“I thought that might explain it.” Kanye chuckled low, watching his sons across the bar as they continued to wrestle. “They’ve gotten better at avoiding breakables over the years. I suppose all that training paid off.”
Absolutely. Because learning how to avoid lamps and busting up couches was what all that training was for. Not beating up bad guys.
Everyone else was either watching the show or back to opening presents. And drinking the spiked punch. It gave us a pocket of semi-privacy that I rarely got with Kanye. Normally when I saw him, the whole family was present, like now. I felt like I could talk with him and leaned in, lowering my tone to something more confidential. “He’s doing alright.”
Kanye’s golden-brown eyes went sharply to my face.
I elaborated, “Brandon’s alright. He’s still finding his footing, but he’s getting there. Give him a bit more time.”
Kanye patted my knee with a massive hand and gave me a sweet smile. “Thank you, Jon.”
“Any time.” I couldn’t add anything more without treading over a fine line. I saw a lot from Brandon that he hadn’t confided in me, and I honestly wasn’t sure how much he’d said to his family. Alani knew he’d been unhappy on SWAT, that something had pushed him out of it, but she never mentioned what. She was relieved he’d found another path, one he was excited about, and that was enough for her. At least until her son chose to talk to her.
It was interesting to me that his sexuality lines were tangling with his work lines. I wasn’t sure how the two were connected just yet, but something must have happened. And Brandon wasn’t comfortable with his sexuality either at the moment. I mean, did I tell them that Brandon had only recently figured out he was bisexual? That he was struggling with it? That he no longer felt completely at home in his own skin? It didn’t feel right to divulge any of that. Brandon would talk to his family on his own time and terms. Everyone deserved the right to do that and not be rushed into it.
So while his parents might sense something was up with him, it was up to Brandon to talk to them. This simple reassurance was as far as I’d stick my nose in.
1
I looked up from the cereal in my bowl to blink at my mentor, sure I hadn’t heard him right. “I’m sorry, did you say we had a psychic coming in?”
“You heard me right.” Beau cleared his throat and reached for his coffee. I kept trying to tell him he needed more water and he couldn’t live on coffee alone, but at sixty-something years old, he was rather set in his ways. Beau had been an FBI medium before he retired—ghost wrangler, they apparently called them in the agency. When I’d been tested and found to be a medium, my mother had called him up and asked if he’d be willing to mentor me. Technically, Beau was my second cousin once removed or something. Family, regardless. He’d said sure, send the kid up.
Three months later, here I was. Still in Arkansas and learning the biz. It was actually fun, truth be told. We were in a very, very haunted place so I had lots of ghosts to practice with. Unlike what I’d been led to believe, mediums didn’t exorcise every ghost they saw. If they weren’t doing any harm and didn’t want to pass on just yet, it was alright to leave them be.
I got some really fascinating stories out of them, too.
While training, I stayed at Beau’s house, a grey Victorian that had been lovingly maintained. I rather liked it. Not the man who had originally built and owned it—the doctor was a charlatan and bastard—but the house was great. I wasn’t really in a hurry to move on from it, either. It was so much easier, navigating the world with someone to watch my back. I felt like I could breathe.
Refocusing on Beau, I asked curiously, “Why is a psychic coming in? I thought they couldn’t see ghosts.”
“A few types can. It’s rare, I grant you that. But it’s a funny story. He got a ghost for Christmas.”
I blinked, sure I hadn’t heard him right. “I’m sorry, what?”
Beau snickered, the sound catching and sounding rough in his chest. His dark brown eyes sparkled merrily, so this story must be a good one. “A friend came through here for vacation, picked up a snow globe, and gave it to the psychic for Christmas. Had no clue it was haunted. The psychic apparently took it rather well; called up a friend he had in our agency and reported it. He’s volunteered to bring it over to us and help do what he can to send the ghost on. The ghost requested help with passing.”
Oh? That was a first for me. Usually you had to talk them into it. “Wow. Okay, that has to be a first, right?”
“First time I’ve heard of something like that happening. Now, a few things were passed on to me. Jonathan Bane is the psychic. This psychic, he runs hot. So don’t let him near electronics, he’ll fry them.”
I nodded in understanding. I had heard that not all psychics could shield properly. I was glad I was a medium and didn’t have to worry about that nonsense.
“He’s got an anchor, Donovan Havili, but also a guy shadowing him. Anchor’s brother, and the one who gave him the ghost. Brandon Havili is his name, and he’s learning the trade on how to be an anchor. He’s technically FBI but a proby.”
“Got it. So I’ll need to keep an eye on them, too.”
“Yeah, they’re not used to ghosts. Anyway, they’ll be here tomorrow.”
It meant cutting Christmas vacation short a bit, but I didn’t mind. Ghost wrangling didn’t really feel like a job to me. I’d spent most of my childhood trying to navigate a world only I could see, one no one else had understood, and learning things the hard way—with all the bumps and bruises that came with the school of hard knocks. Being able to face the world as an adult, with training under my belt and a mentor to help me? That felt like a vacation.
Beau poured himself some more coffee then settled at the table again. He had that look on his face that meant he was about to tell me something serious. “Mack.”
I stopped eating and focused on him. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to be straight with you for a second, kiddo. You’re good. You’ve got the instincts, the talent, and I don’t really have anything else I can teach you.”
This threw me completely. I’d not expected those words. Not this soon. “Wait, wait. I thought training took anywhere from six months to a year.”
“Normally, yeah. But you came to me late; you’d already figured out part of it. And you pick up things fast. We say six months to a year because everyone has different speeds of learning this stuff. Some people get it quickly, some people need more time. You’re one of the former.” Beau gave me a proud smile, one of the few I’d ever seen from him. He wasn’t really a grumpy man, but he was rather closed off most of the time. “Really, Mack, I’m ready to pass you. I want you to do this one last job, let you work with a psychic, and then I’ll sign you off.”
This came so far out of left field I was left without an immediate reply. Was I happy? Sure. But I wasn’t relieved. It meant I’d be on my own again, and that was a discomfiting thought. “But don’t I need an anchor or partner or something?”
“Sure. Absolutely. The FBI’s got several candidates. You’ll work with them on a rotating basis, see if any of them are a good fit for you. If not, we’ll look elsewhere. I’m not throwing you to the wind, kiddo.”