Page 55 of Ghosted (The Ravenwood #1)

FORTY-THREE

I concentrate on Dean, calling him forth from the ether.

He was resting after a long day at the police station.

He’s been there for a while to get updates on Richard.

The police didn’t find much at his apartment, but they did seize his phone and computer.

I’m worried that all of the sudden attention from the police will spook Richard and make him run.

Dean’s presence wraps around me like a warm blanket before he’s suddenly in front of me. I tilt my head and beckon him into the stockroom. There’s only one customer wandering around the store for now, and he’s deep in the books, so I think I’m safe to sneak off for a minute.

When I close the door, Dean crowds me against it and kisses me breathless.

Eventually, the hazy reason for me calling him here floats to the front of my mind, and I gently push him back, breaking the kiss.

“What? Is this not a booty call? Get it? Boo-ty call,” Dean snickers and waves his arms like a cartoon ghost .

I laugh quietly so the tourist out there doesn’t think I lost my marbles, and say, “No. I was just thinking that maybe you should watch Richard. What if he tries to run or something?”

Dean sighs. “Yeah, that’s probably a better use of my time. I’ll go watch him.” Then he brightens a little. “At least they took his computer so I don’t have to watch him… Ya know…” He makes an obscene gesture at his crotch, and I hold out a hand to stop him.

“Yep, I got it.” I shiver. “Just keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t look like he’s grabbing for his passport or anything.”

“You got it, boss,” Dean says with a mock salute. He leans in, pecking me on the lips once before he vanishes.

“Alright everyone, that’s the last order for the night.

Thanks for watching!” I say, waving my hand in front of my phone camera.

I have it set up so it’s facing my desk with some fun purple lighting and mystical set pieces to add to the mood.

I click off the live video and stand, stretching out my sore back.

I sit like an overcooked shrimp for an hour and then wonder why I have upper back pain.

I’m glad that Misha isn’t coming over until he finishes closing Brewed Awakening. It gave me a chance to do a live potion pull. It’s been a while, and it always boosts sales for our online store. I spend the next twenty minutes packaging the orders from the live and stress cleaning my living room.

A knock at the door saves the dust bunnies under my couch. I sigh, getting to my feet and stowing my vacuum in my broom closet. I cross the room to my front door and open it to find Misha clutching two to-go cups .

“Is that your hot chocolate?” I ask hopefully.

He grins at me, dropping one of the cups into my grabby hands. “Yes. I figured you’d need your fix since you’ve been avoiding me,” he says with a genuine grin.

I gesture him inside, taking a sip of the chocolatey deliciousness rather than responding to his comment. I take his cup too, giving him a chance to shed all his outer layers, and guide him into my living room.

“This place is very you,” Misha remarks, looking around.

“A mess?” I ask with a laugh.

“No. Warm. Lots of wonderful things smushed together,” he says happily as we sit on my couch. “A little spooky,” he continues, gesturing to the taxidermied moths hanging in gilt frames on my walls.

I push his shoulder and bat my lashes at him playfully. “Are you flirting with me?”

“You know, Felix and I have been looking for a third,” he deadpans.

I cackle and cover my flushed cheeks with my fingertips. “If I remember correctly, you once told me that I don’t have the proper anatomy for that. And besides, I’m seeing someone who doesn’t like to share.” Now it’s my turn to smirk at him.

He inhales sharply and leans in. “Tell me everything,” he orders.

And I do, relishing in his gasps of both horror and delight.

“You saucy little minx,” he says once I’ve brought him (mostly) up to speed.

“Getting yourself a supernatural hottie. Some of us can only dream and write fan fiction about it.” He sighs a beleaguered sigh.

“Yeah, he’s pretty great,” I say, feeling myself get all starry-eyed while I think about Dean.

Misha shakes his head at me good-naturedly .

After I drain the last dregs of my hot chocolate, I ask, “Okay, are you ready?”

He sits up straighter and nods. “Let’s do this.”

“Just a forewarning, your uncle is difficult. I know you know that, but let’s just say it has continued into the afterlife,” I warn.

He laughs humorlessly. “That doesn’t surprise me. Let’s get this over with.” He takes my empty cup from me and sets them both on my coffee table.

I cast my awareness out and am unsurprised to find Ivan hovering nearby. I had a feeling he hadn’t gone far since our last little run-in. I try not to let it give me the heebie-jeebies and call him forth.

He comes willingly, popping into existence with a violent burst of static that makes me flinch. “Finally,” he grouses.

“Are you willing to cooperate this time?” I ask, watching as he struts to my chair and sits like a king upon a throne.

He grunts, looking like he’s trying to work up either a belch or a fart, but his current state of being doesn’t allow it. He looks disappointed by that fact.

“He’s here, Misha,” I say, gesturing to his uncle. Misha slowly turns to face him.

“Hi, Uncle Ivan. Long time, no see,” he says, laughing awkwardly. Ivan scowls and crosses his arms. Misha looks to me for reassurance, and I nod. “So, I wanted to talk to you. I know the last conversation we had ended badly, and I wanted to make things right.”

Ivan snorts derisively and says, “That’s one way to put it. As I recall you called me an asshole and told me to go rot in hell.”

I chew on my lip, reluctant to repeat what Ivan said. When he turns his glare on me, I sigh and reiterate the gist of what he said, trying to take some of the sting out of the words.

Misha looks down at his lap, rubbing the goose bumps on his arms. “I know. I know I said that to you and then you were just gone,” he pauses to look back towards the chair, “All I’ve wanted every day since is to have a chance to speak with you and tell you how sorry I am for what I said.”

Ivan sits forward, elbows resting on his massive thighs. “Because of you, I couldn’t move on. You became my unfinished business, whether I wanted it or not. Was everything I did for you not enough? You had to fuck up my death?”

I scowl at Ivan and say aloud, “I’m not repeating that because it’s bullshit.”

Misha turns a puzzled look my way, and Ivan stands, getting in my face in a blink. “You’ll tell him what I said like a good little witch,” he spits.

“Then be nicer. You’re being a dick and I’m over it,” I say, crossing my arms.

“I—it’s okay,” Misha says, reaching out and touching my arm, “He’s allowed to be upset.

I did say some awful things to him.” I watch as he shrinks into a smaller, more vulnerable shell of himself.

I see the scared little boy he used to be painted across the furrow of his brow and his tightly clenched fists.

“See? He knows he should be sorry,” Ivan says, gesturing to Misha.

“What is your unfinished business, exactly?” I ask Ivan sharply. He gestures to Misha, and I say, “I know. But what exactly do you need to say to him? Listen to your gut.” I glare at him until he looks away.

Ivan backs up a bit, stepping through my coffee table as he thinks.

He looks down at his legs, which have disappeared through the table, and then says, “He needs to know that I never cared about the gay thing. I know I could be hard on him, but I was never angry about that.” He crosses his arms uncomfortably.

I breathe out the breath that was held hostage in my chest and relay what he said to Misha.

“Then, why did you shut down after I told you?” Misha asks in a small voice. I take his warm hand in mine, hoping to give him an anchor point.

Ivan rakes his hand through his thinning gray hair.

“I didn’t know how to respond! I wasn’t angry about it, but I also didn’t know what you wanted from me.

I fucked up just about everything as your parent.

Every single thing. I didn’t want to fuck this up too.

” Against my will, I feel a little empathy for Ivan taking root.

After I repeat what he said, Misha responds, “All you needed to say was that you were happy for me. That you accepted me. When you went silent, I couldn’t help but think the worst.”

“And see? I fucked it up anyway,” Ivan says.

For the first time, I start to consider that all his raging around is just a front.

It’s not an excuse for being an asshole, but it does offer an explanation.

“Of course I still accepted you. I was just glad you told me. When you left at seventeen, I thought that was it for us.” He stares off, eyes locked on my peeling wallpaper.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make the effort. I was the adult.

I should have reached out. Instead, like a coward, I waited for you to do it.

And once I finally had you back, I was too worried about messing things up again. ”

Misha listens, eyes getting a sheen to them as I convey Ivan’s message. “I forgive you, Ivan. ”

“I forgive you, too, kid. I deserved to be called an asshole and told where I could stick it. I’m not proud of who I am, but I am proud of how you turned out despite all my best efforts,” Ivan says with a self-deprecating snort. “All I want is for you to be happier than I was.”

“He is,” I say, squeezing Misha’s hand. “He’s such a great person, and he makes the best hot chocolate.” Ivan smiles at that, and he suddenly looks decades younger.

I tell Misha what Ivan said, and he responds, “I wish we had more time. Until I met Felix, I was totally alone. I regretted what I said every day. I always worried that our fight contributed to your heart attack.”

Ivan shakes his head. “You always did want to make everything your fault. No kid, my heart attack was courtesy of the bottom of too many bottles and an endless chain of cigarettes.” He sighs, rubbing his fingers together as if he’s searching for his next fix.

“And before I go, I want you to know how much I love you. How much I respect you. And how glad I was to raise you, even if I did screw up a lot. I didn’t tell you that enough when I was alive. ”

When I tell Misha what he said, he starts crying in earnest, the tears he was holding back flooding over his lashes. “I love you, too, Uncle Ivan. Thank you for coming back so we could talk.”

I reach out to Ivan, and when he looks at my hand like it might bite him, I sigh. “Go on, if you’re touching me, you can touch him. You both look like you could use a hug,” I say. I hope this works with more than just Dean.

Ivan takes my hand, his large, calloused one swallowing mine.

Misha and I stand, and Ivan pulls Misha in for a hug against his broad chest with his free arm.

Misha’s eyes widen and then scrunch closed as he hugs Ivan back, hard.

After a while, Ivan gives Misha a few manly thumps on the back and then lets go.

He steps back, and focuses on something not even I can see. “I think it’s time for me to go,” he says distantly before disappearing in a shower of light.

I sigh, glad that death had finally made Ivan see a little more clearly and that today didn’t end in a screaming match. “He’s gone,” I say quietly.

And then I hold Misha while he cries and tells me all the ways his uncle hurt him and healed him growing up.

How Misha screamed and shouted in equal measure.

How he left, and they finally found themselves on fragile ground.

How much regret he’s carried since their last fight.

We even laugh at a memory of Ivan screaming at Misha’s high school soccer coach for benching him.

“To be honest, I was terrible at soccer, but it was nice to have him on my side anyway,” Misha says with a small smile as he wipes a stray tear from his cheek.

I’m struck by how much I love this and how at ease I feel.

The last couple of months, while I’ve been helping people communicate with the dead, there was always this undercurrent of fear.

I was so scared I’d be found out. Now that it’s out there, I feel that little piece of myself click into place.

I’ve always helped the dead, but this is the first time I’ve felt like maybe I can help the living, too.

Maybe I don’t need to hide behind a curtain. Maybe I can just be me.