A Gift of Ghosts (Tassamara) (19 page)

“You really think my grandma is a crazy ghost?” Dillon asked,
hiking himself onto the railing next to her.

“I don’t believe in theorizing ahead of the data,” Akira
answered gloomily. “It’s bad science. But we can’t exactly ask for
introductions, so yeah, my best guess is that your grandma is a ghost.”

“Another ghost?” Rose asked, appearing on the porch behind
them. Akira barely jumped. “We should invite her over.”

“Not this one,” Akira sighed. As Dillon told Rose the story,
she reflected on their ride home. Zane didn’t want to believe that his mom was
a malevolent ghost. Fair enough. She couldn’t blame him for that. But he hadn’t
been happy to learn that ghosts could be dangerous, either. He hadn’t been rude
about it, but his silence was decidedly stubborn.

“That’s too bad.” With a careful flounce of her full skirts,
Rose sat down next to Akira. With a perceptive sideways glance, she added, “That’s
not why you’re sad, though. Where’d the dreamboat go?”

“He’ll be back,” Dillon said. “He just needs to talk to my
family.”

Akira pressed her lips together. She didn’t want to tell
Dillon he was wrong, but she didn’t think so.

“Men,” Rose’s voice filled with disgust. “Rats, every one of
them. Except Henry, of course.”

“Hey,” Dillon protested. “What about me?”

Rose waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “You would
have turned into a rat, too. You wouldn’t have been able to help yourself. I
know your kind.”

Akira felt the corners of her mouth pulling up in an
involuntary smile. Had she thought her meal would be solitary? She’d been
forgetting the crowd that lived at this house. Rose would be happy to talk her
ear off while she ate, with Henry and Dillon providing an alternately
encouraging and protesting chorus.

“What kind is that?” Akira asked. A neighbor, passing by on the
street, glanced at her, face curious. Akira nodded, bringing her hand up to her
ear to tap her headset. Oh, hell. She wasn’t wearing it. She forced a smile,
and the woman smiled back and walked on.

Right.

Tassamara.

The only small town in America where talking to yourself just
made the neighbors think you were one of them.

“Men! They’re all just out for one thing and once they’ve got
it . . .” Rose snapped her fingers scornfully. “Except for Henry,” she added
again.

“Why except for Henry?” Akira began picking at the tape on
the box. It was from Amazon, but she couldn’t remember ordering anything.

“Henry was a wonderful boyfriend,” Rose answered. “So sweet,
so polite. Always a gentleman. My parents didn’t approve, of course, but that
wasn’t Henry’s fault. And he had nothing to do with—” Rose paused, and shrugged
one shoulder, “—with what happened later.”

Akira’s brows went up, her eyes widening, her mouth dropping
open. Henry? Rose and Henry had been boyfriend and girlfriend?

“You and Henry?” Dillon was almost spluttering with shock. “But—but—”

Akira pulled her mouth closed and waited, wondering what
Dillon was going to say. The age difference didn’t matter, of course: she could
tell from the clothes that Henry had died much later than Rose had. But in the
1950’s? In the segregated south? Henry had probably been risking his life to
date a white girl.

“But he’s old!” Dillon finally burst out. Akira smiled and
continued working on the tape. Good for Dillon.

“He wasn’t then, of course,” Rose said impatiently. “That
happened later.”

“So did Henry live in the house, too?” Akira was curious. She’d
assumed that all of the ghostly residents—the boys in the backyard, Rose, and
Henry—had lived in the house at different times. It was unusual to find such a
concentration of ghosts in one place, but not unthinkable.

“No.” Rose looked puzzled for a minute and then thoughtful. “No,
he only came to live here later. After, I mean. He never lived here when he was
alive.”

Huh. That was strange, Akira thought. What was Henry’s tie to
the house if he hadn’t died here?

“It must have been nice for you when he got here,” Dillon
suggested. He’d obviously quickly recovered from the surprise. “You must have
been lonely all by yourself.”

“Oh, I wasn’t by myself.” Rose waved that idea off. “The boys
were so much more fun back then. We had such a good time right after. We used
to pester my little sister like you wouldn’t believe.” Rose giggled.

That was even more interesting. Akira wasn’t surprised to
find out that the boys in the backyard had been at the house longer than Rose.
She was no expert on boys’ clothing, but the slightly formal cut to their
shorts, the collars on the button-down shirts, and even their socks made her
think that they came from an older era, maybe around the 1920s. But she’d never
really talked to them. If they were more active when Rose became a ghost,
though . . .

With a last quick tug, she finally managed to get the tape
off the box. Rose broke off the story of tormenting her sister that she’d been
telling Dillon to say, “Ooh, what did you get?”

Akira folded back the cardboard sides of the box. She
recognized the packaging on the object inside before even glancing at the
packing slip.

It was a new Kindle.

She bit her lip. With a hand that felt suddenly cold, she
picked up the paperwork. She was wrong.

It was two Kindles.

The note read, “One for you, one for Dillon. Grace says to
tell him that if he intends to keep destroying them, she’ll make it an official
research project and buy them in bulk, but that he should leave yours alone.
(Grace takes her reading seriously.)”

Damn it.

Akira blinked furiously. She would not cry. She would not
cry. She would not cry.

But a tear overflowed anyway.

She’d really liked him.

***

The phone rang.

Akira eyed it suspiciously.

She’d had a dream last night. At least she thought it was a
dream, but the details were fuzzy. Still the uncertainty was at least half of
why she was awake at this ridiculous hour. Ridiculous for a Sunday morning,
anyway: it was barely after eight, and she’d just stepped out of the shower.

The phone rang again.

It was really too early for anyone to call. And her
friends—the ones who would call her on a Sunday morning, anyway—were all in
California. They’d call at noon eastern time, not eight.

The phone rang a third time. If she didn’t catch it before it
rang again, it would go into voice mail. Akira lunged across the bed and
grabbed the receiver. Sprawled in her messy blankets, she looked at the caller
ID. Local, but she didn’t recognize the number.

She pressed the button. “Hello?” She didn’t deliberately play
with the sound of her voice, but she also didn’t try too hard to make it not
sound husky with sleep. She had just gotten up after all.

“Waffles?”

It was a rush. Like the moment at the top of the roller
coaster, right before the car tips over the edge of the hill. “You called me
last night, didn’t you?”

“I did. You were asleep.”

“Mostly asleep,” Akira corrected Zane.

“Mm-hmm.” His voice was just as husky as hers. “You’re a
tease when you’re sleepy.”

“It was late,” Akira defended herself, as she squeezed her
eyes closed, trying to remember what she’d said. She could feel her cheeks
turning pink, a flush half delight, half embarrassment.

He’d called.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” Zane sounded resigned. “The
family discussions went on for a while. Too long. And—I hate to say it—they’re
crashing our breakfast, too.”

“Oh.” Akira knew her voice had flattened but she wasn’t sure
how she felt about that.

“Kayaking, after,” he said hastily. “And then swimming? And
dinner? And then back to your place and you can keep the promises you were
making last night?”

A reluctant smile curved Akira’s lips. She didn’t remember
any promises. But she’d like to keep them anyway. And hell, an hour of
conversation about ghosts? She could do that.

***

An hour later, she wasn’t so sure.

She was seated at a table at the bistro with the entire
Latimer family. Zane and Natalya were on either side of her, and Max, Grace,
and Lucas were across the table. Despite the waffles, she felt a little like a
criminal being interrogated by a panel of judges.

And she now understood exactly why Grace was CEO of General
Directions. If their mom had been half as persistent as Grace was, it was no
wonder she wasn’t going quietly.

“I don’t know,” she answered for the umpteenth time, trying
to hang on to her fraying patience.

“What about this one?” Grace asked, turning a book to show
her a picture. Akira glanced at it. It was a black-and-white print in a style
that looked distinctively Japanese to her.

“Were you cheating on your wife?” Akira asked Max. It was a
rude question, but she didn’t bother to cushion it.

“No, never,” he answered readily and without hesitation.

“Then I don’t think your mom has turned into an onryô,” Akira told Grace.

Grace flipped the book back. “It says here that these ghosts
can be created from grief and despair as well as a desire for revenge. Mom was
definitely upset when she died.”

“Every culture has traditions about ghosts. That doesn’t mean
that any of the stories are true.” A passing waitress glanced at her and Akira
smiled tightly. How had she gotten pulled into this conversation in a public
place?

“Once you’ve accepted the impossible, questioning the
improbable is only sensible.” Max answered while Grace skimmed down the page,
one finger trailing along the lines of text.

“Hmmm. To get rid of one of these ghosts, you’re supposed to
help it fulfill its purpose. That sounds familiar.” Grace set the book down
next to her plate on top of two others and reached for her tablet. Her waffles,
like Akira’s, were barely touched.

Zane nudged Akira with his elbow. She glanced at him, and he
gestured at her plate with his head. “Eat,” he said softly. “The sooner you
finish, the sooner we can escape.”

Akira raised an eyebrow, and then picked up her knife and
fork. Lucas, Max and Grace seemed determined to learn everything they could
about ghosts, while Zane and Natalya had been mostly quiet. But if Zane was
offering escape . . .

“Not until we decide what to do,” Grace said. “We need a
plan, a strategic approach to the situation.”

“What sort of a plan?” Natalya asked.

“This isn’t another action item on your to-do list, Grace.”
Lucas shoved his plate away from him and gestured to the waitress for more
coffee.

“I’ve been telling you for years that your mother was still
here,” Max said. “Maybe she just likes being with us.”

Akira’s mouth twisted. Sure, that might be true for some
ghosts. But not the one that was haunting that house.

“If Mom’s still here, there must be a reason for it,” Grace
protested. “Something she needs. Or wants. Right?” She looked at Akira
questioningly.

Akira’s eyes flickered to the waitress, and then she shrugged
and sighed. Everyone in this town was crazy, anyway. Did it matter what they
thought of her? “A ghost like the one in your house doesn’t have consciousness,”
she answered. “Not like we think of it, anyway. There’s no way to talk to it or
communicate with it. If it was human, it’d be like, I don’t know, like someone
on a bad drug, hallucinating, psychotic, that kind of thing.”

Lucas was frowning, Max was shaking his head, and Grace was
reaching for another book.

“If Akira is right, Mom’s ghost is dangerous,” Lucas pointed
out. His tone was grim. Of all of the Latimers, he was the one who seemed
unhappiest.

“Either way, we need to help her move on. That’s obvious.”
Grace was organized, determined, her mindset practical.

Natalya was quietly sitting back, either thoughtful or
doubtful, Akira wasn’t sure which, although maybe she felt both.

And Zane was the quietest of all. He’d greeted Akira, been
friendly to the waitress, and then had been silent until he’d told Akira to
eat. She had no idea what he was thinking. She glanced at him. He was watching
her, eyes steady.

Hmm.

She recognized that look, and it had nothing to do with
ghosts.

She took a careful bite of waffle, and chewed slowly, while
she thought. Grace and Lucas were bickering—not with any malice, but with a
friendly sibling obstinance—about what it might mean to have a ghost in their
house.

There was no question in Akira’s mind that the ghost was
dangerous. None. Her usual approach would be to not get involved, to stay just
as far away as possible. But yesterday’s events had shown her that she didn’t
know everything that there was to know about ghosts. Not that she’d ever really
thought she did, but she’d been comfortable with her own level of ignorance.
But that door or passageway or whatever it was that the little boy had
found—that was a mystery to her.