Chapter Two

 

Oh hell. Denton had plenty of experience with dead people, but none had ever initiated a conversation. Well, when in Rome…or whatever. There was only one thing to do.

He cleared his throat. "I'm Denton, and this is Bran. What's your name?"

"Will. What are you doing here? Are you Gene's friends?"

"Umm, yes, sure. We're here to see you, Will. Do you have a last name?"

Will froze. "Is that the doorbell?"

"No, I don't think—"

The ghost leapt up and bolted out of the room, with no concern for Denton and Bran being in the way. A nauseating chill passed through Denton. He saw Bran shudder. "Did you feel that?"

"Hell, yes."

They found Will standing in the middle of the living room, looking lost.

"Let me try this alone," Denton whispered to Bran, who nodded and stayed at the doorway.

Denton circled around Will to face him. He was the most well-defined ghost Denton had ever clapped eyes on. Denton could clearly make out his flared jeans and his retro-style yellow shirt with a wide collar. To top it off, through his partially see-through body Denton saw not the beige walls of their current surroundings but the loud patterns of old wallpaper.

Denton waved his hand. "Hey, Will. You okay?" As he seemed to have gotten the ghost's attention, he went on. "Who are you waiting for?"

"Gene. He should be here any moment."

"Gene who?"

"I should've gone to meet him, but he said not to bother."

Denton tried again. "Does Gene have a last name?"

Alas, Will was on his own track. "I always knew he'd come around. It's been three years, but he finally called. He said he was sorry, and he wanted to start over, do it right this time."

"Hey, Will, over here. What's your full name? What year is this?"

Will didn't even acknowledge him. Instead, he stared toward the entrance. "Is that the doorbell?"

Denton skipped to the side before Will could pass through him again. With inhuman speed, Will zapped to the door, but then stopped like a reverse vampire. Although, to the best of Denton's knowledge, the whole thing about vampires not being able to cross a threshold without invitation was hogwash.

Will drifted back to the middle of the room.

Denton chose a different approach. "Will, tell me about Gene. The two of you together."

This proved to be the right thing to say. Will turned, although it was hard to tell if his eyes looked at or through Denton. "We said such terrible things to each other last time. I called him a fake and a liar. He…he said things too. But I always know he couldn't deny what he was, what we were for each other." He darted to the window and lifted the blinds that weren't there. "He should be here by now. What could be keeping him?"

At a loss, Denton decided to try honesty. "You're dead and have been for a while. Whoever Gene is, I don't think he'll come. You'd be better off going yourself. I can help."

Will didn't seem to have heard a word. "Is that the doorbell?"

Denton sighed. He got ready to blast the ghost for good, but before he could, Will shot off toward the bathroom. Denton and Bran followed but found the room empty. They could hear water filling the tub, although it was still bone dry. Denton touched its edge like he'd done before, but nothing happened. Will didn't manifest again.

Denton turned to Bran, who kept glaring at the tub. "You saw him too, right?"

"Bright as day, and if I did, so would anyone else. This is not good."

"I know. What do we do now?"

"We go home and regroup."

Bran stayed far too quiet even for him during the whole trip. At home, they wordlessly parted to their own apartments. Denton tried to work on the website, but he couldn't concentrate. Finally, he gave up and went over to Bran's. He found Bran, nose buried in the tome they'd been using for his necromancer training.

"Found anything useful?" he asked.

"Not really. There's a lot here about summoning a spirit, but you didn't exactly. You made it more visible." Irritation abraded Bran's words. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I wasn't. I felt sorry for the guy. You could feel his misery too, couldn't you?"

Bran slammed the book closed. "That's not the point. We were there for a purpose—get rid of a spirit, not bring it more into this realm."

"Well, sorry. Shit happens."

Bran clenched his jaws and said nothing. Denton didn't understand his mood. "Okay, so I improvised. If everything else fails, they make the place into a sideshow. It would rake in the money."

The joke didn't go over well at all. "We go back tomorrow and smudge the condo the old-fashioned way. I don't want you to be doing any improvising," Bran said in an and-that's-final voice and walked out of the room.

"Don't you even wonder who Gene was?" Denton shouted after him.

"No."

Denton threw himself onto the sofa. He opened the book but couldn't read a single word, and the convoluted illustrations only made him more frustrated. A firm nudge in his ribs alerted him of Murry's presence. The cat rubbed his face against Denton's abs and kneaded Denton's thighs with his front paws.

"Watch those nails," Denton warned him.

Murry purred louder than a small airplane engine, and it resonated through his whole body, into Denton's fingers digging into his fur. He was definitely a bit plump, but it felt good to the touch. After about ten minutes of furry love-fest, Denton felt much better.

"I'll go check on Mr. Grumpy," he said, transferring Murry from his lap to the cushions. Murry lifted a leg to give his privates a bath.

Denton found Bran in the kitchen working on dinner. He was still annoyed, Denton could tell. He didn't bang pots and pans, like ordinary people would. No, his movements were measured and precise. Everything under control.

Denton watched the taut lines of his back before speaking up. "What's cooking?"

"Herbed chicken breast with rice and salad," Bran replied without turning from the stove.

He enjoyed cooking and was good at it too. Unsurprisingly, he excelled at the use of fresh herbs. There was a pile of them now on the counter, waiting to be chopped.

"Need help?" Denton asked.

"I'm fine."

Crabby pants. Denton preferred dealing with trouble head-on. "You know, you can just shout at me, if it makes you feel any better."

That got Bran's attention. He turned. "Shout?"

Denton shrugged. "Yeah, sure. We scream at each other for a couple of minutes, then go back to normal. I'm still not clear what got you so worked up, but you have to let the pressure out somehow. Bottling it up won't do you much good. One day you'll blow like Mount St. Helens."

Denton must've hit a nerve, because Bran cast his eyes down. "I suppose you have a point. But I don't want to scream at you."

"All right. What if I give you a blowjob, then? Since we're on the subject of blowing already."

"What?" Bran snapped his eyes up.

Denton waggled his studded brow suggestively. Causing bewilderment was the first part of his plan to diffuse Bran's mood. "Orgasm are proven to relieve stress. So, how about it? I blow you, we eat, and then you blow me?" It was a good plan. He thought so, at any rate.

At long last, the storm clouds lifted from Bran's face. "Okay."

Denton stepped right up and reached for Bran's belt.

"Wait! The rice," Bran protested.

"The rice will be fine."

***

The rice got mushy, but they happily ate it anyway. After Bran returned the favor, they fell asleep in his bed. Denton hardly spent any time in his own these nights, and that was fine with him. He preferred drifting off next to a warm body and waking up huddled behind his lover, Bran's tail resting between his thighs. On this fine morning, said appendage gave Denton all kinds of naughty ideas, but his bladder had others. He slipped out from under the covers and made a beeline for the bathroom.

On his way back to bed, he noticed something seriously amiss in the living room. The dark-haired woman sitting in one of the chairs definitely hadn't been there the night before. As she watched him with unconcealed interest, Denton couldn't tell if her presence or his own nakedness perturbed him more. Possibly the combination of the two. He retreated into the bedroom and shook Bran by the shoulders. He got a sleepy grumble in response.

Denton shook him again. "Wake up. There's a strange woman in your living room."

Bran cracked his eyes open. "What does she look like?" he asked in a voice thick with sleep and wariness but not shock.

Denton recalled her image. "Lots of dark hair. Attractive but not too young." From that brief look, Denton guessed her age at late thirties, maybe well-preserved forties. "She's wearing a green dress."

Bran rubbed his eyes and groaned. "Oh, great." He rolled out of bed and threw on his jeans and a clean shirt.

Denton followed suit. He half expected the woman to be gone, but when they got to the living room door, she still sat there, exactly as before.

"Where?" Bran asked.

"Right there, in the chair. Can't you see her?"

Bran let out a sigh. "Mother, you can stop it now. He can see you. I told you he would."

She did a weird flickering thing and hopped up. "You did, honey, but I had to test it for myself." She strolled up and turned her eyes on Denton. They were almost as dark as Bran's. "Denton, right? Bran told me about you. Not a lot, mind you. I have to pull the words out of him with pliers sometimes."

"You don't look old enough to be Bran's mom." The words tumbled out of his mouth.

Her face broke out in a wide smile, and she patted his cheeks. "You're sweet. Bran told me you were."

"I said he had a sweet tooth," Bran interjected.

"Pish-posh. You look like a nice young man, Denton, even with those things in your face. It's fashionable among youth these days, I know. Oh well, it'll pass. It's nice to meet you at last."

"It's nice to meet you too, Mrs. Maurell."

"It's Ms. I never married. But call me Layla."

"What was the flickering thing you did?" Denton recalled Bran doing it once, back around the time they'd first met.

"Invisibility spell, but it didn't fool you. I've heard this about necromancers, but I've only met one once before, long time ago when I was a young girl. He was quite a character."

"Mother, you could've let me know me you were coming to visit," Bran said.

"I could've, but it would've ruined the surprise." She circled her arms around Bran and planted a kiss on his cheek. "The food on the plane was ghastly. Would you mind whipping up one of those herb omelets you do so well?" she asked, releasing him. "Denton and I will chat out on the balcony, right, Denton?"

"Umm, okay."

"You better put on shoes and a sweater, hon. You're awful skinny. Do you eat right?"

"It's my metabolism."

Denton put on some more clothing to insulate himself, and then he and Layla settled into a couple of patio chairs. Over to their left, the blasted pigeons were congregating on Denton's fire escape, as usual.

Layla took in the gray skies. "So gloomy. In California, you get used to the constant sunshine. After a while, you take it for granted."

"Do you come back often?"

She shook her head. "I hate flying. It's so depressing—a bunch of irritable strangers stuffed together like sardines in a can. And to think it used to be glamorous. I'm trying to convince Bran to visit me instead. I'm only here now because one of my old clients needs my help. He's in the middle of arranging a business merger, but something's fishy."

Apropos, fishy. "We found the spell under the bed." Denton expected a guilty reaction but was disappointed.

"You did? When?"

"A few days ago."

"Very good. You don't need it anymore. It was one tricky piece of witchcraft, I can tell you. I had to ask Bran's father to help. Mal can be such a hard case—I'm afraid Bran inherited his stubbornness—but he understood the necessity once I properly explained it to him."

"Are you saying Bran and I like each other only because you cast some spell?" Denton heard the aggravated rasp in his own voice, but he couldn't help it.

Layla laughed, and startled pigeons threw themselves into the air. "Not at all, honey. I don't do those sort of love charms, and I tell my clients too—those might work for a while, but if you're not a good match, all the magic in the world won't keep you together. They don't much like hearing it, but tough."

"Okay, I'm lost. What did you cast?"

"Oh, a little something I've learned from my grandmother—part love spell, part summoning. Its purpose is to attract a person's perfect mate."

"No offense, Ms. Maurell, but—"

"Layla."

As she smiled, Denton saw the spider webs of age around her eyes, but she still looked far too young. She had to be in her fifties at least. Must be magic.

"Ehrm…Layla, I have a hard time believing you can simply conjure up somebody's soul mate."

She gave her a pitying look. "You ever wonder how convenient it was for you and Bran to meet, considering your talents and peculiarities that you can't share with other people?"

"It only means we're a good professional match."

"Well, there's more to it, isn't it? I saw you earlier in each other's arms. Sleeping bodies don't lie."

Denton flushed hot from his chest to the tips of his ears. Not only had Bran's mother had seen him naked, but she'd seen them in bed together. Suddenly he understood Bran's exasperation.

Unperturbed by Denton's embarrassment, she chattered on. "I don't believe there's only one soul mate for each of us, but for boys like you and Bran who are more unique, it can be hard to find a compatible partner. And, of course, with Bran's refusal to even try, it was never going to happen. I had to do something. I couldn't let him spend his whole life alone just because of one bad experience."

Denton's curiosity perked up. "Bad experience?"

Layla leaned closer and lowered her voice. "He got involved with an older man when he was very young and impressionable. I could've told him a thirty-year-old had no business sniffing around a sixteen-year-old, but teenage boys don't talk to their mothers. Things got ugly when this man humiliated Bran in public."

"I killed him," Bran said from the doorway, making them both jump a little. They turned to see him there, hands on hips. "And whatever faults Peter had, he didn't deserve that."

Layla recovered faster. "Honey, you're exaggerating. You didn't kill him."

"I turned him into a frog."

Denton's jaw dropped. "You did what?"

A shadow of pain or guilt, or possibly both, flickered across Bran's face. "I tried to catch him, but he hopped away, straight into the pond."

Layla clearly had no sympathy for this Peter person. "He deserved it, if you ask me. What kind of a man calls a young boy a freak, especially in front of strangers? At any rate, it's not the same as killing him."

"He's probably been eaten by an animal or run over by a car by now."

"Those count as natural causes for a frog. It all happened fourteen years ago. Peter probably lived a far more fulfilling, not to mention useful life as an amphibian. The Lily Pond at Lincoln Park is the perfect place for it."

"You don't know that for sure."

Her voice grew sharper. "And you don't know otherwise. You were going to live your entire life like a hermit because of one little mishap. It's not healthy. And neither is suppressing your talents."

Bran's jaw set stubbornly. "Breakfast is getting cold."

He marched inside, and they followed him. The tranquility of clattering china and silverware settled over them for a few minutes. Denton shoveled heaps of the omelet into his mouth while also chewing on the fresh information. It wasn't every day you found out your lover could…what was the word they used in the Harry Potter books? Oh yeah, transfigure another person. Pretty cool.

Curiosity got the best of him. "How did you do it?"

Bran kept his eye on his plate and remained silent, so Layla filled in the void. "Spontaneous spell throwing is not uncommon for a young witch. When I was thirteen, I made it snow inside our apartment once. You should've seen my mother's face! Puberty is a difficult phase, but once your hormones and talents balance out, these things don't happen anymore. It's no reason to completely suppress your natural abilities." She put a strong emphasis on her words.

They weren't lost on Bran. "Mother, you've always overestimated my so-called abilities. They are as random and pointless as your moments of clairvoyance. I mean, honestly, what use was it to know Mrs. Samadis would cook lamb on a certain night? They cooked lamb at least once a week."

She let out a sigh. "Mrs. Samadis was very hospitable and an excellent cook. She also liked her and her husband's fortune being read. Bran, honey, you have the gift, like it or not. It's flowing out of your every pore. Do you think that jungle there is an accident?" She gestured toward the windows and the profusion of greenery surrounding them. "The best gardener can't grow them so healthy and abundant."

"Maybe I should get a job at the botanical garden."

Her fork clattered to the plate. "You're as stubborn as a mule." She turned to Denton. "How about you? Are you mastering your skill yet?"

"Umm… I made a ghost more corporeal instead of banishing it."

Her eyes lit up. "Really? How interesting. Visible to the naked eye?"

"Bran could see it. And we had a conversation. Sort of. Will's a bit of a broken record, responds to some questions but then goes off on his own tangent, and it's like talking to a wall. One thing's certain, he's fixated on someone called Gene—he's waiting for the guy."

She nodded. "That makes sense. Even more visible, it's a spirit shadow, not a complete person. Obsession tends to stick around the most. What do you plan to do about it?"

"I'll smudge it," Bran said.

"I doubt you can. Sounds too strong for it now."

Bran sighed. "Well, then Denton can expel it. He's done it a few times before."

She hummed in a tone expressing doubt.

"What's wrong with that plan?" Bran asked.

"I'm not convinced it'll work either, with Denton not fully in charge of his skills. And if you're not careful, you might make the situation worse."

Bran threw up his hands. "What are we supposed to do, then?"

"Well, spirits stick around for all sorts of reasons. Sometimes because they have unfinished business. If you help them find closure, they'll leave on their own. At least that's what my grandmother told me."

Bran's gloomy expression showed he didn't much like hearing her advice.

Layla pushed her chair back. "I'm sorry, Denton, for dragging you into our family drama. Please, be patient with my son. He means well."

Denton grinned back at her. "You got it, Layla."

"Good. I have to go. Behave yourselves, kids, and Bran, I want to spend some time with both of you before flying back to LA."

"Yes, Mother."