Page 8 of The Most Unusual Haunting of Edgar Lovejoy

“Thanks, Edgar. At the beginning of my transition, I went through a period of worrying that my body was…too complicated? It felt like people looked at me as if I was a mystery to solve rather than a person.”

Edgar leaned in subtly.

“But what I learned at that performance is that burlesque is all about the tease. The whole point is to choreograph a routine that creates mystery around certain parts of your body that you may or may not choose to reveal to the audience later. And that really appealed to me—the power of being the one to create the mystery rather than being at the mercy of others trying to solve it.”

“You’re like the author of the mystery instead of the reader,” Edgar said.

“Exactly.”

“Were you nervous about the, er, nudity part?”

“Yeah, for sure. But there was this trans performer there, and he explained that he doesn’t even take off much.

He makes it feel as if he does because of how the routine is choreographed.

” Jamie’s elegant fingers trailed along the belly of their wineglass.

“It’s all about building up the tension to the point that even the revelation of a bare shoulder or thigh can feel legitimately titillating to the audience. Same principle as haunting, really.”

Jamie’s eyes were shining, and Edgar thought that he could happily sit in this restaurant all night and listen to them talk. Even, it turned out, about haunted houses.

“How so?”

Jamie sipped their wine. “We’re always trying to figure out how we can create the biggest impact with the smallest stimulus.

It’s all about manipulating how someone experiences the environment.

Distracting them with something over here.

” Jamie held up their wineglass. “While over there”—they raised their other hand and put it under the table—“something is setting up to getcha! ”

When they said getcha , they tapped Edgar’s knee with their empty hand, and he startled a bit, even though he’d anticipated it.

“And the more on edge the audience is, the less it takes to push them over. A sudden noise. A puff of air. A change of texture.” Jamie scratched his thigh lightly. “A bright light. That’s all it takes to make some people scream.”

Edgar felt fairly certain he would be one of the people in question. His skin felt electrified, and his mind supplied images of Jamie making him scream in less terrifying but equally potent ways.

“Watching people get scared exactly like you planned, performing burlesque. Both make me feel like a god.”

As Jamie said this, the waiter arrived with the food. He slid steaming plates in front of them with a “Bon appetit” and a slight bow. Jamie declined another glass of wine.

“What did you get?” Edgar asked.

“Lobster ravioli. Wanna try?”

“Sure. Do you want to try…?” Edgar realized with horror that he had no idea what he’d ordered.

“Blackened Cajun redfish with polenta,” Jamie offered, raising an eyebrow.

Just tell them the truth and don’t be weird, Edgar instructed himself.

“I, um, I was so nervous earlier that I guess I didn’t pay attention to what I was ordering,” he admitted and was rewarded with a soft smile.

Jamie put a hand on Edgar’s. A gentle, comforting pressure that demanded nothing. “I was nervous too,” they confessed. “I thought you were wishing you were anywhere but here. You seemed really distracted.”

And damn, there was that hint of vulnerability that tugged at Edgar’s heart. He hated that he’d made Jamie—lovely Jamie—feel that way.

“No. Definitely not. I…was just anxious. I’m having a really good time.”

Jamie held out a forkful of lobster ravioli for Edgar. The pasta was fresh, the lobster buttery, and the crispy breadcrumbs on top added the perfect amount of crunch.

“Damn. That’s really good.”

“You sound surprised.”

Edgar tried to remember the last time he’d been on a dinner date. (He couldn’t.) The last time he’d shared bites of food with anyone. (Allie finishing his pancakes when he went to the bathroom didn’t count.) The last time anyone wanted to get to know him. (Nothing came to mind.)

“Just hungry, I guess.”

He made Jamie a bite and passed it to them.

“Yum. Spicy.”

Edgar tried his own food. It was indeed spicy. Sweat broke out at his hairline. Damn. He would never have ordered this on a date if he’d been paying attention.

“It’s good,” he said, wondering which was grosser: wiping off sweat at the table with his napkin or allowing it to eventually drip down his face.

He compromised on subtly blotting at his forehead with his napkin and cleared his throat.

“Sorry. I’m…” He downed half his water and cleared his throat again.

“Are you okay?” Jamie asked, tone suggesting they were ready to spring into action at any moment if his answer was no.

“Yeah, fine,” he croaked. “Just a little spicier than I imagined.”

Jamie’s expression was part suspicion and part… Could that be tenderness?

They reached over and swapped the dinner plates, taking the fish for themself.

“You don’t have to do that,” Edgar protested. “You ordered what you wanted. It’s not your fault I’m an enormous spice baby.”

Jamie grinned at spice baby and gestured that Edgar should eat.

“That’s really nice of you,” he said, mortified. They ate in silence for a minute, and Edgar collected himself. There had been something he wanted to know. “Truth or dare?” he asked.

“Truth.”

“Why did you ask me on a date? I know I was awkward when we met.”

“All three times we met,” Jamie teased. They buttered a piece of bread slowly. “I don’t mind awkward.”

They seemed to choose their words carefully.

“I thought you were hot when I saw you at the club,” they said slowly. “I saw you standing at the bar, and you looked so…remote, I guess. Like you were in another dimension, peeking through into this one.”

Edgar felt a pang of sadness at the confirmation that he seemed as isolated as he felt.

“And I guess I wondered what was going on in your dimension and whether you might come far enough into this one to connect.” Jamie’s expression was warm.

“But honestly? I knew I wanted to ask you out when I saw you with the cats. You treated them with such dignity and care. I…hoped that was how you’d treat me if we were ever together. ”

Edgar could see that it had cost Jamie something to admit this.

“Anyway, I had to get you in a noncat environment so I wouldn’t be distracted by how fucking cute it is to see a big muscular Superman guy cuddling a bunch of damn kittens.”

Edgar choked on his bite of ravioli. “Superman?”

“ That’s the part that stuck with you about what I said?”

“Sorry, I just… No one’s ever referred to me that way before.”

“Why did you accept?”

“Because I thought you were lovely,” Edgar said without thinking. “At the show, when I first saw you, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. And you were captivating onstage. I, um, I was really sorry I couldn’t stick around after to talk to you more.”

Jamie’s blue eyes went soft, and it gave Edgar the courage to continue.

“I would, you know.”

“Would what?” Jamie asked.

“Treat you with dignity and care. I mean. If we. You know.”

“Yeah?” Jamie asked.

They reached their hand across the table, palm up, and Edgar took it. Rough fingertips and soft palms, like sand and velvet. What would it would be like to have someone to hold hands with while he walked through the streets? Someone to squeeze his shoulders after a hard day?

“Thanks. I would too.” Jamie’s voice was just breath. They stroked the back of his hand with their thumb, and Edgar’s pulse pounded. Jamie broke the charged silence. “Truth or dare?” They made an adorable face. “And you should really choose dare .”

“Okay, dare,” Edgar said, wanting to please Jamie even though it made him nervous.

“I dare you to order two desserts.” They winked at him, and relief flooded Edgar.

“That’s about the speed of dare I’m up for,” he said with a smile.

He ordered lime cheesecake and grapefruit sorbet. Jamie ordered gingerbread panna cotta and beignet bread pudding.

“Now we both get to try four,” Jamie said as the waiter left.

Edgar returned their smile. He would gladly have ordered ten desserts to make Jamie happy. In fact, seeing Jamie smile was quickly topping Edgar’s list of favorite things, displacing such old standbys as watching a cat’s paws twitch with dreams and not having to leave his apartment.

“What’s your favorite dessert?” Jamie asked.

But before Edgar could answer, cold trickled down the back of his neck, like someone had cracked an egg made of ice. Edgar froze, time slowing down as he became horribly aware of his own body and of the presence of another that shouldn’t be there.

As slowly as he could make himself move, Edgar turned to look behind him.

A torso and head were sticking halfway out of the wall.

The face was an unseeing mask of terror.

Once, it had been a man, but now it was a screaming echo—empty and desperate and terrified.

Sweat soaked Edgar’s armpits and back, and the ringing in his ears drowned out the conversation around him.

All of a sudden, he couldn’t breathe. He was alone in the world of this creature.

It reached out a rotting hand and grazed Edgar’s hair, the sensation like cobwebs and insects and the dark secret things that no one should know.

Edgar jumped out of his seat before he realized he was moving.

“Are you okay?” Jamie asked, expression concerned. They rose also, reaching a hand out to Edgar.

It was gone. The wall was just a wall. Edgar touched his hair, half convinced he’d come away with a handful of cobweb and dirt and writhing beetles, but of course there was nothing there.

“Can I help you, sir?” asked their waiter as he appeared with dessert.

“No. Thanks,” he choked. “I’m okay. Sorry.”

The waiter inclined his chin gravely, the picture of decorum, and placed the desserts on their table.

“What’s wrong?” Jamie asked, still clearly concerned.