“This is weird, isn’t it?” I say.
Gaire rewards me with an undisturbed smile and sparkling eyes before the quizzical look he gives the kitchen. “Yes, unnerving.”
Yes, he’s a wendigo, I mentally push.
Oh, my goodness, Nan says. Yes. Well, you sure found yourself someone special, now didn’t you? Her hand passes through her face as she tries to wipe her brow.
There are too many yeses flying around. I momentarily lose track of who I’m carrying on a conversation with. Gaire evidently can’t see or hear the ghosts; he’s still smiling at me.
“Well, let’s agree to be patient with each other.” I lift my eyebrows and tilt my head. “That is if you still want to.”
That last bit was a nice addition, Nan says. I wouldn’t go making the monster angry, child.
I roll my eyes. I’ve seen ghosts before, but not very often, and although they’ve connected with me it has never been this casual. Nan is comfortable with what she is and the ability to talk to me. This must be Gracie’s family gift.
When I turn back to Gaire, I say, “I don’t think starting a relationship in any species is easy.”
Yep, but I’m betting y’all are gonna break records with this one, hon.
I can hear her now, as though she’s physically in the room with me and Gaire. I usually enjoy chatting with the dead, but at this moment it’s hard to stay focused. Nan is tsking and pointing a bobbing index finger toward a set of stairs leading to the second floor. The two younger aberrations are giggling behind their free hands.
It’s hard not to laugh.
Gaire
Gracie smiles at the kitchen like a five year old watching a scampering puppy. I can’t tell if it’s because her true nature is as uncomfortable as I am at the moment, or if she is entertaining some weird kitchen fetish. She seems bedazzled by the damn room.
“I’m not ready to give up on us,” I tell her. “Maybe we should turn this conversation in another direction.”
I’m experiencing an uncontrollable urge to kiss her. Would the doppelganger inside feel it if I do? I want to pull her off the atrocity she sits on, bring her over to the fireplace, lie her down on the tapestry rug, and take her right there on the floor.
A tremor stands the hair on edge under my occipital bone. My mouth salivates, as I revisit the heady taste of blood. A vision plays on the back of my lids: CeCe, laying on the floor, her own blouse stuffed into her mouth, and her shorts circling one ankle. A Doppelganger, dressed in a serial killer has her pinned on the edge of a dime-store carpet, a replica of the one in front of the fireplace.
I hate who we represent. I hate how we are forced to live. We are both creatures of evil. Why the hell does either of us think this could work?
“So how do you get away with not killing your host?” I ask bellicosely.
Gracie’s squinty eyes jump from the big puffy pillows strewn around the rug in front of the fireplace, to me.
“I can’t kill them, and I won’t stop doubling up. The elders can’t really charge me unless I screw up,” she says and turns to the frigging kitchen again.
Damn her all to hell. This creature is bringing the worst and best out or me. I feel like I’m on a human’s amusement park ride. My spine shifts, fingers tingle, and my heart fights the cage of ribs holding it back.
The compressor of an air conditioning unit kicks on. Cool air rises from a vent on the floor beside me. I step over it. The forced air gives me time to gain control of the beast rising inside.
Contemplating the palatable woman on the red couch, I think of my wendigo father looking at my aswang mother with the same feelings. The thought tames my sexual desires.
I clear my throat and ask, “What do you mean, unless you screw up?”
“If my double gets seen with the real human and creates an issue.” she says.
My brow wrinkles.
She sighs and continues. “Back when fledglings were left to fend for themselves, a small number developed a depravity, killing—a dispassionate passion enjoyed by the strongest and darkest of our breed. For most, death was rejected. Today, the council placidly feels it’s becoming a necessity to kill our hosts. They feel it’s almost impossible to pass off two identical, unrelated human beings seen in two places at the same time. So they discourage letting the host live and strongly rebuke those who get caught doing so.”
“And no one questions seeing a human after death?” I ask, appalled with the mentality of this creature’s benefactors. Yet, here I am the brethren of those who kill for sport.
Gracie laughs. Her gaze juts toward the kitchen even though she’s clearly trying to bring her face toward me.
“Ghosts,” she says. “A great majority of humans can justify these sightings by believing in spirits, angels, and even demons.”