A Gift of Ghosts (Tassamara) (5 page)

“It’s okay,” Akira spoke quietly, watching for anyone who
might be looking at them. “I’m sorry I messed up your car.”

“What do you think would happen to me if the car got totaled?”
asked Dillon, his tone fascinated yet uncertain.

“I think you’d be living in a junkyard,” Akira answered. “I
never have figured out how and why ghosts are tied to places, though. And with
a car—well, I don’t know. It might depend what you’re really tied to. If it’s
the cushions or the spark plugs or the lights—maybe you’d move on with a part
of the car?”

“Wow, that’s a whacked idea. That’d be really strange.
Stranger even than being a ghost in the first place.”

“Kind of, yeah. Good thing you don’t have to worry about it.”

“It might be handy, though.” Now that Dillon didn’t have to
be afraid, either for her or for himself, he was getting cheerful. “Just think,
if I was tied to a spark plug, you could put it someplace cooler. Like maybe an
arcade or something. Or a movie theater. I wouldn’t mind haunting a movie
theater.”

Akira grinned at him. “Well, maybe we can experiment. But I
think I’ve found us someplace to live that you’re going to like.”

“Someplace to live?” Dillon’s face stilled. “Are you—” He
stopped and Akira could see in his expression all of the loneliness and misery
he’d been feeling, alone, trapped in a car, no one to talk to, for months or
maybe years. Just the possibility of change had him frozen with doubt. She felt
a wave of sympathy for him. She knew what it was like to be lonely, to not have
anyone to talk to.

“I’ve leased the car, so you’ll be staying with me.” Akira tried
not to get involved with the ghosts she saw. But Dillon was different. Maybe she
couldn’t find him a white light or fix whatever had made him a ghost in the
first place, but she could make sure that his car was someplace nicer than a
parking lot. “We’re going to have to have some ground rules, though.”

“No more parking lot?”

“No.” Akira shook her head, but she couldn’t help smiling at
the look on his face. “And like I said, I think you’re going to like the place
I found for us to live. If you’ve been able to stretch enough to get into the
hangar here, you’ll definitely be able to get into the house. You might even be
able to reach the town’s main street, which could be fun, although what a weird
little place that is. But—oh, hey, first rule.” She turned so that she was
facing away from the quickly approaching Zane. “Don’t ever talk to me when
people are around. Never, okay? It gets too confusing for me,” she whispered.

“Okay, I won’t. But thank you, thank you, thank you. You are
the coolest person ever. You are the best. You—” Dillon put his hand over his
mouth, as if to stop himself from talking.

Akira tried hard to stop smiling and look as if she was
inspecting the car but Dillon’s expression was so joyful that it was tough not
to respond to it.

“Still feeling okay?” Zane asked from behind her.

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, not looking at him.

“Dave lent me the portable vac, so I’ll just cut out the
airbag and clean up some of this powder. It’ll take me maybe ten minutes. Do
you want to go inside and sit down?”

“No, I’m good.” Akira finally turned to face Zane, hoping she’d
gotten her expression under control. He paused for a moment, looking at her
intently, and then continued with his work, running the hand-held vacuum
cleaner over the powdered seats and interior of the car. He was frowning, his
face thoughtful.

Akira looked back at Dillon, who was hugging himself with
delight. She pressed her lips together, trying to stop herself from smiling,
but she knew her eyes were giving her away. She glanced at Zane. He was
watching her surreptitiously, and looked back at the car as soon as she looked
at him, but fortunately, the vacuum cleaner was loud enough that there was no
possibility of talking.

Within a few minutes, the car was cleaned to Zane’s
satisfaction, and the two of them were driving away. Or rather, the three of
them, Dillon in the backseat, still quiet but almost glowing with happiness.

Zane glanced at Akira as they exited the parking lot, more
successfully this time. He was driving. “How would you like to play twenty
questions?”

“Animal, vegetable, mineral?” she responded, her voice
skeptical.

“Maybe question ping-pong would be a better name. I ask you a
question, you answer; you ask me a question, I answer.”

Akira considered the idea. She wanted to know more about
General Directions, about the eccentric Max Latimer, about Tassamara, but did
she want to answer his questions? Zane was bound to ask her about the car and
what could she say?

“For example,” he went on. “This car. You obviously like it.
But aren’t you curious about it? Where it came from? Who owns it? Why it was
the only car available to you on your first visit here?” With that, he had her
hooked. He might ask her about the car, but yes, she had questions, too.

“All right. But I get to go first. Why was this the only car
available?”

Zane grinned at her. “It was a test. My turn. Why do you want
to keep it?”

“A test? But that’s not an answer,” Akira protested.

“Sure it is. Why do you want to keep it?”

“Sentimental reasons. What kind of a test?”

“A test of potential perception. Are you always sentimental
about cars you drive once?”

“No.” Potential perception? Akira’s forehead creased with
doubt. “Did I pass the test?”

“Oh, with flying colors, I think. You were the only candidate
who expressed any reluctance to take the car. That’s why it’s so interesting
that you want to keep it now.” Zane paused. The first few rounds of their
question ping-pong had been like a speed match, questions and answers flying.
He tapped his long fingers on the steering wheel.

Akira frowned and glanced over her shoulder at the back seat.
Dillon was leaning forward, looking curious. He opened his mouth as if to say
something and she shook her head, very slightly, to tell him no. Carrying on
two conversations at once was risky.

“Why were you reluctant to take the car?” Zane finally asked,
taking his eyes off the road to watch her answer.

“I—” Akira didn’t want to answer that question. What could
she say after all? Maybe it was time to change the subject. “—am just very
perceptive, I guess. Why did you offer me a job?”

“My sister, Natalya, the doctor that we’re going to see, she
said to hire you.”

“But I didn’t even meet her.”

“That better not be a question. It’s my turn.”

“It’s not a question, it’s a statement. How could she—”

“Now that’s sounding like a question,” Zane interrupted. “It’s
still my turn. You have to wait for yours. Didn’t you learn how to take turns
in kindergarten?”

“Yes, I did. And you just used your question on that.” Akira’s
tone was grumpy, but Zane laughed.

They were driving along the same narrow, winding road that
Akira had taken the first time she’d been here. Oak trees draped in Spanish
moss lined the sides of the road, making a dappled pattern of sun and shade on
the asphalt. To Akira, used to the dry brown hills and open spaces of
California, the sense of stillness and enclosed space felt mysterious, yet
appealing. It was green and beautiful and wild.

But it was also strange.

She thought carefully before asking her next question. “Why
did your father ask me to come here?”

“Ah, that’s a good one. My father has been searching for a
medium for a while now. He thought you might be one.”

“A medium? You mean like a person who talks to dead people?”
Horrified, Akira leaned toward Zane but then fell back as her seat belt pressed
against her darkening bruises. “Ouch. What made him think that?”

“Not your turn,” Zane’s glance was worried. “You’re not going
to start coughing blood, are you?”

“No, I’m just bruised. What made your father think I was a
medium?”

Zane turned onto the road that led to General Directions,
slowing at the guard shack, but only pausing for a quick wave before the guard
opened the gate. “My father likes to call himself a serendipidist. He’s very
good at putting random pieces of information together, and apparently that
article you wrote struck him as intriguing. Intriguing enough to invite you out
here.”

“I can’t talk to the dead,” Akira said fiercely. The
occasional dead person, okay, but only those who became ghosts. But most people
just died. Her mother hadn’t been a ghost. Her father hadn’t been a ghost.
Sometimes she still thought that she was insane and her ghosts hallucinations.
Maybe she was simply a very competent schizophrenic.

“I’m pretty sure I’m dead. It took me a while to figure it
out but it’s the only thing that makes sense,” Dillon spoke from the backseat
and Akira glared at him, widening her eyes as if to tell him he was breaking
the rules. This was not a time where she could afford to be confused. “Sorry,”
he added, falling back against the seat again, and pantomiming pulling a zipper
across his lips.

“Hmm.” Zane made a non-committal hum, and Akira gritted her
teeth in frustration. “I’m not sure talking to the dead is all that uncommon.
Anyone can do that. It’s having the dead talk back that’s unusual.”

Zane pulled into a parking place and stopped the car, turning
to face Akira. Very gently, he asked, “Do the dead talk to you, Akira Malone?”

“No! Not—” Akira looked away, not wanting to lie to him, and
not wanting to tell him the truth, either, but unable to meet the searching
look in his eyes.

“My nephew died in this car,” Zane said.

The words were so random, so unexpected, that Akira’s gaze
flew back to his and before she thought, she blurted out, “Dillon’s your
nephew?”

Zane just looked at her. In the backseat, Dillon said dryly, “Dead
giveaway. Excuse the pun. Tell Uncle Zane I say hi.”

“Yes. My turn again.” Zane’s voice was still gentle. “How do
you know my nephew’s name?”

Akira looked away, trying to decide what to do. What had
Meredith said? That Tassamara was a town of psychics? Maybe this was a place
where it was safe to admit the truth. And maybe she had no choice, anyway,
because it was too late not to.

“The dead don’t talk to me,” Akira admitted with reluctance. “Just
ghosts. Ghosts talk to me.” She sighed, and then added, mouth twisting, “But I
talk back as little as possible.”

“Wow.” It was more of a low sigh than an exclamation, as Zane
shook his head. “Wow.”

Akira waited, chewing on her lower lip.

People reacted differently to learning that she saw ghosts.
Scoffing, disbelief, skepticism, she didn’t really mind any of those: a quick,
light, “Oh, of course I was kidding,” and the conversation was over. Crazy
manic enthusiasm and excitement? That happened sometimes and it was okay. Her
best friend from childhood had loved her ghost stories, at least until her
parents had talked to Akira’s father. Absently, still watching Zane, Akira
rubbed her lower arm.

Best-case scenario was what had happened with Mrs. Sato, her
across-the-street neighbor when she was ten. She’d spent months being fussed
over and fed home-made cookies with tall glasses of milk, while she provided a
voice for the old woman’s dead husband, until the day that Mrs. Sato didn’t
answer the door. She’d died in her sleep, and Akira had never seen either Mr.
or Mrs. Sato again.

The worst-case scenario, though—that was bad. And it was
always the relatives that were the worst. For some people, knowing a loved one
was present but out of reach was devastating. Akira had never found the words
that could make the loss bearable or the death meaningful.

“Would you mind telling Dillon that if he wasn’t dead, I
would kill him for being so stupid?” Zane finally said calmly.

The relief was like a cool breeze on a hot day. Akira had to
bite back her smile.

“Ha!” Dillon said from the backseat. “At last I get to
answer. Would you tell my uncle that he’s said that every single time he’s
driven this car for years? I know already!”

“He can hear you,” Akira replied to Zane.

“Oh.” He glanced at her. “Right.” He shook his head. “Wow,”
he repeated.

He looked back at her, more intently this time. “You—” he
started and then he stopped. “We need to get you checked out. Let’s do that
first. Dillon’s not going anywhere, right?”

Akira looked at Dillon and shrugged. She never knew how or
when a ghost would disappear.

“Yeah, go make sure you’re not hurt,” Dillon said. “I’ll be
fine. And not to be selfish or anything, but it’d suck big-time for me if you
were to die right now.”

This time Akira didn’t bother to try to hide her wry smile. “That’d
be ironic, wouldn’t it? But I’m not badly hurt, I promise.”

Zane’s brow quirked, and Akira realized that she’d responded
to words he couldn’t hear. Quickly, she said, “Dillon agrees I should get
looked at.” Argh, she’d slipped already. Despite Zane’s seemingly calm
acceptance of a ghostly nephew, she’d learned that it was better, safer, to be
careful.