Entity Mine (4 page)

Chapter 6

Ethan spun, almost forgetting the malevolent energy behind him near the window, and closed distance with Devon. “You can see me!”

She shook her red-gold head as if to clear her mind and, frowning, pressed a delicate hand to her ear.

“How’s it going?” Beth barreled in, a breezy force of nature. The foul smell faded almost immediately.

“You’re right. There’s something here.” Devon gestured around Ethan. “But something else seemed to be blocking it.”

Ethan waved his hands in front of her face. “I’m right here. Open your eyes.”

“Let’s go talk.” Devon hooked her slim arm with Beth’s and they walked together down the stairs.

Since he had ignored the whole mumbo jumbo of ghosts and things that go bump in the night when he was alive, Ethan figured he’d better listen in.

After one last glance around the sunny room, he followed the sweet smell of cookies to the kitchen. On the threshold, he doubled over against the cramps squeezing his stomach.
God, what’d the hell did I do to deserve this constant fucking hunger?

Beth set a plate of fresh peanut butter cookies on her granite kitchen island. Ethan looked around, praying the new surroundings would distract him from the pain. The house might be historic, but the kitchen gleamed, thoroughly modern. Shiny granite and appliances highlighted warm hardwood floors and sleek cupboards. A rectangular island with four stools dominated the space.

Devon already sat in a high-backed stool, a steaming cup of tea in front of her. She stretched over the countertop and snatched a cookie as Beth climbed into the stool next to her. “I didn’t think you were going to get the kitchen done so fast.”

He watched as Beth took a bite of a damned delicious-looking cookie. He closed his eyes, but the heavenly odor of melted peanut butter made his mouth water and his stomach clench again. God damnit, why the hell did he still have a sense of smell? Was it some kind of punishment? He’d never believed in any kind of afterlife, but it sure felt like he was being punished.

They started talking about the kitchen renovation and he groaned. When were they going to talk about ghosts?

“Is that an induction cook top?” Devon nodded toward the stove.

“Yep, boils water in ninety seconds.”

He paced to the doorway. If only there were some way he could get their minds back on the subject at hand. He strode back toward the two women, trolling his mind for ideas.

If only he could move something.

He surveyed the homey kitchen. Maybe if he found something really easy to move, he could nudge it enough to get their attention?

He didn’t bother to worry that he’d tried and failed to move objects before, the foul presence upstairs—whatever it was—had moved that little vase. It could be done, and if it could be done, he could do it. All he had to do was understand the incomprehensible.

Devon sipped her herbal tea, a mixture of mints since it was after four, savoring the contrast of the heat of the tea and the cooling sensation of the mint—Beth was kind of like that, a contradictory blend of effervescence and vulnerability—and smiled at Beth’s enthusiastic recounting of the features of her fancy new double oven.

The spirit she’d encountered upstairs troubled her—more than troubled her if the truth be known—but she didn’t want to upset her friend, remodeling this house was a life-long dream, hatched as children when they would pass the rambling structure, a fanciful Queen Anne Victorian, on the way to a nearby woods where they’d liked to play. To the other kids, it was the neighborhood haunted house. To Beth and Devon, it was an enchanted castle.

Beth’s voice died, and Devon glanced up from her earthenware mug. Her friend’s face looked parchment pale, her gaze glued above the island where the most central of the three red glass pendant lights moved in a lazy circle. The other pendant lights were completely still and the knowledge that the movement was unnatural raised the hairs on her arms.

Devon inhaled slowly to calm her stampeding pulse and extended her extra senses as she had earlier. Outwardly, her sight dimmed, her hearing dulled, the taste of the peanut butter and smell of mint waned, but her inner eye grew sharper, seeming to sweep the room like a kind of supernatural radar, searching for something beyond the reach of normal sight, and found . . . nothing.

Finally, she shook her head. “I can’t see whatever is causing the swaying, but it seems—” She hesitated not wanting to frighten her friend with the dirty sensations she’d received in the guest room. “—different from what I sensed upstairs.”

Beth’s milk chocolate eyes went wide and then narrowed to keen slits. “And what did you sense upstairs, Devon Marie Daughtry?”

The use of her full name made Devon fight off a smile. How much could she say without driving her friend screaming out of the house? What she needed to say wasn’t exactly, ‘You’ve got a portal to hell,’ but it wasn’t far off.

She winced and glanced over her shoulder toward the long hallway leading to the foyer. “Maybe we could talk outside?”

“Devon.” Beth said her name slowly with a little lift at the end.

Devon jabbed her in the ribs with her elbow. “You sound just like my mother when you talk like that.”

Beth glared at her, crossing her arms over her chest and jiggling the toe of her strappy sandals.

“Better be careful or your face will freeze like that.”

Beth smirked. “Now you sound like
my
mother. Come on. I know you’re hiding something from me.”

Devon drummed her fingers on the slick green and brown speckled granite. “Okay.” She examined the swirls on the ceiling without really seeing them. “I’ve helped a lot of ghosts move on. Some were even pretty angry, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an . . . unwholesome spirit. I’m afraid you might get hurt. I think you should come and stay with me or with your mother for a few days.”

Beth glanced at the plaster ceiling and back at Devon. The pendant light in front of them had stopped circling, but still swayed a bit. “And then what? I love this house. Everything I have is tied up in it. I even wanted to get married here.” She rolled her eyes. “If Matthew ever proposes.”

“I just need some time to do some research. We might need someone more experienced in dealing with . . . darker energies. And I’ve blocked off my other senses for a lot of years. I’m rusty. I’ll have to do some meditation, too.”

Beth let loose a long, gusty sigh, her whole body seeming to deflate. “Okay. I’ll get some things and go stay with my mom.” She grinned. “Wouldn’t want to put a crimp in your social life.”

Devon threw her arm around her friend’s shoulders and pulled her into a one-armed hug. “What social life?”

Chapter 7

Ethan slid though the metal and glass into the passenger seat of Devon’s silver Hyundai. Devon opened the driver’s door wide and put her sandaled foot inside, her arm on the top of the window. “You sure you don’t need me to stay while you get some things?”

Beth shook her head, the sunlight haloing her blonde hair. “Nah, I still have a ton of stuff at Mom’s. I’ll just grab my toiletries and head out.”

Devon clicked her tongue. “Okay. Give me a call when you get there.”

Beth wiggled her fingers and walked toward the wide front porch, heels clicking on the paving stones. “Will do.”

Ethan studied Devon as she started the car. Her relationship with Beth was obviously long-standing. Even though she advertised her abilities, he could tell she hadn’t wanted to deal with the spirit at Beth’s for some reason. He liked the fact that she’d done so for her friend.

He leaned back against the headrest, moving the light had taken everything he had.

He’d tried for several minutes, almost giving up, until he’d remembered how the atmosphere had seemed to change in the second-story room when the vase had moved. The ghost—God, it felt ridiculous to even think the word, even if he was one—had somehow gathered energy from the room to move the small object. As before, he’d attempted to do the same, but couldn’t quite grasp the how of it. Then, in desperation, he’d simply imagined his hand solid as he pushed at the light and the fixture had moved.

He sighed. He’d been pumped at his success, but now he felt wrung out and he still hadn’t really learned anything he could use.

Back in the house, Ethan watched Devon snag a votive candle and some matches and take them to her bedroom.
Must be going to meditate like she said to Beth.

She planted the candle on the white laminate nightstand with a little plunk, as if she were reluctant to do this, but determined. The smell of sulphur dioxide tinged the air as she struck the match, but the wick ignited and the warm scent of vanilla soon dispelled the acrid odor.

Devon sat on the bed, her shoulders rising and falling with a heavy sigh, tucked up her legs, tailor-fashion, and closed her eyes. A few moments passed and the muscles in her face relaxed, her shoulders slumped as if weighted.

Ethan sank onto the little area rug she’d placed in front of the bed and studied her. How sick was it that just watching her meditate spread a blanket of calm over him? He should leave, but he felt anchored in place.

Devon’s soft breathing seeped into him, lulling his body toward tranquility like morphine, making him feel as if he were sinking into the floor. He imagined he could hear her heartbeat, each thud steady and comforting, and the rhythm seemed to tug his own heart into mirroring hers.

He let his heavy eyelids fall. When he opened them, he found himself standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He braced a hand on the scarred molding. Though he knew immediately this was some sort of dream, everything felt solid and real. He gripped the wood, rubbing the uneven surface with his fingers, feeling the drag on his skin. God, that felt good.

Wearing heart-printed shorts and a black tank top, Devon lounged at the table with her back to him, one fuzzy-slippered heel resting on her sleek thigh. She looked good enough to eat.

Damn, death sucked
.

A coffee cup at her elbow sent curls of fragrant steam into the air.

If only he could wake up and smell the coffee. At least, in a dream the wracking hunger and burning thirst retreated for the most part, leaving only pale shadows of themselves behind.

The sunlight shearing through the window in the front door and puddling at her feet told him it was morning.

He glanced down and saw that he wore his usual T-shirt and jeans. He rubbed a hand against his chest, the cotton soft against his palm, and stepped into the room.

Devon gazed over her shoulder, a smile tilting her mouth and crinkling the corners of her lovely eyes. “Ethan!” Her voice held a wealth of welcoming surprise. “I’m so glad you came to meet me.”

He had to smile in return. There was no defense against a greeting so genuine. He shrugged. “I live here.”

Her smile compressed, turning a little sad. She patted the worn bottom of the chair beside her. “Come have a seat.”

He hung there for a moment, like the specter he was, then took her up on her invitation. When he was seated, he found a steaming mug beside his elbow. He hadn’t seen Devon fetch it, but this was a dream, after all. “What’s going on?”

Devon pushed a wayward strand of red hair off her shoulder. “I’m meditating to open myself to spirits. I usually visualize a garden or something, but for some reason the kitchen popped into my head.”

“You looked surprised to see me.”

“I wasn’t sensing you before, so I’d hoped I wouldn’t.”

He huffed a little, the words a slap in the face after the warmth of her welcome. The stinging in his chest startling in its sharp intensity.

She put her warm hand on his clenched knuckles. “Because I hoped you were . . . alive.”

“Oh.” His lowered gaze took in the differences in their hands, his tough and callused, sprinkled with tiny white scars from years at sea. Hers, soft and pale, the nails oval and neat, slick with a color that reminded him of the inside of a seashell.

She took her hand away, leaving his far too empty, and lifted her mug to that sweet mouth, then she scanned the room, as if searching for something.

He followed her gaze. “Are you expecting someone else?”

She bobbed her shoulders. “I almost thought the spirit from Beth’s might have followed me home.” She shivered and rubbed her upper arms. “That thing’s nasty.”

“I’ll protect you,” he said before he could consider his words. They dangled in the air between them like a vow. She wasn’t his to protect and he had no idea how to fight a ghost, but he didn’t try to retract or soften his statement. He might not have the right or the ability to carry through, but fuck it, he meant every word.

Her eyes were a little shiny as she patted his hand. “Thank you.” Then she straightened her shoulders and stood, strolling to the coffee maker, turning back to him with a little swish of her trim hips. “But what makes you think I can’t protect myself.”

Devon basked in the warmth of Ethan’s hazel-green stare. The comforting mantle of his offer to protect her surrounding her. Her assertion she could protect herself was the God’s honest truth—well mostly—but this apparition of Beth’s felt particularly frightening and she didn’t mind the idea of a little backup.

Still, as much as she’d craved the chance to meet Ethan, get to know him, this wasn’t a breakfast date. She had a responsibility to find out how he’d died and try to move him on.

She glanced out the window over the sink at the weedy backyard for a second, blinking back ridiculous moisture. This might be their first and last meeting. So why did she feel like a God damn widow on her wedding night?

“What happened, Ethan?” She swallowed the ache in her throat, angry with herself. She had a job to do. “How did you die?”

He shook his head and pushed back from the table, coming to stand next to her.

God, he was big.

“One minute, I was watching TV, drinking a beer. Then, a friend of mine and another guy I’d met that night broke in. There was a flash and I couldn’t touch anything.” A shudder wracked him.

Devon fought the urge to cup his strong shoulder. “Could the flash have been from a gun?”

He shook his dark head and stared at the ceiling. “I was a SEAL. I know what a muzzle flash looks like. This was much brighter. It lit the whole room. I couldn’t see for a couple seconds.” His expression grew stark as he lowered his gaze. “Besides, there was no blood, no body. Nothing.”

Devon rolled her head to relieve the tension in her neck. “Is it possible you’re missing time? That there was cleanup done and you just missed it?”

His hard mouth flattened into a grim line. “No. I’ve had other periods where I wasn’t . . . aware, but I remember everything from that night.”

The rigid set of his body was like a billboard, screaming his reluctance to say anything more about the night he died.

She combed through her tangled hair with her fingers, thinking. “Spirits frequently have unfinished business of some kind. Some don’t even know they’re dead, but you don’t have to stay, Ethan. You can move on.” Devon pressed her lips together, proud that her voice hadn’t shaken. So she’d felt a connection to his picture. So looking at him turned her insides to jelly.
How selfish can you be, Devon?
He was just a spirit like any other. He no longer belonged on this plane. Staying would only cause him more pain. She’d seen it before. “Do you see a light?”

Devon opened her eyes and found herself looking at her quilt, sideways and close to her face. She popped up, rubbing her creased cheek. A dream. The whole damn thing had been a dream.

Some medium she was. Falling asleep during a simple meditation. The whole experience with Ethan was probably nothing but a figment of her overheated imagination.

She groaned as she looked outside and saw the red smudge of the setting sun. The emotions she’d felt still lingered in her chest. Her pain at the thought of Ethan leaving. The crashing wave of relief when he’d refused to try and cross.

Relief. God, she was losing it.

Ethan leaned on the chipped countertop as Devon whipped up her solitary supper, gathering items from the refrigerator and chopping vegetables. He hadn’t bunked with anyone since he left the service. Sharing quarters was one of the reasons he’d left the Navy as soon as his tour was up. As civilians, Jaden and Joe had shared an apartment, but his increasingly risky temper made it impossible for him to join them. This felt different though. He certainly wasn’t living with Devon by any stretch of the imagination, but he found he liked the illusion. Too much.

That wasn’t the only illusion he’d liked. Dreaming of talking with Devon had been heaven. He’d never felt a bond like that with anyone. Until she’d offered to cross him over. A bitter chuckle almost escaped him. Not wanted even in a dream. It must have been the cold bite of reality on his ass that’d awakened him.

He observed as Devon carried her supper to the living room and ate watching the news, her gaze faraway, as if she didn’t see the screen at all. After she’d finished and cleaned the tiny kitchen, she set a tablet computer on the table and began searching the internet.

She entered ‘Negative spritis’ into a search engine. Then muttering, she erased it and re-typed, ‘inhuman hauntings.’ Finally, she swore under her breath and typed, ‘Demonic spirits.’

Ethan read over her shoulder for an hour, hoping to learn something. Dream or no, he was dead serious. He would protect her.

Then he drifted into the living room. The TV was visible from the kitchen and Devon had left it on, so he lay on the sofa and watched prime-time, his arms folded behind his head. Luckily, she seemed to like the same shows he did. The programs were probably re-runs, but he’d never seen them.

After the late news, Devon closed her computer, scrubbing her eyelids with her fingers and turned off the TV, wandering into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Ethan sat in the cool dark for a while, listening to her preparations.

She deserved privacy, he reminded himself as she puttered in the bedroom.

He wasn’t going in there, of course. That would be wrong. He wasn’t going in there. He wasn’t going in there.

He wasn’t—Fuck it, he was.

She’d washed her face and it was shiny with some sort of cream. Her hair was bundled into a kind of messy knot that made his fingers itch to release the glossy red-gold stuff. Her nightclothes were prosaic, a black tank top and shorts, reminding him of the dream, but the top hugged her breasts and the shorts made her legs look a thousand miles long. All and all, she looked completely and utterly edible.

Okay, he was leaving.

In a minute.

Yawning, Devon slid her sleek legs under her warm quilt and again he remembered this was his bed. How many nights had he lain there alone. Not even realizing he was lonely. Not ‘til her.

“Goodnight, handsome.”

Startled, he glanced at her, thinking she’d seen him, to find her gaze locked on his picture. Something inside him tightened like a screw being turned and the lingering ache of rejection from the dream disappeared. She blew a kiss at the photo, then groped for the lamp on the nightstand. “Sleep tight.”

The surging well of emotion brought on by the no doubt casual gesture overwhelmed him and he just stood there for a moment, huffing like a man breaking the surface after his air had run out 10 meters under.

Something creaked outside, sounding like the groan of wood against wood, trees rubbing against each other probably, and Devon sat up, switching on the lamp. Her pupils dilated, and he could see the pulse at her neck thrumming. She looked around the room. Then she lay back down, seeming to realize nothing was amiss. She gave a little laugh. “New place nerves.” Her voice seemed overloud in the cramped room.

She threw a rueful glance at his photo. “Well, handsome, tomorrow we’re getting a dog.”

Damn, she was cute. And she liked dogs.

This time after the light went out, it stayed out. Ethan stood listening to Devon’s breathing smooth for several long moments. He wandered to the door, then back to the bed. He stood there for a while, listening, and then, as his eyes became used to the dark, watching her sleep. What was it about her that called to him as no other woman ever had?