Page 58 of Ghostly
Gabriel had warned her to approach this carefully, because the contract could be faulty. So maybe it made no sense to picture—or worry about—a proper life, about feeling things, the good and the bad, tasting them, about…
About Gabriel.
How much she wished she could properly hug him, to thank him for everything he was doing for her. And not only hug him. If she could, she’d touch his hand to see—
No. Getting carried away again.
Gabriel had made no indication since the dinner with the neighbors of feeling anything more for her than friendship. She might have even imagined that lean-in-for-the-kiss. Another remnant of the time when she was still alive, another over-analyzation.
But what about his glance? The other day, after the conversation about their pasts, he’d looked at her differently. She couldn’t pinpoint what the look was, and his words were certainly no indication, but she hadn’t seen it before. It wasn’t friendlier or softer. Quite the opposite—intense, heated, almost, and something nibbled on the edge of her memory when she tried to prod out the emotion behind it.
Stop, stop, stop.More over-analyzation, more imagining. And why, because he was kind enough to get her another book? This was a resurrection contract, not a love potion, despite the somewhat witchy feel of it.
Gabriel rounded the corner, hands deep in the pockets of his hastily buttoned coat, a tacky knitted hat (consolation prize for the treasure hunt) hanging askew on his head. “There you are.” He stopped a few feet away. “You left without saying anything.”
“I said ‘excuse me’.”
“Not exactly an expected reaction.” His voice was gentle, and he moved closer. “Is something wrong? A condition worrying you?”
Not a condition. Just me.
But, despite Gabriel knowing something of her past, she couldn’t share all that. She couldn’t tell him of every excruciatingly horrible thought that’s ever passed her mind. And how could she explain she was afraid to live again?
She sniffled. “I, uh… the object imbued by my feelings.” At least, that truly was a problem. “At the moment I died, I felt anger.”
Gabriel nodded slowly. “I see. The book explains how to create such an object. Will you come look at it? You’ll probably understand it better, but the way I see it, you have to haunt it, then unleash your emotions… and some other mumbo-jumbo.”
She let out a short laugh. “Even after all this time, you’re still calling it mumbo-jumbo.”
“Legal term,” he said, making her laugh again.
Funny, how Gabriel was far from a stand-up comedian, and yet he made her laugh more than any other person ever had. Including while she was still alive.
“Show me,” she said, and followed him inside—properly, not phasing through a wall.
The procedure seemed simple enough: possessing the object and focusing strongly on the emotion while in it. But… “I’ve never done this before.”
“That’s all right. You have plenty of time to practice.”
“True, but do you realize what this would mean? Look:such objects retaintheir imbued emotions permanently and can affect their surroundings. In amateur circles, they would be referred to as ‘cursed objects’. It’s not a safe thing to do. Especially when it would be fueled by anger.” She bowed her head.
“No. I won’t let you give up because of this one thing.”
If it were only one thing.
Gabriel rested the book on the coffee table and turned to her, rubbing a finger across his lower lip. “We’ll figure it out. We have time. How about you start with easier emotions? Happier? That way you don’t have to be afraid.”
Ida forced her eyes away from his finger. “I could try.” For now, it would give her something to do. Time to adjust to the new possibilities.
And maybe if she focused on that, she’d stop thinking about how one particular set of lips would feel if they touched hers.
“Tell you what,” Gabriel continued with unabashed enthusiasm. “There’s a shop in town, selling handmade objects, jewelry, and such. They have discount Fridays. I’ll pop in there and get you some nice things to use.”
“Wonderful idea. That way they’ll attract more people.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Are you sassing me, ghostie?”
She laughed. “Jewelry stores. Friday discounts. Dina does gardening, Mark’s family owns an antique store.” She met his eyes. “You’re a proper local now.”
