Sly Spectral Trick Read online

  SLY SPECTRAL TRICK

  A Halloween Trick set in the world of

  HEAVEN SENT: FAITH

  Trick or Treating’s not just for kids this year!

  Jet Mykles

  ®

  www.loose-id.com

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  * * * * *

  This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable.

  Sly Spectral Trick

  Jet Mykles

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924

  Carson City NV 89701-1215

  www.loose-id.com

  Copyright © October 2007 by Jet Mykles

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

  ISBN 978-1-59632-060-4

  Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

  Printed in the United States of America

  Editor: Christine Pacheco

  Cover Artist: April Martinez

  Darien popped another bite-sized bar of chocolate into his mouth, crunching his fist around the thin aluminum and paper it’d been wrapped in, then tossed it onto the passenger seat beside the bag. Silly thing, really, to buy candy. Wasn’t like they were going to get trick-or-treaters tomorrow night. It took a good minute or so when driving down their tree-shrouded street to get from front gate to front gate; he couldn’t imagine trekking that in costume. From what he’d heard most kids got together at one of the country clubs where a big party was held. So, it was dumb to have the candy but -- he grinned as he fished out another chocolate with rice crunchies -- it gave him a couple of bags of sweetness to himself.

  Well, okay, he should probably share with Chris. And he would. As soon as he got home.

  He punched the button on the little do-dad clipped to the sun visor above his head and swallowed the chocolate just as he started up the driveway. The shadows made by the autumn bedecked trees surrounding the two-story house made the white exterior paint seem grayish and the green trim black. It was dark enough that the light-sensitive tracks along the drive were fading to soft white life. The porch light was also on and Darien grinned at the orange cast due to the garish pumpkin shade he’d put on it. He had real ones to carve in the trunk of his Mustang, but he liked the awful thing on the light too.

  Parking in front of the closed garage, he grabbed up the bag with the mini-chocolate bars, sweet tarts, and sour balls, then fetched the pumpkins out of the trunk. Well, one of them at least. Bags and the first big pumpkin filled his arms so he’d have to make a second trip for the other one.

  The kitchen door was unlocked. “Chris?”

  No answer.

  He set down the pumpkin and candy bag on the island bisecting the kitchen and went out to get the other pumpkin. “Chris?” he called again, after he set the second one down beside the first.

  “Up here.”

  Ah, the melodious sound of his lover’s voice. He should get closer to hear it better. He chuckled at his thoughts and stuffed some more chocolate into the loose pocket of his khakis. Whistling, he headed toward the stairs between the kitchen and the living room.

  An odd smell stopped him at the first landing. Frowning, he turned in a slow circle, sniffing. Mint and dirt and…something else that he didn’t recognize. Something planty. Huh?

  There were smudges on the window set in the wall on the landing. The blind was up completely so the glass was clearly evident. The smudges had to be new. The cleaning crew that came out every other week wouldn’t have left brownish streaks around the edges of the glass. He got closer to see that it looked like someone had finger-painted some weird patterns with a light coating of mud along the edges of the glass.

  Confused, he headed up the rest of the staircase and turned into the bedroom. “Hey Chris, do you know what happened to…?” He froze. He’d been about to ask about the smudges, but it looked like he found the cause. “What are you doing?”

  Chris didn’t turn from where he was drawing patterns with his fingers on the edges of the window’s glass. “Setting wards.”

  “‘Wards’?”

  “Mmmm.” He lifted his arm to swipe the long sleeve of his dark green shirt over his forehead then tilted his head, eyeing the window critically. The fingers on that hand were covered in mud and it looked like the wooden bowl he held in his other hand was full of it.

  “Um, why?”

  “Ghosts.”

  Darien blinked. Then laughed. “Yeah, right.”

  Chris turned and crossed the hardwood floor on socked feet to stand before Darien. The smell of mint and wet dirt made Darien look at the bowl. Yep, mud. While he was still frowning at the bowl, Chris kissed his cheek then reached beside him, using a knuckle to flip on the recessed lighting that lined the ceiling along two walls. Violet-tinged shadows fled and the soft glow filled the bedroom. Giving Darien a brief smile, Chris turned and rounded their California king bed to the other window.

  Darien frowned. Chris’s strange behavior caused him to disregard the sexy roll of the man’s hips in those snug jeans. “What the fuck?”

  He didn’t hear Chris’s sigh but he saw it reflected in the window that had become dark enough to be a mirror. Night fell fast in these parts. “Don’t fret it, magpie.” Chris dipped his fingers in the bowl. “Did you get your pumpkins?”

  “Yeah.” He propped his shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “Chris, there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  “Of course there aren’t.” But he kept painting.

  “So what are you doing?”

  “I’d hoped to have this done before you got home,” Chris muttered.

  “Is that why you sent me out alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “So don’t fret it. Go downstairs and start the pumpkins. I’ll be down in awhile.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Chris closed his eyes and shook his head briefly. “I have to set wards before tomorrow night; otherwise, the ghosts will find me.”

  “What? Are you serious?”

  “Quite,” said his lover, voice steady.

  Then Darien got it. He started laughing. Threw back his head and laughed hard. “Oh man, okay. You almost got me.”

  Chris gave him a glance, but kept painting.

  “Okay, okay, nice try but I’m not falling for whatever joke you’re playing.”

  Chris faced him for a moment. He opened his mouth, then shut it. Light glinted on the light frames of his square glasses. Then he laughed, but it was forced. And brief. “All right, magpie. You got me.” He turned back to continue painting.

  Darien’s laughter died. “Chris, quit it.”

  “Everything will be fine if you let me finish.”

  He push
ed from the doorframe, fisting his hands at his sides. “Quit it. I’m not falling for it.”

  “You mentioned that.”

  “All right. Tell me why you’re warding against ghosts.”

  Chris used a knuckle to push his glasses up higher on his nose before he resumed drawing patterns. “My family is descended from druids. As such, we’re rather attractive to ghosts.”

  Darien fell back a step, eyes wide on his lover. “What?”

  Chris shrugged, never taking his eyes off the window. He paused, fingers in the air, painting patterns.

  “Chris?”

  He held up one long finger toward Darien, then resumed his air painting, muttering to himself as he stared intently at the pane of glass before him.

  Darien was starting to get a bad feeling about this.

  When Chris stopped muttering, he turned to force a smile at Darien. “Don’t worry about it, magpie. Nothing will happen if I can finish this.” He came back to stand before Darien. He used a knuckle to tilt Darien’s face up, bestowing a light, lingering kiss on Darien’s lips. “Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll finish, then we can carve pumpkins and you can make me watch that deplorable slasher movie you wanted to watch.”

  Darien pouted, eyes on the mud in Chris’s bowl. There were some green specks in it. Probably the source of the planty part of the smell. “What’s in that?”

  Lips brushed his forehead. “Don’t think about it.”

  “You’re winding me up,” Darien said, borrowing one of Chris’s favorite phrases from when Darien teased him.

  Chris brushed the backs of his fingers along Darien’s jaw. He smiled patiently. “All right. You believe that.”

  See? If he didn’t say it all serious like that, Darien could disbelieve him. “Okay, so why now?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Why set the wards now?”

  “Samhain’s tomorrow night and…” Chris scowled, his hazel gaze -- brown in this light -- sheared off to the side. He bit his lip. “I saw…” He shook his head. “No, never mind.” He slipped past Darien into the hallway toward the second bedroom that they used as an office.

  Darien stared at the darkened, muddied windows in the bedroom. He’s serious. No, he was playing. Chris used to be an actor. He was damn good at keeping a straight face. But what was with the bowl and the mumbo jumbo?

  Chris’s cell phone sounded, the ringtone the first lines of the chorus of Have Faith, the song Darien had written for him. Darien stepped up to the office doorway just as he switched the bowl from one hand to another, reaching into his jeans pocket to extract his cell phone. One handed, he checked the caller ID then opened it and spoke: “Hello, Gran.”

  Chris’s grandmother. Sweet lady. Darien hadn’t met her in person but he’d talked to her a number of times He was told she wasn’t anything like her daughter, Chris’s mother. Knowing that, Darien was sure he didn’t want to meet Hannah Faith. Sadie Waldock was a sweet and funny old lady. Hannah, he’d heard, was something of an ice princess.

  “Yes, Gran, I’m doing it now,” Chris murmured, switching his cell to prop it between shoulder and ear so he could resume his painting on the window. “I know, but this is Darien’s house. I haven’t been here long.” Pause. “No, I haven’t seen it again.”

  “‘It’?” Darien squeaked.

  Chris glanced his way. Grimaced. “Hold on, Gran.” Lowering, juggling the bowl again, he brought the phone away from his ear. “Darien, please. Just go take your shower. Everything will be fine.”

  Darien gaped as Chris went back to his conversation. Well fuck me! He’s serious! And he expected Darien to take a shower?

  Okay, maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. He should. He should take a shower and just forget this ghost whatsits that Chris was pulling. It had to be a joke.

  Didn’t it?

  Frowning, he returned to the bedroom, crossing to the master bathroom. Chris wasn’t much of a prankster. Entirely too serious. Yeah, he had a wicked streak but…ghosts?

  Darien shed his clothes on the tiled floor and stepped into the wide shower stall, mulling it over. As he was shampooing his hair, he decided that since Chris was English, it was entirely possible that somewhere in his history, there’d be druids. Sadie seemed like the type to be really superstitious so maybe she passed it on to her grandson. What did it hurt to let Chris set these ward-thingies? It was like throwing salt over your left shoulder or not walking under a ladder, right?

  Right.

  Probably.

  He heard the bathroom door open while he was working conditioner into his hair. Looking through the frosted glass of the shower stall, he kind of hoped Chris would get naked and join him. Sex would distract him from the weirdness. He started getting hard at the thought. But Chris didn’t even glance his way. He took his bowl and went to the little window above the toilet.

  “What are you doing?” Darien asked, voice raised over the sound of water.

  “Same as before,” Chris explained quietly.

  “Oh come on, you’re not serious about this, are you?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Darien.”

  “Just what’ll these ghosts do if you don’t ward the place?”

  Chris stopped, a mostly shadowy figure seen through the foggy glass. He was staring at the window.

  “Chris?”

  Chris shook his head and resumed his task. “Best not to find out,” he said in a stern voice.

  It was the dead seriousness that got to Darien. His heart started to slam in his chest.

  Chris finished without another word then left, closing the bathroom door behind him. Darien stared at it, trying to fight the dread that was crawling up his throat.

  He finished washing, trying not to think about Chris’s strange behavior. But it had gotten to him. His erection wilted before he ever got out of the shower. Grumbling to himself, he grabbed a big, thick towel from the rack and threw it over his head as he stepped from the stall. Briskly, he rubbed at his head as he went to stand before the mirror.

  Do I need to shave before…? He dropped the towel across his shoulders and froze.

  The mirror was all fogged up from steam. Across the wide, clouded surface was written Beware Christopher, with the final r dragging down to the corner of the mirror. No way had Chris just written that. Darien had been watching him the whole time.

  Without another thought, Darien opened his mouth and screamed bloody murder. “Chris?!” he shouted, lunging for the door.

  Darkness. The lights were out in the bedroom. Only moonlight streamed with a chilly breeze through the two open windows.

  Open? They’d been closed when Chris was doing his mumbo jumbo thing. They’d been closed when Darien went into the bathroom. Chill October air spilled in, raising goose bumps on his skin.

  “Chris?!”

  A hiss to his left and he spun. Froze. The walk-in closet door was open. White smoke billowed up from an unknown source and there, standing in it, was the wispy, bleached, fucking see-through torso and head of a woman. She was bent a little, reaching toward where her feet should have been. Toward the floor. Toward the lump that lay there. No, not a lump. A body. Body?! Chris’s face lay in a ray of moonlight, his glasses on the floor above his head.

  “Chris?!” he screeched, practically diving to his lover’s side. Into the chill white smoke that then settled back around him. “Shit, Chris!”

  He grabbed Chris’s shoulders, pulling the man back from the ghost in the doorway. The ghost in the smoke. Whimpering, he gathered Chris onto his lap, ready to carry the man if necessary, but something was…wrong. He stopped, his brain trying to process while he shook from more than just cold.

  The ghost didn’t move, just remained, hovering there, bent over in the smoke. There was another hiss and a renewed plume of smoke. It made the woman who didn’t move a little brighter and made the ray before her a little bright. The ray that looked like…

  “A projector?”

  His eyes tracked the ray to a small
silver object mostly hidden behind a vase on the low chest of drawers against the wall not far from the closet.

  Another hiss and more smoke brought his attention back to the ghost. He knew that sound. He’d been in enough videos where they’d used fog machines. That was the sound they made. Which meant that… There on the floor was the little contraption, just visible behind a small, carefully placed pile of clothing.

  The body in his lap started to shake. He looked down to see Chris’s wide mouth curved into a smile, those ever-changing hazel eyes -- black in this lighting -- laughing up at him.

  Darien scowled, fisting the front of Chris’s shirt in his hand, making sure to pull hair. “You bastard.”

  Chris’s hand whipped up to grab Darien’s wrist as he let out his laughter.

  Darien scowled, twisting so that Chris’s back thumped the hardwood floor. He threw a leg over Chris’s belly, shifting to straddle him while fisting the other hand in his T-shirt as well. “Ghosts?!”

  Chris was laughing so hard tears trickled down his high cheekbones. Normally, Darien would have loved the sight but his heart was still recovering from the fright of his life.

  Wait. Who was he kidding? Even pissed off and with the light low so that he couldn’t see very well, he still loved the sight of Chris in such open abandon.

  He didn’t have to show that to Chris though. “You prick,” he growled.

  Chris managed to get himself under control, both long-fingered hands wrapped around Darien’s wrists. “Now, magpie…”

  “Don’t you ‘magpie’ me, you scum!” He shook Chris. “Was Sadie in on it too? Are you really descended from druids?”

  Chris’s eyes went wide and he succumbed to a renewed fit of laughter.

  Before he could be tempted to join in -- because Chris’s laughter was infectious -- Darien let go, shoving Chris hard into the floor. He tried to stand but Chris held on. “Let go of me.”

  “Wait.” Chris tugged on his arms, voice trembling. “Don’t go.”