Chapter 12: Ezra - Entities to Lovers

“I behaved. Now it’s your turn.”

Rory is adorable when she thinks I need a lecture on behaving, considering she is as polite as a cat they put in the “mean room” at the shelter. We depart from my place, fresh from the shower with my duffel bag in tow. It’s amazing how much more human I feel after the past forty-eight hours, all things considered.

The real challenge, however, was trying not to think about my partner-in-curse the entire time I was in the shower. I tried to not think about her sitting on my bed, or at my desk. I didn’t imagine her running her fingers over the spines of my books or shuffling her cards. I definitely didn’t think about her formfitting outfit and wild curls either. Nope. I thought of none of that as I was showering.

“What does that entail?” I taunt her.

“It means you sit nicely and do something quiet. Grade tests. Look at JSTOR. I don’t know.”

“Fear not, I have plenty to do,” I tell her, patting my backpack with my laptop inside. Even if we’re cursed and inconvenienced hardcore, I still have to maintain my job. “I’m supposed to meet with my supervisor for my evaluation, so I need to get all my ducks in a row.”

She slows. “And we’re having an episode of The Out There film at the store next weekend. On Halloween.”

I perk up. That is a huge get. I was familiar with the podcast back in the day and enjoyed the peeks of dark history it covered, but it’s grown tenfold since then. It is, however, coming right on top of our busiest week of the year. Temperance really picked the worst time to curse us.

“No way,” I say. “That’s awesome. I bet your mom is stoked.”

She nods. “Sure is. They want me to be their medium for the episode, so…”

“Sounds like a good chance to bring in some new customers.”

“Yeah, I just hope we can break this damn curse before then. God knows what else this ghost has in store.” Rory’s eyes divert and she lets out a sigh. “Not you.”

“What?” I ask, halting in place.

Rory’s cheeks flush pink and I know it’s got nothing to do with the morning cold. We halt in front of Faneuil Hall, decorated and bustling for Halloween. The street performers camped outside have even gotten in the spirit, with a pair of breakdancing skeletons, and a musician playing an oddly sultry rendition of “Monster Mash” on his guitar. A breeze snatches the last few orange leaves from a nearby tree and a dog dressed as a bat chases after them. It’s a busy area all year round, but it’s particularly charming this time of year. However, I have a feeling Rory is not speaking to any of the tourists.

At least, not one I can see. She shakes her head. “Sorry.”

“Were you talking to me?”

“Of course,” she spits out.

“Okay, well, I wasn’t so sure. Sorry.”

“It’s…” she stammers. “You wouldn’t care anyway.”

Then it clicks. She’s not talking to me, and we’re not alone. Just like we weren’t with Luna back at her apartment, but once again, I can’t see shit.

“Is it…a ghost?” I ask. Rory chews her lip.

“I told you you wouldn’t care,” she resists.

“It’s not that I don’t care, but if we’re glued to each other’s sides, I should know if we’ve got company or not.” I’m being a little facetious, but it is a fair question. Especially after seeing her at work last night, I don’t disbelieve her abilities at all. I don’t think we come up with the same explanations for mysteries, but I have no reason to doubt she can speak to spirits. I also don’t doubt the existence of the paranormal, period. But if she’s going to be talking to air, I guess I’ve got to familiarize myself with her habits.

“Right, uh. So, he’s like right here.” She gestures to a patch of open air beside her. She turns to it. “Sorry.”

“And what does he want?”

Rory looks over both shoulders to see if anyone’s watching us, then she leans closer to the “ghost.” “Sir, how can I help you?”

She listens and nods. This is the side of Rory I sometimes overhear in her readings. It’s a different tone of voice than I’m used to. Rory’s words are usually stern and sharp, especially with me. There’s an air of boldness—maybe too bold sometimes—when she handles matters for the store and tours. When she gives readings, though, everything about her is gentle.

I can read your chart, and we’ll see where your strengths are. We’ll find out how to help you through it.

How about we ask the cards for a little more context? I want to understand your energies better.

No, no! It’s not a scary card at all. You’ve got nothing to fear.

She’s quiet and composed, like she understands she’s a crucial tether and the rope can’t snap for her customers. Rory is a master of her craft.

“Okay,” she says, crossing her arms. “So, if you can’t find Charlotte, perhaps she doesn’t want to be found. If she ran off and changed her name, maybe there was a reason…Uh-huh…yeah, today, we call that a restraining order. You’re supposed to abide by those.”

I cover my mouth to hide the laugh bubbling at my lips. I don’t need two ghosts having it out for me.

“No,” Rory argues. “No, no, no. You’re on your own. Bye now.”

Rory turns and watches the ghost as it floats (maybe?) off into the ether? Genuinely, I have no idea what’s going on. It makes me really uncomfortable.

“He’s gone now.”

“So,” I say, “you have ghosts randomly accosting you?”

She shrugs. “Not all ghosts are jerks. That ghost was a dick. Totally trying to stalk his dead wife in the afterlife.”

“Oh,” I lament. “Can he do that? Is the wife safe?”

“She’s safe. I went off on him on principle. I think a lot of the time they’re shocked someone can see them. I get it. If you went every day with no one really seeing you, wouldn’t you be excited if someone finally did?”

On tours, when we talk about apparitions and spirits appearing on camera, I imagine orbs or translucent people in Civil War clothing peeking around corners. Maybe I’ve never seen anything because I had no idea what to really look for.

“What do…ghosts look like?”

We walk again. She gives me a long, pensive stare, so long she misses a hole in the bricks beneath her and stumbles forward. I dash forward and catch her by the arm and the waist, keeping her from wiping out. Normally, I am not coordinated. It had to have been something like luck. It leaves me with my hands on her waist, looking down at the shocked way her lips part and the brightness of her eyes under the midmorning sun. Her gaze flicks down to where we’re touching.

“Thanks,” she gasps, and I pull away like she’s electrocuted me. “It…I rarely see full apparitions. Most people don’t. I see them as a shimmer, like looking underwater without goggles. I hear them better than I see them, but it doesn’t mean they can’t seriously distract me.”

“And they just talk?”

“Mostly. It’s a lot of Hey you! Hey, you can see me! or What year is it? Where am I?” she says with dramatic waves and pantomimes.

“Oh.” I frown. “That sounds sad.”

“It can be.”

“Do they tell you their stories?”

Another nod.

I don’t know why it never occurred to me to ask before. I didn’t think of the historical aspect of it all. I can’t imagine being able to speak to someone who witnessed huge moments in history with their own ghostly little eyes. Holy shit.

“They do, sometimes. Usually they’re direct in what they want and need, but I suppose I could ask them other things.”

“Like, if I found you something Ben Franklin touched, could you talk to him?”

“I imagine he’s got quite a long wait for the next available representative.”

“Okay, fair point.”

“You’re going to be thinking about this all day, huh?” she asks with a laugh.

“Oh yeah. So much for getting anything done. What about Luna?”

“Luna’s strange. I don’t even know if that’s her name. She likes things with little moons on them. She doesn’t talk, just interacts with things. She mostly minds her own business. Sometimes she picks out my outfits.”

All right, well, that’s really charming. Perhaps I will give Luna a chance tonight.

“Does she have good style?”

“What do you think?”

This is some kind of trick question. If I say Yes, actually, did she pick the leggings that make your ass look fucking fantastic? Or the dangly earrings I’m fixated on? She clearly knows how hot you are in a turtleneck, it’ll be awkward and if I say no, I’m insulting a ghost and telling Rory I don’t think she looks good. Losses all around.

“I plead the Fifth on account of not wanting to piss off any other ghosts.”

When the crosswalk turns, we resume walking, but the smile on her face doesn’t fade until we reach the front door of Ye Olde Spirit Shop. As we do, Rory pauses.

“Just…follow my lead. Let me handle my mom.”

“I think I can handle your mom just fine,” I tell her. “She likes me.”

In fact, I think Delia likes me a lot. As a greater Boston native, I’d known about Ye Olde Spirit Shop since I was a teenager and simply never made it to visit until my interview. When I determined I’d need to get another job, Micah and I sat with a bottle of whiskey between us and brainstormed cool places I could work. I have plenty of bartending and wait service experience and can finagle my way through retail, but even on the best days at those jobs, it’s still just paying the bills.

Now, as I sit through boring faculty meetings about bureaucratic bullshit that has nothing to do with education, as my supervisor tells me to stick to the basics, as my kids fall asleep in class because I stuck to the basics—it makes a place like Ye Olde Spirit Shop truly special.

Here, I matter.

“I know she likes you,” she sighs and opens the door. “We all have flaws.”

Delia’s been here for some time, judging by the smell of smoky jasmine wafting through the store. She’s perched at the front desk with accounting sheets in front of her and a steaming cup of tea in hand. A record player spins a soothing old piano melody interrupted with odd drones, like voices breaking through the veil.

“Hi, dearest,” she says. “Oh, and…hi, Ezra?”

“Oh,” I reply, shrugging off my coat. “Don’t get too excited.”

“Of course you’re welcome here whenever, but I’m just…surprised.”

Delia does, however, look excited to see me. It’s another pair of hands to help while Rory’s in readings, I suppose. Rory and I exchange a glance, and she reiterates what she said before. Let her handle this.

“Yeah,” Rory starts, weaving through the crowded display cases in the store to reach her mom. “We’ve decided to take your idea and spend more time together.”

Delia gives a curt smile and nods. It’s like she wants us to hang out, like she’s trying to set Rory up on her first ever playdate. “Right. That’s nice. Oh, uh…Ezra, what happened to your head?”

“I got luckier than Aeschylus,” I say. I doubt many people know about the famous Greek playwright who died because an eagle dropped a tortoise on his head from the sky, but it’s a touch wittier than “clocked by a street sign.” “Nothing serious.”

“Are you good to work?” she asks.

I nod. “Definitely.”

“In fact”—Rory takes over—“we wanted to talk to you about that. We had such a great time working together the other night that we want to do it again. Tonight.”

Delia raises an eyebrow. “Uh. You do realize this is the week before Halloween, right? We’re pretty busy, Rory.”

“I can handle finding someone to cover my tour and I’ll do this one for free. Please?”

“I mean…” Delia ponders.

“It also gave new life to our characters. They felt so much more layered when we worked together. Maybe Royce Montgomery needs a friend,” I suggest. “It could be a fun, special Halloween treat for the guests. Their two best tour guides working together!”

The store phone rings. Delia quickly answers it and offers to check in the back for something, giving Rory and me a moment to lock eyes.

“Needs a friend?”

“You come up with something better!”

When Delia returns, she holds her hands up and sighs. “Fine, why not? So long as you don’t argue in front of the guests.”

“Thank you!” Rory chirps. “We really appreciate it. We’ll make sure to give them a great show and I’ll get on scheduling.”

“You better,” she orders. “Now, Ezra, since you’re here, I’m putting you to work.”

“Yes, ma’am.”