is my date, Arran. And, no, he’s not a basketball player. He’s getting a doctorate in physics.

Lenora glanced at the couple and was instantly amused by the height difference. Maggie was a petite Chinese woman who barely pushed five feet, and her date Arran had to be at least six feet, five inches. Other than that, they were quite a charming looking couple.

Phillip grinned. We appreciate the unsolicited information, Maggie.

Well, everybody thinks that because he’s a tall black man that he plays basketball. I just cut people off before they ask.

Phillip smiled at Arran. Not everyone thinks that way at first glance.

Arran smiled. I don’t mind, I’m used to it. It bothers Maggie more, I think. But, she’s a bit of a pistol.

Amelia cackled. That, she is!

Lenora noticed Joe skulking behind Maggie, sinking further into the shadows each time someone introduced themselves.

Joe, where’s your date? Amelia asked, looking amused, forcing Joe out from behind Maggie.

Canceled on him, Maggie answered for him. Don’t blame her. Did you see his mask? she asked, a look of disgust on her face. Embarrassing.

Lenora giggled, slapping a hand to her mouth.

Go ahead, laugh, Joe said in a dejected tone. Everyone else has. Maggie laughed at me the whole way here.

I can’t help it, it’s so funny! Maggie chortled. The mask is for kids!

The mask was too small for his face, Lenora observed. It was one of those paper masks bought in bulk at a party store. It was black, however; Lenora would give him that. It was the sparkles and fact that it barely covered his eyes that made it more amusing.

Can you even see out of that thing? Phillip asked, pulling the mask by the elastic band and snapping it back at Joe’s face.

Ow, damn Phil! Stop! You’ll break it!

You have more…they come in packs of fifty, I hear. Phillip roared with laughter.

Joe wasn’t quite as amused. He shuffled his feet, looking deflated. It weren’t fifty…it were twenty.

The group launched into hysterics as Phillip teased Joe. Lenora thought Phillip’s mocking comments were amusing, but she felt sorry for Joe, who looked dispirited. Even his clothes were indicative of someone who had given up. Though this was a black-tie, formal event, Joe wore black jeans, a black dinner jacket with a white t-shirt underneath, and he had what looked like a painted-on bow tie.

Maggie leaned in to Lenora. It’s lipstick. He was sad that he didn’t have a bow tie, so I drew one on him.

Mean! Lenora said, amused, but feeling even sorrier for poor Joe.

Not mean, Maggie said. It was the only thing that cheered him tonight. He’s had a bad night. When he picked up his tux, the shop forgot to include the bowtie and shoes. The white button-up was ripped and had some unidentifiable gunge on the front. He did his best at reconfiguring, but when his date saw him, she refused to be a good sport and go with him anyway. He wasn’t going to come at all. It took Arran and I over an hour to convince him.

How terrible, Lenora muttered, feeling badly for Joe.

Maggie shrugged. He’s here despite the dumb luck, so that’s a positive. She smiled and then focused on Amelia, changing the subject. Amelia, you look beautiful!

Amelia did look stunning in her strapless, white organza gown. Black lace brocade decorated one side of the bodice, trailing down the entire length of one side of her knee-length, A-line gown. The falling pattern of the brocade reminded Lenora of falling leaves.

Amelia fiddled with the black silk ribbon tied around her waist. Thank you! It took forever to find this damn thing. Do you know how hard it is to find a white ball gown that doesn’t look like a wedding dress? She faltered, her smile fading as she gazed past Lenora’s shoulder. Oh…oops.

Lenora spun around, immediately understanding what it was that Amelia saw. She tittered and then turned back to Amelia.

Uh-oh, it’s the bride to be, she said, causing Phillip and Amelia to snigger.

Nicholas nonchalantly glanced over, and then inched closer to Lenora, grinning. He obviously noticed, too, that Ian’s date wore a floor-length, white silk dress with a fitted bodice and lace cap sleeves. It could easily be mistaken for a wedding dress.

Wishful thinking on her part, Phillip began. He pursed his lips and then sang, Here comes the bride…

Lenora turned, and her world went into slow motion.

Ian.

CSP’s gifted medium. Her first real friend in Cambridge. Her secret crush.

Ian walked toward her, looking handsome as ever. He wore a tux with no tie, the top three buttons of his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his chest. His eyes met hers, their contact never breaking all the while he walked toward her. She felt nervous all of a sudden; she started to sweat.

The second he arrived, Ian grabbed Lenora around the waist and kissed her gently on the cheek, breathing, "You look absolutely gorgeous."

Embarrassed that he’d done this in front of Nicholas, she started to push herself away, when she felt a strong hand gripping her upper arm and jerking her away from Ian.

Hey! she exclaimed.

That’ll be enough, Nicholas cautioned.

Said the jealous boyfriend, Ian retorted sarcastically.

Uh…hey, Clare, you look…lovely, Amelia interrupted in an uncomfortable tone.

Thanks, Clare replied quietly. It’s nice to hear a compliment that isn’t followed by ‘so, when’s the wedding?’ She shot an embarrassed glance at a visibly incensed Ian.

Well, that’s not completely off-hand; you two have been together for a while now, Amelia said, trying to soften the mood.

One year, four months, Clare answered. The dress is quite lovely. I could keep it…just in case. She smiled at Ian, who was scowling. Clare’s smile dropped. She glanced around the room in an obvious attempt at holding back tears.

Lenora felt sorry for her.

Apparently so did Phillip. Well, at least one of you made an effort, he said sardonically, reaching out to touch Ian’s silver, Roman soldier-styled mask. He tapped the edge of the mask. What is that, plastic?

Yeah, what of it? Ian asked, slapping Phillip’s hand away, repositioning the mask that had since gone cockeyed.

Well, you could have at least bought something that wasn’t from the party superstore…like Joe.

Joe scowled and walked over to one of the food tables.

Hey, I’ll have you know that this is made from high-grade, quality plastic! Ian replied with a sarcastic grin. Besides, what do I need a mask for, anyway? This is a one-time deal, and then it’s rubbish.

Well, if anything, it could add a little spice to the boudoir, said a booming voice behind them. Lenora turned to see Dr. Cuddigan standing behind her wearing a black, silver embroidered, kitty-cat half mask with glitter. He winked at Lenora, grinning and chewing on a cigar stub. Show your lady a little creativity, Petunia. He slapped Ian hard on the back and laughed heartily. He then eyeballed Arran, surveying his height. Oi! You play basketball?

Lenora giggled like she always did when around Dr. Cuddigan. His presence was demonstrative (and at times provocative), his demeanor unabashed, and his humor so…odd. People never knew whether to take him seriously or not. No one would guess that he was a world-renowned brain surgeon…for children no less. And, no one would ever guess by his typical biker’s attire that he was a spiritual healer and consultant for CSP.

Ian glanced at Lenora, pursed his lips, and grabbed Clare by the wrist. I need to talk to Dr. Kelley. He pulled Clare along, brushing past Lenora with a grunt. She watched as he dragged Clare through the crowd toward the opposite end of the room where her dad was standing.

Prickly little bugger, Dr. Cuddigan said, chuckling.

Where’s Emily? Phillip asked.

Comin’, Dr. Cuddigan replied. The ride messed ‘er hair.

But she lives just on the other side of the market, Amelia observed. Not that far…she wears a lot of hairspray…

Uh, we didn’t come from her place. We took a bit of a side trip. Dr. Cuddigan launched into a recap of their motorcycle ride, starting at his place in the country. Apparently, they rode quite a distance before realizing they needed to turn around and come back for the ball. Em was quite cross with me, he chuckled.

Lenora barely heard a word he said, she was so interested in what he wore. She knew he wasn’t a traditionalist, and most certainly didn’t expect him to wear a tux. He wore black from head to toe, so he meshed with the night’s theme, but that was about where his compliance with the evening’s dress code ended. He wore his leather motorcycle vest and matching, though tight, leather pants that left nothing to the imagination. The t-shirt he wore underneath was certainly black, and from what she could tell, it was the customary form-fitting belly-button length. Needing to see the rest, she stepped in front of Dr. C and opened his vest.

Yes! he exclaimed, arms outstretched, head tilted back as he looked to the ceiling. Everybody wants me!

I just want to see what your shirt says, Lenora said, feeling her cheeks flush. The need to see his t-shirt and belt buckle superseded her embarrassment. She snickered at his shirt. A stick figure stood posed in a triumphant stance below bright white lettering that exclaimed, I Pooped Today! Just below his shirt was the square, oversized silver and black Superman belt buckle. She closed his vest and stepped aside, now feeling a bit more embarrassed by her boldness.

Whatever excuse you need to enjoy this body, baby, he winked.

"Who’s enjoying your body now?" Emily stood behind Dr. C, hands on hips, trying to look jealous, but the smirk gave her away.

Lenora was pleased to see that Dr. C wasn’t the only one to reject convention.

Noticing Lenora’s admiring glances, Emily smiled, lifting the skirt of her full-length, vintage gothic ball gown to reveal the lace-up black boots underneath. She did a slow, playful turn to show off the gown, and then an exaggerated modeling of her black lace gloves, lace Victorian choker collar, and black Venetian Burano mask made of stiffened lace.

Like me hat? Her black, steampunk, Victorian mini top hat, adorned with black lace, sequins, and beads was positioned askew on her head, the black silk ribbon trailing down her (slightly messy) black tresses.

I love it, Lenora exclaimed, adding, You look…stunning!

Crackin’ was my word of choice, Dr. C said, nibbling on Emily’s neck.

The louder Emily’s giggling became, the more Lenora grew uncomfortable. Feeling like she was intruding on someone’s private moment, she glanced around nervously, trying to feign interest in something else. She noticed that Nicholas didn’t appear too amused. Are you all right? she asked, hesitantly.

How do you know these two? he asked bluntly.

They both …consult with my dad sometimes. Dr. C has been a fixture at my house a lot lately. He’s like an odd uncle you can be crazy with.

What kind of consulting work do they do?

Uh…um…I don’t know. Lenora shrugged, trying to buy time. She didn’t think telling Nicholas that Emily was CSP’s occult specialist and Dr. C was a spiritual healer would go over well.

"If he’s been, as you say, a fixture at your house, he said, nodding in the direction of Dr. C, how do you not know what he does?"

Well…when he and Dad talk business, they go in his study. When they talk about personal stuff, they sit in the living room. She looked to see if Nicholas bought her explanation.

She spoke the truth…just left some details out. Dr. C came over three times a week for a spiritual cleansing to make sure the Bartholomew Booth entity had actually left their apartment. Afterward, they visited for a bit before he and Tom went into the study to talk business. She knew they were talking about her, but Nicholas didn’t need to know the specifics. When no response came from Nicholas, she contrived anger.

Hey! What’s with the third degree? What my dad and his fricking work buddies talk about is none of my damn business. And, I honestly don’t care.

Nicholas gaped. He opened his mouth to speak when Dr. Cuddigan interrupted him.

Introduce us to yer date, Baby Doll!

Lenora smiled. Dr. Sean Cuddigan and Emily Bane, this is Nicholas, my boyfriend.

Each took a turn shaking Nicholas’ hand, both frowning a bit afterward. Emily’s frown never left her face, but Dr. C shook it off and launched into interrogating Nicholas in his own special, yet friendly manner. Lenora listened to Nicholas answer the barrage of typical what do you do and where are you from questions, while glancing occasionally at Emily, who gave her a searching gaze. She focused on the men just in time to hear Nicholas ask his first question.

Lenora tells me that you consult for her father.

Yessir, I do.

Ah. What is it that you do? Lenora didn’t have a clue. Nicholas looked askance at Lenora. She felt uneasy. Her heart leapt to her throat.

Oh, please Dr. C, don’t give me away!

I’m a brain surgeon, he answered quickly.

Huh. You don’t look like a surgeon. Nicholas offered a taut smile.

What? Am I to show up in scrubs? He chuckled, glanced at Lenora, and pointed a thumb toward Nicholas. Who is this guy?

Growing more uncomfortable by the minute, Lenora giggled uncontrollably.

Emily stood stoic beside Dr. C., staring at Lenora.

What I meant, was that you’re dressed rather peculiarly and seem rather…silly. The general impression I have of doctors is that they’re more…serious…professional.

Some doctors are, yes, Dr. C responded, appearing offended. I work with children who have brain cancer. Grim job that requires comedy. I’d go bonkers otherwise. Humor heals, my friend…you should try it sometime. He leaned into Lenora and uttered, A dolt, this one.

Ignoring Dr. C’s aside, Nicholas continued his interrogation. So, what would a brain surgeon and psychologist have to consult on? My apologies, but I fail to see the connection.

Dr. C flicked an irritated glance at Lenora. He exhaled deeply. "Good psychologists and psychiatrists concern themselves with the latest scientific research on brain function. All sciences interconnect somehow. That’s all I have to say on that subject. Dr. C gave Lenora another look of disapproval and then grabbed Emily around the waist. Come on, Yummy Buns, let’s dance."

Lenora wilted. This was not how she imagined the night. She turned and glared at Nicholas. But, before she could say anything, he held up a hand. I know. I’ll apologize next chance I get. He held out an arm. Would you let me apologize to you on the dance floor?

Feeling angry, she reluctantly took his arm.

Nicholas and Lenora walked arm-in-arm toward the dance floor, where many couples had gathered to await the next song. The orchestra started with a waltz, and the ballroom soon filled with graceful dancers. Nicholas moved in front of Lenora, took her hand, and before she could blink, he whirled her effortlessly around the dance floor.

Three

Lenora felt light in Nicholas’s arms; his movements smooth and practiced, as if he had danced this way many times before. As they spun around the floor, she caught people staring at them in amazement as they tirelessly danced song after song. After the sixth or seventh song (Lenora had lost count), she tapped Nicholas on the shoulder and asked if they couldn’t get something to drink. She had worked up an incredible thirst.

They made their way through the crowd, took a couple of drinks, and found a spot off to the side of the dance floor.

Where did you learn to dance like that? Lenora asked.

I was raised by my grandfather. He insisted that I learn how to dance, particularly ballroom dancing.

Well, you’re amazing! she exclaimed loudly, her voice echoing just as the music stopped. She giggled, embarrassed.

Nicholas started to speak but stopped himself. He gestured toward something behind her. She turned as two masked dancers approached them.

Ian took off his mask and thrust it into his pocket. Bloody hot. Last time I buy a plastic mask. His eyes explored Lenora’s body and then settled on her face. He flashed the lopsided grin that made her melt. You look… incredible!

"You two were unbelievable out there! Clare added, removing her mask. It’s as if you were made to dance together…it was gorgeous to watch. Clare sidled to Nicholas, extending a hand. Hi. I’m Clare, Ian’s girlfriend. I don’t think we’ve officially met."

No, you were…preoccupied earlier, Nicholas replied, planting a gentle kiss on Clare’s hand. Pleased to meet you.

Likewise, Clare uttered, twittering ridiculously.

Oh, brother. It took every muscle in Lenora’s body to refrain from rolling her eyes. Tom had informed her that he thought she did that too much. She smiled. I didn’t see you two on the dance floor.

Clare shot Ian an irritated glance. That’s because we weren’t dancing, she answered. Apparently, Ian doesn’t like to dance.

Ian forced a smile and rubbed the back of his neck—a telltale sign that Lenora knew well. He was uncomfortable. Not ‘doesn’t like to’…more like doesn’t know how.

Lenora briefly entertained the notion of rescuing Ian, but part of her relished making him squirm. Why didn’t you learn? It’s not like you didn’t know this was coming. We’ve had these invitations for weeks.

Ian gave her a stern look and mouthed, Stop. Lenora grinned mischievously.

I think it’s a matter of caring, Clare answered. If he was going with you, I think he would have learnt.

"How did you come up with that ridiculous idea?" Ian asked, looking distressed.

Clare turned to him. Well, for starters, how is it that I knew all about Lenora, but she knew nothing of me? And, how about the thrill I got of learning about your philandering about while I was off studying in Paris? ‘Exclusively yours’ my arse! You should have signed your emails with ‘conveniently yours.’ It would have been more precise.

Well, how was I to know you weren’t off, gallivanting around with some French bloke—

All right, then, Nicholas blurted out, interrupting the spat. Well, I apologize for interrupting, but the night is young, and I intend on dancing. He turned to Lenora and offered his hand. Care to dance, m’lady?

As the orchestra began to play, Lenora reached to take his hand.

Oh, I love waltzes! Clare exclaimed, looking eagerly at Ian. She tugged lightly at his arm. Aren’t you going to ask your girl to dance?

Ian didn’t bother looking at her. Not right now…maybe later.

But, Ian, we—

There will be plenty more waltzes.

Clare flushed and lowered her gaze, looking as if she were about to cry.

Nicholas leaned in to Lenora. Do you mind if I take her for this one? he asked softly. I feel badly for her.

Feeling proud, Lenora kissed his cheek lightly. Thank you.

Nicholas smiled at her lovingly and then turned to Ian. Do you mind if I borrow your partner? Mine needs a break.

Ian glanced at Clare and then shrugged. It’s up to Clare.

Without hesitation, Clare grabbed Nicholas by the hand and led him to the dance floor.

Ian and Lenora stood in silence as they watched their dates gracefully waltz together. Lenora was proud of Nicholas’ gallant graciousness in what could have been an awkward situation. She felt sorry for Clare while simultaneously feeling slightly robbed. And, it was Ian’s fault.

She glanced at him in irritation. You know, the way you talk to Clare sucks. I think you intentionally hurt her feelings. You definitely owe her an apology. She waited, ready for his retort, but her criticisms went unheard. Ian? Are you even listening to me? She exhaled in frustration.

Ian seemed distracted. He stared off in the distance, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. He started to rub his temples.

Lenora felt that nervous twinge in her stomach that told her something was amiss. What’s going on with you? What are you looking at? she asked.

Nothing…particularly, Ian answered distractedly.

What do you see over there? Lenora queried, now worried.

Past residue.

Lenora now understood. The residue he referred to were spirits. "Come on, talk to me. You know I understand."

I know…but it’s complicated. His gaze shifted downward, and he sighed heavily. He ran a hand through his unkempt, sandy-blonde hair. I’m just tired, that’s all.

Uh-huh. Lenora knew there was more to it and she wasn’t going to let it go. You know I’m going to keep pushing until I get it out of you. So, you might as well just spill it. She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow.

I think I have to break up with Clare.

Lenora frowned. Why?

Her grandmother doesn’t like me.

So? Win her over with your charm. Ian could charm the pants off of anyone. She sighed.

I can’t, he said bluntly, she’s dead and quite…set in her ways.

What? Goosebumps crept along Lenora’s arms. She’d known for some time that Ian was a medium, but the thought of actually seeing and talking to ghosts still gave her the creeps.

Her grandmother’s been dead for years. Whenever I stay overnight at Clare’s flat, her granny keeps me up at night. She moans, growls, whispers, slams doors—all of this until I wake up. She won’t let me go back to sleep.

Do you know why?

She said that I wasn’t good enough for her granddaughter. She knows about the other women I saw while Clare was gone. I’ve tried everything, from promising to be faithful to trying to convince her that I’ve changed. She just doesn’t buy it. She says that I need to leave her granddaughter alone.

She’s dead, Ian. I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but what can she do if you decide not to listen to her?

I’m unsure of what she will do. I’ve never asked, but in the least, she’ll haunt me for the rest of my days. I’ll be doomed to a life of no sleep.

But, you love Clare, Lenora reasoned. Wouldn’t her grandmother see that over time and learn to accept you?

That’s not the point, Lenora. Spirits don’t give up. You can’t just talk a spirit into thinking differently. He shook his head and exhaled in frustration. It’s hard to explain.

Have you told Clare?

No, and I don’t intend to. Ian sounded resolute. I don’t think I’m in love with her anyway.

"Well, either you are in love with someone or you aren’t. It’s not