The Ghost Hunter (15 page)

Settling a tray on her left hip, Ashley steeled herself and pushed open her bedroom door. Part of her was eager to see
Devon
, the other half was terrified. Who was this new man? A ghost she could deal with, there was safety in the fact that spirits were limited in what they could do. But a true human? She took in a deep, trembling breath, the bowl and spoon rattling together with the movement. She supposed terrified would be a normal reaction. After all, she’d basically just helped raise the dead.

She pasted a smile on her face and swept inside.

The bed was empty.

She froze, her smile falling. For one frantic moment she feared
Devon
had disappeared like Rachel and Bill, then she heard water turn on and off in the bathroom.

“Bugger it,” his familiar voice muttered.

Amusement fought with nerves. She set the tray on the beside table and moved toward the door. He obviously needed help. Hesitating only a moment, she knocked.

There was a pause and then the door cracked open a fraction of an inch. “Yes?”

She could just see
Devon
’s blue eyes as he peeked outside like a nervous virgin on her wedding night.

She smoothed her face into a serious expression. “Are you okay?”

He sighed. “Blasted water closet is quite the quandary.”

She forced herself not to laugh. The entire situation was ridiculous and the fact that she found him, a former ghost, endearing, was the most ridiculous thing of all. “Grab a towel, I’m coming in.”

His eyes widened and he scurried back. She gave him a moment before she pushed the door wide. She tried not to glance his way, truly she did, but she couldn’t help but take a peek. From the corner of her eye, she studied his new form. A fluffy white towel covered his lower half, but his wide shoulders and narrow waist were fully on display.

Whereas Cristian’s skin was tanned with sun, Devon had the pale complexion of a titled gent from the Victorian era. But what surprised her most was the muscle. He was leaner than Cristian, but not an ounce of fat marred the perfect specimen. The unmistakable heat of attraction crawled slowly through her body, swirling low in her belly. She jerked her gaze away. The bathroom suddenly felt small, way too small. Cristian and now Devon? Fanfreakingtastic, when had she become Slut of England?

“You flip the handle like this.” She showed him how the water worked. Devon nodded, but it was obvious he hadn’t a clue what she was doing. The poor man looked exhausted; dark circles under his eyes, and was he actually trembling?

She still couldn’t quite believe he was not only here, but real. Solid man. She could touch him, she could feel his touch, she could even smell him…an earthy masculine scent. Although not as enticing as Cristian’s scent, it was far from unpleasant.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

Devon smiled, but it wasn’t a very promising smile, barely hovering on his lips. “I suppose.”

Yet, sweat dotted his forehead, a telltale sign of exhaustion. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, as if that slight movement caused him pain. He was finally real again, but he wasn’t in good shape. He still held that elegant leanness, but he was trembling like a newborn fawn. She felt a surge of protectiveness.

Ashley wrapped her fingers around his right wrist, startled for a moment when she felt his pulse, slow but steady, so human. “Rest.” She pulled him into the room.

He settled on the bed without argument and her concern grew. “Camile left. She went back to Rose’s cottage to search for books…information that could explain what happened, or how.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t even open his eyes, but merely lay back against her pillow. Guilt tugged at her heart. This was their fault. What if by bringing him back, they’d done something wrong? What if he never got better, only worse? She reached out, her hand hovering over his as it lay pale and lifeless on the bed. She wanted to touch him, to comfort him. Taking in a deep breath, she rested her fingers on his. He was warm, so warm and solid. His hand turned, his fingers slipping through hers. He grasped onto her as if she was a life line.

“It’s been so long since I’ve touched anyone,” he whispered.

She lifted her gaze and met his soft blue eyes. He looked so boyishly cute, so sweet and her heart pulled with the need to help him. Yet, at the back of her mind niggled the thought that ghosts were trying to hide their sinful pasts. What could he have done that was so terrible he’d resist the afterlife?

“Devon, are you sure you’re all right?”

The corners of his lips tugged up into a weak smile. “Yes. I think…I just need rest and to grow comfortable with my new body.” He closed his eyes. “It’s so bloody heavy.”

But her worry didn’t decrease. He looked downtrodden, half-dead, which should have been better than
completely
dead, but for some reason…wasn’t. “You should eat.”

He nodded, but didn’t move toward the bowl on the table next to him.

“Devon?” Ashley inched closer, so close her hip pressed against his thigh. It was an intimate proximity, but she didn’t draw back.

His thick lashes fluttered up, his gaze blurry. “Sorry, I’m so incredibly exhausted.”

She shook her head, her guilt increasing every moment. This was her fault. She’d browbeaten him into doing the spell. “No, it’s all right. Here.” She lifted the bowl of soup, steam rising into the air and bringing with the comforting scent of chicken and noodles. It was the least she could do. She pressed the spoon to his lips.

His face relaxed almost immediately. “Mmm, dear God, that tastes good.”

She laughed. “I’m far from a great cook and this is from a can.”

He was touching her again, his fingers lightly tracing her arm as if he just couldn’t get over the feel of skin on skin. The contact sent a shiver of awareness through her body. Part of her wanted to hold him tight, the other half wanted to pull back, uncomfortable with their sudden relationship.

“Still, I haven’t tasted food in…well, I don’t remember when.”

She frowned. “I saw you eating that apple.”

He rested his pale hand on his stomach, drawing attention to the dips of muscle. “Yes, but that was merely out of comfort. As ghosts, we can’t taste. I’m not sure why, perhaps God having a last laugh.”

She jerked her gaze to his face, refusing to give into temptation and linger over his fit body. It was odd thinking that God would be spiteful. Once again she wondered what Devon had done that was so bad. She slipped another spoonful of broth into his mouth.

A soft breeze swept in through the windows, ruffling the curtains and Devon’s hair. He sighed, his relaxed face showing pure bliss. She’d never seen him look so content. “Do you have any idea how good that feels? Everything… the softness of the bed, the sweet scent of the air, even the taste of your canned soup.”

She smiled, studying him closely. How badly she wanted to run her finger down the narrow bridge of his nose, to touch his lips, to press the palms of her hands to his hallowed cheeks. But she hadn’t done the spell to find herself a boyfriend. “Devon?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you remember anything?”

A small crease formed between his blond brows. “Remember?”

She gave him another spoonful of soup, attempting to keep the excitement from her voice. She hadn’t brought it up until now, after all Devon had enough to deal with, but she couldn’t wait any longer. She had to know what the hell was going on in her house and if it had anything to do with Dad’s disappearance.

He sighed and raked his trembling hands through his hair. The strands shifted, shining under the low lamp light. So real, she had to resist the urge to reach out and touch them just to see how they felt.

“I don’t, Ashley. I’m sorry. My memory is…well, just as it was before when I was a spirit.”

She gave him another spoonful of soup, attempting to hide the disappointment that she knew was currently crossing her face. “I see. And how far, exactly, does your memory go?”

He shook his head. “I remember yesterday. I remember the first time I saw you in the basement. Other than that, not much.”

Anguish filled her body, sinking heavily into her gut. No mention of Dad. She nodded and gave him another sip of soup. He swallowed and rested his head back against a pillow, closing his eyes as if eating was an endeavor he could no longer endure. For one long moment she merely stared at him. Even without information on Dad, they’d done the right thing by giving Devon a second chance…hadn’t they?

“You should rest,” she said.
 

His eyes opened. “No, I need to clean.” He pushed himself upright, his teeth gritted together with the effort. It seemed he’d had the insatiable need to cleanse himself since becoming conscious. Ashley could think of only two reasons why, either the transformation had made him feel dirty. Or…perhaps he was trying to wash away past sins.

Ashley frowned, knowing he’d probably collapse in the bathtub, then she’d have to go in and save his naked ass. Apparently age and death had no influence on the male stubbornness gene.

With only a small pause, he pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll be fine.”

He started forward, gripping the towel around his waist as he shuffled toward the bathroom. Had she imagined it, or had their been a sad, almost melancholy look in his eyes? With a sigh, she wondered how long it’d take before he collapsed. At the door, he stopped and rested his hands on the frame, his back to her. She stood, ready to offer help, when he shifted ever so slightly. The lamplight hit his back. Black tattoos burst to life across his shoulder blades.

Wings.

Ashley sucked in a startled breath. The bowl in her hands clattered to the floor, spilling the remains of the soup across the wooden planks.

Devon spun around. “What is it?”

Ashley shook her head, it was all she could manage. Her heart pounded so hard, surely he could hear its frantic beat. His intense gaze pierced hers and like the coward she’d become, she couldn’t hold it. She dropped to the floor, scooping up the bowl and spoon.

“I…I have to go.” Without another glance, she raced toward the bedroom door eager to get as far away from him as possible.

“Ashley,” Devon called out.

She paused and reluctantly turned to face him. He stood in the bathroom doorway, leaning against the frame, so tall, he nearly had to bend. Those blue eyes, so intense, they seemed to burn into her soul.

“Are you well?”

She nodded, then bolted into the hallway, shutting the door behind her. It was only when she’d made it to the top of the stairs that she finally slowed. Knees weak, she sank against the wall.

Wings. Dear God, the exact same wings Cristian wore.
 

Whatever the hell Cristian was, so, too, was Devon. Her mind spun as her body began to tremble. Devon couldn’t be…she couldn’t have two of them. Had he feigned ignorance on purpose? Did he have some nefarious plan to become human? But there was an honesty in Devon’s gaze that she’d truly believed. She’d bet on her life he didn’t remember how he and Cristian were connected.
 

With a frustrated sigh, she pushed away from the wall and carried the empty bowl toward the stairs. Would Devon stay Devon forever, or would he eventually go back to being a ghost once the spell wore off?

She made her way down the steps and into the kitchen, feeling uneasy and morose. She didn’t want Devon to go back to being a ghost. She liked him here. As pathetic as it was, she liked her ghosts here as well. At least with them, she knew what to expect. With humans, one never knew. Funny how just a year ago she was trying to avoid spirits.

She set the tray and bowl in the sink then stared hard at the basement door. She hadn’t been down there since her last nightmare, but Maggie was the only being, living and non, she could openly talk to.

“Here goes nothing.”

She pulled open the door and moved carefully down the steps. Immediately her gaze jumped to that far corner where the door stood, still intact. There was no hole in the panel. There was no red fire. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was. The nightmare had been so damn real. The red light. That demonic voice. And her body…slamming painfully through the wooden door.

“We didn’t find her,” Maggie’s soft voice was barely audible.

Ashley spun around. The child sat there in her corner, glowing softer, it seemed. For a brief moment Ashley wondered if they could dim themselves like a light. She started toward her, her footsteps thumping eerily against the stone floor. “We will.”

Maggie’s lower lip quivered as she shook her head, those golden curls shimmering. “No. Bill’s gone. Rachel’s gone. Samuel as well, and now Devon is different.”

She paused, surprised. “You know about Devon?”

Maggie nodded. “I can’t sense him anymore but I saw him in your room, sleeping.”

Maggie was alone now. Ashley knew exactly how the child felt. She pushed aside the compassion that surged forth, refusing to allow her emotions to get in the way. She needed answers about Cristian and Devon and most importantly, she needed answers about Dad.