Opposition (Apparition Investigations #2)

Case #3: The Horton Grand Hotel (Part 2)

"I don't like it," Oliver huffed.

"He doesn't like it," I told Bronte.

She rolled her eyes. "Saw that one coming."

We sat in our apartment, both of us on the couch. Judging from the way Bronte's eyes kept sliding up in front of us, I figured Cyril and Oliver floated just above the ottoman. Or were maybe standing in it, phasing through it like, well, like ghosts.

"California is too far," Oliver explained, "and what are we supposed to do while you're away? It's not exactly like we can take up knitting or something."

"This isn't the first trip we've been on since we moved in together," I pointed out. "What did the two of you do to amuse yourselves when we were gone then?"

"Nothing," Cyril grumbled, pulling a smile from me.

"We sat around waiting for you two to come back," Oliver said. "You were our entertainment before you suddenly started perceiving us, you know."

"Which is creepy in and of itself. And something we definitely need to come back to. But surely there's something you could do here to keep yourselves occupied? We could leave out books or maybe leave the TV on?"

Neither one of them let out grumbling sounds of grudging delight at the thought. I settled deeper into the sofa, frowning.

Bronte leaned over. "What did they say?"

"They don't want to be left alone."

"That's understandable."

"But we don't have any other choice. We can't leave them with someone else—what if their perceptions begin to alter? We shouldn't take that risk."

No one countered me. Not that I expected they would—the events with Nathan Elgin were still fresh in everyone's minds. Not to mention what had happened with Esperanza Gomez earlier this week. And the unnamed ghost that had suffered in that case.

"We could..." Bronte hesitated, her voice floundering. "I don't know."

"What?"

She looked up at me. "We could bring them with us?"

"Yes!" Oliver shouted so loudly I winced.

"Woah, wait—"

"I've never been to California," Oliver gushed excitedly. "And we could help with the case! I mean, who better to hunt ghosts than ghosts? We can interact with them far better than you could—we could be assets here! Just think about the possibilities of us working together on this!"

"Oliver, just wait a sec—"

"It's unfortunate we wouldn't be able to wear one of those snazzy jackets though. I really like them—you said Rose bought them for you?"

"What's he saying?" Bronte asked, leaning in even closer.

My attention was torn between Bronte's eager stare, Oliver's chatting, and Cyril's silence. "I, um..."

"And with us there, there isn't the possibility of Noah pulling another one of his ridiculous stunts—"

"Does he like the idea?"

"We would be a great help, Stella, you'll see!"

"What's he saying?"

Bronte was practically in my face now. And though she was too close for comfort, her face dominating my vision certainly helped me focus on her question. "He likes your jacket."

"Oh," she said, leaning back, looking pleased. "Yes, I quite like them too."

"And he wants to go—" I added.

She clapped her hands together. "Oh great!"

"–but I don't know if that's such a good idea," I finished. "We're talking about taking ghosts on a ghost hunt here. What if something bad happens?"

"We'll be fine!" Oliver said. "And if Noah tries anything, Cyril's become very good at using telekinesis...that is what Rose called it, right?"

"Yes, but—"

Bronte jumped up. "I'll start packing!"

She raced into her room, Oliver's exciting chatter following her, even though she wouldn't be able to hear him. They'd come up with some means of talking together—they'd become good at communicating without speaking.

Even though I couldn't see him, I could tell Cyril was still in the room. "You've been unusually quiet."

He let out a heavy sigh. "Us going along might be for the best, given the situation."

"What situation?"

"Your proclivity to diving headfirst into danger."

I bit back on my rising retort. He had a point. In the last two cases we worked, I had been hurt in each. Granted, in our most recent case, it was nothing more than a cut on the cheek. But still, considering I was the only one sporting injuries, I had to concede he had a point.

And given how painfully furious he'd made his case known last night about my recklessness, I couldn't argue back. Not when I knew how upsetting the thought of dying was to him. As a ghost, he was a touch sensitive on mortality, especially in relation to the living.

"You want to keep an eye on me," I said. And I felt a tick of pride at how level I kept my voice. No hurt, no anger at all.

He sighed again. "I would like to, yes. But I would also like to keep an eye on Noah."

I didn't even try to hide the surprise in my voice at that. "Noah?"

"Your account of what happened in the graveyard is troubling. Equally so is his lack of regret for what happened."

"I didn't say he seemed unregretful."

"No, but you said he left. Without bothering to check in on the missing girl. And, considering he'll be going along on this case, he doesn't seem to be in a period of mourning for his actions either. It leads me to speculate that he's not regretful for what he did. If so, I don't want him attempting to try and exorcise another spirit again."

"Easy there, Sherlock. You're making a lot of assumptions."

"Perhaps," he allowed, "but I'm still unsettled by his behavior. I wish to go."

"You really don't trust us living souls, do you?" I joked.

He chuckled. "Yes, well, Bronte and Rose seem to be alright. Maybe by my going, I can keep your penchant for recklessness from influencing them."

"How rude."

He chuckled again. "And Oliver does make an excellent point."

"Such as?"

"It will be dreadfully boring without the two of you here."

I sighed and shoved myselfupright. "Well, with an argument likethat, how can I say no?"