Ghost (The Halloween Boys #1) (68)
Needing a break, and maybe a drink, I wandered away from the concert crowd in search of the willow tree from nights prior. Maybe the witches were nearby with water bottles. I’d spent the last two nights with Ames licking and kissing between my thighs. He hadn’t once asked or tried for anything more—no kisses, no removing his pants. I wasn’t complaining . . . though I did want more. But I was too afraid to protest. After our last misunderstanding regarding sex, we didn’t speak for a week and I almost lost him. I’d learned my lesson. If a man wanted to eat me out every night, I wasn’t about to stop him.
But more than that . . . we’d stayed up late every night talking. We swapped stories about our childhoods, our old friends, and places we’d been. His chuckle was something I’d grown addicted to hearing. There was such a sadness in his soulful blue eyes that any time I could make them clear again, it sent butterflies through me.
So . . . he was a serial killer. Somehow it didn’t shock me like it should have. It was even a small relief. I’d killed before, and I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt over it. Not anymore. Ames had done it more than me, yes, but we were the same. And I didn’t buy that he killed innocent people. That couldn’t be.
I was a murderer, he was a killer, and somehow . . . it was the most peace I’d ever felt with a man in my life. Somehow, some ripple in the universe put us together.
And somehow that same universe brought my stepfather back to life . . . my stepfather who’d visited the Moores and told them he was coming for me. My dead . . . or undead stepfather.
But I had Ames, and for once, I wasn’t alone in dealing with this. Ames hadn’t left my side, and I doubted he would. The only time he let me go anywhere without him was to Hallows, which he said was a safe space. I begged him to come, but he’d only said, “See you later.” Something pulled at my awareness . . . and maybe my hopes . . . that Ames and Ghost could be one and the same. But then, why wouldn’t he have just told me? If I knew his secret, why not be honest about his Hallows identity? Was it really that huge of a deal?
The willow tree sat vacant, however. It was a lovely tree, its trunk massive and vines hanging like a leafy curtain. Maybe I’d sit for a moment and watch the folks who walked by. Parting the vines gently, I made my way to the center of the space, near the trunk. I touched the rough bark lightly. “You really are very pretty,” I said with a smile. Why not talk to a tree? I’d just danced with a goat-man.
“You’re pretty too,” an echoey voice replied, making me jump. I looked to the tree in shock when a low laugh sounded. “It’s not the tree.”
Something wispy by the trunk caught my eye, and I took a step back. From around the back of the tree, something like a sheer white cloud floated over. It was long and shapeless aside from the faintest outline of a human form.
“Wow, your costume is amazing,” I breathed, perplexed. How could I see through it to the vines and grass on the other side? An illusion of some sort? A mirror, maybe? People here took their costumes very seriously, I’d seen it all by now, but this had to be the best one yet. The figure tilted its head, surveying me. “Curious force, you are. How did you get here, I wonder . . . ,” he or she mused. Their voice was male and female and three voices at once. A sound machine in their costume, probably. “Who called you in?”
“Oh, I don’t know anyone here. I’m just passing through,” I answered, grabbing a vine to fidget with while staring at the floating, translucent thing. I wasn’t afraid though. Whoever this was didn’t seem mean. “Ghost costumes have really come a long way from white sheets and holes cut out for eyes, huh? What’s your name?” I asked, knowing they would give me their fest name and not their real one. That was what everyone here did.
The wispy costume swayed before me and hummed. “You know what? It’s been so long since someone asked me that . . . I don’t recall. But I do believe you should be watchful, Tree Talker. All is not what it seems here.”
Something pricked in my gut, a fearful little twinge that agreed. “Do you know the ghost stories of this town?”
The spirit chuckled and brightened, like the glow of the moon. “I do.”
“Will you tell me?”
“Has Ghost not shared with you who he is? Curious . . .” It pondered a moment. What? Were they saying that what I suspected was true?
“You look more like a ghost than he does,” I remarked, eliciting another echoey laugh.
Its glow brightened. “I like you. You may hear the tale if you do something for me. Here, take this.” A white arm reached out, one I hadn’t seen through the reflecting illusion. It was glowing and slightly too long, the fingers not quite right . . . not quite human . . . I swallowed, reaching out to take the item. My fingers brushed against tendrils of smoke as I plucked the necklace out of the air. “Wear it and you’ll always choose the right path. Though, it does put me at a disadvantage if we were to play a game . . . but I don’t mind. I have a small advantage on you, being what you are, so now the game is fair.”
The necklace sparkled in my palm. A deep and shimmering obsidian stone pendent lay set in golden prongs. “This is too much. I can’t accept. And what game—”
The item seemingly moved of its own accord and clasped around my neck. I gasped. “Another illusion?” I asked with a shaky voice. Surely, I just didn’t see them put it on me. It was dark under the tree.