Ugh. That sounded so harsh. Was being a ghost a legitimate reason for cheating on someone you had dream sex with? Because even if he was dead, he definitely had real emotions and we had definitely had some real experiences. I would probably like him even more if I wasn’t trying so hard to hold back. Maybe it was a really crappy way to think, like dating someone in a wheelchair and then ditching him for the next guy who walks. But ghosts were also stuck in place. So what could I do?
Graham’s hands ran down to the small of my back and then as our lips kept working together in more urgent harmony, he ran a hand over my breast. I was wearing a navy blue wool dress, since I knew he was visiting today and I wanted to look more professional than grubby.
“Why do you dress like Wednesday Addams?” he said.
“I do not!”
“Is this really practical attire for tearing up flooring?”
“I dressed up because you were coming over. You know I own plenty of jeans and t-shirts. You’ve seen them crumpled in the back of my truck, where you cast a judgmental glare on them.”
“Not judgmental. Concerned. Do you live in your truck?”
“No, I live in your grandpa’s house! For now.”
“You’re wearing a black dress—“
“It’s navy. I guess you’re color blind.”
“With a white collar and two long braids. You look like a goth kid trying to grow up.” He grinned at me.
“Hey!”
He stood up and offered me a hand. “Let’s go back to the house. I’ll show you something.”
He wrapped up the books and carried them in one arm. Then he took my hand in his other. A bold move. I swept my eyes from hands to his face.
“I can’t help it, Helena,” he said. “You’re a very charming woman.”
I’m going to have to get into it, I thought. I’m going to have to tell him what he is. He was starting to feed on me and he didn’t even know it.
But I decided to enjoy it for a little while. I gave him my best coy smile and then looked ahead, letting him hold my hand as we walked.
We reached the house, where I poured myself another glass of wine, wondering what else he might have to show me.
“Pour me another glass too,” he said. “And then we’ll go to the library. I think they’re still there.”
“What is this?”
In the library, he pulled out a manila envelope tucked beside the photograph albums. It was addressed to Fiore Capello and a glossy studio photograph slid out.
“Ohmigod, is this your class photo?”
“Senior year.”
“You hot goth boy!” I shrieked with delighted laughter at the sight of young Graham with choppy shoulder length black hair falling in his eyes, eyeliner, and an all black suit that didn’t really fit his broad shoulders that well.
“I tease you in good faith,” he said.
“What year?”
“1996.”
“I’m keeping this.”
“Just don’t put it on the internet.”
I looked at the photo another long moment and boy, could I pair my teenage self with his teenage self, although unfortunately he was sixteen years older than me, which was nothing in wizard years but just meant I had missed out on the best of the goth kid era. “Damnit. You’re making me actually like you. And then what happened? You ended up in politics? That’s depressing.”
“I’m a proud civil servant,” he said. “And why wouldn’t you want to like me? I realize our worlds are different. I’m not asking you to marry me. But if we are going to get thrown together in this strange life, maybe we should have a little fun…”
“Oooh, you are a devil in disguise,” I said. “And how many women have you said those words to?”
His brows turned into a defensive wall. “Why would you think I just toss words around?”
“Graham,” I sighed. “I know what you are. You’ve slept with over a hundred women, haven’t you?”
His face turned to hard stone. “How do you know that?”
“You’re an incubus. Sex feeds you. It makes you more powerful. It’s hard for women to resist you.”
“An incubus,” he repeated. “So women are attracted to me because I’m an incubus. Does that mean it isn’t consensual?” I could only imagine how much a politician didn’t want to let it be known that he had non-consensual sex with lots of women.
“No, no, it’s consensual,” I said. “I mean, it’s a grey area, I guess, but I’m sure they sleep with you because of all this.” I swirled a hand around his face and body.
“A grey area!?”
“Well, that’s why you are considered to be a demon,” I said.
“I’m a demon. And my grandfather—”
“It was your grandmother,” I said. “She was a succubus. In the magical world, you’re considered an incubus if you’re at least one-eighth…bus.”
“What does this mean?” he asked. “I’m bad news? I’ll never settle down?”
“Not at all. But seduction will come easier than commitment. Your wife would have to be someone really special to you. I’m not saying…there’s anything wrong with having fun. But…”
The candelabra on the desk suddenly lit up—yes, I know, how extra to even have a candelabra on a library desk but Fiore clearly loved candles—and then went crashing to the floor, landing on the rug with a dramatic thud. I had to go stomp out the flames. I glanced around, but I didn’t see Byron.
“But?” Graham’s chin draped onto his palm. “The ghost is jealous?”
“Um…yes.”
“Did you have sex with a ghost?” he chuckled.
“It’s not funny.”
“Oh, shit. And I’m the sex demon.”
“The ghost is also an incubus, Graham! So it’s not funny.”
“How does ghost sex work, anyway? I didn’t see a potter’s wheel around here.”
“Oh, a Ghost reference, old man? Haha. You wish. It was way better than a movie,” I said, narrowing my eyes.
I was going to chalk up his amusement to
