not to relinquish the rest of your clothes.” I moved back to the window and sat with the flower pot propped on my lap. My fingertips tingled as blood resumed its natural course. “I suspect if you strip yourself naked, you shall remain that way.” And your pocket watch has little hope of hiding your most prized attribute . The wicked thought raced through me, unchecked, as the gleaming glass face caught my eye from the rug.
“You are a bold one,” he said.
Shame burned my cheeks in a hot rush. “You weren’t meant to hear that.”
He eased his wrists back into place within the shirt then bent to pick up the watch. He tucked its chain within his waistband with the square face hanging outside his trousers. “What kind of scheme are you running? Summoning men to your bath and teasing them with visions of milky skin and perfect breasts. Purposely leading them on a nightmare journey into madness.”
A forbidden delight stirred in my chest. “You think my breasts are perfect?”
He grimaced—an expression which on any other man would be off-putting. But framed by his opacity, it made him look like an avenging angel. “I owe you no pretty words. You’re a thief. You’ve drugged me, so you may unhinge my mind and steal my purse.”
“I am no thief.” I steadied my gaze on his, determined to make him face his truth, however tragic it was. “And it would appear you have nothing real enough to steal, other than a most unusual broken watch.”
“Is that so?” His lip twitched. “Why are you holding that blasted plant? Put it down.” A dare laced his words. “Put it down and I’ll give you something worth stealing. First, we start with a kiss. Then I’ll show you how real the rest of my body is.”
My mouth drained of moisture. I never realized a threat could double as an enticement.
Before I could react, he reached for my wrist. His hand dispersed like a rush of dandelion seeds then reappeared. It felt as if the wind had ruffled my skin. He cried out and my legs jerked in reaction, toppling the pot from my lap. Dirt hiccupped onto my bare feet as my guest vanished.
I cursed—a word which would’ve curled my mama’s straight hair. The throw came unwound from my body as I fell to my knees.
Ignoring my nakedness, I scooped the soil back into the pot. I almost didn’t notice the feet settling next to me.
I glanced up into Enya’s horrified face. “What has gotten into you?” She dropped my bed gown to the floor. “Cover up. I’ll clean this mess.”
My cheeks grew hotter. Only after I patted the dirt in place around the flower and nudged the stem to assure it didn’t snap did I slip the gown over my head.
Enya forced me to stand, cupping my chin so I’d look directly at her. “Your mother was your world. I understand. I loved her as my own. For all her generosity toward me and my family. For always treating me with respect and kindness. You are not alone in your grief, Juliet. Let me help you.”
My chest clenched against a pain I refused to face.
Enya caressed my cheek sweetly. “I will fix you some chocolate to drink. We’ll share our favorite memories of her. It is the only way to find peace and sense once more.” She started for the cupboard.
“Wait,” I said. I didn’t want to find peace or sense. I wanted to be with the ghost again. Talking to him made me feel closer to Mama, and was much easier on the heart than dredging up bittersweet nostalgia. “I would prefer to be alone. Down here, among her and Papa’s things. Just for tonight.”
Enya’s freckled features saddened, and I despised my selfishness. Omitting her from my grief as if she was nothing but a maid, when she was so much more. I debated sharing the secret, letting her see the captivating face of the afterlife as I had, but before I could form proper words, Enya was gone—into the hall and up the stairs.
Slapping tears from my cheeks, I bolted the double doors behind her, then touched the flower again. Sound
Carolyn McCray, Ben Hopkin
Orson Scott Card, Aaron Johnston