Dead Living (Spirit Caller Book 5) (9 page)

“Um, how much does a night cost here?” I asked, dragging myself away from the bathroom.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, I think it does,” I said.

“I got it cheap because they’re closed.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I said, crossing my arms. I wasn’t angry at him, but this was sure not a budget-friendly looking place. “I’ve looked up how much the regular rooms cost here and they’re over two hundred a night.”

He sighed when he put down the bags. “Normally, it’s six hundred a night.”

“Holy shit!”

He sighed more. “Which was why I didn’t want to tell you how much it cost.”

“This is expensive.”

“Yes, it is. That’s why I wanted to bring you somewhere really nice to propose to you.”

I tried to maintain the disapproving glare, but my heart wasn’t in it. “It is really nice.”

“I didn’t pay full price,” he said. “Not that I care, but apparently you do.”

“Oh hush.”

“Did you want to tour the place? We can take the boat or we can hike around.”

I eyed his hip. “Are you up for walking?”

He rolled his eyes. “Honey, stop babying me. Do you want to go out?”

I looked down at my windbreaker in my hand. “Let me clean this first. Maybe let my stomach settle, too.”

I took to cleaning my coat in the shower and waited for Dema to arrive to make her usual acerbic remarks. She never came. I told Jeremy to look after the food while I hauled in the rest of the luggage. Still no Dema. She didn’t bother me while I hauled in wood for the fireplace, nor did she try to startle me when I realized I’d left my purse on the boat and ran down to get it.

Not too far away from the rocky cliff, six ghostly fishermen bobbing up and down in a small, wooden boat, jigging for cod. They were too busy with their ethereal work to notice me. I frowned at that. I could still see spirits, so where the hell was Dema?

“Dema, if you’re doing this to make me worry, I’m going to be so mad at you,” I muttered aloud.

That didn’t summon her.

I tried to shake off the fretting and headed back. She could handle herself, far better than I could. She was probably fine. Maybe she and her sisters of vengeance were off haunting some jerk who was abusing his wife or kids.

“Go get ’em, Dema.”

Maybe this place was outside of her influence? Maybe she had nothing to protect me from here, so she had no reason to be out here. Jeremy had been with me most of the time, so again, maybe she just threw up her ethereal hands and took her ball and went home.

I give Dema a hard time, but we’d gotten to know each other a lot in the last few months. Learning about the circumstances of her death helped me understand her better, and her single-minded obsession with helping women.

I think Dema saw me as a pet gerbil. Maybe a cat. Maybe. I was something to
ooo
and
aww
over, and point and laugh on various occasions, like when a kitten tries to jump on the windowsill and takes out the entire curtain assembly instead. I honestly believe that’s how she sees me.

I think I would have been offended by that at one point, but it’s probably a valid depiction of me. I’ve often felt like the cat hitting their head against the window, as opposed to landing gracefully. From my failed career – can a career fail if I’m good at it, but can’t emotionally handle it all of the time? – to my inability to make a professional career from my art – though, again, I’d only been trying for the last year. Or my relationships.

Well, at least I’d gotten that last one right eventually. I took my time to soak in the landscape. The island was covered in lichen, moss, and the tiniest of wildflowers. Wooden signs were scattered about identifying the endangered plants and why it was so important to stay on the footpath. The three red foxes, however, didn’t give two figs about endangered plants and happily darted across the human-forbidden alpine field.

How did the foxes even get out here? Maybe the inlet iced up enough for them to come across. What did foxes eat? They looked fat and happy, though, so they clearly knew what they were doing.

Even though the waters around the island had several ghostly fishermen, the island itself had been abandoned by them. Perhaps they’d all lived further inland when the original settlements were being established. I always felt a pang of sadness when I considered the early settlements of this area. An entire race of people died because of those early days.

With no sign of Dema anywhere, I ducked back inside to begin my romantic getaway. We had a great evening, all things told. We spent the day walking about our little island home and the evening playing board games and watching movies. We didn’t talk about serious things. We just
talked
. No wonder people wanted to get married. The companionship of having someone to talk with, who knew your secrets and all your stories, and yet would listen to them all over again.

I’d always assumed I’d be alone. I wish so much I could go back in time and tell my sixteen-year-old self that it would turn out all okay. That I would find people who accepted me and have a life that was well beyond my teenaged imaginings.

I’m not even talking about getting married. I’ve forged so many friendships since moving to Wisemen’s Cove. I found purpose through helping make Mrs. Saunders’s life easier. I found myself in the role of mentor with Manny O’Toole and having to learn to put aside some of my own fears to help someone in need. Amy, all of my neighbours, Amanda and the rest of Jeremy’s co-workers brought so much laughter and comfort. They brought over food when Jeremy was doing poorly, and they helped me whenever I needed a break or a lightbulb changed that I couldn’t reach.

Still, I think little me would have clamped on to the one word and held on for dear life:
married.

Rachel Garrett.

Wait, am I going to take his name? Huh. I hadn’t thought of that.

Rachel Mills-Garrett.

Rachel Mills Garrett.

Rachel Mills.

Rachel Garrett.

This was actually a difficult choice.

“Rachel?”

I looked up from my handful of cardboard tokens and smiled.

“You okay?”

“I was thinking what my name should be after we got married.”

He placed his piece on the board and shrugged. “Whichever. I don’t really care.”

“I know you don’t.” I stood up to re-fill my Styrofoam glass with more white wine, playfully bouncing my fist off his bicep as I went by. “I think you’re more buff now than before you were hurt.”

“LeBlanc said the same thing. She and the guys have been making fun of me.” Jeremy’s cheeked reddened. “But it’s a shame for me to stop using all of my gym equipment.”

“It would be a horrible shame,” I said gravely. I reached around him, expertly balancing my cup of wine, to run my hands down his chest. “Horrible, horrible shame.”

He kissed my mouth and I returned to the table to continue my turn. I eyed the board and my pile of cardboard money and plastic tokens. It was too close to call who was winning at this stage,
but
I did have two more spaceships than Jeremy. He had more asteroid mining platforms, though.

Jeremy got up from the table while I stared at the board. It would take me three turns to get my spaceship over there to attach to his mining platform, and I didn’t have any good cards in my hand. But, if I waited too long, he’d use his money to buy defense cannons and…

When did I become someone who cared about defence cannons?

“Figured out how to attack my mobile platforms yet?” Jeremy said, entering the room.

“My cards suck,” I sulked.

“It’s still early.”

Then, Jeremy showed me the little white box in his hand. I rolled my eyes, even as I began giggling like a fool.

He knelt down on one knee, a smooth, easy motion that made me think he’d been practicing that in physio. “Rachel, you are my best friend. I can’t imagine my life without you. Will you marry me?”

My eyes filled with happy tears. “I already said yes, but I’ll say it again. Yes, Jeremy, I will.”

He pulled off the cardboard box’s lid – he’d forgotten to do it while proposing – and picked up the wide band of silver. It was plain of stones and gems, but it had Viking symbols engraved throughout the band. He slipped it on my finger and snuggly fit it into place.

“I’ll get you a proper engagement ring,” Jeremy explained as he got to his feet. “But I saw that and thought you’d like it.”

“I love it,” and I meant it. “I don’t need anything else. This is perfect.”

“I didn’t spend a lot of money on it,” he said sheepishly. “It’s certainly not two months’ salary.”

“Don’t you dare spend two months’ salary on a piece of jewelry for me, Jeremy Garrett!” I said sternly. I looked down at my hand. “This is…I love this ring. And I love you.”

“I take it you don’t want a hundred-thousand-dollar wedding, either,” he said, pulling me out of my chair and slipping his arms around me.

“Heavens, no. I think a small wedding at the house or maybe at the community hall in town is more than enough. Maybe we could talk Amanda into letting us have it at her house, since hers is a lot bigger than mine.” I grinned at him. “Ours.”

“What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is ours,” Jeremy said, very sternly. Or, at least he tried to, but he couldn’t quite control the twinkle in his eye. “So…”

“So…”

“Shall we celebrate our engagement?”

I winced a little, but tried to quirk a smile. “I’m not quite ready for that yet.”

He whispered some rather interesting things into my ear. I giggled, but said, “I think I’d rather take your command centre.”

Jeremy kissed my mouth and said, “I’m going to win.”

We settled back into our chairs and began a very passionate and energetic game.

And I beat him two hours later.

Chapter 8

Zombies Aren’t Real

It was raining the next morning. Jeremy got up early, did his stretches, and got to work making us a frittata, fresh fruit salad, and instant lattes. If he stops cooking breakfast for me when we’re married, I will be very tempted to bury him in my front yard. I have a huge yard. No one would think to look there.

While Jeremy dug through the cooler looking for the pepper he was sure he packed, I pulled out my tablet and snuggled down under the heavy duvet and started reading the latest Misty Monroe book. Misty was my favourite kickass paranormal heroine, who wore leathers and carried a sword. She could beat up a demon or sleep with him, take your pick. If I could be anyone, I’d be her.

Of course, Misty Monroe would have scoffed at that notion. She’d roll her eyes and say, “Be yourself, you foolish child. And carry a big stick.” I hope that author never gave up writing because my world would be a smaller place without my Misty adventures.

A while later, Jeremy flounced into bed. He craned his head to try to read my screen. “How’s the new book?”

“The demon overlord from the pit has been summoned by the rogue angels. Misty’s been hired by the archangel Michael to hunt down the overlord. Then, she has to assemble a team of her closest allies and some of her former enemies to hunt down the rogue angels.”

“Is it good?”

“Yup,” I said, trying to see around him.

“Are you ready for breakfast in bed?”

“Ooo! Yes!”

I kept reading while he brought me a plate of food. He pulled out the wooden tray from the closet, set it over my thighs, and then placed the plate of gorgeous food on top of it. He left and returned with a glass of juice
and
a mug of instant latte.

“Did you want to stay in bed today?”

I glanced down at the screen. It displayed fifty-eight percent read of my book. “Oh, I’d love to stay in bed and finish my book. Do you mind?”

Jeremy grinned. “How about you put on that sexy little red bra I like? Just so I have something fun to look at while you’re ignoring me.”

I rolled my eyes. “When I’m done this chapter.”

He pouted, but I was resistant to his charms. “I can’t right now. Misty is still struggling to get Miles, her former lover who cheated on her with her best friend, sister, and her cousin, to come on board to help her. She’s threatening to rip his limbs off one by one and feed them to the local ghoul gang.”

“She’s not going to get back together with him, is she?”

“I hope not! He was horrible. I think Misty and Jackson are going to end up a couple. I hope.” I shoveled delicious eggs into my mouth. “These are awesome. Thanks! So, what are you going to do?”

He took a sip of my latte. “I’m going to move the BBQ back under the awning, get our steaks marinated, and I think I’m going to make some bacon and beans.”

I shook my head. “You had better keep cooking for me after we’re married.”

“Only if you put on the red bra.”

Six hours later, now in just my bra and old bunny PJ bottom shorts, I had relocated to the living room in front of the fireplace. The wood crackled and popped pleasingly, and Jeremy was putting the finishing touches on supper. True to his word, we had steak, beans with bacon, and coleslaw. He opened a bottle of red wine, since we’d finished off the white wine the night before.

“How’s the book?” Jeremy asked casually, handing me the paper plate.

“Really good,” I said. “This might be the best one yet.”

“You say that every book.”

“I actually mean it this time.”

Jeremy sat down next to me. “You like this one better than the time Misty Monroe had a one-night stand with an angel and then the angel followed her around like a lost puppy because he couldn’t understand why she didn’t want him?”

I sighed. “Okay,
Rise of the Angel
was really good.”

“Or what about the time Misty shot the necromancer of Hell and forced him to summon zombie rats to infiltrate the Under Lord of Darkness’ sewer lair?”

“All right, all right. I like all of the books,” I grumped. “Look, I love these books, okay? Besides, you like Star Trek books.”