On Demon Wings Part 14

Oh, f.u.c.king brilliant, I thought. I have a special ghost.

He got up and reached down for me, scooping me to my feet by the elbows.

"Is there anywhere else where there's been activity?" he asked.

I thought about the obvious places like the study and the kitchen. Then I remembered.

"Ada's room," I said. "That's where she thought I was calling her."

"I hope she won't mind," he said with a small smile. "I reckon you don't want to p.i.s.s that lady off. And I have a feeling she doesn't like me too much."

"No, you don't want to p.i.s.s Ada off," I replied, and we left the room and went down the hall. I could hear my parents downstairs talking to each other and the drone of yet another inane TV program.

I knocked at her door. She had her Do Not Disturb sign hanging from the k.n.o.b but it was always like that.

I heard a mumbling and grumbling from behind the door. She opened it, not at all surprised to see us.

"Well?" she asked impetuously.

"Can we come in? Please?"

She sighed like this was the greatest inconvenience of all time then stomped over to her bed, flinging herself down b.u.t.t first and crossing her arms. She eyed us like we were about to rob the place. What happened to the chipper girl I met this morning?

"We just, uh..." I looked at Maximus for help. He looked uneasy around Ada and I didn't blame him. Being in a full-fledged teenager's room didn't help either.

"You want to do a reading," Ada filled in for him. She balked at our surprised looks. "Whatever. You told me he was like some weird ghost whisperer."

"I did not call him weird." Really, I hadn't.

"That's all right, darling," he said to me. Ada looked like she was going to barf at his southern-style sentiment. "You're right. I do want to get a feel for things. Do you mind?"

She sighed, then shook her head no. I closed the door behind us and joined Ada on the bed beside her.

"Would it kill you to be nice to him?" I whispered harshly in her ear.

"Ladies, please, silence," he said. He stuck out his arms and closed his eyes, like he was expecting to be rained down with riches.

Ada and I sat side-by-side and watched him. It felt nice, actually, to have Ada in on the ghostly stuff. I didn't know if she felt the same way, though.

After a few minutes ticked by, according to her bedside clock, Maximus opened his eyes.

"It wasn't as strong in here. But it was here at some point."

He looked at Ada. "You seen anything strange? Felt any cold spots?"

She shook her head adamantly to both of those.

"Heard any talking, maybe whispers?"

At that Ada became still. Her eyes flashed guiltily and she looked down at her hands.

"What?" I asked her, prodding her gently with my shoulder.

"I heard whispering."

I let out a small gasp as my chest tightened up. Not my baby sister as well.

Maximus came over and squatted down on the floor in front of us, placing his hand on her knee.

"Where did they come from? What did they say?"

She pointed to her closet and then to the foot of the bed. "They say Perry's name. And sometimes, I can't understand them. It's like another language or something."

I eyed the closet. A ghost in there would be Ada's worst nightmare. No one goes in Ada's closet.

"It's happened more than once?"

"A few times," she continued. Her admission shocked me.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "You've got a lot on your plate. I can deal."

"Well, you shouldn't have to."

She fixed her gaze on me. "And neither should you."

"Dinner's here!" my mother yelled from downstairs as we heard a single knock at the front door.

Ada rushed out of the room, glad to leave us behind. I walked unsteadily over to the door and Maximus held my side the entire way. I couldn't believe that Ada was hearing voices too. It gave me more credibility that these things were actually happening, but I didn't want her to suffer the same way I had. She didn't need any of that.

With those thoughts running through my head, it was no wonder I could barely touch my food, even the beef and broccoli, which I adored. I put it into my mouth anyway, chew, chew, chew, swallow. But I didn't taste it.

It was weird to sit at the dinner table with a guy and my family. I couldn't even call him my boyfriend, because he wasn't. He was just a man I made out with, who liked to call me darling, and who I hoped had some sort of answer to the destruction around me. But I was the only who felt a bit awkward by the whole thing. Well, not counting Ada. Maximus talked to my parents like he'd known them for years and even though it tickled me that they were getting along so well, it p.i.s.sed me off at the same time. I think it's because they never had a nice thing to say about Dex (with reason) and I didn't feel the same way about Maximus as I did about him.

Your heart needs time, I thought to myself. I was right, too. Everything with Dex was such a fast, precarious, pa.s.sionate blur. I needed someone steady and normal (relatively) and good. Dependable. Like Maximus. I might lack the pa.s.sion at the moment, that yearning in places other than between my legs, but I had just met the guy.

And yet there he was, shoveling chow mein in his face while talking to my parents. And I was dwelling on this when there were other things to focus on. Dangerous things such as multiple ghosts.

I started piling some lemon chicken on my plate in order to look busy when the doorbell rang three times with a slight pause in between each one.

My heart thudded about loudly. After everything, I didn't think I could take any more.

"Who wants to get that?" my mom asked, the fear ripe in her voice.

"I will," Maximus volunteered, like I knew he would.

He patted me on the arm as if to say he'd be right back and took off toward the door. My dad, feeling unsuited as the man of the house, took off after him, and of course I had to follow as well. Because I was scared and stubborn at the same time.

With the door open, they were staring at something on the steps, Maximus's tall frame beside my dad's short and stocky one, the light from the motion sensors shining down on my dad's bald spot.

Before I even saw what it was, I knew what it was. The pig's head.

And I was right. As I poked my way between the two men, I saw the poor hog's gory, disgusting, chopped-off head lying on the front stoop. Its eyes were gouged out. A nice, evil little touch.

I was more annoyed than scared. I walked back in the house, shaking my head, as Ada and my mom came cautiously around the corner.

"Oh, very mature Abby!" I yelled up at the ceiling, shaking my fist dramatically. "Couldn't think of anything better, could you? Is that all you got?"

"Perry," I heard Maximus's warning tone. "I wouldn't..."

I shrugged and in the back of my mind I realized I was that close to accidently enacting a scene from I Know What You Did Last Summer. I pushed past Ada and my mom, telling them, "It's the head of the pig. You don't want to see it," as I walked back into the dining room.

I plunked myself down in my chair and let out one exasperated sigh. My head was swimming. Every thought had importance. Every thought was a loaded gun.

My dad called the cops from the kitchen phone, while Maximus and the rest of them came back into the room. They all stood behind their chairs, staring down at me and down at the food. I guessed everyone's appet.i.te was gone after that.

Ada announced she was tired of the fuzz and going to bed and Maximus helped my mother clear the trays and put them in the kitchen. I thought about how nice that was of him, even though part of me felt like he was sucking up. The bitterness of the thought was surprising. I mean, I wasn't helping. But I had a lot on my mind.

When he was done, he came back into the dining room and took the seat beside me.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. His voice was gentle. Too gentle.

I eyed him. "I haven't been babbling in Latin, if that's what you mean."

He paused and licked his lips. "What makes you say that?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Isn't that what the demonic people speak?"

"I think you watch too many scary movies."

Or maybe I don't watch enough, I thought. They could teach me a thing or two.

He looked up at the clock on the wall and from the hesitant vibe that was rolling off of him, I knew he was thinking about leaving. I couldn't let him, though. Not after last night. Not after today.

"Can you stay over here? With me?" I asked, conscious of my parents being in the next room over.

He gave me a small smile and I knew it wasn't going to be good news. G.o.dd.a.m.n it, what happened to the Maximus who asked me out on dates and was always flirting with me?

"I don't have any of my belongings on me."

I nodded and looked down at the greasy lemon chicken.

"But you could come over to my place. If you'd like. I'd like you to."

I brought my head up sharply and ignored the vice-like feel in my head. "You mean it?"

Why didn't I just add Gee, golly at the end of it? But despite sounding like a fawning idiot, the fact that I didn't have to stay in my house was like music to my ears.

He nodded quickly and smiled wide. "Of course I mean it, Perry. I'd love it. I just have a one bedroom, though, but I can take the couch. It's super comfy and light as a good beignet."

I didn't know what that meant but I gave him a grateful smile and got up to get my stuff together and escape the confines of my house of horror.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Maximus lived in a small apartment in a sleek tower of new apartment buildings by the freeway. The sound of cars zipping past on the I-5 was as comforting as a warm bath; how could anything go wrong when the comings and goings of civilization were just outside the door?

"This is pretty nice," I said, putting my duffle bag down on the ground and taking off my shoes.

He shrugged. "You reckon? I don't know. Where's the character?"

He walked into the middle of the room and looked at the walls, which were white and barren. His head twitched with disgust.

"I wasn't sure how Iong I'd be here for, so I took a place with a month-to-month lease. Otherwise I would have scooped up one of the older brick beauties. Something with heritage. History. Oregon has nothing on Louisiana. Everything is so...new."

"Well, tell that to the ghosts in the Benson hotel," I said, remembering the old building with its sordid history and hauntings.

"Darling, if you think something a hundred years old is old, you've got something coming to you."

I stacked my boots in the corner and put my hands on my hips playfully.

"Oh yeah? And what's that?"

He grinned. "I'd say it involves beer. Do you want one?"

"I'll have several."

He disappeared into the kitchen and I followed him. Like the rest of the apartment it was cramped, but it still looked snazzy and streamlined. Maybe that's why I liked the apartment; there didn't seem to be any history here to haunt me.

As he fished a six-pack of Blue Moon out of the fridge I asked him, "So do you know yet if you're going to be staying here? You know, for good?"

He straightened up and slammed the side of the bottle top against the edge of the counter. The cap flew off and landed in the sink with a rattling noise. He looked down at the counter and at the small impression the force had left in the cheap material. He ran his fingers over the damage approvingly.

"There. Now it has more character."

He handed me my beer, slammed open another beer and raised his bottle to mine.

"To Portland then," he said.

"To answering my question," I replied, keeping my bottle close.

He took a quick sip of the beer and sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, being extra careful not to mess up the slight pompadour at the top, and walked into the living room, plopping his big frame down on the "beignet-soft" couch.