The Gravedigger's Brawl (8 page)

Wyatt noticed with a slight stirring in his gut that it was a different stud than the one Ash had been wearing before. He'd been intimately acquainted with the previous one.

“Different tongue ring, huh?” he asked before thinking better of it.

“It's left over from Saturday.”

“Left over?”

Ash huffed at Wyatt's look of consternation, then cupped his hands around his mouth and nose, opening his mouth so Wyatt could see the stud in shadow. It glowed a very faint purple. “I change them out. We entertain as we mix. People get a kick out of it.”

Wyatt nodded, but said under his breath, “I liked the other one better.”

Ash gave a derogatory snort. “I bet you did.”

Wyatt squatted there for another moment, trying to think of anything to say that could convey his regret. No words came, though, and he admitted to himself that Ash was done with the conversation and he should be as well.

He stood with a sigh. “I am sorry.”

Ash pursed his lips and nodded without looking up.

“Take care, huh?” Wyatt said as he trudged to the door. It sounded so weak that he instantly regretted saying it.

“Hey, Wyatt,” Ash said as soon as Wyatt reached for the doorknob. Wyatt turned around. Ash was still sitting with his back to the door. “You know what I always do in the morning with someone who's slept over?”

Wyatt's stomach flip-flopped. “What?”

“I fuck them again.”

Wyatt closed his eyes as a jolt of lust shot through him. He reached for the knob and lowered his head. “Wish I'd stuck around to see that.”

“Yeah,” Ash said. “So do I.”

Wyatt exited the bar before he could subject himself to any more abuse, no matter how much he deserved it. He stood outside and peered up into the crisp blue sky for a long time, trying to reconcile that he'd probably screwed up what could have been a good thing. When he looked down again, his eyes landed on the chalk sign that was chained to the front of the building. He frowned. The specials had been erased, but the bottom still advertised the ghost tours.

Wyatt's body lurched as an idea hit him like a truckload of Acme anvils. He turned back to the door in time to see Ash stand and viciously kick the A/C unit. He banged on the glass. “Hey!”

Ash jumped and turned around. He frowned when he saw Wyatt standing there, then he tossed the screwdriver aside and stalked over to the door.

“What the hell, man?” he said through the glass.

“Those ghost tours, do they start from here every night?” Wyatt asked as he pointed at the sign.

“What?” Ash frowned.

“The ghost tours!”

“Yeah. Monday through Saturday. They start around eight this time of year. When it's good and dark.”

“Are they popular?”

“Yeah. They bring in about twenty percent of our business.” Ash crossed his arms over his chest, obviously confused by Wyatt's sudden change of interest. “Why?”

“What sort of things do they show you?”

“I don't know, man, ghost stories and shit. I've never been on one. Are you done?”

“No! I need to know what sort of stories they tell!”

Ash flopped his hands in exasperation. “Why?”

“The October exhibition!” Wyatt shouted back, pointing in the direction of the museum. “Ghost stories! A history of ghost stories! That could save my job!”

Ash stared at him, then shook his head and shrugged. “The state is full of ghosts and myths and legends, man. You could make an exhibit about them, but you'd be pandering if you went that route without some serious research and truth behind it.”

“Hell, pandering's what they want me to do. My life is research!”

“Then take a couple ghost tours. Present the stories as they're believed to be and then tell the truth behind them. Make it worthy, at least.”

Wyatt rapped his knuckles on the glass. “Thank you,” he whispered before turning and jogging away.

Ash stood at the door, frowning as he watched Wyatt jog down the sidewalk toward the museum.

“Why is it always the wackadoos who're so good in bed?” he said sadly.

A loud bang from upstairs seemed to answer him, and he jumped and turned, looking up at the ceiling as his heart rate skyrocketed.

He stayed silent and still, holding his breath. But all he could hear was his own heart pounding in his ears. He exhaled shakily. Heard a faint noise. Like someone drumming their fingers on a wooden table in the distance.

Ash took a tentative step forward and licked his lips. “Hello?” he called out, surprised at how shaken he was. Houses this old creaked and groaned all the time. Not that he'd ever heard this particular house make that particular noise, but still . . .

The drumming seemed to fade into the echo of his voice as it filtered through the bar. Had he really heard it, or was it just his imagination? He'd been listening to that damned broken A/C unit bang and clang for so long he'd be hearing things for days.

When no other sounds presented themselves, he leaned back against the glass of the door and let his head hang. He snorted and laughed—

Then hopped away and shouted at a loud banging on the glass beside his head. He whirled and staggered back from the door, his hand over his heart as Caleb, on the other side of the door, chuckled.

“Morning!” Caleb called as he slid his key into the lock and opened it. “Little skittish this morning, are we?”

Ash glared at him, still holding his hand over his heart. “Asshole,” he huffed. “Scared the shit out of me.”

“I can see that.” Caleb shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the coat rack beside the door. “What's going on, Sir Yipsalot?”

“Shut up.” Ash patted his chest and then ran his hands through his hair in embarrassment. “Just . . . thought I heard something upstairs right before you got here.”

Caleb's smile vanished. “You the only one here?”

“Yeah, I got here about thirty minutes ago. I swear, if Ryan's up there with some girl, I'm going to kick his ass.”

Caleb raised a dubious eyebrow and smirked.

“I'd put up a valiant effort, at least!” Ash turned away and went in search of the screwdriver he'd chucked into the unknown earlier.

Caleb circled the unit Ash had set in the middle of the floor. “Air conditioning's broken again?”

“And that's not the only thing,” Ash grumbled. “It's just the only thing I couldn't fix.”

Caleb sighed as he frowned down at the broken unit. “Well. It's not like the upstairs really needs it anyway. We just kept it running to keep the wood from warping with the humidity.”

“Yeah, I know, I've been here,” Ash said with a little more acid than Caleb deserved. “It should be okay 'til spring. Over the winter we can get someone to come in and extend the central system to the upper floors.”

“That'll cost an assload of money.”

“But then we could use the upstairs and expand,” Ash said. It wasn't the first time they'd had this discussion.

“I suppose. We could just buy a new unit.” Caleb waved a hand at the A/C. It popped at his feet, sizzling. “Or not.”

The unit popped again and then sparked. Caleb hopped back as Ash dove for the bar. The unit spit sparks again and began to sputter flames from inside as Ash pulled up onto the bar and reached over, stretching and grabbing a dirty dishrag. He pounced on the unit with the damp rag, beating out the flames as Caleb scrambled for the fire extinguisher. They managed to get it out before it did any real damage, and more importantly, before the smoke reached the detectors on the ceiling and set off the sprinklers.

“Wow,” Caleb said as they stood side by side, looking at the charred unit warily and waiting for more flames.

“Yeah,” Ash said, panting as he held the singed dishrag in his hand.

“Good bloody thing you took it down when you did.”

Ash didn't want to imagine what would have happened if it had caught fire while in the window upstairs. “Kicking it may have hastened its self-destruction,” Ash admitted.

“Huh.”

“Glad it didn't do that while I was screwing it,” Ash said distantly. Caleb turned to look at him, and Ash glanced back and blinked. “What?”

Caleb just shook his head and turned away.

Ash frowned, pulling at his ear as he heard the odd drumming sound echoing from somewhere above. It was probably just adrenaline, but as he peered toward the ceiling, a feeling of dread seeped into him. He looked away as a shiver ran through his body, determined not to let the ghost stories get to him.

“That's sort of near brilliant, Wy,” Noah said. He popped open a bag of Cheetos and scooted his chair closer to the lunch table.

Wyatt had laid out his tentative plans for the October exhibition, including Ash's suggestion that they display the popular myth to draw people in, then tell the truth behind it with artifacts to suit their goal of actually educating.

“It's going to take some hellacious research, though. It's already the first. Do we have time to have it up and running by the weekend?” Noah asked.

“If we know where to start, I think we can get it outlined in a few days. Then we can enlist some students to help put it all together. It should be ready by then. It's perfect. It has the pandering aspects the Trustees seem to want, it'll have a low artifact count, and it'll bring in crowds that wouldn't usually look twice at a museum. And we can actually put some real history into it to keep it respectable. Maybe even convert some interest in places.”

“Ash helped you come up with this?” Noah asked, smirking as he leaned back in his chair.

“Um, sort of.” Noah raised an eyebrow, and Wyatt sighed and lowered his head. “The other night . . .”

Noah grinned cheekily. “Do tell.”

“I went home with him. We slept together,” Wyatt blurted, looking around to make sure no one had heard him.

“I figured. And?”

“I didn't . . . really stick around 'til morning,” Wyatt admitted.

Noah's smile fell and his brow furrowed. “Oh.”

“I just panicked a little about—”

Noah held up a hand and shook his head. “Happens to the best of us, man. Don't explain.”

“I went to see him this morning. Tried to apologize.”

Noah's eyebrows shot up. “How'd that go?”

“Not too well. Hey,” he added, eyes narrowing as Noah's lips twitched. “It's not funny.” But his voice trembled with a laugh.

“No, not at all.” Noah snickered a little, leaned back in his chair, and covered his mouth with his hand.

“I feel awful, okay? I really liked him.”

Noah's smile faded. “What exactly did he say when you talked to him?”

“He seemed more pissed about my flushing the condom than about me actually leaving.”

Noah threw his head back and laughed, rocking back in his chair and sliding both hands over his face.

“Noah!” Wyatt hissed as several heads turned and looked at them. Wyatt leaned closer to Noah, frowning. “It's not funny.”

Noah was still snickering as he shook his head. “It really kind of is. So wait, you discussed your one-night stand and his plumbing, I assume you did so heatedly because Ash has a little bit of a temper on him, and then you . . . what, sat down and fleshed out ideas for the exhibition over a latte?”

“Not exactly.”

“So Ash didn't
exactly
offer to help,” Noah said, eyes narrowing.

“Not . . . exactly. I figured we'd go do the ghost tour and see . . .”

“So. You want the two of us to traipse over to the bar where the guy you screwed over is working and nance around until the ghost tour starts tonight? What, you're rubbing it in his face?”

“No! I wouldn't do that!” Wyatt stopped short and frowned. “Is that how he'll see it?”

“I don't know. I know I'd be kind of pissy.”

“Goddammit.”

Noah was silent for a long time as Wyatt mulled over the issues. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Ash even more or, God forbid, piss him off. But his job was the most important thing in his life and he took it very seriously. Sure, it was an unusual way of working, but so was trying to put together a major exhibit in less than a week.