Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
“You…you made this?” Edgar gaped.
Jamie nodded.
Edgar traced the boughs of the oak trees and put his finger to the beak of a brown pelican Jamie had painted in flight.
“Holy crap. You’re amazing.” Edgar was looking at them with wide eyes. “I mean, I knew you were amazing. But this is amazing. This is a realistic landscape painting. It must’ve taken forever.”
Jamie smiled, blooming under Edgar’s appreciation. “It took a little while. The coffee’s real, if you want some. But I just gave you a little ’cause it’s so late. If you don’t want the beignet, I’ll take it off your hands,” they teased.
Edgar handed them the pastry and inhaled the chicory scent of the coffee. Then he took a tiny sip and closed his eyes.
“It even smells real,” he murmured, expression serene.
And in that moment, Jamie Wendon-Dale made a promise to themself that someday, Edgar Lovejoy would enjoy a relaxed morning in the park, goddammit, even if they had to bring Allie along to keep watch.
“We can sit as long as you want.”
Edgar seemed torn. “I want to see everything. But then maybe we could come back here at the end?”
Just wait ’til you see what’s planned for later. We’ll see if you still want to come back, Jamie thought with relish, but they nodded.
The birdsong and scent faded as they reached the next unhaunt zone. Six different monitors set at varying heights streamed cat videos, one of which was the camera Edgar had set up to watch the cats in the café. Guessing Edgar’s password—cats1!—hadn’t been difficult.
Furry little faces peered at them; furry little paws knocked things off counters and made biscuits on people’s faces.
“I love cats so much,” Edgar murmured.
Jamie grinned.
After they watched cat videos for a while, Jamie hooked their elbow through Edgar’s and led him to the next unhaunt, in the spare room. They pressed the remote in their pocket, and then Edgar’s recorded voice said, “I feel different.” Then, after a long pause, awe audible in his voice, “I feel wonderful.”
On the wall, Jamie had hung stills from the film they’d shot: different angles of Edgar as a ghost, blown up to eight feet tall. The audio had come from the end of the final take Amelia had done with Edgar. Though he’d absolutely nailed it on the take when he’d first scared Leila, Jamie had insisted they do three more, because they wanted Edgar to experience the catharsis he’d clearly felt during that amazing take. After Amelia called cut and told Edgar he was done, Jamie had asked him how he felt.
His answer, at the time, had disappointed Jamie just the tiniest bit. They’d wished, they supposed, for a bit more detail. Later though, when they were watching the footage, they’d been able to pay attention to what they could hear in Edgar’s voice. Without any other distractions, they’d been able to hear the awe, the wonder, the threatening tears.
They’d been able to hear that Edgar truly had released something that day.
Edgar gazed into his own eyes as the audio played again.
“Can’t believe I did that,” Edgar said. “I know I didn’t say anything, but I was so freaked out.”
Jamie chose not to tell Edgar that it was clear to anyone who’d looked at him, talked to him, or stood in his general energy field that he had been petrified.
“I feel different,” Edgar of the past murmured through the speakers to Edgar of the present. “I feel wonderful.”
“Are you ready for the last two unhaunts?”
“I’d follow you anywhere,” Edgar said.
Jamie started to laugh, but something in his voice stopped them, and instead they took Edgar’s hand and led him out the door to the yard.
The fairy lights they’d strung through the branches on the walk to the guesthouse glowed in pastel shades. On either side of the walkway were easels, each one holding a large photograph. First was a picture of Edgar and Allie with their arms around each other’s waists in Magpie Vintage, from the night he’d tried on clothes. He was looking at the camera with a little smile quirking his mouth, but his eyes shone bright with love. She was midlaugh, head tipped back and eyes on Edgar.
Next was a picture of Edgar and Poe. They were mirror images of each other, each sitting cross-legged on the floor of Allie’s apartment, each leaning in, each resting his chin in his hand. They appeared to be having a deeply personal conversation, but in fact, Poe had been in the middle of emphatically insisting that Smoosh was the one who had farted.
Edgar laughed and touched Poe’s face with his fingertips.
“He’s obsessed with the Scottish cats,” Edgar said fondly.
When Edgar had texted Jamie to tell them Poe had adopted three kittens and left with them in his pockets, Jamie had demanded proof. Later that evening, Edgar had sent a photo he’d snapped without Poe’s knowledge, in which he lay on the couch with the three kittens on his head and neck. He looked like he wore a living balaclava with claws, but his eyes were closed, and his bare hand rested on his chest, as if he’d fallen asleep petting the little fuzz balls. It was the only time Jamie had seen Poe look even close to happy.