Page 10 of The Most Unusual Haunting of Edgar Lovejoy

Jamie

Jamie was tipsy with excitement as they walked through the French Quarter with Edgar by their side. Every time their shoulders bumped or their fingers grazed, Jamie felt a frisson of possibility.

Had there been some strange, awkward moments during dinner?

Yes. But Jamie chalked it up to first-date nerves on both their parts.

They couldn’t wait for a time when Edgar felt comfortable enough to let his guard down.

Hopefully, a little bit of kitschy haunted fun would help.

An excuse to stand close in the dark, to whisper, lips grazing cheeks, to hold hands.

“Here we are,” Jamie said as they approached the sign that announced FRENCH QUARTER GHOST TOURS . “I signed us up for Carys’ ghost tour! I know she’s a friend of yours, so I thought—”

The expression on Edgar’s face brought Jamie up short. He looked like he’d retreated to the dimension he’d been in when Jamie first saw him at the Never Lounge.

Their stomach fell. Edgar clearly thought it was stupid, and no wonder, since they were locals and this was mostly a silly tourist thing. Or maybe Edgar was one of those people who considered horror lowbrow, like their parents.

Disappointment and humiliation warred.

“We don’t have to do this,” they backtracked. “I thought it’d be fun, but…”

Edgar was chewing on his bottom lip so hard Jamie worried for it, but he didn’t answer.

“Edgar?”

“No, yeah,” Edgar said, voice rough. “It’s okay. Yeah, it’ll be fun. I just wasn’t…expecting it.”

He was clearly lying, but Jamie didn’t know why. What they did know was that they hated lying. You couldn’t trust a liar, even if they were lying for your benefit. Jamie had learned that the hard way.

“Are you sure? Because it seems like you’re not into it. Which is okay, but please tell me.”

“No, it’s cool. Really. Thank you. For planning our date.”

Jamie wasn’t entirely convinced, but when they asked one more time if he was okay and Edgar promised that he was, Jamie took him at his word.

Edgar bumped Jamie’s shoulder with his own.

It was a charming, jejune gesture that made Jamie think of childhood best friends, siblings, and maybe also partners who’d been together a long time and could communicate complex thoughts through a single gesture. It filled them with warmth.

“Okay, ” they said, allowing their excitement to trickle back in. “Have you ever done one of these before?”

“No, never.”

“I’ve gone on a bunch of them, as research for haunts. The tour guide makes all the difference. That’s why I picked Carys, really, in addition to the fact that we both know her. Did you know the tour guides do their own research into the supernatural history of the city?”

Edgar shook his head. He watched Jamie intently.

“The first one I ever went on was a vampire tour, when I was nine or ten. My parents and my sister weren’t interested, but I begged them to take me. I was hooked. My family had to tell me to shut up about vampires five times a day for the next six months.”

“The birth of a haunter, huh?” Edgar said.

“Yep. My parents are probably still cursing the day.”

“They’re not into it?” Edgar asked.

Jamie’s expression no doubt said there was a lot to discuss, but they only managed briefly, “Supremely not into it.”

Before they could say more, Carys came outside to gather everyone for the tour.

“Hey,” she said to Jamie and Edgar. “Thought I saw a couple familiar names on the roster. It’s so good to see you guys.”

“I’ve heard you’re the best,” Jamie said, and Edgar gave a wave.

“Oh yeah? Did my very objective girlfriend tell you that?” Carys asked.

Jamie waggled their eyebrows in confirmation. She turned to Edgar. “Can’t believe I’m seeing you twice in one week, Edgar. It’s nice.”

“Thanks, you too,” Edgar said, ducking his head.

“All right, everyone, gather around,” Carys announced, raising her voice to include the rest of the group milling around the meet-up spot. “Let me orient you briefly, and then we will set off into the dark and thrilling world of the haunted French Quarter.”

Just the phrase dark and thrilling was enough to get Jamie excited.

But Carys was a great speaker, and she held the tour group in her thrall.

She managed to make everything she was saying sound like a secret she imparted to them and them alone, and she wielded her black lace parasol like it was an extension of her arm.

Jamie would happily have followed her around all night, hearing creepy stories in her smooth voice.

Edgar, to the contrary, did not seem to be having fun at all. In fact, Jamie got the feeling he was actively trying not to listen to the stories on the tour.

He looked the opposite direction of everywhere Carys pointed, his gaze darting around, eyes following each passerby as if he were searching for someone he would only vaguely recognize.

At one point, he looked so pointedly away from the tour that he tripped over a Cthulhic tangle of beads, hair extensions, and a discarded shoe on the corner of Bourbon and Ursulines.

Jamie caught his elbow and steadied him.

Edgar gave an apologetic smile, but his eyes were manic.

“Dude. Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh.” Edgar gave Jamie’s shoulder a squeeze. “Sorry. I’m a klutz.”

Jamie had seen no indication of that up until now, but they supposed Edgar would know. “Okay, well. Just…don’t die on Bourbon Street. It’s undignified.”

Edgar nodded in agreement, and Jamie succumbed once more to Carys’ melodic voice as she told them about the ghost of a young girl in a long white dress holding a gray cat that people had reported seeing since the 1880s.

But ten minutes later, Edgar grabbed Jamie’s arm. For a moment, Jamie thought their plan of holding hands during the scary parts was coming to fruition. But when they turned to Edgar, his face was stark with a terror far greater than Carys’ tale warranted, no matter how well told.

“What’s wrong?” Jamie asked, resting their hand on Edgar’s where it clutched their arm.

Edgar blinked fast, schooling the fear from his face. His eyes came into focus, and he dropped Jamie’s arm.

“I’m good,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “Sorry about that.”

Jamie frowned. Edgar had looked sincerely terrified.

Earlier, when Jamie had mentioned being a haunter, Edgar had gone tense.

Jamie had put his response down to nerves, but what if Edgar was genuinely frightened?

Some people simply weren’t cut out for horror, no matter how tame.

Jamie just wished he’d be honest about it.

“Hey. I shouldn’t have booked this without asking you. If it’s too scary, just tell me. We’ll take off. Go get a drink or something.”

“No, no,” Edgar said quickly. “You’re fine. It’s… I just… Ha ha. Yeah. I guess I got…startled?”

Jamie narrowed their eyes. Edgar was clearly lying, and Jamie loathed lying. But he was lying so badly . Incompetently, really. Was that better or worse? Was it some macho thing about not admitting he was scared? That certainly wasn’t attractive.

“If you say so,” Jamie said.

For the next few blocks though, Edgar seemed fine. They stopped in front of the old Ursuline Convent, and Carys said, “Let me tell you the tale of the filles à la cassette, young girls who arrived from Europe in the eighteenth century and whom locals believed to be vampires.”

Edgar inched back against the wall they stood near. It looked like he was trying to press himself through it. Just as Carys was getting to the good part—Jamie knew this story well—Edgar jerked away and clutched at the plaster behind him, eyes wild.

Something was very wrong.

“Edgar.” Jamie moved in front of him, not wanting to startle him.

“I’m okay. Sorry, ha ha.”

But Jamie wasn’t going to accept Edgar’s dismissals anymore. “No. You’re obviously not. Come here.”

They took Edgar’s hand and tugged him around the corner and away from the tour. Edgar slid down the wall into a crouch. Jamie knelt in front of him.

“What’s wrong?” they asked as gently as they could.

Edgar shook his head. “Nothing. Sorry.”

“Listen,” Jamie said. “I’m really worried about you.

I get that we don’t know each other that well so you might not wanna tell me what’s up with you.

And that’s okay. But please don’t lie to me.

I don’t—lying is not okay with me. It makes me feel like I can’t trust you, and if I can’t trust you, I don’t want to be around you.

I don’t mean to be harsh, but it’s nonnegotiable. ”

“I get it. I, um. Something is wrong. With me. But, uh. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Relief that Edgar wasn’t going to keep lying swept through Jamie. Sure, they wished Edgar would trust them enough to tell them what was wrong. But honesty was a start.

“Okay,” Jamie said. “Thank you.”

Edgar nodded miserably. “I guess we should find the tour?”

“No way. This is clearly not enjoyable for you, and a date is supposed to, like, not be horrible.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Edgar said with a ghost of a smile.

When Edgar said that he hadn’t dated in a while, Jamie’s first thought had been, How is that possible? Now though, they had more than an inkling of how it was possible. Something more than first date nerves was definitely going on with Edgar.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Edgar frowned. “What about Carys? We can’t just leave.”

“I’ll text her. She’ll understand.”

Edgar bit his lip.

“I won’t tell her you were scared, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Edgar frowned but acquiesced.

Jamie stood and held out a hand. Edgar took it and let Jamie haul him up. His palms were slick with sweat.

Jamie put a hand on Edgar’s back and walked them toward a bar with a quiet back patio that tourists didn’t know about.

“Is this okay?” they asked Edgar when they got there.

He nodded as he trailed in after them, looking diminished.

“Here, you sit and save the table, and I’ll get us drinks. What would you like?”

“A ginger ale, please.”

Jamie squeezed his shoulder. “You’re okay if I leave for a minute?”

“Yeah.” Then he added, “I promise.”

Jamie made their way to the bar and ordered drinks. They texted Carys, apologizing for ducking out early and assuring her it had nothing to do with her excellent tour-guiding.

Obviously , she replied with a winky emoji.

Then they had nothing to do except ponder what the hell was up with Edgar.

Was he on drugs? His behavior was erratic and confusing enough.

In witness protection and constantly on the lookout for his old life coming after him?

Surely, witness protection would pick a more common name than Edgar Lovejoy, wouldn’t they?

Perhaps it was garden-variety mental health stuff, and Edgar was simply having a rough day. Or week or month.

But most likely was that the obvious solution was the right one: Edgar wasn’t really that into Jamie romantically, and he didn’t want to hurt Jamie’s feelings.

It had happened before. Cute, sweet, cis gay guys who thought Jamie was hot but turned out not to want a relationship with a nonbinary person. It stung, but not as much as it would after two or three dates.

The bartender slid a ginger ale and Moscow mule across the bar top and only charged them for the cocktail. Jamie thanked her, tipped for both drinks, and made their way back to Edgar.

It was a warm night, and the cold drinks felt good in their hands.

Edgar had chosen a table in the farthest corner, next to a small fountain and half-hidden by huge potted ferns.

Careful not to startle him, Jamie approached by skirting the edge of the patio.

They needn’t have bothered though, because Edgar had his chair pushed so tight against the fountain that nothing could sneak up on him except a shower.

They handed him the ginger ale and sat down.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They sat quietly for a minute, sipping their drinks.

Jamie said, “So. This thing that you don’t wanna talk about.”

Edgar tensed.

“Are you physically safe? Like, do you need medical assistance or anything?”

Edgar shook his head, looking mortified. He was quiet so long that Jamie thought he wasn’t going to respond. They decided they had about five minutes, or the time it’d take to drink one drink, before they needed to bounce and nurse their disappointment.

But then Edgar said, “I’m not trying to be mysterious. It’s just…I can’t really explain.”

“Well, you are,” Jamie said. They were hit with a wave of exhaustion as disappointment replaced excitement.

“Listen, Edgar, I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you tonight.

But if you’re not interested, please tell me.

It’s… I get that it can be awkward to let someone down, but it’s so much kinder, honestly, than—”

Edgar grabbed Jamie’s hand in both of his. His fingertips were cold from the icy glass, and a shiver ran through Jamie despite the heat.

“I’m interested,” Edgar said quickly. “I had a really good time. Before the…anyway. But I don’t know if…I’m just not sure I’m any good for you.”

Jamie sighed. That was such a classic cop-out.

“What about you do you think would be bad for me?” they asked.

Edgar blinked. “I…can’t tell you?”

Jamie got up. “Okay, I get it.” They didn’t know what they got precisely, but they knew this move. This was the I-don’t-want-to-be-the-bad-guy-so-I’m-going-to-make-you-do-it move.

The scrape of a chair, and then Edgar’s hand closed on their elbow.

“Wait, please,” he said, eyes darting around anxiously.

“Dude. This is officially not feeling good to me. You get, like, one more sentence, and then I’m gonna go.”

The part of Jamie that was crushing on Edgar hoped that he would find the one perfect sentence that would convince them to stay.

And for a moment, Edgar looked like he was going to oblige.

He opened his mouth, his eyes wide and panicked, as if he too were searching for that one perfect sentence.

Jamie waited, their heart poised on the precipice, ready to be scooped into Edgar’s arms or tumble over into the free fall of disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” Edgar whispered.