Almost Midnight (44 page)

He nodded. She turned to go.

“Ricka,” he said her name. Or her nickname, and oddly, hearing it didn't feel so bad this time.

She faced him.

“Are you going to be okay with that teacher?”

She nodded, not really sure, but still so high on his touch that she didn't want to think about it. “Everything new can feel a little awkward.”

He smiled, but his blue eyes still looked torn. “I know.” He took a step closer and reached up and brushed a few strands of hair off her face. Then he leaned down and his lips touched hers. His scent, like the outdoors, filled her senses. And he tasted like … like pizza, and a little like sweet tea. His tongue slipped so easily into her mouth, and she felt herself lean into him.

Then, way before she was ready, he pulled back. He ran a palm down his face; she ran her tongue over her bottom lip.

He sighed. “Okay, I probably shouldn't have done that.”

She smiled. “I'm glad you did. I … liked it.”

He exhaled. “Me, too. That's the problem.”

Grinning, she met his eyes. “Maybe it's not that big of a problem. Why don't we talk about it tomorrow? I'll come over after school. We can paint.”

He nodded. Right then a phone rang inside his house.

“Tomorrow,” he said and reached over and squeezed her hand before running inside for the phone.

*   *   *

Still smiling, she got into the car and wished it was already tomorrow. Starting the engine, she pulled out of the drive. She looked at the house as she pulled away. And that's when she saw her.

Brandon's sister, Linda, stood at the side of the house, in front of a flower bed, the same one Fredericka had seen her at yesterday when she'd pulled away.

Had his sister seen Brandon kiss her? For that matter, had she been home all day while Fredericka and Brandon painted?

Fredericka waved, worried his sister might not approve of her. The woman waved back. Suddenly, leaving without even speaking seemed rude. She pulled the car over to the side of the street and put the car in park. She got out of the vehicle, prepared to just offer a quick hello and good-bye. But when she stepped up onto the curb and looked up at the side of the house, the woman was gone.

Vanished.

Fredericka stopped and just stood there, a cold breeze sent goose bumps up her back. She started to get back in her car when she heard, or maybe just felt something behind her.

She swung around, but nothing was there.

Nothing but a dead cold that had her catching her breath.

*   *   *

“What does a ghost feel like?” Fredericka blurted out when she first walked into Holiday's office. Fredericka hadn't been able to shake the eerie feeling she got standing outside Brandon's house.

Holiday looked up, surprised, as if she hadn't heard Fredericka walk in. “What happened?”

Fredericka set the keys down on the camp leader's desk and dropped down into a chair. “I met Brandon Hart's sister the first day I went to be interviewed. She … was quiet and disappeared and then … it happened again today.”

“Are you talking about this woman?” Holiday slid the Sunday newspaper across her desk.

The picture of a woman, blond, her hair hanging down around her shoulders and a smile on her face, stared up at Fredericka. “Yes, that's her.” Fredericka read the first line.

Missing Fallen resident feared dead.

She gasped.

Holiday frowned and reached over and put her hand on Fredericka's, still resting on the paper. “You've seen her?”

Fredericka nodded and glanced up. Calm flowed into her from Holiday's touch and yet the realization that she had seen a ghost, actually seen her, spoke to her, brought on a fresh wave of panic. “So she's really…?”

Holiday nodded.

“Damn!” Fredericka closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing and not freaking out. But how could she not freak out? She'd seen a ghost. Not just once but three times.

Holiday must have sensed her rising panic, because she put her other hand on top of Fredericka's. “It's okay.”

Fredericka opened her eyes. “What's okay about this? Name one thing that's okay about this.”

“I know it's scary, Fredericka, but just think, you will be able to help her and her brother.”

“How?” Fredericka asked.

“Linda Hart needs to cross over. Usually they stay here for a reason. And her brother needs answers.” The fae lifted one brow. “Everyone needs answers.”

Even in her panicked state, Fredericka knew Holiday was referencing back to the envelope containing letters from her dad. As if Fredericka didn't already have enough crap to worry about at this moment.

Holiday sighed. “Does she know she's dead?”

“How would I know? I didn't know she was a ghost so it's not as if it came up in conversation.”

Holiday just smiled as if she had patience to spare. Something Fredericka completely lacked right now.

“Does she show signs of being injured?” the camp leader asked. “Does she have wounds?”

“No. She … looked fine.” Fredericka thought a minute. “She did look dressed for summer and not winter.”

Holiday nodded. “According to the paper she went missing six months ago. So that would make sense.”

Suddenly, Fredericka recalled seeing the police come to Brandon's door. “They don't think her brother did it, do they?”

“No.” Holiday looked down at the paper. “It says here that he didn't come into town until a few months ago.” She leaned back, moving her hands from Fredericka's. “Have you gotten a look at his pattern?”

Fredericka nodded and remembered that before she'd seen Linda again, it had been a subject she'd longed to discuss with the fae. “He's around seventy-five percent human. He has were and then a smaller amount of fae.”

“Is he aware of this?”

“That's what I wanted to ask you. I mean, he's never said anything about being anything. But he has some of the were abilities. He has the sensitive hearing and is fast and strong. And I know it came from his grandmother because he mentioned she liked wolves. Is it possible that he still doesn't know?”

“Very possible. Were blood is one of the most likely to go unnoticed. Anything less than half were and they usually don't turn with the moon and their abilities ebb and flow with lunar cycles. A lot of humans who believe in the full-moon craziness are actually part were and don't know it. Other than slightly elevated body temperatures, for some there are no obvious outward signs.”

Fredericka took a gulp of air and remembered how warm it felt to be close to him.

Holiday leaned in a bit. “You don't think his grandmother told him anything?”

Fredericka shrugged. “He called her an odd duck.”

Holiday picked up a pen. “So maybe she told the family, but no one really believed her.”

Fredericka just nodded. “So I shouldn't tell him?”

“No.” Holiday frowned. “However, it's believed that just being around someone who shares the same type heritage will trigger a mixed breed into awareness. And if he was told by his grandmother, it's very possible that he may see some truth in it.”

“Would that be so bad?” she asked.

Holiday hesitated. “It could be.” She rolled the pen in her hand as her frown deepened. “Which basically means that your working for him could bring about some complications. I know this means a lot to you, but are you sure that this is worth it?”

“Of course it is!” Fredericka answered quickly. “This is my dream. Please.”

“I…” Holiday set the pen down and hesitated as if contemplating. “I don't want to rob you of your dream, Fredericka. But Mr. Cannon came by earlier and said he was concerned about you.”

Fredericka stiffened. So she'd been right. Cary had already started initiating her punishment. Her first impulse was to tell Holiday of Cary's threat. But why? She'd believe him over the word of a rogue's daughter every time.

“He explained that you just haven't been yourself and your studies are slacking. I know hearing about your dad has probably upset you. I just don't want you taking on more than you can handle.”

“I can handle it,” Fredericka snapped, and she would, just as soon as she figured out how to handle Cary. “And I told Brandon I would help him paint after school tomorrow.”

The concerned look didn't fade from Holiday's eyes. Had Cary told her that he thought Fredericka was interested in Brandon?

Holiday nodded. “I wouldn't recommend getting too friendly with him.”

“I'll be fine.”

“Even with the spirit?” Holiday asked.

“Yeah,” Fredericka said, but the thought sent another shot of panic to her gut. “But that problem will go away, right? They cross over.”

“With your help,” Holiday said.

Oh, crap.
“What … exactly do I have to do?”

 

Chapter Ten

Fredericka spent the rest of the afternoon working on her new pieces of jewelry and trying not to panic about getting information from Brandon's sister on how she died. Then after she had that information, she'd have to figure out how to share it without informing anyone that she was talking to dead people.

How the hell did Holiday and the others who had this so-called gift manage to do this without completely losing it? If Fredericka was a little closer to Kylie, she'd go to her and ask some questions and maybe even for some advice. But Fredericka didn't know her that well. She wasn't close to anyone. Not really.

Right then she recalled how close she'd felt to Brandon.

I wouldn't recommend getting too friendly with him.
Holiday's warning played in her head.

Fredericka would bet that meant no kissing. It was too late for that, wasn't it?

And if he tried again…? Oh, hell. She knew she didn't want to stop it.

She'd just finished putting away her tools, when her phone rang. Frowning, she snatched it up, thinking it might be Cary.

But the number wasn't his. Or at least not his cell phone. Oh, hell, had he bought a burner phone so she couldn't prove he was blackmailing her?

“Hello,” she said, ready to give Cary hell.

“Ricka?”

She recognized Brandon's voice immediately but wasn't expecting it. “Hi.”

“You busy?” he asked.

“No.” She remembered she'd left her number on the contract. “Just putting away my tools. I'm almost finished with the next pair of earrings.”

“I just finished working, too.” A beat of silence hung long before he continued. “I … was concerned about that teacher. He's not going to cause you any trouble, is he? If you need me to talk to someone, I will.”

“No, I'm fine,” she lied. Other than a warning, there hadn't been any consequences. And she'd be extra careful from here on out to record all her homework, so he couldn't claim she wasn't doing it.

“That's not the only reason I called,” he said.

“It isn't?” she asked, and prayed it wasn't to tell her he'd decided she and he weren't going to work.

“No, I … just wanted to say that I had a great time today and I already wish it was tomorrow.”

“Me, too.” She smiled, and for the first time, all the negative feelings about dealing with the dead faded and she felt … happy. Fredericka Lakota was happy. And considering how long it had been since she'd really felt this, it was kind of amazing. She dropped down into the chair and pulled her knees up to her chest.

“I tried telling myself that we needed to put a stop to it. And it might be the smart thing to do, but I don't want to do the smart thing right now.”

“What could be so bad?” she asked and ran her finger over a threadbare spot on her knee.

“Well, we could break up and then you wouldn't want to work here.”

“First I'd like to think we're both mature enough to handle anything, and second … you should never go into something thinking it will end.”

“That's almost exactly what I told myself,” he said and she could swear she heard a mattress sigh. Was he in bed? While it shouldn't matter where he was, in a silly way she liked thinking of him in bed.

Maybe even shirtless.

“It's crazy, I feel this strange kind of connection with you. And it's not just our…”

“Scars,” she finished for him and she recalled what Holiday had said about a mixed blood recognizing themselves in another of their kind.

“Yes. I mean, there's the fact that we're both artists, but it seems even more than that.”

“I feel it, too,” she said and she was surprised at how her voice sounded wispy.

“Good, I feel a little less crazy.” There was a pause. “Tell me something about yourself.” His voice sounded a little lazy.

“You already know a lot,” she said, instantly worrying that when he knew everything about her, he'd decide she was too … damaged.

“Tell me more,” he said.

“I'd rather not.” She leaned her forehead down onto her knee. The happiness living and breathing in her chest felt vulnerable.

“It can't all be bad,” he said.

“Yeah, it can,” she said.

A silence filled the line. “Where's your dad now?”

She swallowed. “He's dead.”

“How old were you?”

She felt that ache she'd been fighting the last few days swell up in her chest. “It happened a little more than a week ago.”

“Damn. I'm sorry. That has to be tough.”

“I hadn't seen him in eight years.” Her throat tightened. “He wasn't what you would call a great dad.”

“It doesn't matter. He was still your dad.” He inhaled and she heard him roll over again. Definitely on a mattress. “It took me a long time to realize that. I mean, my mom wouldn't have ever won a mother-of-the-year award, but I still loved her, even when I hated her. And I grieved for her. At first it pissed me off. I felt as if by grieving I was allowing her another way of hurting me. It's not so. You have to grieve.”