Whispering Hearts (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Waking up next to Rachel the next day was one of the happiest experiences of Garrett's life. He couldn't keep himself from smiling.

Her legs were tangled with his, one arm sprawled over his chest and the other folded against his side. She was as close to him as she could get and he loved it. Of course, his own arms were wrapped around her, holding her tight even as he slept.

He was never going to let her go again. He wouldn't have to.

His arms flexed around her and he kissed the top of her head. She let out a contented sigh.

“Morning,” she mumbled.

“Good morning.”

She yawned and nuzzled his chest. “I'm starving. Want some eggs?”

“Sounds like you need more sleep. Why don't I go make us breakfast?”

“Because then you won't be with me.” She rose on her elbows to kiss him, erasing his thoughts of breakfast. But then she slid to the edge of the bed and stood. With a smile, she said, “Come on. Let's go.”

Rachel standing naked in front of him—yeah, he'd go wherever she wanted. As he rose, she went to his closet and pulled out two T-shirts. She tossed one to him and put on the other.

“If we're going to be cooking, we probably shouldn't be naked.”

“Good point.”

He pulled the shirt over his head, then grabbed a pair of pajama pants from his dresser and put them on. Rachel waited for him—she didn't take off to get started on breakfast.

She took his hand when he reached the door, but he pulled her close instead of walking to the kitchen. He bent down and brushed his lips across hers, satin-soft and sweeter than honey.

After a good long while, he leaned back to see her eyes half-shut and her breathing quickened. He would have walked them right back into the bedroom, but her stomach growled. They both laughed at the sound.

“Sorry. My stomach is very opinionated.”

“I'm the one stalling breakfast. Let's go.”

They worked side-by-side in his kitchen, bumping into each other or at least brushing elbows often. No words were necessary. She made the eggs, he made toast and coffee.

As they ate at the counter, they kept smiling at each other. He felt ridiculous—like he was a kid again, free-falling into that first love. Rachel wasn't his first, though. She was his last.

“I was thinking about the house,” he said.

“The one we're going to fill with all those children?” The way she smiled as she spoke made his heart fill with warmth.

“That's the one. I was thinking we could build on a solarium, sort of like what Elsa has, only more detached. If ghosts are going to keep pestering you, we might as well make a sort of waiting room so we can deal with them on our terms.”

“‘Our' terms?”

“Partners in everything. I'm sure as hell not going to leave you to deal with this alone.”

“I'm not sure how much you can do.”

“Just because I'm not psychic doesn't mean I can't help.” He would damned sure find a way. “I can make poppets, spray saltwater…look menacing.”

She laughed at that, and he felt his smile deepen. His cheeks hurt, he'd been smiling so much.

“And I have resources,” he said. “My friend Finn is a private investigator. You need to dig up facts on anybody who comes to you for help, he's your guy.”

“Are you sure he'd be okay helping out a psychic?”

Garrett laughed and shook his head. Finn's secrets weren't Garrett's to tell, but the irony of her question was too much.

“He'll be fine with it. And he'll be more help than you can imagine. Finn's the best.”

“A PI would be extremely helpful in many cases, I imagine. Tracking down descendents or lost items. Those are the main requests I get hit with. The ghosts want me to tell someone something or get something to a particular person.”

“Why was Hiram hanging around?”

“‘Scientific curiosity'. That's what he always said.” Her smile softened as she spoke about him. “He wasn't done learning about this life when he passed on. He was the exception rather than the rule, though.”

“I'm glad you had somebody to help you with all this.”

“Me too.”

“Speaking of helpful spirits, what about Misha?”

“What about him?”

“Do you think he might be helpful? Kind of act as an intermediary for you?”

That gorgeous smile of hers vanished, her eyes crinkling at the edges and the slightest line appearing between her eyebrows. She took a breath and held it, mouth open like she was on the brink of saying something. Something he was not going to like.

“What?”

“I…don't think Misha will be much help. I think he
needs
help. Closure of some kind. I haven't figured out what, though.”

“I thought Hiram sent him to watch over you.”

“That's what Misha said. But ghosts sometimes lie. And they talk to each other. He could have asked around, found someone who knew about my friendship with Hiram when I was a child.”

Garrett's stomach soured. The idea of an entire network of ghosts using their knowledge to manipulate people… No wonder she had stopped listening to spirits.

“We're putting mirrors in the solarium. Lots of them.” At least if she could see them, she would have a better idea of who she was talking to.

“That's…a really good idea.”

Her gaze shifted from him, her demeanor intensifying. Her mind was carrying her away on that tangent. She was probably designing the room already.

“Do you have any idea what Misha wants then?” Garrett asked, bringing her back to the more immediate issue.

“I'm not sure.” The pain and hesitance crept back into her expression. “But I don't think he's who he says he is. For one thing, he's younger than I thought.”

Garrett's skin felt electrified. “He isn't… It can't be Michael, can it?”

“No, Michael was cremated.”

She didn't seem as convinced as she had been. If it was Michael and he had somehow found a way to harass Rachel from beyond the grave, Garrett would find a way to make him pay.

“He mentioned Dylan,” she said. “Before you did. He said you had a brother who died.”

How would a ghost know anything about Dylan? He'd been gone for thirty years. Misha might have asked around about Garrett, but why would he? Unless…

Garrett's heart started to pound.

“Wait, you don't think—”

She didn't have to say anything to give him his answer. The way her brow pulled together above her nose, how she leaned toward him as if ready to put her arms around him, to hold him together…

Yeah. She thought it might be Dylan.

Garrett's eggs threatened to come back up.

Imagining dead people hanging around was unnerving enough—serial killers or not. But Dylan couldn't be among them. He couldn't.

Garrett dropped his fork and pushed away his plate, then covered his face with his hands, leaning his elbows on the counter. His skin prickled, a sensation of warmth surrounding him like Rachel's arms.

But she wasn't touching him.

Her arms wrapped around him, giving the feeling a source. After-the-fact.

He dropped his hands so he could look at her. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I felt you touch me before it happened.”

She started to pull away, but he caught her arms and kept them on his shoulders.

“Please don't,” he said. “Don't pull away. Not now.”

He needed her. Especially now that he knew Dylan might still be around—might have been lingering since his death decades ago. If so, Garrett had to help his brother find peace.

She took a deep breath, then let it out. Warmth washed over Garrett again, taking the edge off his pain and worry. She grasped one of his hands and pressed it against her chest just above her heart, then placed her free hand in the same place on him.

What he felt was indescribable. His mind still tried to put it into words.

Peace, happiness, contentment, hope, excitement—a kaleidoscope of emotions poured through him. He could feel his own emotions connecting to her and traveling through her as well, like they had closed a circuit by opening their hearts to each other.

He covered the hand she rested above his heart with his other hand. “What is this?”

“I'm not sure. It's kind of new to me. But if I had to guess, I'd say it's some sort of empathy.”

“Is it part of your power?”

“I don't know. It's never happened before.”

“When did you first notice it?” Damn, he sounded like he was starting an exam.

“It started after the snake in the garage.”

Dread crashed through him, but even that ebbed quickly. “It's not because of…” He swallowed hard. “Dylan, is it?”

“Not directly. I think it was triggered by how upset you were and how much I wanted to help you feel better.”

“So this is another thing you can do.”

“Apparently.”

It would probably come in handy when helping out ghosts. Starting with his brother.

The pain and guilt of it tore through him again. Rachel was right there, carrying it with him, easing his burden.

“Don't,” Garrett said. “You don't have to do that for me.”

“I know. But I want to. This is what you've done for me since we met. Helping me to feel less alone, more at peace with myself. This connection has always been there, I think. We're only just now exploring it.”

He couldn't deny that. Since the first time their gazes met, he had felt it deep in his gut, in his soul. She was the one for him.

“What are we going to do about it?” he asked.

“I guess see where it takes us.”

He wanted to see where it could take Dylan, how it could help him. With it being an unknown, a new power, Garrett wasn't sure how safe it would be for Rachel, though. He didn't like the idea of her using any kind of empathic ability to connect with an unknown ghost.

“It's okay,” she said. “You'll be right there with me.”

“What, can you read my mind now? Because then we might be in trouble.”

She gave a light laugh and said, “No, I could feel you worrying. And I can feel you wanting to act. We can see if I can help Misha, whoever he is. We can try to find out if he's Dylan.”

Her voice trailed off at the end. She must have been waiting for another spike of dread or fear or guilt. But they were all overpowered by the one prevailing emotion he felt in that moment. Gratitude.

This gorgeous, generous woman was willing to walk into a situation that a few days ago would have terrified her, just on the chance that it was Garrett's brother. She wasn't running away from him. She was walking at his side, as a partner.

He didn't feel like he was out on a limb with her anymore. It was more like they were standing on a bridge that they were building together, one that would lead wherever they wanted it to go.

“That is…heady,” she said.

“It's what I've always felt for you.”

“I'm sorry I made you wait so long.”

He shook his head. “It was worth it.”

“If we aren't heading back to the bedroom now, we might want to try to tone this down.”

The bedroom sounded really good. But if Misha was Dylan, Garrett couldn't let that go for another moment.

“What do we do?”

Rachel took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The warmth he felt from her lessened, but was still there. She moved their hands away from each other's chests, letting out a long, steady exhale. The feeling of connection faded till it was just a tingling along his skin, a calmness in his heart.

“Did that work?” she asked.

“You're the psychic. You tell me.”

“I think that's as good as we can do with toning down the connection for now. Come on. Let's go talk to Misha.”

Garrett was still nervous as hell, but he nodded and stood. She grasped his hand again and led him to the guest room.

Chapter Twenty-Six

It was hard to believe she was doing this. Willingly opening herself up to a ghost to help them. After everything she'd been through, the sacrifices she'd made to get them to leave her alone…

None of that mattered. Word was out about her abilities anyway. If Misha really was Dylan, she had to help him for Garrett's sake. But that wasn't her only reason.

She
wanted
to help Misha. Whoever he was. She wanted to help all the spirits that needed her and were aware enough to come to her for aid. First Misha, then the spirits of Michael's victims that were haranguing her.

If her mother had raised her in her family's traditions, this wouldn't have even been an issue. She would have been protected as a child and trained in how to use her powers. She would have been helping spirits for years by now.

Looking back wouldn't help anyone. She needed to be looking forward. To a future with Garrett. Embracing her abilities and exploring them more, honing her skills. She had the book knowledge. It was time to start putting it into a deeper practice.

“When we go into the room, be careful not to disturb the line of salt that's over the threshold.” She pointed at the barrier she had made earlier.

“I thought spraying the door with saltwater was enough.”

“Since there's already so much salt around in Florida, it generally is, but I wanted to be sure no one could get into the rest of the house. I left the door open and took the wards down from the window. With the window and the mirror, there are too many access points in there.”

“The mirror is an access point?”

“Reflections are a link between this plane and the next. Mirrors are powerful enough that they can be used as doorways from the other side. They magnify and focus spiritual energy.”

She hadn't talked to anyone about it since she was a little girl. When all of this was over, she was going to have a long conversation with Chloe and rekindle that relationship. In the meantime, she had to try to explain this better to Garrett.

“Ghosts can move around like people through doorways. That's the easiest way for them to get around. I think it's because that's what's most familiar to them from when they were alive. But they can also sort of teleport to different places by willing themselves to go there, especially the ones who are focused or have been around a long time and have lots of practice. They still need something to connect to. Either a person or a place they're familiar with. Hence hauntings.”

“Okay, that makes sense.”

“Good.” She took a deep breath and went on. “Ghosts tend to think of themselves in terms of their human existence. Doorways and windows are obvious ways to get into someone's house. Warding them keeps ghosts from being able to enter and usually stops them from even seeing or hearing anything that goes on inside.”

“What if a ghost doesn't see themselves as human?”

She shivered as she remembered her conversations about the topic with Hiram. Garrett was dealing with so much. She didn't want to burden him with yet more knowledge that most people never had to deal with.

“You don't want to tell me. I can feel it.”

“I would rather protect you from knowing this.”

“I think I've proven by now that you can tell me anything. I can handle it.”

She nodded, then said, “If a ghost stops thinking of themselves in human terms, their soul devolves. Over time, they become what most people think of as demons. Different rules apply. They are much more dangerous than ghosts. Thankfully, it's very, very rare for a ghost to become a demon.”

“Okay. That's a pretty scary thought.”

“Sorry.”

“Don't be. I'd rather know—be prepared for it if something comes up.”

“Well, hopefully we'll never need to worry about that. Anyway, Hiram told me that everything is kind of foggy on the other side. Trying to look through doors and windows is a little bit like looking through frosted glass. Unless it's warded, and then it's all opaque. But mirrors make everything crystal clear. And they glow on the other side.”

“Do you like beards?”

She blinked at the sudden shift in topic. Her penchant for non sequiturs might be rubbing off on him.

“I guess they're okay.”

“Good. Because I doubt I'll be shaving again anytime soon.”

He gave her a small smile and she laughed, grateful for him easing the tension of the moment.

“So that's why you can see ghosts in reflections. Because those are the
real
windows from the other side?”

“Exactly. That's also why I have to be so careful around reflective surfaces. Mirrors especially can act like a sort of amplifier. Ghosts can use a mirror to get to a place or person they don't already know. I cover them so that I don't see anything disturbing and so they can't see me in a warded environment. If I tried to ward one and did it wrong…”

Her skin crawled at the thought. She knew some psychics used mirrors extensively in their work. With her already amplified abilities, putting any sort of energy on a mirror seemed like a colossally bad idea. Not until she had learned more. Had more practice.

Garrett squeezed her hand. She could feel him willing reassuring energy into her and welcomed it gladly.

“Then we keep the mirror covered and we don't mess up the line of salt. Got it.”

“Are you sure you're ready for this?”

“Doesn't matter. One way or another, we're getting this done now.”

She nodded, then turned back to the door.

Strangely, when Misha had been an unknown, she was less nervous around him. Not as much was at stake when she thought she was just talking to an easygoing ghost who was hanging around like Hiram had been.

But Misha wasn't like Hiram. She was certain of it.

Which meant one of two things. Either the ghost in the guest room was Garrett's brother Dylan and they were about to have an emotional reunion—or the ghost was a stranger pretending to be a friend.

As much as she hated the thought of Dylan lingering, the second was infinitely more frightening. One way or another, they needed to know.

With a deep breath, she stepped over the threshold. Garrett followed right behind her.

“Misha? Are you here?”

No one answered.

She walked deeper into the room, holding tight to Garrett's hand. “Misha, we'd like to talk to you.”

After another few moments of silence, Garrett spoke up. “Dylan? Is that you?”

Still nothing.

“He might not be here,” Rachel said. “I asked him to find the spirits of the women who are haunting me and tell them I want to talk. Maybe he decided to help with that after all.”

“I'd like a few words with them myself. They need to stop stirring up bugs and snakes. Immediately.”

When Garrett had offered to look intimidating, Rachel had laughed it off. Seeing the look on his face at that moment was anything but amusing. His jaw was set, brow drawn together and lips in a tight line. She could practically see lightning sparking from his eyes.

He might be able to scare ghosts after all.

“We should hear them out first. Try to talk. If they ever show up, that is.”

She glanced around the room. No reflective surfaces to try to catch a glimpse of ghosts. No voices. Nothing.

“I don't want to have to do a summoning,” Rachel said. “Those always ruffle the ghost's feathers, so to speak.”

“I read a little about those in the books you loaned me. It sounded like an involved process.”

“It can be. Or it can be a simple one, depending on how you go about it. I don't go in for show. My rituals are always simple and practical. Like the poppets and saltwater.”

“I didn't know that qualified.”

“If you do it in the right mindset, anything can be a ritual.”

They could just wait for Misha to return, but who knew how long that would take. Rachel was already feeling antsy.

“Maybe I could use a rune…”

“Like a Norse rune?”

Rachel had always felt a pull to runes and collected volumes dedicated solely to their use. But they weren't mentioned in any of the books about ghosts she had loaned Garrett.

“How do you know about runes?”

He snorted, then gestured down the length of his body. “Witness my heritage.”

She laughed, leaning into his broad chest. “Just because your ancestors were Nordic doesn't mean you've read up on them. And runes are a pretty obscure subject.”

“With a last name like Wolfstrom, I was curious. I've read a bunch of myths. Runes came up from time to time. The stories made them seem powerful and dangerous.”

“Anything powerful can be dangerous. The trick with runes is to use them with the correct intention.”

“I stand enlightened.”

She laughed again, until a sudden icy feeling shot through her. Looking around the room, she sought out the threat.

“What is it?” Garrett asked.

“Misha?”

“I found them!”
Misha's voice sounded even younger, a sure sign that he was in distress, even without the urgency in his tone. If this wasn't Dylan, it was someone who had been carrying a lot of emotional baggage when he died.

“Hello, Misha.” Rachel tried to keep her voice calm. She wanted Garrett to be part of the conversation as much as possible, even though she also wanted to shield him from what might be said. “Thank you for finding the ghosts for me. I still want to talk to them, but I'd like to speak with you first.”

“There's no time to talk. They're getting ready to act.”

The near-panic in his voice confused her. He sounded as if she and Garrett were in imminent danger. What could the spirits possibly do to hurt them? Glancing around the room, she didn't see any animals or bugs. Unless the ghosts had found a herd of rhinoceroses to stampede into the house, they seemed fairly safe.

“The house is warded,” Rachel began.

“They aren't just after you. They're mad at Elsa for escaping too.”

“What?”

Garrett pulled Rachel closer. “What is it? What's he saying?”

“Misha, what are the ghosts planning to do to Elsa? How are they going to harm her?”

“Christ,” Garrett hissed.

“By going after Dante. He's in surgery and they're controlling insects that they've hidden in the room. They're going to startle the doctors while they're cutting him.”

“Oh God…” Rachel shook her head. This was too awful.

Dante had already had one emergency surgery after Michael had shot at him. Even though the bullet missed, it hit nearby mason jars full of debris. The shrapnel had hit Dante in the face.

The only reason he needed surgery in the first place was because he tried to save Rachel. She didn't know he was going back under so soon. It had only been two months.

Her cell phone was on the bedside table. Rachel dove for it and dialed Elsa's number. Nothing happened. She looked at the screen and saw that there wasn't a signal.

“Garrett, we have to warn Elsa.”

“Hold up a minute. What is he saying? Warn Elsa about what?”

“The ghosts of those women aren't just mad at me. They want payback against Elsa too.”

“What! Why?”

“Michael wanted both of us. And we lived.”

Garrett's forehead crinkled and she heard his teeth grind together.

“Tell me what to do.”

“I don't know! I can't get a signal to warn her. Where's your phone?”

“In my bedroom.” He had already turned and was headed for the door. In his haste, he scuffed the salt line in the threshold. “Dammit!”

“I'll fix it later. We don't have time to waste.”

They ran to his room and he picked up his phone. As he looked at the screen, his shoulders slumped.

“No signal.”

“Have you ever had that happen before?”

“No. Maybe one of the towers got hit in last night's storm?”

Rachel shook her head. Her stomach was doing somersaults. “It's possible that the ghosts are messing with the signal. But that's a good thing. If they're here messing with our signals, they can't be at the hospital.”

“Hospital?”

The urgency in his voice had spiked. She hadn't filled him in on the vengeful spirits' plan yet.

“Misha said that Dante's in surgery right now. The ghosts are planning to hurt him by distracting his doctors at the worst moment. They've already herded insects into the room. But if they can block cell signals, they're more powerful than we imagined. Working together, they could do all sorts of things.”

A single ghost that was this angry, this focused on revenge wouldn't need to make a bug fly into a surgeon's face. It'd be able to bump their hand, maybe even throw scalpels across the room. It could kill the lights, bite or claw at someone, give them a chill at just the wrong moment.

And more than one was after her. After Elsa.

All of the research Rachel had done on hauntings by angry spirits surged up from the back of her mind. All of her memories of her own experiences. She had shoved them away so that she wouldn't be too terrified to ever leave her house.

Garrett pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. “Take a breath and calm down.”

He was feeding steady emotions into her. Calmer than her own, but tinged with fear. They still helped, and she let them in, using them like an anchor to keep from being pulled into the memories that clawed at her mind.

“They might be able to move things.” Her voice was muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

“What?”

She stepped away and took that deep breath he suggested. As she let it out, she made herself focus. Solutions. That was what they needed.

“It's possible that one or more of them has become a poltergeist. If so, they'll be able to move things. Nothing too heavy, but in a room full of surgical equipment…” She shook her head, her imagination taking her to places too dark to think about. “How fast can you get us to the hospital?”