Ghosts

Chapter 2

Chapter Two Saturday, December 5

(TWO DAYS EARLIER)

Concentrate. Concentrate. Concentrate. Concen—

Ah, f**k it.

I lean against the chair’s backrest and massage my aching temples. An exasperated sigh escapes my lips. The object of my bug-eyed scrutiny stares up at me. If inanimate objects could laugh, this one would be letting out a Joker-like cackle about now.

“Sorry, Gina.” I shoot an apologetic glance at my friend and neighbor, who’s watching me from across her small dining table. “I swear I’m trying, but I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“It’s okay.” She tucks a strand of her shoulder-length brown hair behind her ear. “Remember, this is new for me too. There’s not exactly an Introduction to Psychic Arts handbook I can refer to.”

I scrunch my brow. “So what’s the purpose of this exercise?”

She gestures at the object, a diploma bearing Gina’s name from the Bertrand Bourque Culinary Academy. “You already know psychics’ minds are more attuned to detect certain energies than normal people’s. When memories or experiences are powerful enough, they convert to psychic energy and can attach themselves to ordinary objects. When you touch such an object, you are, in a sense, releasing that energy. At its essence, that’s what psychometry is—your mind converting the memory back to its original form.”

“Yes, I know. I also discovered that I can only relive a memory so many times before the images start to blur and fade. If I relive it enough times, they stop completely.” A light bulb comes on in my brain. “Is that because all the energy stored in the object is used up? Like I’ve drained the battery or something?”

“Exactly. What I’m hoping to achieve here is to teach you how to detect psychic energy in objects without touching them. Maybe you’ll even learn how to tell if something is giving off positive vibes or negative ones.”

“That would be hella useful,” I muse. “It would save me from blacking out if I ever come across another kidnap victim’s clothes…or worse.” This statement takes me back to my very first extended flash, which ended with me face-down and out cold in the alley behind Hill O’ Beans. When I woke up, my head felt like someone had driven a white-hot spike through it. Not an experience I’m in a hurry to duplicate.

“You really didn’t feel anything?” Gina asks.

I glance at the diploma, and again move my hands as close to its surface as I can without touching it. I close my eyes again, straining to detect any trace of the psychic vibes I know the thing contains, but get nothing. I try harder, pushing my focus to its maximum, but all I get is a slight itch at the back of my skull. Probably my dumb brain overheating.

“Nope, nada.” I sit back again with a sulky frown.

A knowing smile spreads across Gina’s face. “Don’t beat yourself up. Always remember that the ‘E.S.’ in ESP stands for ‘extrasensory’. What you and I have is just that, an extra sense. The more you use it, the better you’ll get at it. I was lucky enough to have my mom and grandmother to show me the ropes, and I used the same techniques to break Trina in when she developed her ESP. I know being an aurapath is different from being psychometric, but the basic principles are the same. As for what isn’t the same…well, we’ll just have to figure it out as we go.”

I exhale and stare at the diploma again. I know Gina’s doing her best. Given how few people possess psychic abilities, the fact that I have anyone to teach me the ins and outs of this crazy s**t at all is a miracle. To put it in perspective, if one were to fill every single seat in the stadium where the Cardinals play football, there might be one “Special” in attendance cheering for the home team.

Trouble is, I’m not feeling especially special right now. Turning my brain into a psychic Geiger counter has been an epic fail so far. I’m tempted to touch the diploma again just to confirm I have powers at all.

“Go on.” She throws me a smile that calms my whirling thoughts. “You know you want to.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Nah. Knock yourself out.” She flashes a mischievous grin.

I mock-glower at her. “That is so not funny.”

Her laugh breaks free. “Yeah, it is.”

Yeah, it is. Gina’s a great friend and a really good teacher. But it’s these private moments when she shows her snarky side that I enjoy her company the most.

In my peripheral vision, I catch a slight movement. I turn my head and am momentarily blinded by the sunlight reflecting off the window of a passing car. I blink rapidly, and my eyes widen when something appears in Gina’s living room. A dark figure, barely a silhouette, in the shape of a man.

What the hell? Is someone else in here?

I shake my head, hoping to see through the glare. Gradually, my vision clears. Nothing there but Gina’s couch, a small ottoman, and a few of Trina’s things on the carpet next to the gaming system.

This is what I get for skipping my morning coffee.

“Are you okay?” Gina asks.

“Yeah.” I take a few seconds to center myself, regulating my breathing just like she taught me. Then I brush both thumbs and forefingers against the paper, and—

Dad’s eyes find mine, and I beam. He gives me the thumbs-up, then his face disappears behind his handheld camera. I turn the diploma in my hands to face him, giving him a perfect shot. Mom and Grandma Rose, sitting next to Dad, have their hands full keeping Trina from jumping out of her seat.

Should my palms be perspiring this much? God, I hope I can keep my powers in check without totally freaking out…

This is the third time I’ve relived Gina’s memory of the day she graduated from culinary school. As with all my previous flashes, I’m more able to disassociate my own persona, my own thoughts, from Gina’s with each pass. This doesn’t make the experience any less real, or her unbridled joy any less intoxicating.

Chef Bourque strides onto the stage. His white chef’s clothes are as immaculate as mine, and the proud grin that creases his pudgy face sends a shot of pride through me. Names are called as he moves down the line, presenting each graduate with a golden medallion, but I’m barely listening. In the third row, Trina, clad in an adorable pink and white floral dress, stands up on her chair and waves. Happiness swells within me as I return the wave as surreptitiously as I can.

My sweet little pumpkin, my cheering section, my everything. The reason I chose this path. I’m gonna make it up to you, baby girl. All the late nights of studying and cooking and missing so many precious moments. We’ll make a fresh start somewhere else, far from…him. Thank heaven he didn’t show up to ruin my—

“Gina Forrester.” A woman’s voice booms over the loudspeakers, shaking me from my reverie. A whoop of cheers erupts from the third row, led by Trina, who’s practically doing jumping jacks on her chair. Chef Bourque’s large frame blocks my view of my family, and I tremble in anticipation of the culmination of my dream.

Chef Bourque holds out the medallion. I lower my head, letting my mentor slip it around my neck. Once it’s in place, his arms fold around me in a gentle hug, followed by kisses on both cheeks. “Congratulations, Chef Gina,” he says, sending another tingle through my body. “I’m so very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Chef,” I quaver.

Chef Bourque moves on to the next in line, and I take a moment to look at the parchment. I run my fingertips over the gold-embossed letters signifying my achievement, a master’s in culinary arts. My name, written in gorgeous calligraphic script, sits in the center, right above Chef Bourque’s signature.

I look up, meet my parents’ gazes, then Rose’s, then Trina’s. I feel a smile stretch across my face as I raise my arms in victory.

Swirls of color explode across my vision, a rainbow of greens, yellows, pinks, and whites. Happy, bright, positive emotions all. I drink it in, and—

The memory blinks out, and I’m staring at Gina’s bemused expression across the table. “Judging from your smile, you enjoyed that. Again,” she says.

“Yeah,” I admit. “Love flashes that give me the warm fuzzies. Trina was a hyper little munchkin, wasn’t she?”

Gina laughs. “She definitely was that.”

“Was it hard leaving New Mexico? I mean, I know Arizona’s only one state away, but still…”

I study her face, gauging her reaction. In our many conversations since becoming next-door neighbors, she’s not revealed much about her ex-husband, Trina’s father. As close as we’ve become, it doesn’t take a detective to deduce that the jerk was her biggest reason for pulling up stakes and moving to Phoenix. Her fear of his appearance at her graduation confirms that. I want to know more, but I respect her too much to dig up what are obviously painful memories until she’s ready.

“Hardest thing I’ve ever done.” A wistful glint sparkles in her brown eyes.

Not for the first time, I’m struck by how freaking hot Gina is. Dark hair, olive skin, striking features that highlight her Italian heritage. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had one or two naughty fantasies about her since I moved in next door. Okay, maybe three. Four, tops.

“At least you found your dream job,” I say, pulling my mind out of the gutter.

“Hmph,” she snorts. “Wasn’t quite that easy. Even with a brand-new degree, it took almost a year of searching to find a place that would hire someone with no restaurant experience. I had to swallow my pride and work as a server in order to pay the rent.”

“Is that when you found Harrigan’s?”

“Yup.” She gestures at her white chef’s coat hanging on a nearby hook, with her name stitched right below the swoopy “H” that is her workplace’s logo. “When he hired me, my boss, Ken, had already planned to buy the franchise rights. Less than a year later, I was head chef.”

“And now half his dinner menu consists of your creations.” I pat my stomach. “A few of which I’ve been lucky enough to sample.”

“I’m preparing my next potential masterpiece tomorrow night if you want to join us.” A catty smirk emerges. “Unless you got another hot date, of course.”

I feel my face redden. I know guys my age are supposed to have active social lives, and every second I’ve spent with Sydney has been awesome. I can’t help but wonder, though, just how long I can keep my Godzilla-sized secret from my new girlfriend. As far as I know, only four people outside the Phoenix Police Department know about my psychic abilities: Gina, Trina, my friend and coworker Piper, and my former caseworker Sheila. That’s a number I mean to keep right where it is.

“Pretty sure I’m free,” I say. “But I can text you if something comes up.”

“All right.” She checks the wooden pendulum clock on the wall behind her. It reads just past nine. “We’ll put a bookmark here, I think. You working today?”

“Ten-thirty to five.” I raise and lower my eyebrows. “Then I have a hot date.”

Gina gives me an approving thumbs-up as she leads me to her front door. “You’ve come a long way, Bax. Something to keep in mind going forward…now that your brain is becoming more attuned to psychic energy, you might notice a few things starting to change.”

“What kind of things?”

“I’m not psychometric, so I can’t really tell you. If I had to guess, though, you might start to pick up faint images from objects you happen to be near. Kind of like visual white noise. If that happens, don’t panic. Before long, filtering those out will become as easy as breathing.”

I click my tongue. “Sounds fun.”

She opens the door and smiles at me. “Enjoy your date. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That’s a pretty short list.”

She laughs and thumps me on the back. “See you tomorrow.”