“But if you weren’t, we wouldn’t laugh. We’d believe you. I’m open to the possibility of supernatural things.” Alban smiles, a tense, wide smile. “What makes you think the apartment is haunted?”
“I don’t know. An odd noise here and there. A dream I had last night that seemed too real. Sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about this crazy stuff at work.”
“Supernatural things aren’t ‘crazy.’ Don’t let anyone tell you they are,” Alban warns with a stern look. “One needs professional medical help, and the other needs... understanding. We won’t think you’re imagining things if you tell us. A good lawyer trusts his client.”
“I’m not your client! You’re not some small-town ghost-busting team, are you?”
“Not at all,” Alain cuts in. “Alban just means we have your back, okay?”
“Okay.” I can’t wipe the grin off my face.
I have friends. People who believe me.
“I’ll be back with that smoothie. Uh, Alban, why don’t you come with me for a minute and remind me what’s in your health concoction?”
My bosses exit, and I see them having a conversation outside the big picture window in front of my desk.
I have friends, people who believe me, and the best bosses ever. Life is good—and when I think about it, even my worrying dreams aren’t that worrying. They’re good, too.
Lucius. It snaps into place in my brain like a whip crack.Luciusis the name of the lonely ghost in my dream—or in my apartment.
Either way, I’m not that upset about it.
“LUCIUS? IF YOU’RE HERE, give me a sign.”
It’s tempting, but I don’t. I’m going to wait until she sleeps and accept her standing invitation to enter the world of the living.
She won’t be scared that way. I don’t want to scare her.
I want to touch her. Taste her. There will be other people to torture later, I tell myself. This one is for a different sort of diversion.
It absolutely has nothing to do with the way she curled up in my arms last night, or the way her confused, sleepy eyes widened, then settled into calm acceptance when she realized I was lying next to her.
Nothing about the way something hurts in my chest when I touch her, a good ache, a sweet pain—a thing I never knew existed.
“You can come out. I’m not going to have you exorcised unless you’re scary or a jerk. But you were probably just a dream or the effect of three glasses of wine and my anxiety meds.” As Aggie talks, she undresses, unbuttoning a sleek, high-collared blouse, undoing her sumptuous brown waves that are held in place by two golden hairpins with dragon head ends, and shucking her black sheath skirt into the hamper.
I ache to come through the mirror right now and grab her, swirl her into my tentacles, and hold her fast, bending her, pushing myself into that sweet, tight heat I catch fleeting glimpses of.
But I wait.
Hours drag by so slowly, and it’s late before she comes back to her bedroom, hair unbound and a white satin gown on her body. Why does she dress like a king’s consort when she’s all alone?
I lie to myself and say it’s because she knows I’m watching.
“Well. Good night, Lucius. Maybe you’re not lonely anymore. But if you are, guess I’ll see you in my dreams.” Aggie yawns and slides into bed.
When her breathing evens out and her breasts rise and fall in long, gentle slopes, I slide in after her.
“I’M NOT LONELY ANYMORE.” That’s the first thing Lucius whispers in my dream.
“Good,” I mumble back, rolling into a broad, solid chest that feels so real.
“Why do you torture me? I’m supposed to torture you?” His voice is a ragged whisper in my hair as his arms tighten around me—and his legs wrap around mine.
Something is wrong down there, but dreams don’t have to make sense. I try to count legs and come up with way too many and just give it up.
“Torture? I’m not afraid of ghosts. You can’t hurt me.”
