Page 14 of Ghost Walk
Jamie nearly grinned. “Oh, I donea doubt that.”
“Uptight” was the modern word for her condition, if he wasn’t mistaken. He’d yet to hear her mummer so much as a mild oath and she drank wine with her pinkie extended. The woman might as well wear a sign declaring herself a Sunday school teacher. She’d also changed into the most unappealing, matronly bathrobe ever sewn, so it was a real mystery to him how she managed to be so alluring.
Perhaps, it was the magic in her blood.
Even before he became a ghost, Jamie had always believed in the supernatural. He’d experienced it himself, growing up in Scotland. Fairies and spirits flited through the green hills of his homeland. They would glow in the dark night, enchanting him. As a boy, he used to point them out to his parents.
…Until he’d realized that not everyone had a kinship with the unseen world
He learned quickly that it was better to hide his gifts. To lie about what he saw. He even tried to block it out entirely, but it was impossible. He’d always felt the magic around him. Always known things that others didn’t. His mother said he was kissed by the fay. His father said he was cursed by demons. Whatever you wanted to call it, Jamie had a twinkle ofknowingabout him.
And so did Grace.
There was a smidgen of the otherworldly about her. Something that hinted of feminine mysteries and untapped enchantments. Something that drew his eye and held it like no one else ever had.
She was the woman he’d waited several lifetimes for. The deepest part of him recognized her. Grace was the one. He knew it with a deep and unshakable belief that was growing stronger all the time. If she had been born in his time, he would have been certain she was his bride.
Shebelongedto Jamie.
The girl wasn’t beautiful in the glittery, bawdy way that he’d been attracted to in life. She was far too thin, and scrubbed free of makeup, and her nails had been chewed to the quick. With her upturned nose and petite frame, she looked abit like a fay herself. A repressed, timid little fay. The woman would probably faint if a man tried to kiss her. And she clearly didn’t have much of a backbone, if her dealings with her harridan boss and dickhead boyfriend were any indication. Jamie had always liked strong, flashy women, who knew exactly what they wanted.
But he’d been captivated by Grace from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her.
Almost like he recognized her.
It was why he’d switched tour guides and joined Grace’s Ghost Walk instead of following Nadine like he usually did. Time stretched on and on andonwhen you had an eternity to fill. Jamie spent every night wandering around Harrisonburg, listening to costumed idiots get history all wrong. Nadine did better than most. She was an elderly lady, who knew how to spin a yarn. For nine years, he’d been taking her tours. It gave him something to do. When Jamie saw Grace, though, his standard evening plans with Nadine had been abruptly cancelled.
That twinkle of knowing had told him to follow Grace.
That she was special.
She was also a bloodyhorribletour guide. Grace missed the romance of the ghost stories, delivering the information like she was lecturing to bored twelfth graders. She was uncomfortable under all the attention, uncomfortable with the Colonial dress, uncomfortable in her own skin. Jamie had been offering her advice, because talking to himself was the only way to break the unrelenting solitude. He had absolutely no idea that she’d even know he was there.
No one else ever had. Not since 1789.
When Grace lost her temper and snapped at him, it had been the most wonderful moment of his life. And death. Shesawhim. For the first time in over two hundred years somebodysawhim. If that didn’t prove this neurotic girl had magic in her blood, he wasn’t sure what did.
“Overall, I think you’re taking this quite well.” He assured her. “Many people would be having vapors if they sawa specter.”
“Last time I had ‘vapors,’ they put me in a straightjacket.” She muttered dourly.
Jamie had no idea what that meant. “A what?”
“Never mind.” Grace ate another spoonful of ice cream, apparently forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to talk to her. “I come from a family that’s used to weirdness. My cousin Faith once tattooed her face because a hibiscus told her to. This is probably a lot less freaky than it should be.”
“Fortunate for me.”
She grunted. “So, what’s it like being a ghost? Is it terrible? I bet it’s terrible.”
“It’s terrible.”
Grace nodded as if she’d expected as much. “What’s the worst part? Never being able to change out of that outfit?”
Jamie frowned and glanced down at his ensemble. It had been the height of fashion when he died. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”
Chocolate-brown eyes widened. “Oh… Nothing.” Grace said quickly. “Nothing, at all. It’s very…bold. Colorful.” She took another gulp of wine and licked a drop from her lower lip.
The woman had bloodyperfectlips. Lush and pink and delicately shaped. She clearly had no damn idea what to do with them, given she was forever chewing on them and twisting them into frowns, but Jamie could think of at least a dozen places he wanted to feel that soft, unpainted flesh. Sadly, there was no way that would ever happen.
