Bone Crossed (Mercy Thompson #4)(29)
Author: Patricia Briggs

Maybe it was only the power of suggestion. But I cleaned up as fast as I could anyway. No ghostly writing appeared on the walls, no one appeared in the mirror or moved stuff around.

I opened the bathroom door and found Amber waiting impatiently right in front of the door. She didn’t notice that she’d startled me.

"I have to take Chad to softball practice, then do some shopping for dinner tonight. Do you want to come?"

"Why not?" I said with a casual shrug. Staying in that house alone didn’t appeal to me – some ghost hunter I was. Nothing had happened, and I was already jumpy.

I took shotgun. Chad frowned at me, but sat in back. I didn’t think I impressed him much. No one said anything until we dropped Chad off. He didn’t look happy about going. Amber proved that she was tougher than me because she ignored the puppy-dog eyes and abandoned Chad to his coach’s indifferent care.

"So you decided not to become a history teacher," Amber said as she pulled away from the curb. Her voice was tight with nerves. The stress was coming from her end, I thought – but then she’d never been relaxing company.

"Decided isn’t quite the word," I told her. "I took a job as a mechanic to support myself until a teaching position opened… and one day I realized that even if someone offered me a job, I’d rather turn a wrench." And then, because she’d given me the opening, "I thought you were going to be a vet."

"Yes, well, life happened." She paused. "Chad happened." That was too much honesty for her though, and she subsided into silence. In the grocery store, I wandered away while she was testing tomatoes – they all looked good to me. I bought a candy bar, just to see how much she’d changed.

Not that much. By the time she’d finished lecturing me on the evils of refined sugar, we were almost back to the house. She was feeling a lot more comfortable – and she finally told me more about her ghost.

"Corban doesn’t believe we’re haunted," she told me as she threaded her way through the city. She glanced at my face and away. "I haven’t actually seen or heard anything either. I just told him I had, so he’d leave Chad alone." She took a deep breath and looked at me again. "He thinks Chad might do better at a boarding school – a private place for troubled kids that a friend of his recommended."

"He didn’t look troubled to me," I said. "Aren’t ‘troubled’ kids usually doing drugs or beating on the neighbor’s kids?" Chad had looked like he’d rather have stayed home and read than go to play ball.

Amber gave a nervous half laugh. "Corban doesn’t get along very well with Chad. He doesn’t understand him. It’s the old Disney cliche of a quarterback dad and bookworm son."

"Does Corban know he’s not Chad’s father?"

She hit the brakes so hard that if I hadn’t been belted in, I might have become better acquainted with her windshield. She sat there in the middle of the road for a moment, oblivious to the honking horns around us. I was glad we were in a stout Mercedes rather than the Miata she’d driven to my house.

"You forget," I said blandly. "I knew Harrison, too. We used to joke about his eyelashes, and I’ve never see eyes like his since. Not until today." Harrison had been her one true love for about three months until she dropped him for a premed student.

Amber started forward again and drove for a little until traffic settled down. "I’d forgotten you knew him." She sighed. "Funny. Yes, Corban knows he’s not Chad’s father, but Chad doesn’t. It didn’t used to matter, but I’m not so sure. Corban’s been… different lately." She shook her head. "Still, he’s the one who suggested I ask you to come over. He saw the article in the paper, and said, ‘Isn’t that the girl you said used to see ghosts? Why don’t you have her come over and have a look-see?"

I figured I’d been pushy enough, so I asked a question that was less intrusive. "What does the ghost do?"

"Moves things," she told me. "It rearranges Chad’s room once or twice a week. Chad says he’s seen the furniture moving around." She hesitated. "It breaks things, too. A couple of vases my husband’s father brought over from China. The glass over my husband’s diploma. Sometimes it takes things." She glanced at me again. "Car keys. Shoes. Some important papers of Cor’s turned up in Chad’s room, under his bed. Corban was pretty mad."

"At Chad?"

She nodded.

I hadn’t even met him, and I didn’t like her husband. Even if Chad was doing everything himself – and I had no evidence to the contrary – throwing him into reform school didn’t sound like the way to make things better.

We picked up a morose Chad, who didn’t seem inclined to converse, and she quit talking about the ghost.

AMBER WAS WORKING IN THE KITCHEN. I’D TRIED TO HELP but she finally sent me to my room to stay out of her way. She didn’t like the way I peeled apples. I’d brought a book from home – a very old book – with real fairy tales in it. It was borrowed and I’d have to return it soon, so I was reading as fast as I could.

I was taking notes on kelpies (thought extinct) when someone knocked at my door twice and then opened it.

Chad stood with a notebook and a pencil in hand.

"Hey," I said.

He turned the notebook around and I read, "How much is my dad paying you?"

"Nothing," I said.

His eyes narrowed, and he ripped away that page and showed me the next one. Evidently he’d thought about this for a while. "Why are you here? What do you want?"

I set my book aside and stared back at him. He was tough, but he wasn’t Adam or Samuel: he blinked first.

"I have a vampire who wants to kill me," I told him. Which I shouldn’t have, of course, but I wanted to see what would happen. Curiosity, Bran has told me more than once, might be as fatal for coyotes as it is for cats.

Chad crumpled the paper and mouthed a word. Evidently he hadn’t expected that response.

I raised my eyebrow. "Sorry. You’ll have to do better. I don’t lip-read."

He scribbled furiously. "Lyer" said his paper.

I took his pencil, and wrote, "liar." Then I gave him back his notebook, and said, "You want to bet?"

He clutched his notebook to his chest and stalked off. I liked him. He reminded me of me.

Fifteen minutes later his mother barged in. "Red or purple?" she asked me, still sounding frantic. "Come with me."

Bewildered, I followed her down the hall and into the master bedroom suite, where she’d laid out two dresses. "I only have five minutes before I have to put the rolls in," she said. "Red or purple?"

The purple had considerably more fabric. "Purple," I said. "Do you have shoes I can borrow, too? Or do you want me to go barefoot?"