Page 42 of The Ghost and the Graveyard (Knight Games 1)
"Wow. You are different at night," I said, feeling stupid for saying so when his expression soured. "I just mean, I can't see through you like I could this afternoon."
"Yeah, midnight is when I have the most control over my form. It takes some mental effort for me to hold myself together like this, but not nearly as much as during the day."
"I don't even know if I should ask you to sit down. Do ghosts sit?"
"I don't need to. Strictly speaking, I don't have a body, so I don't need to physically rest. But I think in this case it would be better if I did-more comfortable for the both of us."
I nodded and moved toward the dining room table. The weird thing about being followed by a ghost is the lack of sound. I watched him walk across the wood floor, looking as human as anyone I'd ever met, but there wasn't even a hint of a footstep. I sat down at the table, and he walked behind the chair next to me and stopped. I waited for him to sit, but he just looked at the back of the chair mournfully. I pushed it back with my foot. He floated into it, his body bending unnaturally before coming to rest on the wood. The action made it impossible for me to forget he was a ghost, no matter how alive he looked.
"You're scared of me," he said.
"A little." Did it show?
"I'm sorry, Grateful, for everything. I know I keep scaring you. I don't intend to. This is what I am now, and it's all I can be."
Even I, the relationship-impaired, know that when you meet a man who can admit his insecurities, you need to appreciate it while it lasts. I put on my big-girl panties and stopped thinking so much. "No, I'm sorry. You've been nothing but kind to me. Thank you for helping with Prudence and for making me coffee."
"It's the least I could do."
"Hey, wait a minute," I said. "If you can't pull out your own chair, how did you make the coffee this morning?"
"I can move things with my energy. But when I made the coffee I was in my other form. Right now, I'm concentrating on looking like my human self. There's nothing left over for moving the chair." Half of his mouth lifted, wrinkling the corners of his eyes and making the stubble on his chin remind me of a lover who'd spent the night and forgot a razor. I had to keep reminding myself that he was dead, that he didn't have a body.
"My turn to have my question answered," he said. "What is my name, Grateful?"
"Well, I don't know what your real name is, but would you mind if I called you Logan?"
"Yes. Logan. I am Logan." He said the words with relief. What must it be like to float around in someone's attic not knowing your own name?
I allowed myself to look at him, really look at him. The spiky blondish hair, the green eyes, sport coat, jeans, and loafers. Handsome would be an apt description but not in an obvious way. Not handsome in the way that Rick was handsome, for example. When you saw Rick, it was like watching a male model walk off the pages of a magazine. He was all heat and swagger. Sex oozed from his pores. Logan was attractive but in the way a neighbor might be or a best friend's brother. There was a realness about him. His smile made me feel warm, like coming home after a long day.
"What exactly did you do when you were alive?" I asked, pondering if what he was wearing was what he'd died in, or some universal version of himself.
"I told you, I don't remember," he said. "None of us ever knows."
"Us?"
"The ghosts who pass through your attic. Prudence says we know we're waiting for something, but we don't know what."
Huh? "There've been others? How long have you been here?"
"Prudence told me about the others. Time is hard for me, but I know I came after Prudence died because I'm still here."
"I...I don't understand. What do you mean, Prudence died and that's why you're still here?"
The question made him go all staticky for a minute. He cleared his throat-a pointless gesture, considering he didn't have one-and I knew he was stalling.
I scowled in his direction. "You said before that you are waiting for a sorter. Prudence asked me if I was the sorter. That must be someone who helps you move on. Was Prudence the last sorter?"
"You catch on quick."
"And now, because she died, you have to wait for a new sorter to help you cross over."
He nodded. "She remembers you, you know."
"What do you mean, she remembers me?"
"Once she realized who you were, she was relieved you'd finally come. She told me some things about you. Things I hadn't expected."
