Page 16 of Ghosted (The Ravenwood #1)

FOURTEEN

After showering off the woods, I sit on my couch and get ready to binge-watch my newest reality TV obsession. I have a few hours left of my day off, and I intend to take full advantage by vegging out on the couch with some snacks and other people’s dramatics.

I’m two episodes and a glass of wine deep into my Sunday night when the hairs on my arms stand up.

The sigh that leaves my body should be studied.

It feels at least three times my actual lung capacity.

I look up to see the pull chain on my ceiling fan swaying ever so slightly and begin a slow clap.

“Alright, Rebecca, look at you go,” I say with mild approval.

She pops into existence, sapping some of the warmth from the air. She takes a dramatic bow in the middle of my living room. “Thank you very much,” she says and stands.

“Pretty impressive considering we just talked about this less than five hours ago.”

“I did tell you I was on my way to med school, right? I’m nothing if not determined.

” In a blink, she’s next to me on the couch and wrapping her arms around her knees.

She looks like a model posed for a picture, her hair still scraped back into that bun that would be severe on someone else.

But on her, it just serves to highlight her delicate bone structure.

She’s also changed into expensive looking loungewear.

I see she’s mastered altering her appearance already.

“Who knew being an over-achiever would serve you in the afterlife?” I ask rhetorically.

I look over to see her concentrating on some knitting needles I’ve left on the coffee table.

If I squint, I can see them vibrating the slightest bit.

It really is pretty impressive that she’s already able to move things.

I return my attention to my show, miffed that my favorite contestant has been kicked off the island and I missed it. I rewind the episode to the beginning and settle in, content to let Rebecca use the Force or whatever to move my knitting needles.

I’m just getting to the dramatic climax of the episode—someone had a drink thrown on them—when Rebecca asks, “What’s that?

” She’s pointing to my desk where I have a ton of inventory set up for when I go live online for The Veil.

I briefly explain about the shop and what I do, not wanting to be berated with her judgmental commentary.

To my surprise, she doesn’t bat an eye or even make a snide comment. She seems genuinely curious and interested in the store. “So… You’re a medium who runs an occult shop? Very on brand.”

“Let’s just hope I get to keep my job, because I really don’t think my skills are suited for much else,” I say, picking the emerald nail polish off my thumb nail.

She frowns at me. “Why would you lose your job? Didn’t you say your aunt owns it? Oh my god! You’re embezzling aren’t you?” She gasps dramatically and leans in closer, dark brown eyes sparking with curiosity.

“Sorry to be a disappointment, but no. Forget I said anything.” I wave her away, attempting to go back to watching my show.

“You can’t just say that and then not tell me. Come on ! The afterlife is boring and you’re literally the only person I can have a conversation with. Who am I going to tell?”

I think about the fact that she really can’t talk to anyone else about this. And that she has a unique perspective considering she’s a ghost. Even if she isn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type, it might be useful to talk it over with her. “You actually care?” I ask.

“Care? I mean, if it’ll make you feel better, then sure. I care. I’m not in it for the drama of a stranger at all.” When I scowl at her, she says, “Oh, come on. I haven’t been able to scroll a social media app in forever. I miss hearing about other people’s problems.”

I sigh and relent. “Okay, fine. But one rude comment and I’m done.

” She mimes zipping her lips, so I continue.

“We’re going to be short a lot of money in the coming year.

My aunt who owns the business is going to go to a nice retirement home and the landlord who owns this block is raising the rent.

We do okay, but not so great that an extra four thousand a month wouldn’t tank us.

And because I’m the one in charge, I have to come up with a plan to make up the difference. ”

“That’s a lot of pressure,” she says, propping her chin on her hand.

“Yeah,” I agree, annoyed at myself for bringing up the one thing I’m not supposed to be stressing about right now. “We’re trying to figure out a way to make our surge of customers in October become returning customers the rest of the year.”

“Do you have any ideas?” she asks.

“I mean, my aunt had one but I’m not sure about it.” She gestures for me to continue. “She wants me to use my Gift to contact spirits on their living loved one’s behalf.”

“So… She wants you to get paid for something you already do?”

“I guess,” I say with a shrug.

“Why would you be on the fence about that? It’s like getting paid to sleep for normal people,” she says. I dutifully ignore the implication that I’m not normal.

“Because I don’t announce my abilities to the living. I’ll help pretty much any spirit who comes to me in need, but I’ve never looked for a specific person and called them forward, let alone accepted money for it.”

“Why not? I mean, I get that you help ghosts and whatever, but why not help the living too?” Rebecca asks, leaning back against the arm of the couch. I’m impressed by her ability to stick around for so long. Her overachieving nature obviously helps her in more ways than one.

I sigh and tilt my head back and forth, looking for a way to explain it.

Finally, I settle on, “When I was younger, and much less discerning about who I shared information with, I told some close online friends about what I could do. There were a few different reactions. Either they were terrified of me and thought that I was a freak, they didn’t believe me, or they wanted to exploit it and use me for their gain.

I stopped being a person no matter what.

And don’t even get me started on romantic relationships and how hard it is to date when you frequently talk to people no one else can see. I don’t want to be known as the local ghost girl. And anyway, accepting money for something that feels almost like a duty seems wrong.”

“I’m sorry you were shamed for something that was out of your control,” she says, reaching out and setting her hand on my wrist. The static feeling of it isn’t exactly unpleasant, but it does raise the hairs on my arm.

She can’t quite make contact, but there’s an awareness over where she’s touching.

Rebecca removes her hand and I watch as she rubs her fingertips together, absorbing the new sensation of touching someone this way.

“But you know, if there was a way for you to do this anonymously, there’s nothing wrong with taking money for it.

Just because you feel it’s an obligation doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to get paid for it.

Think of people in the military. They’re literally duty-bound to do their jobs, but they still get paid for them. ”

I’ve never thought of it that way. “Maybe you’re right.

But to be honest, I don’t even know if I could do it—call someone out of the ether and draw them to me.

Especially if I don’t have a connection to them.

” I think of Dean and the fact that I popped him out of the in-between without trying, but we definitely have a connection.

Speaking of which, I probably shouldn’t be thinking of him too hard, lest he barge in unannounced.

“There’s no harm in trying. It might be kind of fun to play the mysterious medium behind the curtain or whatever. It also would be cool to help people find closure,” she points out.

“But what if I end up calling someone who doesn’t want to be found?” I ask, thinking of the way she was so frustrated by me at first, even though she’s the one who came looking for me.

“Then, they’ll probably be annoyed and leave.

So what? I bet you most people would be happy to be connected to a loved one again.

It’s hard to explain what it’s like over here, but it can be really difficult to find specific people or places.

The only reason I easily found my old apartment is because I was killed so close to it.

My place of death was like… A homing beacon.

It’s a lot of work to even stay here, but being around you makes it easier.

It feels like you’re charging me up or something.

When I’m not focused in and concentrating on staying in one place, I just sort of disappear.

I have some awareness of time passing, vague impressions of the world, but it feels like living in a dream with no clear borders.

It’s a relief to get pulled out of that.

Or in my case, drag your ass out of it yourself.

” I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up at that.

“Thanks for that. It makes me feel better about trying at least.”

“No problem. But I thought you were supposed to be helping me,” she jokes.

I snort and say, “Have at it,” gesturing to my knitting needles that she abandoned. “You’ll be on your way to scaring the shit out of… What’s his name?”

“Kyle,” she reluctantly offers.

I snort. “Fucking, Kyle ? Oh, come on, Rebecca. You deserved better than a Kyle.”

She heaves a long-suffering sigh. “I know. But I’m going to make him pay. And then I’m going to go rest in peace or whatever,” she says with a delicate wrinkle of her nose.

“Sounds like you’re really looking forward to your eternal rest,” I quip.

“Might just torment my ex a little first,” she says with a wicked grin. Suddenly I feel a teensie bit bad for Kyle.