Page 1 of Ghost Broker (Mercury Raine #1)

M ercury Raine had been born with neither rank nor wealth, but in a world in which ghosts were nearly as valuable, it wasn’t truly a shock that he had made himself an inarguable success.

He was the kingdom’s most sought-after ghost broker, having facilitated countless specter swaps over the past decade.

Many did what he did, but none were as good at it as he.

Every year or so, Society decided it favored one type of ghost over another. Those with ghosts matching the current rage breathed a sigh of relief. Those without flocked to Mercury—hoping he had time for them and that they could afford his services.

He’d managed to toe the line of appearing to be wealthy and genteel enough to hail from Society while also adopting enough humility in his appearance to make his being in trade not so odd as it would be.

And he had early on learned the importance of seeming to be older than he was without making him seem drastically beyond his actual thirty years.

The balancing act was a precarious but necessary one.

And he managed it, like everything else he did, brilliantly.

Lord Garston Peabody, younger son of the Duke of Fellington, had arrived two days earlier intent on trading his emotionally unstable ghost—out of fashion now—for a ghoul capable of lifting a particularly condescending eyebrow.

Judgmental ghosts were all the rage in London.

Among Mercury’s ghoulish horde were four ghosts that Society would currently drool over, and the young lordling had narrowed his preference down to two.

Vernon the Vain and Testy Tolver, the subjects of Lord Garston’s debate, were being very snooty about the whole thing, which was making his decision all the more difficult.

And it didn’t help that his current ghost repeatedly jumped between indifference over the entire thing and uncontrollable ghostly tears.

“I simply cannot choose,” Lord Garston bemoaned, pacing the library for the second day in a row.

“Society is so particular about these things. And it will be at least six months before I can trade again if I choose wrong. The Season will be over by then.” His lordship knew the specifics because he came to Aventine Manor on a very regular basis looking to improve his spectral situation.

The ghost he was trading out had, in fact, been traded to him only nine months earlier.

“Take your time.” Mercury had grown quite adept at pretending to be patient.

His ghosts didn’t usually bother.

As Mercury stepped from the library, leaving his indecisive customer to fret himself into a very lordly fit of nerves, he caught sight of several of his apparitions hovering in the corridor with their ghostly ears pressed to—and, in some cases, into —the walls, clearly listening in.

“He hasn’t decided yet,” Mercury told them.

“What’s to decide?” Gary the Green tossed his translucent arms in the air. “Testy Tolver and Vernon the Vain are both miserable louts. Society would love either one. ”

“It’s a shame the languishing lordling doesn’t have more than one attachment. He could simply take them both.” Mawky’s hands were pressed to her heart—or where her heart would have been if she’d had a body—as she made the declaration, giving the impression of a martyr bravely walking to her doom.

“If Lord Garston had multiple attachments, he might decide to become a broker himself. We’d lose his business,” Mercury reminded her. “He makes more frequent trades than anyone else in the entire kingdom. And he always brokers them here. His patronage is part of why we are so successful.”

“And why we can be certain whichever obnoxious haunt he takes with him this time will be back within the year.” Gary the Green sounded annoyed. He usually did.

Mercury passed through the gathered ghosts, literally in some cases. Experience told him that Lord Garston would require at least another day to make his decision. And, once a choice was made, it took another day for the switch to be made.

These things were both shockingly simple and impossibly complicated.

The number of ghosts attached to a person at birth was the number that person would always have: no more, no less.

Most people’s number was zero. Of those who had a ghostly attachment, nearly all could claim only one.

But one was enough. The cachet of having a ghost was unsurpassed in Society.

The better the ghost, the higher that person’s standing rose.

A few people were born with more than one ghostly companion. Those with multiple ghosts had the ability to trade their ghosts for others’, provided everyone ended those trades with the same number they began with .

Most brokers had three or four attachments to work with and lined their pockets quite nicely helping the socially ambitious obtain the most fashionable specters.

Three or four.

Mercury had twenty.

One of which was currently slamming a door down the corridor. Another floated across the window Mercury walked past. His more mischievous spirits liked to put on a show whenever someone came to negotiate an exchange. The chain-rattling in the north wing was a bit much, though.

He lowered himself into his favorite comfortable chair in his favorite comfortable sitting room. A ghostly hand offered him the latest copy of The Times —some ghosts could move objects in the physical world.

“I am pleased to report, Mr. Raine,” this particular ghost— Smythe—said, “that there is still no indication Society is leaning toward a preference for butler ghosts.”

“I suppose I’ll be forced to keep you a bit longer.” Mercury always made a show of being on the verge of trading away Smythe. Truth was, he never would. Smythe had been among his original twenty, and one of only three who were still with him.

Mercury unfolded the newspaper, skimming the headlines. The Prime Minister’s ghost was proving a little too judgmental, leading to a great deal of consternation on the floor of the House of Commons.

“He should have brokered his exchange at Aventine Manor,” Mercury muttered. The Prime Minister would have left with a ghost that could help his political and social prospects, and Mercury would have made a pretty penny for his efforts. They’d both lost out.

Baby Blue, a ghostly five-year-old boy in a blue tunic of centuries earlier, wandered in through the wall. He was one of Mercury’s Originary ghosts, the term used for the ghosts a person was born with— one's original ghostly companions.

“I hope Lord Garston chooses Vernon the Vain,” Baby Blue said.

“Why is that?” Mercury watched the tiny ghost over his newspaper.

“Because Testy Tolver is funnier. I think he should stay.”

It was as good an argument as Mercury had heard. “But he does fit the current fashion. If Lord Garston doesn’t pick him, the next person likely will.”

Baby Blue plopped onto the floor, legs folded. He nodded toward the paper in Mercury’s hands. “Are people wanting baby ghosts?”

“Wouldn’t matter if they were,” Mercury said. “I’m not trading you.”

The little specter smiled, just as he always did when they had this discussion. Mercury teased Smythe about swapping him, but he’d learned very quickly not to take the same approach with Baby Blue.

Without warning, the air filled with a shrill and off-key operatic aria. “Blasted blazes,” Mercury muttered.

He’d received Signora Bellona in a swap two years earlier, and he’d not been overly happy about it since. She fancied herself a performer, with all the world her stage. He suspected if ghosts could strangle each other, he’d have a not-so-mysterious murder to solve.

Six ghostly heads popped through the wall, all eyeing him accusatorially.

“How was I supposed to know this about her?” he demanded. “I’m a ghost broker; I don’t have the second sight.”

“Can’t you trade her to someone?” Gary the Green demanded. “Judgmentalness is one of her Integral Traits.”

“Our only hope is that she’ll refrain from singing long enough for someone to take her,” Captain Capitate grumbled .

“She managed it once before.” Mercury’s voice crackled with dry annoyance.

“Fooled us all.” Mawky struck her constant post of hand-to-heart suffering as she floated through the walls. Martyrdom was one of her Integral Traits. “And how we suffer for it.”

“I’ll trade her if I can,” Mercury assured them. “I know she wants to go back to the Continent, so that might encourage things.”

Ghosts had some say in the brokering that occurred. If they were entirely opposed to a trade, it couldn’t be made. But they were, almost without exception, very flexible and willing to change their connections. Mercury hadn’t sorted out why that was.

Signora Bellona finished her unwanted performance.

Out of habit, the ghosts all silently clapped.

She demanded that when anyone was in the same room as she was when “blessing” everyone with her “talents.” Baby Blue tossed himself onto the floor in a posture of absolute relief.

Mawky ended her clapping and immediately pressed her hand dramatically to her ghostly heart once more.

Smythe returned to the room. He had to pass through Captain Capitate to do so.

Ghosts weren’t able to exceed five hundred feet away from the person they were attached to but could otherwise wander at will.

Most of Mercury’s ghosts liked staying close, which meant even large rooms could be a little crowded.

Smaller ones, like this, were sometimes packed to the very rafters. “You are needed downstairs, Mr. Raine.”

“Has Lord Garston made a decision?” Mercury hadn’t expected one so quickly.

“No, sir. A new client has arrived interested in brokering a swap.”

“Not a returning client?” That was always good news .

“New. And, from the looks of them, they have both the means of securing a good trade and a place on the rungs of Society that would make them anxious to secure a truly beneficial ghost.”

That was interesting.

Mercury stood. He smoothed first his paisley waistcoat and then his curly hair, making certain both were as they should be. Then he glanced around at those of his twenty ghosts who were in the room. “A new client.” He made sure they’d heard that bit. “You all know what to do.”