Chapter Thirteen
Slate escorted another group of ghosts from the haunted house area of the Manor back to the ballroom. Dash had asked for volunteers to mimic the effects they used on the Commons to explain Gary’s levitating pumpkins. Surprisingly, they had so many ghosts sign up, they created shifts.
“I appeared in that doorway for half a second and he lost it,” a ghost in a 1950s cocktail dress said. “This teenager screamed so loud his friends had to cover his mouth.”
That was one customer they made an impression on. It had been Meredith—their new self-appointed head of marketing—who suggested the ghosts make themselves visible at odd times. “You can’t get more realistic than a real ghost,” she’d said.
Holograms were the official explanation for what people saw, which was also pretty brilliant. Meredith wasverygood at her job.
Slate hadn’t expected the ghosts to enjoy the work as much as they did. Dash, however, wasn’t surprised.
“What do ghosts worry about?” he’d asked. “Creating too much fear and attracting the attention of a medium who might banish them. We’ve given them license to be seen without consequence. Sounds pretty groovy to me.”
Dash met him on the first floor, outside the ballroom. The two volunteers he’d collected waited to be let back into the party. Dash tugged at his Victorian waistcoat and adjusted his collar. “Are you sure this has to be a tradition? I look…”
“You look wonderful, dear.” This came from the middle-aged woman wearing a flapper dress with a matching hat.
Dash blushing at the compliments might have been the cutest thing Slate saw all night. “See?” Slate pointed toward the spirit. “It’s a tradition because one night a year you need to look wonderful.”
“Next year, we’re wearing matching hoodies.”
Dash had complained about the period attire last year too—until Slate smiled seeing him in his outfit. The grumbling had started earlier this year, but it was all performative. Slate had caught Dash shopping for waistcoats and boots in September. “Not on Halloween. How about for Saint Patrick’s Day? You look good in green.”
“Fine, but it needs to become a tradition too.”
Slate pressed his palm against the doorframe, and the protective barrier yielded. The ghosts streamed past them and returned to the party.
The music hit him first. He’d wondered how Gary planned to power a DJ stand, but the solution nearly floored Slate. Jimi Hendrix—theJimi Hendrix—was killing it on guitar. And next to him was Cass Elliot, waiting for the riff to end. He’d grown up listening to his mother binge-playing the Mamas and the Papas.
When he’d agreed to host the party, he didn’t know he’d get to hear two legends play live. Surveying the room, what hit him most was the normality of the party. It was like dozens of parties he’d attended, except everyone was dead and wearing outfits that spanned centuries. They gathered in small knots to dance, or talk. Ghosts stopped to examine the various decorations. Some looked lost, while others were outgoing.
His stomach rumbled, and he remembered another difference—no food or drink.
“I need to go fanboy Cass Elliot,” Dash said. He didn’t sound as excited as when he saw his sister, but it was close. “I’ll kick myself if I don’t and she leaves.”
Slate smiled and shooed him along. Wearing a huge grin, he wove his way among the ghosts. Most patted him on the back, shook his hand, and generally fanboyed/fangirled him like he was a rock star. When they realized what he wanted, they cleared a path for him. The obvious attention seemed to unnerve him, but the spirits moved him along, refusing to let him back away.
When Dash was in front of the stage, he pointed to himself, made a heart with his fingers, and pointed to Cass. Her smile was enough to power the house. After a second, she blew him a kiss. Dash appeared overwhelmed, and a cheer filled the room.
“He has no idea, does he?” Cain asked.
Slate hadn’t realized he was there, but ghosts could move without sound or even disturbing the air. “About?”
“How much of a superstar the two of you are.” He waited until Slate turned. Cain had shed his hippie persona and was clean-shaven, in his uniform, and sporting a crew cut. “This party is amazing. No living person ever gave us this much respect and dignity.”
Slate had agreed to the idea to save the portal, not for altruistic reasons. It never occurred to him that the spirits would appreciate the party so much. “I wish I could say that’s why we did it, but it was the lesser of two evils.”
“And that’s the other part.” Cain glanced at the crowd of ghosts congregating around Dash. “Everyone knows what you did. You could’ve banished Gary, but you gave him this party. No one would’ve blamed you for banishing Theodore and Wilbur, but Dash fought all of you to try a different solution. Like I said, you two are heroes to a lot of us.”
The way he said it snatched some of the air from Slate’s lungs. “We’re not heroes.”
“You don’t get to decide that.” Cain’s goofy grin caused Slate to laugh. “In all seriousness, expect a lot of thank yous before the night is over. Most of the spirits here died too young and didn’t get to do something they wanted. For a lot of us, it was to enjoy life, fall in love, or see the world. In the decades since I died, I’ve never heard of an event where ghosts can come together like we did when we were alive. Spirits are meeting new friends, talking about their life and afterlife, or just being with someone to ease the loneliness. Never think this isn’t a big deal.”
When Cain said, ‘fall in love,’ Slate zoomed in on Thomas and Oliver. Every time he spotted them, they were together. To everyone except them, it was painfully obvious.
On stage, Cass motioned to Dash. He shook his head, but the ghosts surrounding him wouldn’t let him say no. They nudged him forward, encouraging him, until he had no choice but to approach the stage. She extended her hand and pulled him up beside her.
Jimi’s guitar shifted into a new melody, and Cass sang directly to Dash. The grin on his face made everything worth the effort. If Slate could make that happen every day, he’d never have a bad day again. Cass grabbed Dash’s hand, and they swayed together as the audience clapped along.
