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Authors: Melinda Barron
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curious gaze on her, the matter of fact tone of her voice making him smile slightly. “Just like that?"
"Yes. You know Noah and I don't want to let you go."
"No, I don't know that.” Martin cleared his throat. “We've never really discussed it."
"I thought every night we went to bed together was discussion enough. We don't even question it anymore, none of us. You've noticed that, haven't you?"
Martin nodded. “Just because it's a habit doesn't mean it's a fait accompli . I want it to be, yes, but how arrogant would it be of me to just say, ‘here I am, I'm moving in?’”
"Very well, consider this a formal invitation.” She lifted on her tiptoes and kissed him gently, her mouth lingering right next to his. “Will you move in with us?"
Martin's heart beat increased, and his eyes softened at the look of need and acceptance on her face. “Yes."
"Good. Now feed me, I'm hungry."
* * * *
Martin shivered against the crisp, October air. They'd walked to the cemetery, Martin and Rumer both using the time to gather their thoughts, and the energy they thought they'd need.
They'd spent last night moving Martin's meager number of belongings into their home. Martin had assured Janice he'd return to mow her yard every week in the summertime, and had promised he'd come to visit for coffee at least three times a week. His landlady had been upset, but understanding, and Martin had made her promise she would let him check out any potential tenant before she signed any papers.
They waited now for Margrette, who was set to arrive in half an hour. Martin could feel Josephine's energy, swirling inside the graveyard. The spirit knew something was about to happen, and her anxiety was thick, dusting the air like syrup, sticking to everything.
Martin pulled on the neck of his shirt, then took several deep breaths. “We need to hurry. If this doesn't work, we'll have to try to figure something else out, and I'd rather be done with it tonight."
"You're right,” Rumer said. “I still think my idea—"
"No!” Noah stepped forward, pointing at Rumer. “I'm warning you, Rumer, if you think—"
"Don't you dare point a finger at me, Noah Hopper. If I think—"
"Stop it,” Martin stepped between them. “She'll feed off your negativity. Positive, happy thoughts everyone."
Silence took over for a few minutes, and then the sound of a car pulling up made all six of them turn their heads.
"That's not Margrette's car,” Fletch said, frowning.
"It's Sandra,” Rumer said, walking toward the vehicle where Tori was now helping her mother out. “What are you doing here?"
"I came to help,” Sandra said, standing up straight, her hands shaking. “This is my mess, and I want to see it taken care of. We should have done something years ago, instead we let it linger, and now she's about to be unleashed, again. I won't last much longer."
"No,” Rumer said. “Don't do it. We'll take care of it. Go home and rest."
"Why? So I can die and be well rested? No, I'm staying.” Sandra walked toward the open gate and strolled through, using a cane for support.
"Don't go in there, not yet! We're not ready!” Rumer turned to Tori. “Take her home!"
Fletch and Dev went after her, trying to block her path, but were magically deflected, both men falling down.
"Crap.” Rumer turned to Martin, who uttered the word again, then took off after Sandra, pleading with her to turn around. The woman ignored him, signs of her frailty disappearing with each step.
The group followed her and as they neared the crypt, Martin stopped. Josephine watched Sandra with greedy eyes, an evil smile on her face.
"Welcome, sister. So nice of you to come and visit me. It's a bit overdue, though, don't you think?"
"Oh lord above,” Rumer skidded to a halt next to Martin pulling on his shirtsleeve. “I can hear her. We've got to get Sandra out of here."
"No,” Martin said. “It's too late. Sandra feels this is the only way, and she may be right."
"I'm not
"Yes. You know Noah and I don't want to let you go."
"No, I don't know that.” Martin cleared his throat. “We've never really discussed it."
"I thought every night we went to bed together was discussion enough. We don't even question it anymore, none of us. You've noticed that, haven't you?"
Martin nodded. “Just because it's a habit doesn't mean it's a fait accompli . I want it to be, yes, but how arrogant would it be of me to just say, ‘here I am, I'm moving in?’”
"Very well, consider this a formal invitation.” She lifted on her tiptoes and kissed him gently, her mouth lingering right next to his. “Will you move in with us?"
Martin's heart beat increased, and his eyes softened at the look of need and acceptance on her face. “Yes."
"Good. Now feed me, I'm hungry."
* * * *
Martin shivered against the crisp, October air. They'd walked to the cemetery, Martin and Rumer both using the time to gather their thoughts, and the energy they thought they'd need.
They'd spent last night moving Martin's meager number of belongings into their home. Martin had assured Janice he'd return to mow her yard every week in the summertime, and had promised he'd come to visit for coffee at least three times a week. His landlady had been upset, but understanding, and Martin had made her promise she would let him check out any potential tenant before she signed any papers.
They waited now for Margrette, who was set to arrive in half an hour. Martin could feel Josephine's energy, swirling inside the graveyard. The spirit knew something was about to happen, and her anxiety was thick, dusting the air like syrup, sticking to everything.
Martin pulled on the neck of his shirt, then took several deep breaths. “We need to hurry. If this doesn't work, we'll have to try to figure something else out, and I'd rather be done with it tonight."
"You're right,” Rumer said. “I still think my idea—"
"No!” Noah stepped forward, pointing at Rumer. “I'm warning you, Rumer, if you think—"
"Don't you dare point a finger at me, Noah Hopper. If I think—"
"Stop it,” Martin stepped between them. “She'll feed off your negativity. Positive, happy thoughts everyone."
Silence took over for a few minutes, and then the sound of a car pulling up made all six of them turn their heads.
"That's not Margrette's car,” Fletch said, frowning.
"It's Sandra,” Rumer said, walking toward the vehicle where Tori was now helping her mother out. “What are you doing here?"
"I came to help,” Sandra said, standing up straight, her hands shaking. “This is my mess, and I want to see it taken care of. We should have done something years ago, instead we let it linger, and now she's about to be unleashed, again. I won't last much longer."
"No,” Rumer said. “Don't do it. We'll take care of it. Go home and rest."
"Why? So I can die and be well rested? No, I'm staying.” Sandra walked toward the open gate and strolled through, using a cane for support.
"Don't go in there, not yet! We're not ready!” Rumer turned to Tori. “Take her home!"
Fletch and Dev went after her, trying to block her path, but were magically deflected, both men falling down.
"Crap.” Rumer turned to Martin, who uttered the word again, then took off after Sandra, pleading with her to turn around. The woman ignored him, signs of her frailty disappearing with each step.
The group followed her and as they neared the crypt, Martin stopped. Josephine watched Sandra with greedy eyes, an evil smile on her face.
"Welcome, sister. So nice of you to come and visit me. It's a bit overdue, though, don't you think?"
"Oh lord above,” Rumer skidded to a halt next to Martin pulling on his shirtsleeve. “I can hear her. We've got to get Sandra out of here."
"No,” Martin said. “It's too late. Sandra feels this is the only way, and she may be right."
"I'm not
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