Page 54 of Ghosted (The Ravenwood #1)

FORTY-TWO

I convinced Wren to go with me to the meeting, and despite her constant grumbling, I’m glad she did.

It’s been an odd feeling knowing that everyone knows I’m a medium, but nothing has come of it.

People have been kind to me, but I could see the barely-restrained questions on their minds.

Now when I walk among the cramped bookcases of The Cracked Spine, I feel too many eyes on me.

Every time I turn to look at someone and meet their stare, they look away.

I feel like a social pariah in middle school again, and I want to crawl out of my skin.

Dean presses more firmly into my side, and Wren grits her teeth from the other. “The next person who looks our way is getting their eyes melon balled.”

I sink further in my seat as Mr. Chase, the owner of Ravenwood Antiques, drones on and on about the upcoming Thanksgiving Day parade, various preparations we all need to make, the type of decor we should hang in our shop windows, etc.

etc. It’s disconcerting to have my heart pounding like it wants to escape the cage of my chest and simultaneously be bored out of my mind.

Mr. Chase claps his hands heartily. “Okay! That’s all I have for the Thanksgiving parade. Miss Alderwood, let’s hear about your Night Before All Hallows Eve Ball.” He gestures for me to come to the front of the semi-circle of chairs.

I stand on shaky legs, clutching my index cards tightly. Anytime one of us hosts an event, we’re asked to debrief, especially when the others chip in like they did for our auction table. I lean back against the checkout desk and face the thirty or so people staring back at me.

I look past the first row of faces and concentrate on my sister and Dean, who both give me an obnoxious thumbs-up.

I take a deep breath and begin reading from my notecards, detailing what went well and what could have been changed.

I thank each business that provided us with a donation, and then I’m finally done.

My armpits are absolutely gushing sweat by the time I finish reading my last notecard.

I give the audience a tight smile and turn to walk back to my seat.

“Any questions?” Mr. Chase asks, holding a staying hand out to me.

I stop in my tracks like a rabbit sensing a predator and turn a hesitant eye out to the crowd.

My stomach bottoms out when half of the hands shoot up.

“Uh, yeah, Carlos?” I say, gesturing to the owner of The Cracked Spine.

He stands from his seat and says, “Is it true you’re the medium who’s been helping people the last few months?”

And now the dam breaks.

My eyes sting, but I will not cry .

“Um, yeah. I am,” I say shortly. I hear a snort and find Misha sitting next to Julian in the back row of chairs.

“Have you always been able to see ghosts?” someone else asks from the crowd.

Okay, time to wake up now! Am I naked?

I tilt my head down to check. Nope, still clothed, so this must not be a nightmare. Great.

I swallow around the lump in my throat and nod. “Yes, my whole life.”

“This isn’t a scam, correct? We can’t have false mysticism on Main Street. We’re better than that,” Mr. Chase says.

I clench my teeth. “No.”

“Then why haven’t you told anyone?” Sarah, the owner of the diner, asks skeptically, crossing her arms over her ample chest.

My anger kicks up from a simmer into a full boil.

“Maybe because you all would think I was crazy?” I ask incredulously.

“But you know what? I’ve helped some of you in this room talk to your grandmas and your fathers and your loved ones.

I’m sorry if it feels like I deceived you, but I had a right to my privacy. ”

“She did help me talk to my gram,” Declan, the owner of the frozen yogurt shop, pipes up. “She told me things only my gram would have known. And she was right about the jewelry hidden behind my grandparents’ framed wedding picture. There’s just no way Rae could have made that up on her own.”

“Yeah, and I was able to feel the presence of my dad,” the manager of the corner pharmacy says. “See? I get goosebumps just thinking about it,” he states, holding his freckled arm up for everyone to look at. My heart warms the tiniest bit at these people jumping to my defense .

“I’m not scamming anyone,” I reiterate. “And if I am unable to make contact, the person doesn’t have to pay me a dime.”

Mr. Chase can’t seem to help himself though. “Miss Alderwood, if I may ask, why now? If this has been a skill you’ve had your whole life, why are you just now charging for it?” Mr. Chase asks.

I shift on my feet, but they already know we’re struggling, so I say, “Because the store needed the extra income, okay? I thought I could help people and help The Veil. You all are aware of our financial situation.” I cross my arms, further crumpling my index cards.

There. It feels good to finally own it. All of it. I see ghosts, and The Veil is struggling.

Mr. Chase nods amiably, completely unruffled by my prickly attitude.

“You aren’t going to start doing ghost tours?” the pharmacy manager asks.

Despite myself, I laugh a bit. “No. Ghosts usually don’t just hang around one place. And once they see me, they start haunting me. I only offer my services as a medium to people who need it. It’s not a gimmick. I’ve been helping spirits and their loved ones my whole life.”

I start to unclench my muscles when I see the crowd ahead of me nod amongst themselves. I can feel the metaphorical pitchforks lowering and thank whatever deity is listening that I wasn’t born three hundred years ago. A rope around the neck doesn’t sound like a good time.

“Anything else?” I ask tiredly. Multiple eager hands shoot up.

“Anything else that’s not about my seeing ghosts?

” I clarify. Every single hand lowers, so I say, “You’re welcome to come find me in the store if you have any more questions about this.

But this is my private life, not a public spectacle.

So please respect that.” I pause for a moment and then, sensing my freedom, speed walk out of the center of the semi-circle and head back to my chair.

“Proud of you,” Wren says in my ear, her cinnamon-scented breath fanning over my face.

I nudge her shoulder with mine, and feel the tension slowly draining from my body. It’s actually kind of nice having everyone know. At least I’ll be less on edge when a spirit shows up in public now.

Mr. Chase takes center stage again, this time holding a clipboard with a thick sheaf of paper clipped to it.

“Our last order of business tonight is this petition. As we all know, Mr. Beauhurst is raising rent on our entire block of buildings. While I believe an increase is fair to keep up with the market, the percentage at which he’s raising rates is uncalled for.

It will push many of our businesses out over time because very few of us can afford it.

So, I created this petition to ask Mr. Beauhurst to lower the rate of increase to a more manageable level. Are there any questions?”

Everyone was nodding along while Mr. Chase spoke, and I feel a surge of gratitude that we aren’t the only ones struggling and that maybe we can all band together and make a difference. Sarah raises her hand and says, “Where do I sign?”

The meeting wraps up quickly afterward, and soon enough, we’re all helping to drag our chairs through the labyrinth of shelves toward the stock room. I brush shoulders with Misha in the cramped stock room and cringe away before he can look over his shoulder and see who he bumped into.

I walk hurriedly through the shelves, trying to get out of the store before Misha catches up with me. I know I told Ivan I would talk to Misha soon, but that doesn’t have to mean today, right? I’ve had enough inquisition into my Gift for one day.

Just when I see Wren and Dean waiting for me by the door, I hear, “Rae! Wait up!” behind me.

My shoulders kiss my ears, and I turn slowly. Misha holds a hand to me with Julian right behind him. I sigh, letting my shoulders drop. It’ll be just like ripping off a Band-Aid. Too bad I always leave mine on until they eventually peel off into a soggy beige heap on my shower floor.

“Walk with me?” Misha asks when they catch up.

“Sure. But Wren will have to come too.” I gesture to the scowling gargoyle in question, looking like she’s trying to ward off the evil that is Julian.

“Oh, that’s fine. Wren and I will stay to chat for a bit, and then we’ll catch up with you guys,” Julian says, a much too pleased smile playing over his face. Then, he gently nudges me aside and practically skips toward Wren, whose scowl deepens so much it looks painful.

Misha and I laugh after him, and I feel my heart lighten a bit. I’m not great with conflict, and I always want to shrivel up when I know someone is mad at me.

“Fifty bucks says they’re going to end up married with angry little babies,” Misha says, looking after them.

I snort. “You’re on. Never gonna happen.”

We head down the shelves and pass Wren, who looks at me like I just made it to first place on her shit-list. Ah well, I’ve been there before.

Julian is yammering on about various frosting piping tips and the merits of each one, talking so quickly, he barely seems to breathe.

Misha leads me out into the brisk November air, Dean trailing far enough behind to give us privacy, but close enough that I know he’s there .

We start walking down the street toward The Veil and Brewed Awakening, the cold air nipping at our noses. “So,” I say when I can’t take his silence anymore, kicking a stone out of the way with the toe of my boot. “What’s up?”

I look up at Misha who studies me with a pensive expression screwing up his handsome face. “You really can see ghosts?” he finally asks.

I nod tiredly. “Yeah. I really can.”

Here we go again.

“And I take it this is a secret you’ve been holding onto your whole life that you didn’t want revealed any time soon?”

“Yup,” I say shortly, feeling some of the anger return from the night of the ball.

Misha winces, scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to be the one to expose your secret.

I’m usually pretty sensitive to that. It’s no excuse, but I was doubly freaked out by finding out it was you all along, and I—I could tell Ivan was there.

I didn’t want to believe it, but I could feel him. ”

He’s visibly shaken, so I reach out and wrap an arm around his waist. His arm drops over my shoulders, and I can feel the tension ebb out of him.

I take a deep inhale and offer, “I’m sorry for lying.

When you started telling me about your past, I should have stopped you.

I felt stuck, and I just wanted to help you,” I say quietly.

He squeezes my shoulders in a sort of hug and sighs. “No, I get it. I guess I should have figured that whoever was behind the curtain was potentially someone I knew. I wasn’t thinking, and it wasn’t fair of me to treat you like that when I found out. I was embarrassed, and I took it out on you.”

I shake my head. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Trauma should only be embarrassing for the people who caused it, not the people who suffered it. You were just a kid. You should have had a better adult in your corner. I thought it was honorable that you wanted to try to make amends with him, even though he doesn’t deserve it. ”

“To be honest, it’s more about me than him. I don’t want to live out the rest of my life regretting what I said to him. I don’t know. I heard someone say that forgiveness is more for you than for the person you’re forgiving. I need that peace.”

“Well, if you’re up for it, we can try to find it for you,” I offer. “Your uncle actually came back to talk to me. He wants to try to make amends, too.” I gloss over the whole aggressive shoulder grab thing because it isn’t Misha’s fault, and I don’t want him to carry any extra guilt.

“Yeah?”

I nod. “Yeah. The first time I made contact was a little rough because he didn’t want to come through. And I kind of forced him,” I say, ducking my head. “So that’s why he was so resistant. This time should be smoother since he wants to come forward.”

“Wow, I bet he was pissed. Uncle Ivan is an old mule; any time he’s forced into something, he resists tenfold.”

I clear my throat as we slow to a stop in front of The Veil. “Yeah, I got that impression. Do you want to meet after work tomorrow?”

“Sure. Your place?” He points up towards my apartment.

“Deal.” I blow warm air into my cupped palms and then shove them deep in my pockets. “I’m glad we talked, Mish,” I say quietly. I have very few friends, and the thought that I had lost one of them hurt more than I care to admit.

“Me too. And hey, now that I know your big dark secret, maybe you can stop saying no to hanging out with me and Felix,” he says with a raised brow.

I blush at being clocked so easily. Just as I’m opening my mouth to respond, a clawed hand grasps the back of my coat and spins me around. “You owe me your firstborn,” Wren hisses in my ear.

“Sure,” I reply easily, knowing I’ll never have kids.

“No fair. Let me think of something you’ll genuinely miss,” she says, stomping her petite foot.

“What a nice night,” Julian remarks, strolling up oh-so-casually.

Wren’s eyes narrow so much, I wonder if she can even see. “You're polluting it with your pine-y vanilla stink,” Wren complains.

Julian’s smile slowly widens as he practically coos, “Vanilla and pine, huh?”

I do a double-take when I notice Wren blush so much, even her pierced ears turn red. “Shut up,” she sputters. “I have to go feed my cat.”

My brow furrows. “When did you get a cat?” I ask.

Her glare is so sharp, I find myself mentally cataloguing my body for injury. “Just yesterday. She’s a stray.”

“A feral cat, huh? Sounds like you two have a lot in common,” Julian says amicably.

Wren just grunts and slinks away, rounding the corner to where she’s parked her car behind mine.

I shake my head after her and meet Misha’s eye. “Told you,” he says with a smug smile.

“Told her what?” Julian asks suspiciously.

“Nothing,” we respond together, grinning.