Dream Lake (Friday Harbor #3)(87)

His gaze touched on a bottle of half-finished wine, a cork wedged in the top. Sam’s wine. Despite the early hour, Alex wanted a drink more than he ever had in his life. Whenever something went wrong, something in his gut clamored for booze. He wondered if that would ever change. Swallowing an excess of saliva, he went to the sink and splashed cold water on his face.

The ghost spoke behind him. “So this is it, I guess.”

“I’m not listening,” Alex said hoarsely, but the ghost was undeterred.

“Zoë committed the unforgivable crime of saying she loves you—for what reasons I can’t begin to imagine—and now you’re bailing on her. You know what’s funny? I heard Darcy tell you dozens of times how much she hated you, and you couldn’t seem to get enough of that. Why is it easier to tolerate a woman who hates you than one who loves you?”

Alex turned, swiping at the excess water on his face, pushing back wet locks of hair. “It won’t last.”

“That’s what I used to think,” the ghost said. At Alex’s stony silence, the ghost looked grim and defeated. “I’ve never understood why I’ve been shackled to you. I probably never will. There’s no point in any of this. I should be with Emma, not you. What’s going to happen to her when she passes on and I’m not there?”

“Nothing will happen. She’s going to die whether you’re there or not. She’ll end up where she’s supposed to be, and you’ll end up where you’re supposed to be, and God willing, I’ll be left alone.”

“You don’t believe in God. You don’t believe in anything. You asked if I could find a way to disappear, and I told you I was afraid that if I tried, I wouldn’t be able to talk to you anymore. Now I don’t care. Might as well be invisible.” He saw Alex’s gaze alighting on the wine bottle once more. His mouth twisted with scorn. “Go ahead and have a drink. What does it matter? I’d pour one for you if I could.”

In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

The kitchen was quiet.

“Tom?” Alex asked, almost stunned by the complete absence of movement or sound.

No reply.

“Good riddance,” Alex said aloud. He went to the wine bottle, his hand closing around it. The weight of the liquid inside, the inky slosh of it against the glass, wrenched him with sudden craving. He pulled the cork from it with his teeth and began to take a swig. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he saw a shadow slide across the floor.

In an explosive movement, Alex hurled the bottle at the dark shape, and the glass shattered everywhere. Wine hit the cabinet in splatters. The rich smell of cabernet flooded the room. Alex sat and leaned back against a cabinet, gripping his head in his hands, while red liquid pooled on the floor and spread outward.

“What kind of curse?” Justine asked, flipping busily through a tattered old book in the kitchen while Zoë made breakfast. “Let’s see. Impotence? Warts, boils? Digestive upset, halitosis, hair loss … I think we’ll let him keep his sex drive, but we’ll make him so hideous no one will want him.”

Zoë shook her head in bemusement, using an ice cream scoop to fill muffin pans with batter. That morning she had admitted to Justine that she and Alex had broken up a few days earlier, and Justine had practically gone on a rampage. She seemed convinced that she could exact some kind of supernatural revenge on Zoë’s behalf.

“Justine,” she asked mildly, “what are you looking at?”

“A book my mother gave me. Lots of good ideas in here. Hmm, maybe a plague of some kind … frogs or something …”

“Justine,” Zoë said, “I don’t want to curse anyone.”

“Of course you don’t, you’re much too nice. But I don’t have that problem.”

Setting aside the scoop, Zoë went to the table where Justine was sitting. She glanced at the grimy, ancient-looking book, which was filled with bizarre symbols and mildly alarming illustrations. A touch of something weirdly gelatinous dripped down the side. “Good Lord. Justine, make sure to wash your hands after handling that disgusting thing … there’s goo over all the pages.”

“No, not all the pages, it’s just chapter three. It always oozes a little.”

Grimacing, Zoë brought some Windex and paper towels to the table. “Cover it back up,” she commanded, gesturing to the piece of cloth the book had been wrapped in.

“Wait, let me just find a quick little spell—”

“Now,” Zoë said inexorably.

Scowling, Justine wrapped the book in the cloth and held it in her lap, while Zoë cleaned the table.

“I don’t know if you’re being serious or just having fun,” Zoë said, “but there is no need for spells or curses. If a man doesn’t want to be with me, he’s allowed to make that decision.”

“I agree,” Justine said. “He’s allowed to make that decision. And I’m allowed to make him suffer for it.”

“Do not put a spell on Alex. You didn’t put one on Duane, did you?”

“If you ever see him without his sideburns, you’ll know why.”

“Well, I want you to leave Alex alone.”

Justine’s shoulders slumped. “Zoë, you’re the only real family I’ve ever had. My dad’s gone, and my mom is one of those women who should never have had a child. But somehow I got lucky enough to have you in my life. You’re the only really good person I’ve ever known. You know enough about me to hurt me worse than anyone else ever could, but you would never do that. No sister could love you as much as I do.”