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The burning sting intensified against Cecily’s side. She tried to keep her ribs from flexing as she drew a breath, squeezing her eyes shut and steeling herself against the pain.
“You doing okay?”
She tucked her face into her arms, smiling despite the burn. “Doing good.”
The buzzing of the tattoo needles stopped. She heard Scott sit back, then felt a cool rag against her skin.
Lifting her head, she stole a glance at him before cradling her face in her arms again. “How’s it look?”
A breath’s pause, then, “Amazing. Do you think you can take any more tonight or should we plan to do another session?”
“I can take it,” Cecily replied. She adjusted how she was laying, settling in and shoring herself up again. She could do this. “Let’s finish what we started.”
Scott’s chuckle might have been laced with admiration. She tried but failed to ignore the part of her that thrilled at that.
“Okay, but tell me if you want to stop,” he said. “Another sitting doesn’t have to be months away. We’re moving to Seattle, remember?”
“Oh, I know,” she replied. How could she forget?
Cecily winced when the needles first touched her skin, the burn akin to bee stings against her side.
“I saw that,” Scott remarked.
“Yeah, it hurts,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not fine.” Or that there wasn’t some small part of her that kind of liked it.
But it wasn’t like she was about to say that out loud.
Outside, rain pelted the roof and the windows. The blinds at the front of the shop were shut tight against prying eyes, but the sound made it clear—it was pouring outside. That seemed to just be the way summers worked in New Orleans, rising humidity all day until the clouds opened up and dumped a short torrential downpour and started the process all over again. It was nothing like the all-day Seattle-style drizzle Cecily was accustomed to.
Scott had a single goose-neck lamp on and angled to shine where he was working, but the rest of the shop was dark. It was well after closing time. Rhia was dozing peacefully under the table, but other than that, they were alone in the shop. The only sound besides the tattoo needles and Rhia’s occasional snuffle was Scott’s breathing, slow and steady, and his voice, calm and comfortably low, when he chose to speak.
Cecily was topless, lying on her stomach on the padded table so Scott could access the tattoo he’d begun inking on her ribs months ago on her first trip to New Orleans. On that visit, he’d outlined the runes that had protected her over the last few months. Now he was adding detail and shading, taking it from a set of lines to a work of art.
His fingers moved against her skin, his touch warm and sure as he changed his angle.
In the year since she’d met Scott over the phone the day she, Zander and Callum had destroyed the Shadow that had been stalking them (how about that for a bit of life experience she never expected to have?) Cecily had grown to think of Scott as one of her best friends.
She thought on that for a second.
Did Zander count as a best friend? She supposed yes, but also no. Zander was her oldest sister—that was a category all its own.
So, yeah. Scott was certainly her best friend still living.
He was smart, interesting and, unfortunately for her, incredibly good-looking.
Which was something she definitely hadn’t known the extent of when she’d talked to him that first time on the phone, but had gotten the full brunt of when he and Callum had visited Seattle with Zander for Christmas just a couple months later. The same visit when everything had been revealed about Cecily not finishing her degree. Yeah, that had been awkward.
“How was your flight?” Scott asked over the sound of the needles, interrupting her thoughts like he knew she needed rescuing.
“It was good.” She smiled and angled her face toward Scott slightly so her voice would carry over the harsh buzzing. “If you call having the spirit of a woman talk at you for the entire flight good. I mean, she was nice enough, but it’s not like I could respond to her with all of those people sitting around.” Which meant she just sort of spoke the entire time. It had been exhausting.
Scott’s chuckle came from deep in his chest. “Jesus, that sounds awful. Callum hates to fly. That’s probably why.”
“Probably. It definitely wasn’t the most relaxing flight I’ve ever had.” Though getting this time to unwind with Scott was a nice way to end an otherwise hectic day. “Hey, do you think Zander and Callum are staying out late tonight?” Callum had picked her up at the airport. They’d grabbed a fast food bite, but when they made it to the house, he’d all but turned around and left again, saying something about meeting Zander for a last-day-at-work happy hour. He’d asked if Cecily wanted to join them, but she’d already had this session set up with Scott. That had been around seven p.m. By the time she’d showered off the airplane feeling and gotten to Scott’s tattoo shop, it had been nearly eight.
“I mean, it’s Zander’s last day at work. Wouldn’t you?” was Scott’s response.
Cecily thought for a moment. Zander had coined the term “hell-job” to refer to the role and the company she was leaving behind. “Point taken.”
“Why do you ask?”
The funny thing was, she wasn’t sure. But she did know it definitely wasn’t to get a sense of if she and Scott would be hanging out at the house by themselves after they finished her tattoo. Or to know if anyone would be waiting up for them back home.
It wasn’t anything like that.
“Just trying to get a sense of if I should stay up to hang out with Zander tonight or save it for tomorrow.” She was here for over a week—there’d be plenty of time to see Zander. Plus Scott wasn’t one to go out to bars—not that he was the reason she wasn’t going out. Besides, there would be lots of opportunities to spend time with Zander and Callum, along with Scott, when they moved up to Seattle at the end of this vacation-to-help-them-move Cecily was currently on.
She smiled as a thrill of excitement ran through her: Zander back home in Seattle! Living just a short drive from the apartment Cecily was about to sign a lease for!
She’d taken time to get her head right after Trevor died. He was still around thanks to her medium mojo, but he wasn’t alive so every plan they’d made together had been destroyed. She’d spent the last year-and-a-half since then standing still, unsure what to do next.
But, at some point during the summer, she’d started to feel better. More solid.
Scott was part of why. He was this constant, sure-footed presence in her life—even if he lived halfway across the country. Callum’s friendship—more big brother than Scott’s best friend vibes—was another. Zander’s acceptance, her no-nonsense care and her ambition kept Cecily grounded and reminded her that she’d had goals at some point, too.
Time, she knew, was the other part that had begun to heal her wounds.
It still sucked sometimes, knowing she and Trevor weren’t facing the future they’d planned. But not as much as it had at first.
Which was why she had registered for winter quarter classes at the university, and why she was getting ready to sign a lease and move out on her own once and for all.
And why she was so excited to have her three favorite living people (well, besides her mother, of course) a quick drive instead of a five-hour plane ride away.
“How are things with Alyssa?” Scott asked, his voice coming from somewhere along Cecily’s side, which, she’d learned, usually meant he was inking some seriously tiny detail.
Of course he’d ask about the one part of Cecily’s life that wasn’t progressing according to her designs. “She’s fine.”
“Still distant?”
“More or less.” Although by that, she meant only more.
Cecily suppressed a sigh. She and Alyssa’s relationship hadn’t been the same since that drama with the Shadow. Alyssa had been more than happy to leave the apartment while Cecily, Zander, and Callum destroyed the thing but when she came back after it was all over, it was like a wedge had been planted between them. Nothing uncivil or direct. Sometimes Cecily wondered if she was imagining it, but then something would happen that normally would have been prime sister bonding fodder—and nothing. Alyssa would laugh, or comment, but she remained distant. The conversations were more akin to that of a trusted co-worker, not the sister-closeness they’d once shared.
“I thought she was considering coming down with you this time,” Scott said, his breath brushing against Cecily’s ribs.
Which she totally didn’t notice.
“She was,” Cecily replied, “but she couldn’t get the days off work.” If she even tried.
The truth was, she had no idea what was going on with Alyssa. On the one hand, she wished Alyssa would get over whatever was keeping her distant already. On the other hand, she understood why she hadn’t.
“I really figured she’d come around,” Scott remarked, almost like he knew all the things Cecily wasn’t saying.
She started to shrug but stopped herself.
“Hey, did you end up taking classes for fall quarter?” Scott asked. The buzzing stopped for a moment, like it did intermittently, leaving only the weight of his fingers against her ribs.
“Nah, I’m working a ton to save up so I can move out,” she replied, forcing her brain to stay on track. “But I registered for Winter quarter.” It had taken her some time to be able to stomach the thought of going back—then more months to save up the money to actually do it—which was why it had taken her so long to follow through on the thing she knew she should have done a year ago.
She braced herself for the sting of the needles as she felt him lower the machine back onto her skin a second before the buzzing kicked back on.
“Good for you. Did you end up landing that apartment you wanted?”
“We did!” she exclaimed in response. Damn, had it been that long since she’d texted with him? “We sign the lease when I get back. It’s near campus so getting to work will be a breeze—”
“Not to mention your classes,” Scott interjected. He’d been a good friend and a huge support with the whole school thing—from the moment her no-degree status had been unceremoniously revealed.
Cecily smiled. “And my classes. But the apartment is far enough away from campus not to be too noisy Friday and Saturday nights. I’m not looking to dive into the party scene or anything.”
Scott laughed under his breath. “You sure you want to move out of your mom’s place? It seems kind of cushy where you’re at now.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Cecily replied with certainty. “I’m twenty-three. I need to not live with my mom anymore.” Ouch! She drew a sharp breath through her teeth before she could stop herself.
The buzzing of the tattoo needles stopped immediately. “And that’s my cue to quit.”
Cecily sighed, annoyed at herself. She wanted to keep going—but even she had to admit that the pain was starting to get to her.
She also wasn’t sure if it was the tattoo, or the company that made her so gung-ho about keeping on.
“That was a full body wince,” Scott said, like he knew she was silently kicking herself. “Endorphins bottom out eventually—no matter how badass you are.”
Cecily pushed herself up onto her elbows and turned her head to look at him, careful to maintain some semblance of modesty by keeping her breasts hidden behind her arms.
Ever the gentleman, Scott wasn’t even looking. He was sitting back in his chair, eyes closed, stretching his neck, left, then right, and left again. His black, horn-rimmed glasses were pushed up into his short, dark hair. His sharp jaw was shadowed in stubble at least two shades lighter. And below that, the tattoos that ran up his neck, peeking above the collar of his plaid, short-sleeved button-up looked like pencil sketches on his skin.
He sat up and opened his bright, brown eyes. Cecily cast her gaze to the space beyond him, to the art on the walls, but it was too late.
He’d caught her staring.
“I’m not worried about being a wimp,” she said with a laugh, shaking her head and redirecting her gaze completely so she stared at the table beneath her. She clasped her hands and picked her feet up from the table, crossing them at the ankle in the air behind her, going for casual and nonplussed.
Anything but shit-I-just-got-caught-staring-at-my-sister’s-boyfriend’s-brother.
“I just can’t wait until its finished,” she added.
She couldn’t take it anymore. She threw Scott a glance—only to catch him staring.
Unfortunately, he was focused on the tattoo he’d just been working on.
Not on her.
He looked up at her with a quick breath, like he’d been lost in thought about his work. “It’ll be worth the wait,” he said. “Not to be too self-congratulatory or anything.”
Cecily laughed. “If you’ll hand me my shirt, we can get out of here.”
“Not yet,” Scott replied.
But before her imagination could get too far ahead of her, he turned, reached, and swiveled back again with a tub of ointment in his hands.
“Gotta wrap you up.”
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
Callum wrapped a half sheet of newspaper around a mug and made a mental note to tell Zander to kick him if he ever suggested or agreed to moving ever again. This sucked.
He was ridiculously thankful Cecily had flown down to help. With Zander working crazy hours up until last night and Scott pulling different though similarly long shifts, Callum was pretty sure that the three of them alone had no hope of packing this entire house without Cecily’s help.
It was a two-bedroom, one-bathroom house—1000 square feet, tops. He’d thought they’d lived sort of minimalist. He and Scott weren’t into superfluous purchases, and even Zander was more of a quality-over-quantity kind of person. So how did they own this much stuff?
“Scott and I figured you and Zander were going to go out last night, it being Zander’s last day at work and all,” Cecily remarked as she wrapped another mug in newspaper.
Callum laughed under his breath. “Nah, we’re hanging out with some friends tonight—decided to return to our cocoon after the happy hour and a late dinner.” Like, really late. The happy hour hadn’t broken up until nearly nine. Zander hadn’t really seemed up for anything but a just-the-two-of-them dinner at that point. She used to be game for staying out all damn night if the company, drinks, and music were good—he used to be too—but her job over the last six months or so had taken its toll. She burned a lot of energy dealing with a toxic corporate culture, shitty co-workers, and a boss who didn’t seem to give a damn about any of it.
“Your place is sort of cocoon-like.” Cecily laughed quietly as Callum handed her the mugs he’d just wrapped and she set them both in the box at their feet.
Speaking of comfort... Callum saw his opportunity. “Seems like I heard you and Scott up late,” he remarked casually as he reached for the next mug and a fresh sheet of newsprint. He and Zander had gotten home around ten o’clock. They’d stayed up for a bit, drinking a couple beers and hanging out with Scott and Cecily. But Zander had turned in around eleven and Callum had followed, something in him unwilling to let her go to bed alone. Maybe when they got up to Seattle, some of her out-all-night energy would return, but until then, he was happy to hole up with her in their room when she needed it. There was more to do in bed than just sleep, after all...
But later, with the sound of Zander sleeping beside him, he’d lain there, awake, because even midnight was way before his bedtime most nights.
“Well, you and Zander crashed out at eleven—who the hell else was I supposed to hang out with?” Cecily laughed.
“Fair enough,” Callum chose not to bring up the fact that once he finally fell asleep, he’d heard them talking in the moments he woke up to roll over. He wasn’t mad. On the contrary, he hoped they would get out of their own way.
“Where is Zander, by the way?” Cecily asked as she took another wrapped mug from him.
Callum grabbed the last mug from the cabinet and a sheet of newspaper. “Sleeping again.”
Cecily paused, her brows furrowed. “Zander doesn’t nap. Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” Callum replied over the sound of crinkling newspaper as he snugged the folds around the mug in his hand before handing it off. “The last couple of weeks have been pretty rough—she’s stress crashing.”
“Ah, gotcha. Stress crashing does sound more like Zander.”
“Oh?” Callum asked with a smile. “Is this a pattern for her?” He closed the box and ticked a nod at the packing tape on the counter behind Cecily.
“Sort of,” she replied, handing him the tape. “I think it’s how she recalibrates after pushing through something hard.”
Callum chuckled. “Well, that seems reasonable,” he replied. “Maybe we should all take a lesson on stress crashing from Zander.”
“Or,” Cecily’s brows rose, “she could learn not to put so much damned pressure on herself so she doesn’t have to crash?”
Callum laughed. “Hey, her high expectations have served her pretty well, so far. Who are we to judge?” He peeled up the edge of the tape, stuck it to the side of the box, and stretched it long across the top, bracing himself through that horrible noise it made every time he did it.
Jeez, maybe he should wait to do the tape until Zander was awake. He’d remember that for the next one.
He pushed the box to Cecily who was ready and waiting with the marker to inscribe the top of the box with the same ornate font she’d used on all the others. It took less than a minute, but when she was done with it, the word ‘kitchen’ looked like it belonged on a wedding invitation.
Cecily capped the pen. “It’s all yours, ready for the moving truck pile. Can you believe there’s only five days left until you’re out of here?”
Callum’s chest gave a pang of ridiculous sadness as he hoisted the box and carried it to the living room where they’d been stacking all the packed boxes. The landlord was scheduled to do the final move-out walk-thru on Tuesday—which was less than three days away at this point.
“I’m not sure I’ve fully accepted it yet,” he joked.
He’d miss New Orleans—and he’d miss this house. It was hard to believe he and Scott were about to move out. They couldn’t stay here forever and the fact was, Zander deserved this new role she’d landed. It was closer to her family, and far away from the boss and co-workers she’d grown to hate so much over the last year. It just also meant it was really far away from New Orleans, and everything he and Scott had known as adults. But Zander and Cecily, even Zander’s mom, Nicole, were almost as much a part of Callum’s life now as Scott was—he and Scott both felt that way—so while the scenery would change, Callum found comfort knowing his connection to this new-found family wouldn’t. In fact, he hoped it just got better.
“It’ll be great,” Cecily said. “I, for one, am super stoked to have you all so close.”
Callum laughed. “You read my mind.” Now he needed to change the subject before things got too mushy. “Scott’s at the shop, yeah?”
Cecily nodded and backed up a step to let Callum by as he crossed back to the kitchen. “Today’s his last day taking clients, so he’s booked solid. He said he’d be home around nine.”
“Should we take bets now on how much past nine o’clock he’ll actually walk through the front door?” Callum joked.
“Over-under...two hours?” Cecily’s brows rose.
“I’ll take the over bet,” Callum replied, turning toward the cabinets once again.
“Perfect. Tomorrow’s coffee on over/under two hours past nine p.m.”
“You’re on,” Callum agreed. He took a box from the empty-pile and sat it where the last box had been. “Now on to plates!”
Cecily laughed again and joined him at the counter, bringing with her a refreshed stack of newspaper. “Oh, hey, I had an idea for my next post on the blog!”
“Oh, do tell.” Callum’s tone was joking, but his interest was real.
“So, I had a friend ask me to try to reach her father,” she said, then tacked on, “who’s dead.”
Callum chuckled. “I gathered as much.”
“Just going for clarity. Anyway, it was a pretty cool experience. So I started thinking—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Callum cut in. “You did it?”
“Yeah.” Cecily shrugged. “It took a little practice, but it wasn’t that hard.”
Callum had stopped with a plate in his hand when she started talking about directed contact—reaching out to an individual spirit. He stared at her for a moment.
Cecily never failed to amaze him with her ease and willingness. Even when he’d first met her, and when he first told her she was a medium—and explained that he was one, too—she’d barely blinked. Callum had never felt as easy about it as she seemed to, even as a kid. He’d never tried to learn more or tried to expand his ability. He’d never pushed the spiritual envelope, so to speak. But Cecily just took it all in stride with an air of curiosity and a bias toward action he’d never possessed.
Sometimes he wondered how much more knowledgeable he’d be about it all—his skills, the other side, the veil, all of it—if he’d had free reign to learn and grow with his abilities instead of hiding it and ignoring the spirits who talked at him.
It wasn’t exactly something he could indulge when he was a kid living in foster care. Back then, the name of the game had been blending in or being labeled and shipped out to a home that was “more equipped” to handle your “specific needs.”
It was cool to watch Cecily own it all, though. Not to mention pretty freaking cool to have a friend to talk to about it who could actually relate. A friend who was being talked at by the same spirits he was when they went out to grab a bite—or drove home from the airport, as it were.
“You seem mad,” she said, her tone wary.
He shook his head. “Not mad at all. Just surprised.”
She seemed relieved. “Okay. That’s good because, well, she told a mutual friend, and now that friend wants me to try to connect with her aunt. So I got to thinking, what if I record the session, and we post it on the blog? With her permission, of course. I think it’d get views.”
Callum laughed under his breath. “It’ll get views alright.” Likely crazy amounts of views. “But going viral isn’t a good enough reason to do it—not unless it’s something you’d want to do anyway. And even then...”
He finally started wrapping the plate he had in his hand as he continued over the sound of the crinkling paper. “We’re getting thousands of visitors per week at this point. Shit, if it really went viral, we’re talking millions of people seeing this video. And lots of those people will want you to connect with their loved ones.”
“So, we’ll make it a recurring topic!” she exclaimed.
“Do you want that?” he challenged, setting the wrapped plate into the box and reaching for another. “When you finish school and you’re looking for a new job, do you want prospective employers to know you talk to dead people? Or worse, have them not believe you talk to dead people?” His brain started really churning on the idea. They had an FAQ on the blog, and a couple of videos with voiceovers, but an honest-to-god video of her speaking to the dead felt a hundred times more exposed than all of that. “We use different names on the blog, just in case, but we can’t hide your face in a video. Not if we’re going to create any sort of credibility with the whole thing...” He stopped when he noticed Cecily staring right back, one brow raised, eyes cynical.
She shook her head and took a plate from the cabinet, breaking their eye contact. “Scott said you’d say that.”
She was stung. Callum hadn’t meant to be so negative. “Well, Scott knows me pretty well,” he said. “Look I’m not saying we shouldn’t do it. I just want to make sure we consider all the consequences. This could have a lot more impact on your life than writing some posts.”
Cecily tilted her head from side to side, her eyes toward the ceiling for a second like she was making a show of considering it. “BirdCall83 would be pretty pissed,” she said.
Callum tried to hide his smile. BirdCall83 was their loudest, most critical reader. They commented on almost everything he and Cecily posted. Sometimes their comments were neutral, once or twice they’d even been supportive, but most of the time, their comments were salty like the bottom of a bag of potato chips. That said, they were never impolite, never used foul language nor attacked he or Cecily personally. Honestly, it sounded like this person had some seriously deep understanding and was none-too-pleased that the two of them were sharing some trade secrets.
So Callum could only imagine how salty they’d get if Cecily posted a recording of her contacting a friend’s deceased loved one.
God, it was almost enough to make him want to do it!
Which probably meant it was a bad idea.
“They say don’t feed the trolls,” he admonished with no seriousness.
“They’re hardly a troll,” Cecily countered. “Besides, you know you want to.”
“It’s true,” he replied with a dramatic sigh. “Watching them go nuclear would be pretty sweet. But that doesn’t mean we should do it.”
“This sounds like way too serious a conversation for this early.”
Callum looked up in time to see Zander step around the door frame into the kitchen. Her dark hair was bedhead stylish, her tee faded and her denim shorts ripped, but what really registered was her smile—tired but more true than he’d seen from her in weeks. He put the plate he’d just wrapped into the box, then reached for her as she stepped toward him. He kissed her soft, pink lips.
“It’s after lunch,” Cecily remarked.
Zander gave a short laugh as she drew her lips away from Callum’s. “Ah. Only early to me then.”
“Well, this is your second morning of the day,” Callum reminded her. “Coffee?”
“Hell yes. But I want to go hit our coffee shop—limited chances left, ya know? You guys want a break?”
A break sounded perfect, Callum thought. He needed to think about Cecily’s recurring topic idea—and really flesh out his position on the whole thing. Because the last thing he wanted was to hurt his relationship with Zander’s sister.
