Breakfast came at seven a.m. Whether I liked it or not. A paper-thin voice just loud enough to tease me out of sleep notified me of that at exactly five till the hour. “Wakey wakey,” they whispered, still no visible sign of him but his voice close to my ear. “Breakfast is about on the table, and I bet you’re hungry. You had a shit day yesterday.” He sounded almost sympathetic, at least as much as someone can while being, you know, dead and also whispering.
I groaned and rolled onto my back. It took a moment for me to realize it wasn’t Ezra I was hearing, but someone who wasn’t there, not in the flesh. “Why can I hear you and no one else?” I complained, so groggy I wanted to cry a little. The weird, muffled feeling I’d been dragging for days was persisting “And why are you whispering? No one else can hear you.” Hell, I was verging on shocked that I could, but I wasn’t going to let on.
He snorted softly. “You’d like to think so, huh? But get up, get up, get up,” he sing-songed in that raspy whisper. “You’re gonna need food in your belly to deal with the bullshit comin’.”
“What do you mean?”
He was quiet for a long time, but his presence was there, pressing against the thick, muffled wall around me, waiting. “Mason Albright’s all het up,” he finally said. “He’s angry and he… he wants to hurt someone.”
Ezra shifted on his bed and cursed under his breath. With a soft swear of his own, my new ghost-friend disappeared. The sudden lack of his presence left me feeling weirdly bereft. Not being able to use my abilities as usual was like missing a vital part of myself. These little visits from my new friend were teasing me, I thought bitterly. Reminding me of what I was unable to do and making me feel less-than in ways I had never imagined possible.
Ezra got up and started dressing, talking under his breath as he looked for his clean clothes and disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes for morning necessities. For a few moments I thought I could burrito myself in the quilt and doze, miss breakfast entirely, and let them get me when CeCe arrived, but Ezra had food on his mind.
“Come on, I’m starving,” Ezra moaned, pulling on my arm until I sat up. I hadn’t really gone back to sleep after his episode, not entirely. I’d drowsed, ears keen for any sound that was outside of the normal. The footsteps, the laughter, none of it came back. I couldn’t shake the watched feeling, though, or the unsettled feeling being unable to sense any ghosts was giving me.
“Gimme a minute,” I mumbled, rummaging for a change of clothes. The bathroom door was shut, so I assumed Julian was in there doing his morning routine, having slipped in there after Ezra, which somehow always took forever but ended with him smelling really good and his face being super smooth and… well. I’d save my thoughts on what I liked to do with him first thing in the morning for later. After we were in a hotel room with a door between us and Ezra. Finally dressed, I met Ezra in the sitting area.
“You’re wearing that?” he asked, checking out my skinny jeans and deep red cut-away velvet frock coat. “Aren’t you going to sweat to death?”
“I never have before.” Doing a little spin to show off the way the tails flared, I gestured to the bathroom. “Once he’s out, we can get going.”
“Oh. He left like half an hour ago,” Ezra said, brows drawing down. “I thought you heard him?”
Oh. “Well. No use waiting around then. I hope they have tea.”
Ezra inhaled as if he wanted to say something, but thought better of it, grabbing his overnight bag from the coffee table and opening the door to wave me through first.
“How are you this morning?” I asked as he slogged through dew-damp grass and surprisingly slippery mud on the way to the main house. The space where the massive tent had been set up the night before was empty, the grass and mud churned up as the only evidence it had ever existed. It made the space seem strangely lopsided, the huge house on one side but nothing more than kicked up dirt and divots of grass where the party had been. “After that incident last night—”
“I’m glad he didn’t wait for us,” Ezra blurted. “I know it sucks, and it hurts your feelings and whatever is going with the two of you isn’t as subtle as you think because I can absolutely see how you’re both trying your damnedest to fuck this up before it even gets going, but I need to talk to you and if him going off in a snit this morning because something crawled up his arse last night is what it takes to get you alone for a minute, then I’m sorry but I’ll take it.”
I stared at Ezra. “Feel better?”
He nodded. “A bit, yes.”
“So, what is it you wanted to talk about?”
“You’re going to ignore the rest of that? Seriously?”
“It depends,” I shrugged. “Is that what you wanted to talk about and you’re suddenly terrible at lead-ins, or is it something else and you’re trying to avoid the topic and hope I pick an argument about what you said regarding Julian and me?”
“The former.”
“Well. How about if I promise to be in a snit later, then?”
“Okay. That works.” He closed the distance between us by another few steps and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I think… I don’t think I’m alone.”
“Um. You’re demonstrably not,” I hedged, though a sinking feeling had opened in my gut and was rapidly becoming a whirlpool of anxiety.
“You know that’s not what I mean, damn it. When we stopped last night, out on the road… I felt strange. Julian did too. I could tell. He got all spacey while the two of you were talking, didn’t he?” When I nodded, Ezra made a satisfied little sound. “I can’t explain it but it’s like… like a buzzing in my head. And I don’t feel like it’s mine.”
“Ezra,” I said softly, “are you saying you’re… possessed?”
He barked a laugh. “No! Oh my god, how awful would that be? I’m saying… I’m saying…” he flapped one hand at the house, at the world around us. “I’m saying this place is strange, and something is happening. I was fine until the car crapped out, but now I feel so weird, Oz. I don’t feel like myself anymore.”
I nodded. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to talk to CeCe—”
“No, Oz, listen—”
“No, you listen. Watching you last night, hearing you this morning… Something is wrong, Ez, and I’m not going to trip along blithely like it’s not. Your health is not worth it. This show is nothing compared to making sure you’re alright. Either CeCe will get that, or we’ll have to break our contract.”
“Oz,” he groaned, “it’s not that bad…”
“Don’t lie to me. Don’t pretend like you’re not scared, Ezra.”
A low buzzing rumble came from somewhere to my right, growing louder by the second. Ezra sighed. “Company.”
“I’m talking to CeCe when she gets here,” I muttered. “I love you, you twat.”
A shadow of his usual smile creased his lips. “I’m the only twat you love, you giant—”
“Hey!” An ATV stopped yards away from us and a teenage boy swung off the seat, his grin so wide it must’ve hurt most of the muscles in his face. “You’re really you! Oh my god!”
“You must be Enoch,” I said, forcing my own smile. Beside me, Ezra made a choked chuckling sound, and I stepped on his toes to shut him up.
It didn’t work.
Enoch approached rapidly, on legs so long I wondered how he could possibly move without tripping over himself. Sticking one hand out, he introduced himself. “Enoch Carstairs. My Pops owns this place,” he said, gesturing with his free hand as he pumped mine hard with his other one. “I heard y’all were here and—” his grin faded a bit. “Well, I overheard y’all were here and figured I’d come out to make sure y’all knew breakfast was on. We’re having some horses delivered today, and I was supposed to go help at the stables, but I wanted to… to…” His face flushed a deep pink. and he did that awkward teenager-facing-a-person-they-like shuffle that would’ve made me tilt my head and say awww, bless if it wasn’t directed at me.
I don’t do awkward well, unless it’s Julian. And he’s a special case.
“Thank you,” Ezra said, cutting off his slow slide into awkward flailing. “We were just heading up to the main house. Have you eaten?”
Enoch shook his head. “I was out feeding the cows and just heading back.”
Ezra shot me a look. Yep, I could see it, Enoch seized the opportunity to come talk to us—to me—while his family thought he was better occupied with chores. I wouldn’t have been surprised, as egotistical as it sounded, to find out he had rushed through the feeding to make sure he had a few minutes to stop by and catch us before we were surrounded by the buffer of his family. “Well, we’ll follow you up to the house then,” I said brightly.
Enoch glanced at the ATV and for a horrible moment I thought he was going to offer to let me ride pillion. Instead, he nodded, and his smile came back full force. “Sure. Hey, um, before y’all leave… can I talk with you? I have some questions about what you do and—”
“Enoch James Carstairs!” Mrs. Carstairs’ voice carried in the still morning air, that distinct parental tone making even Ezra and I straighten guiltily, as if we had been the ones sneaking to bother guests.
“Shit,” Enoch sighed. “See y’all up there.” He waved at the figure standing on the side yard between the bunkhouse and the main house. “Coming, MeMaw!”
Ezra and I exchanged glances and started up the slope towards the house and the waiting Mr. Carstairs. “Fanboy or something else?” I asked quietly.
“Bit of both, I think. A dose of fanboy, a dash of teenage crush, a serving of desperate curiosity, and likely a touch of being a sensitive himself.” We were nearing the house and Ezra slowed his steps again. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m getting a definite not-great feeling. Not related to whatever happened last night,” he added hastily. “Something else.”
I nodded. “This place has a strange vibe to it, alright. I keep getting a feeling there’s someone trying to break through and talk or at least initiate contact, but it’s like a terrible connection. A laugh or two, the watched feeling.” I hesitated for a moment before adding, “Early this morning, a ghost woke me up.”
Ezra stopped mid-step and turned with an expression of excitement blooming on his features. “Oz! That’s great!”
“I mean, yeah, for sure but…” I shook my head. “It was weird. That smothered feeling hasn’t gone away, and the visit wasn’t like my usual experiences.”
“Maybe it’s just the type of ghost this one is. You’ve talked before about how there seem to be different sorts. We’re in a whole new country,” he grinned. “New types of ghosts, too. You know how Americans are—can’t drive on the proper side of the road, smother everything in ketchup, have weird ghosts.”
I snorted and we resumed walking. “I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but it didn’t feel like a ghost feels for me. Hell, I thought it was you whispering to me before my brain kicked into gear and I realized what was going on.” I trailed off. Another few steps and Carstairs would be able to overhear us. “This is a strange place, Ez. Something’s going on that feels wrong on several levels and I’m going to be try to charm it out of Carstairs over breakfast.”
Ezra nodded. “Unless Julian’s managed to already?”
Both of us were still laughing over that when we reached Mr. Carstairs.
Breakfast was a bit of a spread, though not as huge as the night before. Mr. Carstairs, Enoch, a woman they both called MeMaw but I found out was Mr. Carstairs’ mother, Yancy, and a grim looking man named Gerald—who was apparently the sole ranch hand still on the payroll—were moving around the kitchen in a complicated ballet of familiarity and speed, going between the counter and the table and back again, occasionally breaking off to swing by the fridge or stove. Julian was pressed into a corner, clutching a mug of coffee and doing his best to phase through the wall and into the other room which seemed to be empty. “Morning,” I murmured, scooting in close beside him. He didn’t flinch away, but he didn’t lean into me either. “Alright, darling?”
His quick glance up at the Carstairs family before he leaned slightly against my side told me an entire saga. “Ah,” I sighed. “Okay then.”
“Not okay,” he grumbled. “It’s stupid.”
“We’ve all got our hang ups,” I said. “What’s in your cup?”
“They said coffee, but I’m pretty sure it’s laced with rocket fuel.”
Ezra made a happy sound and headed for the silver kettle on the stove. “Ez,” I called, “are you sure—” The look he sent me quelled the rest of that question. Do not stand between him and his tea.
“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Julian assured me quietly. “Um, sorry I slipped out this morning.” He pressed against me a little more overtly. Not quite a hug, but in the same arena. “I wanted to see if there were footprints outside from last night.”
“And?” I watched Ezra pour himself a cup of tea and turn to answer a question from Yancy, something about England I didn’t quite catch all of. Gerald, with his dour expression and hunched shoulders, lurked like a particularly annoyed gargoyle at the end of the kitchen bar, glowering at everyone but especially me. When his dark gaze found me, a slick-oily shiver ran down my back and pooled at the base of my spine, a gross wave of queasy awareness shuddering through me.
Something was off about him, something I couldn’t name…
He wants what’s his popped into my thoughts, though it wasn’t a memory or even a ghost. It was sheer awareness. Gerald met my gaze and his scowl deepened, forcing me to look away.
“And there weren’t any,” Julian was saying. “Just ours from coming and going last night. I even checked to see if there was a way someone had smoothed them out to cover their tracks, but the ground and gravel were undisturbed. No signs of steps or smoothing.” He took a sip of his coffee and frowned bitterly. “I didn’t check the roof, though…”
“I appreciate your commitment to accurate skepticism, but you know damn well the steps weren’t coming from overhead.”
He nodded, glum. “I know, I know…” A soft buzzing came from the breast pocket of his shirt, and he peeked inside. “Shit. CeCe. This is going to be her saying she’s running late.” He slipped the phone out and, after the briefest hesitation, brushed a kiss over my cheek and headed for the front door to step outside and have some privacy.
“Have some toast,” Ezra called, and I realized breakfast was officially fully underway. Yancy and Enoch were crowded around the kitchen island while the older adults had taken seats at the butcher-block table. “Here,” he added, holding up a plain white mug. “Mrs. Carstairs has quite the tea stash.”
She smiled, her softly wrinkled face pinking as she turned it up towards me. “Coffee’s fine when you need a boost, but there’s nothing like a nice cup of tea, is there? I told your friend y’all are welcome to whatever bags you’d like. I had some nice loose-leaf but ran out a few days ago. If I’d have known I was having other tea drinkers over, I’d have made sure to add it to the list for Yancy to pick up in Austin! The grocery in town is fine if you like plain black tea or just want the fixings for sweet tea, but anything else, you have to go farther afield.” She shook her head mournfully. “I keep meaning to place an order with the store manager, but by the time I get hold of him on my weekly shops, I’ve forgotten.”
“You know, MeMaw,” Enoch offered, “you could just order it online from the retailer directly. I can show you how—”
“Enoch Carstairs, I know how to use the internet. I’m not a Luddite. I just prefer it from the store. Something about tea being mailed just makes it taste wrong.” She shrugged. “Besides, if I order it in the huge quantity the supplier requires for a shipment, it’s not as special. I’d end up drinking it all the time and then it wouldn’t be my little treat. Or my guest tea!”
“I’ll make sure it’s a standing order, MeMaw,” Yancy promised before shoveling a large bite of what looked to be white sauce and bread into his mouth.
Enoch muttered something dire and angsty under his breath, focusing on his own plate with its pile of food. Beside him, Yancy elbowed him in the ribs and shot him a glare that had him apologizing to his grandmother in wounded tones.
Beside me, Ezra hovered into view, breaking the awkward tension of the moment. “I’ve been assured it’s delicious,” Ezra informed me, handing me a plate filled with the same stuff the Carstairs were eating: the flattened looking American-style biscuit, white gravy, and a side of something porridge-y, studded with what looked to be chunks of sausage and even more sauce. It was possibly more carbohydrates in one spot than I’d seen in my entire life. “I’d also have a cup of coffee after unless you want that blocking up the pipes for the foreseeable.”
I rolled my eyes. “Charming, you are.” We found space at the table, Ezra tucked between Mrs. Carstairs and Gerald, and me between Mr. Carstairs and the wall. “Thank you again for allowing us to stay, Mr. Carstairs,” I began.
He waved me off. “It wasn’t a hardship. And…” he glanced up at his mother, who nodded once, very small and tight. “And frankly, it’s not entirely altruistic.”
Enoch had gone very still, his spoon poised halfway to his mouth and dripping the meat porridge goop. Fear was writ large in his eyes, wide and staring at us at the table. “Pops…” he whispered. Beside him, Yancy made an abrupt movement that knocked into Enoch’s arm and sent the spoonful of food splattering back into the plate and Enoch’s shirt. His thin cheeks turned dark pink in embarrassment, and he ducked his face, but he didn’t get up from his seat. “Pops,” he tried again, “I told you…”
Mr. Carstairs cleared his throat. Beside Ezra, Gerald was determinedly cutting his food into small, starchy bites with a machine-like determination, not looking up or slowing down. I wondered how small he was intending to make those bites, or if we’d end this encounter with a plate full of microscopic bits of food in a neat stack on his plate. “You already know we’re well aware of who you are,” Carstairs began. “And… well, I might have been a bit less than honest about that. We let you think it was just Enoch who was a fan. All of us here,” he gestured to his family and Gerald, “we’ve been following your work since you had your little show online.”
Ezra met my wide gaze with one of his own. This was officially entering creepy territory. “I… I’m glad you’ve enjoyed our work,” I said carefully. “Might I ask where this is going?”
Carstairs nodded. “Well. It’s like this… We all here, we know ghosts are real. We know all about Mason Albright walking the land and waiting for his chance to go. Hell, he’s called the Wandering Ghoul around here—so many folks have seen him, usually right around when someone dies. We know all about the Tonkawa that are down by the crick and the murdered lady at the motor court.”
Gerald dropped his cutlery and glared at Carstairs. “David,” he growled, “ease up.” He turned his hooded glare in my direction and added, “Deb Carstairs had been missing a bit over a year now. It’s been pretty much radio silence from the local authorities, but people think… Well, they think the worst might’ve happened. He wants to find out what happened to her.”
“She’s not dead,” Enoch shouted, bursting to his feet like a flock of startled birds in motion. “She’s not dead! She’s just hiding!” He slammed his hands flat against the island and made a strangled, wet sound in his throat. “She’s not dead, Pops! Stop saying that!” Enoch choked on a sob, flinging himself away from the kitchen bar where he’d been perched on and running for the front door.
No one called out to stop him, even though he’d left a mess of cold, glopping food splattered across the island and onto the floor. Yancy sighed and closed his eyes. “I’ll go.”
“Let him cry,” Carstairs barked. “He’s too old for coddling.”
Yancy’s jaw tensed and something like anger flashed in his expression. “You don’t need to be cruel, Pops. He’s still a kid.”
“And he’s gonna stay that way if he doesn’t start owning up to what happened!”
Gerald growled a string of curse words, shoving away from the table and grabbing his plate and mug. He stalked to the sink and started scraping detritus off into the sink, running the disposal as we all sat in awkward quiet until he was done. “Enoch’s a child, David. A child. She ain’t been gone that long, not to him.” He swept a sour look over the room, lingering on me for a moment, before striding off in the same direction Enoch had fled.
“Is he gonna go after him?” Yancy muttered. “Christ. I’d better…” he made a helpless gesture at his food. “I’ll be right back.”
Mrs. Carstairs got to her feet and started clearing the food away—I was distantly surprised to see it was almost all gone, the Carstairs and their ranch hand having consumed it like so many locusts. Carstairs himself rested his head against his doubled fists on the table, a man grieving, and took a shuddering breath.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you if she’s moved on or not,” I murmured. “Sometimes, even if a ghost is still around, they don’t want to speak with me. Is there a particular reason you think she might be lingering?”
Carstairs lifted his face. “She was murdered. I always thought… I’d been told murdered haunts, they stay behind. They want justice or some such.” At the stove, Mrs. Carstairs clattered some pots and pans. It felt needlessly loud, like she was trying to interrupt. Sure enough, she shot a glare over her shoulder that felt at odds with her cherubic round face. Carstairs ignored her or seemed to. “The problem is. The problem is…”
“Oh, for land’s sake,” Mrs. Carstairs muttered. “She’s not the only one. She was murdered and Dewayne Hicks did it. We just want her body back, but he topped himself last year before we could find out where she’s buried!”