Page 12 of How to Survive Your Own Death

“Look at that. My schedule opened up. Tell her I’ll call this evening.”

Geri knew she shouldn’t smile but she couldn’t help it. Patrick was so predictable. “He’ll call you tonight to iron out the details.”

Savannah clapped her hands and bounced in her seat. “I'm having the Halloween wedding of my dreams!”

CHAPTER 4

GERI

He was back out there again. Lurking. Standing at the edge of the light with a black hoody hiding his face didn’t stop Geri from recognizing Jaxon.

But was it?

Maybe it was the weather finally turning cold, the rustle of dying leaves still clinging to branches, but doubt niggled at her.

That wasn’t Jaxon. It had no aura. It wasn’t even a person.

It was something worse.

For reasons she couldn’t explain, she was afraid. Unreasonably afraid.

Geri slammed the window shut and drew the curtains closed, hands trembling.

Fiddlesticks rubbed against her leg.

She picked up the cat, burying her face against gray tabby fur. A gentle purr helped to calm her pounding heart and steady her breath.

“Probably a burglar looking for an open window. Or a tourist doing a ghost hunt,” she said. The square had famously been a burial pit in the 18th century. Now that spooky season was in full swing, ghost tours meandered through the square every night after sunset.

Fiddlesticks made a noise that conveyed she did not believe a word Geri just said.

“Well, if you know so much, who do you think is?”

Fiddlesticks hissed and jumped down.

“Can’t argue with that,” she said, then checked the locks on all the windows.

BAZEL

This had gone on long enough. Diminished as he was, he could not afford to be patient.

Mortal doors and locks were no barrier. He slid through without resistance. Soon he stood in Geri’s abode.

She watched television while sitting on a pale yellow sofa with a cat in her lap. The glow from the television screen created a cozy atmosphere.

It was the oddest sensation. He felt an ache in his chest. In all his long life, he had never experienced such simple domesticity. When he came into existence, the scene would have been people gathered around a communal fire to listen to the storyteller, but the spirit was the same: a story at the end of the day.

Over the centuries, he had watched mortals act out this ritual. Never once had he been invited to sit by the fire or watch a program on the television, which was not as cruel as it sounded at that moment. Mortals did not perceive him until they were near death. Occasionally, the soon to be departed offered to share a hot meal or drink. They called him friend. While he did not partake of either, he appreciated the offer of hospitality.

There had been the poet. He only perceived Bazel when he was delirious from drinking. It made for a very one-sided conversation. They were friends of a sort.

Once, a very frail child lingered on the threshold between life and death. His soul was not yet ready to surrender and Bazel could only wait. An entire season passed in companionship. He had never had a proper friend before. Finally, when autumn arrived and the nights grew long, the child left his failing body and moved on.

Bazel, who had always been alone since his creation, had never felt so bereft.

He hadn’t enjoyed the experience. Such emotions were a weakness. He would never allow himself to grow close to mortals again. No more listening to fireside stories. No more lingering in doorways and halls, yearning to be part of the conversation. For more than three centuries he had kept himself removed from the messy business of mortals. Yet now, more than anything, he wanted Geri to smile in his direction and pat the space on the sofa next to her, as if she had been saving it for him.

Friendship with mortals was a foolish business, and friendship with his own kind had been elusive. Perhaps the personalities in his cohort were not the amiable kind. Perhaps it was some quality Bazel himself possessed that kept the others at bay. Amais had been the only one to ever have some regard for Bazel and they had not spoken in half a century.