Veiled Spirits

Seeing spirits sounds pretty cool. Until you realize that ghosts are just as much of assholes as the living. Aggie should have crossed over ages ago. But she’s still here, annoying the shit out of me.

She follows me wherever I go, which can make it hard to keep the whole seeing ghosts thing a secret. At least Aggie has been leaving me alone at school recently. That makes it somewhat easier.

Shoving my door closed, I drop my backpack onto the ground near my desk. Walking over to my closet, I warn, “Close your eyes or turn around if you don’t want an eyeful of my boobs.”

Not bothering to check if she listened, I strip out of my violet tee and light-wash jeans. I dig through the dresser in my closet and find a black sports bra. Pulling it out, I put it and my favorite lilac workout leggings on.

I snag a black hoodie I stole from Bishop and pull it over my head. Burying my nose in the soft, worn fabric, I take a deep inhale of Bishop’s rainy forest scent. It always calms me when I’ve had a rough day.

Once I’m finished changing, I grab my guitar and flop onto my fluffy purple comforter. I lie on my back with my legs and socked feet on the lavender wall at the end of my bed. Turning my head, I look out the window over my bed while I softly strum my acoustic guitar.

“What are your plans for the night?” Aggie floats over to my desk as she talks.

“Go to the gym with Bishop, murder a punching bag, and cross over some ghosts,” I say while I stare at the elm trees in my backyard.

“You know, you can take the night off, kid.” When I glance over at Aggie, her forehead is pinched in concern. While she gives me shit on the regular, Aggie also cares about me, in her own way.

“And who’s going to cross them if I don’t?” I ask, already knowing the answer. There’s no one we know of who can do what I do. So, the responsibility falls to me. That’s how I spend most of my nights.

Aggie gives me a sad nod, letting me know she’ll do her part so I can cross those who need it tonight.

I get lost playing my guitar and singing for a while. I’m playing “’Tis the Damn Season” when Aiden, one of my older brothers, comes crashing through my door.

“Lover boy’s here, Iz.” Aiden leans against the door and stares at me for a beat. With the same golden-blond hair and gray eyes, we’re often mistaken for twins. But he’s a good half a foot taller than me and three years older.

Rhys is my other brother. He’s seven years older than me and takes after my dad. Aiden and I both look like our mom, Maggie. With brown hair, hazel eyes, and his six-foot-two height, Rhys is the spitting image of our dad, Sean.

“Why do you always sing such depressing songs?” Aiden whines.

“I don’t!”

“You really do.”

“Fine,” I huff. To prove him wrong, I start belting out “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” as loud as I can. That’ll teach him to criticize my song choice.

“Ah! My ears! They’re bleeding!” Aiden exclaims dramatically. He hates pop music and any popular songs. I roll my eyes at him and keep singing. “Stop! Uncle! I give up! You were right, Izzy!”

I stop singing as soon as he admits I’m right. Grinning at him from my spot on the bed, I savor my victory over my annoying older brother.

“You’re such a pest, Izzy,” Aiden tells me with a wide smile, nowhere near as annoyed as he tries to seem. “Do you want me to send lover boy up, or are you meeting him downstairs?”

“You can send him up.” I sit up and put my guitar down. Getting off the bed, I bend over and gather my hair into a high ponytail. After securing the hair tie, I straighten up and shove my feet into my sneakers, blowing the strands that are too short to be in the ponytail out of my face.

“Okay. Just keep the door open. You know Mom’s rules. You can only fuck him with the door open.” Aiden flashes me a cheeky grin before bounding out of my room.

I snort at his interpretation of Mom’s open-door rule. Although, I’m pretty sure she’d be thrilled to come home and find me doing Bishop. She’s been pushing us together for years, but that’s never going to happen.

“You ready to go?” Bishop rumbles in his smooth, deep voice as he steps into my room. With his sharp jaw, muscular frame, and megawatt smile, Bishop is one of the most eligible bachelors in Hawthorne Grove. But he has exactly zero interest in his legions of admirers, preferring to hang out with me, the town reject.

Bishop shoves a hand through his unruly brown hair that’s constantly falling in his baby-blue eyes as he looks around my room. He spots my guitar sitting by my bed. Trying, and failing, to be subtle, he runs his gaze over my face. He’s probably checking for signs I’ve been crying. Singing is a way to let out my emotions, so I often cry when I play guitar.

“Yep,” I chirp, trying to seem upbeat so Bishop doesn’t worry. Snagging my wireless earbuds, I tuck them in my hoodie pocket, along with my ID holder. Glancing around my room, I make sure I’m not forgetting anything.

When I’m confident I have everything, I murmur, “Aperire.” Out of habit, I speak the phrase aloud to open the portal. My weird magic means I don’t need an incantation to do the spell, unlike other mages. Instead, I just need to visualize what I want to happen. My magic takes care of the rest.

The portal to a back alley a few minutes from the gym swooshes open. Bishop walks through first. Once he’s on the other side, he holds out his hand for me as I step through. Ignoring his hand, I hop through on my own. Touching Bishop is dangerous. I like it way too much.

While I resisted it for a while, I can’t deny that Bishop is my best friend now. I don’t know how he broke through my defenses, but here he is, being all smug and shit about it. It’d be safer for him not to hang out with me, but he doesn’t seem to care. Nothing I do makes him stay away, and, trust me, I’ve tried.