Home > Sin & Chocolate (Demigod of San Francisco #1)(12)

Sin & Chocolate (Demigod of San Francisco #1)(12)
Author: K.F. Breene

“From a Ghost Whisperer, like yourself. Her services were a gift. A passing amusement.”

“But she heard the voice of your mother.”

A familiar heaviness pressed on his chest. Though he’d asked Zorn to explain the situation to her before setting up the meeting, hearing a stranger talk about something so personal sent shock waves of unease racing through him. He maintained focus so as not to accidentally lash out.

“Yes,” he said.

Clare took her hand back from the tarot deck and reached with her other hand before lightly resting her two fingers on the second bell. “You believe she is trapped in this world?”

“That is what I have been told, yes.” Told by a handful of Ghost Whisperers, plus one Necromancer who’d felt her, but hadn’t been able to summon her spirit.

Clare’s brow lowered and she touched the third bell. “Hmm,” she said, her eyes losing focus. “And you want to help her cross over?”

“Yes.” A wave of sadness threatened to drag him under. He struggled to the surface, and a strange tingling sensation crawled into his shoulder and through his middle. “I want her to finally be at peace.”

“Yes, I see.” Clare picked up the last bell of four before jerking it. The toll pealed through the room, crawling up his spine. She set the bell down before picking up the first bell. This time, she held it daintily before gently moving it side to side, the toll higher and slow.

Kieran tried to ease his stiffness. Tried to stop the flutter of hope in his belly that this woman, unlike all the others, would have answers. That she’d be able to help his mother find peace, once and for all.

“Let’s see…” Clare picked up the tarot, movements slow. Dramatized. She shuffled them, a highly practiced movement, before laying them out in a cross-like pattern. “Now…”

One by one she read the cards, mostly mumbling. She asked him a few questions along the way, and stopped often, tilting her head and listening. Halfway through, she stopped what she was doing altogether.

“She’s here,” Clare finally said, putting her finger up. “She is…speaking…” Her voice dipped lower, and each word took on a different lilt. “Live…happy…”

Kieran’s heart stopped. Only one other Ghost Whisperer had been able to replicate his mother’s tone and way of speaking—the first one he’d sat with. The way she’d mimicked his mother’s speech had convinced him. And now, those two simple words were enough to confirm his mother was trapped in the world of the living, and moreover, she was in the room with him right then.

“Go…life…the place…” Clare moved from side to side, lightly shaking her head. “She wants you to live your life in peace. She’s happy here. She wants you to be happy, too.”

He sat forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “Are you sure? Because the first Ghost Whisperer—”

Clare held up a hand. “Find…the place—there’s the place again—life…peace.” She kept swaying from side to side. “Hmmm. I feel… I feel…” She shook the third bell three times, filling the room with sound. “Find the place. It must be the place where her skin is kept. And life… That could be ‘live.’ Live in peace.”

She was guessing, Kieran could tell. She was one of the better Ghost Whisperers he’d sat with, but she wasn’t as good as the first one he’d met. And she hadn’t been able to tell him all he needed to know.

Clare’s eyes fluttered open. “She is coming through very strongly,” she said, before slightly bending to her right side. She came back with a small silver tape recorder. “Let’s try the EVP recorder and see what we find.”

Kieran’s heart sank as quickly as his hope. This was exactly the same road he’d been down all those other times, and like those other times, he foresaw nothing useful would come of it. If his mother was indeed trapped here, he had no way to break her free. His failure meant her continued suffering.

Just like when she’d been alive.

9

Alexis

Something I couldn’t identify dragged me out of a deep sleep. I looked around my small room. The closed curtains hung placidly, lit from behind by a streetlight that barely cast its glow over the backyard fence. No shadows interrupted the plane, indicating there were no trespassers outside my window.

Frigid air caressed my face, but there was no draft to hint at an open door. The shadows lay as they normally did, a murky soup collecting in the corners and draping my furniture.

I took a deep breath. I’d probably been awakened by some nightmare I couldn’t remember. My mind had been playing tricks on me all evening. Every little noise jarred me; every shadow falling across the windows had me looking more closely.

But everything was as it should be in my room. All of it. If the stranger had come back tonight, he wasn’t peeping in the windows.

A wet, barking cough shattered the silence. As it was ending, another vibrated through the walls.

My heart lurched, and I jumped out of bed. My door burst open a moment later.

Huge, fearful eyes adorned Daisy’s thin face.

“Something’s wrong,” she said, emotion choking her voice. “He won’t wake up. He just keeps coughing.”

Chest tight, I wrapped a robe around myself to keep out the chill and rushed to the next room. A small nightlight projected a forest scene in a circle on the ceiling. Daisy still needed a nightlight to keep the memories of life’s beasties away. Mordecai always chose the theme, which coincided with what he was learning.

Soft green light fell on the blanket atop his body. A wet cough shook the pile, as though Mordecai’s lungs were filled with mucus. As though he might soon drown in it.

“Steam,” I said in a harried breath, rushing forward. “Get the steamer.”

“It’s on! It’s right there.” Daisy flung a finger at the old air purifier in the corner, which I’d found on the street in a pile of items set out for donation.

“The steamer,” I repeated, gently laying my palm on Mordecai’s forehead. Clammy. No fever. Thank God.

“Right, right. The steamer.” She rushed out of the room.

I checked his pulse. Slow and steady. At least that was okay.

Another cough racked his body. His eyes fluttered but didn’t open.

Usually these coughing spells would have the whole house awake, starting with him. The fact that he wasn’t waking up…

“Oh God,” I choked out, putting my hands on his cheeks as hot tears crowded my eyes. “Please be okay. Please.”

“Here.” Daisy held out the steamer as she entered the room. Not paying attention, she kicked the post of his bed in her haste. “Motherfucker shit-eating cake fucker!”

I closed the distance and grabbed the steamer, ignoring her swearing. A toe would heal. Whatever was going on with Mordecai might not.

“Come on, Mordie,” I said, barely able to speak through my panic. “Wake up, Mordecai. Wake up.”

“Shit fuck damn. Motherfucker, that hurt.” Daisy limped out of the room.

“Mordecai…wake up.” I shook him softly. Then harder. “Limp back in here and fill this steamer up,” I yelled at Daisy. “I’m going to get him to sit up.”

“I got the cough syrup.” She limped back in, grimacing with each step.

“Turn the light on.”

“Right, right.”

Harsh yellow light saturated the room, making us both squint. Mordecai’s eyes fluttered again, and this time, slightly opened. He squinted, too.

“Good. That’s good.” I handed back the steamer and took the cough syrup. After placing that on his side table, I pulled his ratty old blanket away, unable to help a smile and another wash of tears as I discovered the new turquoise blanket wrapped tightly around his person. He was using it for comfort, keeping his family close.

That meant he was worse off than I’d thought. He only got sentimental when the pain was at the breaking point.

A sob ripped from me. “We have to get more anti-morphing serum, Daisy,” I said, burrowing my arm between his back and the mattress. “He’s…he’s…” I couldn’t say it. I didn’t even want to think it. The D-word.

   
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