Read Online The Ghost and The Graveyard (The Monk's Hill Witch) by Genevieve Jack - Free Book Online Page B

asked for a picture of Gary. I’d burned most of them but I had one left, a wallet-sized that had survived in the hidden pocket of my purse. My ghost had transformed his sandy blonde hair to Gary’s saddle brown coif. His green eyes were now blue. And although I could tell that the shape of his head was slightly off, Logan could’ve been Gary’s twin.
    We’d moved downstairs, and I’d balanced a piece of plywood against the brick wall across from the wine cellar. With his arms extended to the sides, back pressed to the plywood, Logan goaded me on.
    “Come on, Grateful. I promise it won’t hurt me.”
    “For the five hundredth time, this just seems wrong.”
    “Get over it. It will help.”
    To my side was a block of knives from the kitchen. This was Logan’s idea. Why not play along? I gulped down half my glass of Shiraz. After testing the weight of each of the wooden handles, I selected the largest one. I think it’s called a chef’s knife. I removed it from its slot.
    “That’s what I’m talking about, Grateful. Hit me! Say to me what you want to say to Gary.”
    I raised the knife over my shoulder. “You used me!” I yelled and tossed the blade as hard as I could. It tumbled through the air, stabbing through Logan’s abdomen and reverberating in the plywood behind him. My eyebrows shot up in surprise at the accuracy of my throw.
    “Yes!” I said, pumping my arm. I had a hidden talent.
    “Gah!” Logan clutched the section of his stomach the knife had passed through as if in pain.
    My hands shot to my mouth. “Did I hurt you?”
    He chuckled. “No. I was just acting to make it more realistic.”
    “Good, because I’m starting to enjoy this.” I raised another knife. “Gary, you stole my money. All of my money. How could you do that to me? I thought you loved me.” I hurled the knife. It passed through Logan’s crotch.
    “Wow, Grateful, let it all out—”
    “Because of you, I lost my home and my self-respect!” I heaved three at his head, one after the other. “Because of you, Gary, I lost my ability to trust. You asshole. I hope you rot in hell.” The knife rotated from my fingers and sliced through Gary’s image, right where his heart should have been.
    Logan didn’t move. There were so many knives through his ghostly form, it reminded me of a Road Runner episode when you know the Coyote should be dead from the anvil but he’s not. I was suddenly overcome by the generosity of what Logan had done for me. All of the anger I’d been carrying inside was gone, thrown away with so many knives.
    I cleared my throat. “Thanks, Logan,” I said. “I think I want you to be you again.”
    He stepped away from the wall, shaking off Gary’s image like a dog shakes off after a swim. Once he was Logan again, he came to stand in front of me. I leaned my hip against the pool table.
    “Did it help?” he asked.
    “It did.”
    Our eyes met, and there was a connection. I’d never felt anything like it before. It wasn’t exactly attraction, more like déjà vu, like we’d known each other before or something. He must have felt it too, because he leaned toward me and touched his ethereal lips to mine.
    The feeling was incredible, a vibration more than solid contact. Colder than a human kiss, it was also more complex, as if the wind had blown through a crack in the wall or a feather had brushed my lips—sweet and sensual. And then it was over. My ghost dematerialized in a flash of light.
    “Sorry,” his voice echoed around me. “I couldn’t hold myself together.”
    A mist hovered above my head. I tilted my face up. “I’ll take that as a compliment. It’s way past my bedtime anyway. See you tomorrow?”
    “Well, I’m not going anywhere.” The mist filtered up through the vent.
    I approached the plywood board and started prying the knives from the wood.

Chapter 8
    Good Morning

    A lone in my bed that night, I slept better than I had in a long time. I didn’t even dream until the early