Dead Man and the Restless Spirits

  Lou Harper

  Dying sucks hairy monkey balls, even when you're not the stiff.

  Denton Mills has a secret: he can see dead people. Or rather, how they died. It's quite a drag in a city like Chicago, teeming with the echoes of the no-longer living. Rather than whine about it, Denton has learned to live with his troublesome talent. His adaptability comes in handy when he meets his enigmatic new neighbor.

  Bran Maurell catches Denton's eye right away, but unfortunately Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mysterious is as standoffish as he is alluring. However, after an unexpected introduction from Bran's cat brings the two men together, Denton discovers they have a mutual interest in the spirit world. Herbalist by day, Bran moonlights as a witch, performing house cleansings for a fee.

  From Bran, Denton learns that his knack for interacting with the dead qualifies him as a necromancer. It makes good business sense for them to team up and rid Chicago of its pesky spirits one grateful client at a time. Amongst ghostly adventures the attraction between the men is impossible to ignore. They seem like perfect partners—unless Bran's not-so-little secret comes between them.

  Warning: men loving men, ghosts with attitudes, and a portly feline with hidden talents.

  Note: Denton also plays a small but important role in Spirit Sanguine.

  Copyright © 2013 Lou Harper

  Cover Art by Lou Harper Copyright 2013

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  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.

  I owe a debt to my beta readers and critique partners, Jo, Blaine, Kari, Susan, and Jordan. Their frank feedback made this book better. I thank my tireless editor, Linda Ingmanson, for all her help making this story into what it is now.

  UNWILLING SPIRIT

  Chapter One

  Dying sucked hairy monkey balls. Even when you weren't the one doing it. Denton hated running into the final moments of strangers. Unfortunately, he couldn't always help it. This particular street corner had been safe a week before. The oversized man now clutching his chest must have died sometime since last Tuesday. Heart attack. Denton felt an echo of panic sweep through him and had to grab on to a lamppost to keep from tumbling onto the pavement too. He barely had 135 pounds for his 5' 9" frame, yet he could clearly feel the mass of flesh weighing him down, squeezing the life out of him. At least it was over fast. The man stopped breathing and his presence faded away, both from the street and Denton's mind. He shook himself and took a few deep breaths before going on his way. As he hurried down the street, he made a mental note to avoid that corner for a few months at least—till the trace of fresh death had had a chance to dissipate.

  Denton had a near-death experience as a child, and ever since, he'd had a special relationship with the dead. Since nobody had bothered explaining the rules to him, he had to come up with his own theory: when people died, they left an imprint of themselves during their final moments. The more violent the death, the more tenacious the echo. He could also recognize vampires, probably because they were undead. They saw him as something different too, and gave him the name Dead Man. He and the vamps had a truce, and they gave Denton less trouble than the truly dead. He avoided their psychic footprints as much as possible, but a city like Chicago, with its murders and accidents, had lots of death-spots to navigate around.

  The warmth of the sun mixing with a nip in the air on this bright September morning soon brought the spring back into Denton's steps. He could see Joy sitting at the patio of Alice's Tea Room from half a block away. Her blonde pixie cut glowed in the morning light. She noticed him too—her face broke into a wide grin, and she waved her arms in the air. Denton picked up his steps, and a few moments later, they exchanged a hug in front of the café.

  "Hey, Slackerino!" She squeezed him.

  "Hey, Pumpkin. How're you doing?"

  "Can't complain." She pushed a paper cup in front of him. "I got you a cappuccino with extra foam, just the way you like it."

  "You're the best." Denton grabbed three sugar packets and dumped their contents into the coffee. Then he reached for three more. As usual, Joy made a mocking face at his indulgence. Everything about her made him think of picture-book pixies. She was petite, perky, and her face, with its button nose, dark eyes, and pouty lips, radiated good-natured mischief.

  They'd met many years ago at a design firm where Denton worked as a software engineer and Joy as a graphic designer. Like two misfits in that world of cubicles and office politics, they'd become fast friends.

  "Guess who I have news about?" Joy asked, bursting with excitement.

  "Bigfoot? Walt Disney's brain? No wait, Zachary Quinto's coming to Chicago to shoot a movie."

  "You wish. None of the above."

  "Okay, I give up."

  "Ike Martinez!"

  "No way!"

  "Way!" Joy beamed at him.

  Ike had been their art director—a talentless prick who had regularly taken credit for the works of others. Finally, he'd had the audacity to sign his name to Joy's design, and presented it to the bosses as his own. Joy had gotten so pissed off, she'd quit. Denton handed in his resignation in sympathy. He'd been sick of the place and on his way out anyway. The two of them had started up their own web design company right after. Their boundless loathing of Ike Martinez was one of the many things they had in common.

  Denton wanted to know more. "Details, c'mon."

  "Okay, so one of my clients asked if I knew him, so I said, sure I do. It turns out, Ike applied for a position at their company."

  "What did you tell the client?"

  She broke out in an evil grin. "Everything. Then I gave him names of other people he should talk to. Ike won't be getting the job, you can bet on it."

  The thought of the asshole getting his due warmed Denton as much as the coffee did. "Well, that's karma for you. Is this why you summoned me here, to gloat together?" They conducted most of their business online, but Joy was also Denton's closest friend—even if he kept major secrets from her.

  "I wanted to see you, stupid. And you need to get out more. It's a beautiful day."

  It was indeed beautiful—the trees had started turning color, but the memory of summer still hung in the air like a parting smile.

  "You're pale as white bread. I bet you spend all your time playing World of Warcraft," she added.

  "Nuh-uh. I kicked the habit a year ago. I get out, I swear."

  "You don't look it."

  Denton could've told her about his recent adventures trying to identify a murderer. However, the story involved vampires, whose existence Joy was blissfully unaware of. So he just smiled. "Unlike your hair, pale's my natural color."

  "You don't like my hair?" She tugged on her platinum bangs.

  "I do. It fits you. A couple of fairy wings and you'd be complete."

  "Hey! Who are you calling a fairy, twinkletoes? Anyway, I refuse to be criticized by someone with facial jewelry," she said, referring to Denton's eyebrow ring and nose stud.

  "It was a compliment,"
Denton said, flashing his tongue stud just to mock her.

  "No wonder you can't find a date."

  "Hey, lots of guys fancy my studs—find them stimulating. If you know what I mean." He waggled his studded eyebrow—a move he'd practiced in front of the mirror many times.

  Joy rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh. How's your love life?"

  "None of your business!"

  "That bad, eh? Welcome to the club. Are you still looking to move?" Joy could leap from one subject to another with the agility of a gazelle. Denton didn't mind.

  "Yeah, but it's hard to find something in my price range not already occupied by an army of cockroaches." Denton's next-door neighbor had a Chihuahua that could yap for hours at all times of the day. Denton had complained to the neighbor, then the landlord, but both had ignored him. He'd been seriously contemplating Chihuahuacide.

  "Well, you might be in luck. Remember my friend Miranda?"

  "The lactose-intolerant copywriter?" Joy had tons of friends, and Denton could keep them straight only by memorizing their peculiarities, like the dentist who collected vintage license plates or the math teacher who spent every summer reenacting the Civil War.

  "Yeah, her. She's leaving town in a hurry and needs someone to rent her condo."

  Denton squinted at her with suspicion. "Is she running from the mob?"

  "Worse. She's in love."

  "How horrible," Denton said in a tone of mock horror.

  "Tell me about it. She'd known this Greg guy for like a month but fell so head-over-heels, she's going to follow him to Papua New Guinea."

  "Isn't that on the other side of the world?"

  "Thereabouts. He's an ornithologist, on a mission to study the rare red-beaked something or other. Or was it blue-tailed? I forget." She shook her head. "Anyway, she's desperate, and I told her I know someone who'd be perfect. The rent would be only a little higher than what you're paying now, but for a million times nicer place. I lied through my teeth about how neat and tidy you are."

  "I'm not untidy."

  "Bullshit. I've been to your apartment. I made her believe that code monkeys like you are shy and well-organized by nature, even if they look like scrawny pin cushions. I also let it slip you were gay—she loved that. I dunno why people think gays are neat, but you need to work those stereotypes to your advantage. C'mon, we can go see her right now—it's only a few blocks away. If she likes you, you could move in as early as next week."

  Joy's proposal sounded good, too good. Denton narrowed his eyes. "What's the catch?"

  "What? No catch." Her voice skipped up a notch, and she looked everywhere but at him.

  "Don't lie."

  "Oh, okay. The guy next door is creepy."

  "Creepy how?"

  "I dunno… I only saw him once, but all I could think was, if life was a slasher movie, I wouldn't want to be stuck with him in a cheap roadside motel on a stormy night. Miranda thinks he's stuck-up. She says in three years living next to each other, he's never said more than five words to her."

  Denton didn't spook so easy. He had much bigger concerns. "Does he have a dog?"

  "No. Only a huge cat."

  "Cats I can live with. Let's go."

  ***

  By next Wednesday, Denton was all settled in. Thanks to Miranda leaving her furniture behind, the move had been a snap. It had only taken two trips with the rented van to transfer his clothes and other assorted personal belongings. His old furniture went to the city dump. According to Joy, it had been long overdue. Denton like his new digs—the small one-bedroom apartment turned out to be bright and cozy, and only two blocks from the El station. He didn't drive, so access to public transportation mattered. Still, he slept fitfully on his first night, and then woke up at the crack of way-too-frigging-early, thanks to a couple of horny pigeons. The feathered bastards made an unholy racket on the other side of his bedroom window.

  That was how he found himself lounging on the fire escape outside the living room window, just as the sun edged its way up over distant rooftops. Denton cradled his coffee mug with both hands and enjoyed the view. From where he was, on the third floor, it consisted of the street below, other buildings, and a large chunk of blue sky. To his right, his "creepy" neighbor's balcony doubled as a miniature jungle chock full of plants. There were tall ones, short ones, some with vines, and others with flowers. They were all just a bunch of weeds to Denton, and not even the kind you could smoke. Having a green thumb didn't gel with the sinister image Joy and Miranda had painted of his new neighbor. All their gossiping had only made Denton more curious. From checking the mailboxes, he'd learned the guy's name: B. Maurell (apartment 309). What did the "B" stand for? Beelzebub? Denton was dying to meet him—only hoping he wasn't a vampire. They were a headache.

  His wish was fulfilled sooner than expected, as the balcony door slid open and B. Maurell stepped out, dressed in a cranberry-red bathrobe. Definitely not a vamp but a rather fine specimen of human male of the tall, dark, and handsome type.

  "Good morning, neighborino!" Denton shouted in his best Ned Flanders imitation.

  The guy looked at Denton, face inscrutable, staring for two whole seconds before giving a curt nod and turning away. Denton could see why Miranda had called him "stuck-up." While B. Maurell fussed with his plants, Denton took revenge by brazenly ogling him. The bathrobe wrapped around a solid body. His movements were surprisingly graceful. His legs stood bare, and Denton enjoyed the view of muscular calves flexing under olive skin and a sprinkling of dark hair. Oh, and nice feet, with high arches. Denton had a thing about feet. He had a thing or two about many things.

  After about ten minutes, B. Maurell retreated into his apartment without as much as a parting glance at Denton. Too bad he'd turned out to be an arrogant prick, because otherwise he seemed the kinda guy Denton could get the hots for. Being pale and skinny—a scrawny runt, as Joy would put it—he had a fatal attraction for men who were his exact opposite.

  "Meow!"

  Denton had been so absorbed ogling his neighbor, he hadn't noticed the cat. The huge black beast had squeezed himself between two planters and regarded Denton with lazy curiosity.

  "What's up, puss, how's it going?"

  The cat yawned.

  "Bored? I'm sorry. Your owner isn't exactly a barrel of laughs. Too bad, because he's kinda hot." Denton wasn't above talking to cats. And who knows, he might even get overheard.

  The cat glared at him with curious green eyes; even his ears twitched forward like tiny radar dishes. Only cats and small children could stare with such shameless focus. Denton did his best to return the glare, but he blinked first. As if gloating at his victory, the cat rubbed his face on one of the bars of the balcony, then turned tail and tiptoed into the apartment.

  ***

  Denton spent the most of the day putting a website together for Joy, making revisions as her comments came in. Working freelance had its downside. You were either crazy busy or you twiddled your thumbs wondering where your next paycheck would come from. Denton's fatalistic attitude toward things in general made him well-suited for this lifestyle.

  He put the last bit of code in place, double and triple checked it, then spent half the afternoon slicing and dicing pixelated monsters on the computer. He hadn't lied to Joy—he hadn't played World of Warcraft in over a year, but he hadn't gone completely cold turkey with the computer games. He knew he was fine as long as he stayed off-line. When you went online, met other players, joined a guild, started going on raids, that was when the game took over your life. Occasional off-line games of hack-and-slash quelled his craving for the green fields and scorched deserts of Azeroth.

  After defeating one last pack of ghouls, Denton shut off the computer to get ready to go out. He was due to attend a party, to meet real people, and a real monster or two. At times it took special skills to tell one from the other.

  The night ended up being more work than fun. To make things worse, he had to hobnob with far too many vampires. None of them tried to bite him
—they never did—but they gave him a splitting headache. Probably because he saw them in a double vision, even stone sober. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to see them when he was drunk.

  Denton didn't get home till late and with the seams of his skull wanting to split. He took a handful of aspirins and went to bed. When he cracked open his eyelids the next day, the sun preened high in the sky, letting him know it was too late to catch his neighbor watering the plants. Oh well, tomorrow would be another day. He pulled the pillow over his head and turned to his other side. Or would've, but his feet didn't budge. Something held them in place. He pushed himself up to his elbows only to see a large, black, furry shape sitting on his bed. After a moment of panic and confusion, his still-groggy brain sorted out that it wasn't a small leopard, only his neighbor's fat feline.

  "Yo, cat," he mumbled.

  The animal in question hopped off the bed and strolled out of the room. Denton tottered after it a little while later, and bee-lined for the coffeemaker. Fortunately, he'd remembered to fill it up and set the timer the night before, so he didn't have to fumble with it now. He let out a satisfied sigh as the sweet caffeine hit his system.

  "Meowrr!" The cat planted its substantial behind in front of the fridge, with an expectant gleam in its eyes.

  "Do you have a name, buddy?"

  The cat made a deep, throaty noise which sounded kinda like murr. It occurred to Denton, if cats could write, their alphabet would have hundreds of letters to express every intonation of their voices. "I'll just call you Murry, okay?" Denton took the slow blink as a yes. "Are you hungry?"

  "Meow!"

  "Okay, let me see if I have something here for you." Denton rifled through the contents of the cabinets. Miranda had been in such a hurry to leave she hadn't bothered to empty them. Good thing too, because if it was up to Denton, they wouldn't have held much more than peanut butter and jelly. He found a squat can behind the rice.