My surprise must show on my face because Louisa is quick to explain, “I believe in ghosts. I’ve even met one. Personally. A very charming and sweet one.”
“I’m not sure if it’s a ghost,” I explain, “it’s likely just a dream, but it was still a great one. His name is Lucius, and he’s gorgeous. In my dream, he’s all shades or white, black, and gray. Kinda purple-y. Did your ghost have legs? Mine doesn’t.”
“What’s he have?”
I whisper, “Tentacles.”
Louisa’s mouth drops open, and her eyebrows arch. “Damn, girl. Lucky.”
“Louisa!”
“Hey, double your pleasure, octuple your fun,” Louisa winks, but there are concerned lines around her mouth and between her eyes, a frown trying to fight its way to freedom.
“I think there are more than eight, but I didn’t really count. That’s not what matters. What matters is that you’re the second—technically third person who didn’t laugh in my face when I said I had a ghost,” I remark with a smile.
“Ghosts and things like that are common around here. Not everyone sees them, that’s all.”
And that’s kinda what Alban said.
A cold shiver runs up my spine. “You believe in them? For real?”
Louisa rocks her hands back and forth. “Asi-asi. Tentacles don't sound like a ghost to me. Unless it’s the ghost of a kraken. I may have to ask Calder about that...”
“Who’s Calder?”
“Janet’s husband.” Louisa scans my card and the book, handing them both back to me.
“What would he know about krakens, living or dead?”
“He’s a little bit of an expert on that sort of thing. That’s all. Where do you live again?”
“By the campus, in those red brick apartments?”
“Hmm. No, that’s not a ghost,” she mutters. “Unless he’s new in town.”
“Ghosts move?”
“Well, not really. Sometimes they have something that they’re attached to that moves with them. I... I think you might have something other than a ghost. Of course, it could just be a really hot dream.”
“Could be.”
I leave and go home, my leftover lunch and my library book the perfect Friday night reading combo.
Except that when I get back to my apartment, I ignore the book and dinner. I don’t even complete my routine of slipping out of my power-meets-steampunk-meets-elegant work attire and into my silky nighties and matching robes. I plop down at my little kitchen table and open my laptop. Berry comes purring across the table, rubbing her chin against mine and hopping into my lap to shed.
With a deep breath, I delete another half dozen emails from my mother and Arnie, ignoring the capitals in the subject line, and open a new search window.
What is something like a ghost that haunts an object but has a non-human form?
Oooh, so much evil artwork pops up.
The internet has a lot of unhelpful suggestions, a lot of them seemingly tied to fantasy video games.
“Lucius, if you’re listening, I don’t think you’re a ghost. You’d better tell me what you are, buddy, or I’m getting a priest over here in the morning.”
“A PHANTASM. A PHANTOM. I didn’t die, and this isn’t my spirit. I was made into this when forced to leave the mortal realm for a spellbound prison. There? Happy?” I whisper the words in Aggie’s ear as she sleeps, tonight in simple black silk. She shivers as my finger trails across her throat. “They call it transmogrification, I believe. There. Now you know the truth. Are you scared, little one?”
Agatha rolls. Moans. I moan back as she snuggles into me. “I’m sorry they put you in jail. I know what it’s like to be trapped in a cell. Sort of.”
