The Medium (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #1) (24 page)

"Well."
Celia strode to the door but didn’t open it. She turned back to me and the
anger was gone, however the coolness remained. "That is not how it seems. Before
he came you and I did everything together, went everywhere together."

Was that the
real problem? My sister thought I'd abandoned her? "I didn't think you
minded," I said. "Indeed, you seemed quite happy for me to go with Jacob
to George Culvert's. I thought you were happy I was meeting new people."

"I was. I
am." She shivered and rubbed a hand down her arm. "But I did not
expect you to jeopardize your health in the process. It's not like you to be so
cavalier about..." She looked down at the door handle and her hand resting
upon it.

"Catching a
chill?" I offered when she said nothing more.

"About
death." She glanced at me and a stab of sympathy pierced my heart. My
sister blinked away tears but the fear in her eyes remained.
"That
is the influence I'm talking about."

I climbed out of
bed and went to her. "Celia, I am not dying."

"Continue
to walk around in the rain on a cool day and you might."

I hugged her. She
was as stiff as a plank of wood. "Oh Celia, don't fret. It won't happen
again, I promise."

She relaxed a
little in my arms then kissed the top of my head. "Good." She opened
the door. "Nevertheless, you will dine up here tonight then go to bed
early. I'll see you in the morning."

I sighed and
watched her go then returned to bed. I read a book until the light faded and
Lucy brought up my dinner and lit the lamps. She stoked the fire and added more
coal until I asked her to stop. The room was warm enough. She bobbed a curtsy
and left.

A moment later, Jacob
appeared. "It's not an awkward time, is it?" he asked.

"If it is
then it would be too late for you to leave and allow me to retain my modesty."

He chuckled but
did not apologize for popping in uninvited. I went to put my tray aside but he
stopped me and sat on the bed. "Eat." When I hesitated he picked up
the fork and stabbed a slice of beef. He put it to my lips and my stomach
growled. I was starving. He gave me a crooked smile as I opened my mouth and
bit off the meat. "That's better." He fed me another piece and
another. At first he found it amusing but then he grew more serious with each
bite.

He watched my
mouth as I chewed and my throat as I swallowed as if he'd never seen someone
eating before. If it had been anyone else staring at me with such curious intensity
I would have felt self-conscious, but not with Jacob. He had a way of making me
feel special, not strange.

He reached out
to my throat but pulled back without touching me. "May I?" he asked. I
nodded. His fingertips lightly grazed down my throat and, as I swallowed, he
gently pressed his palm against my skin. Tingles raced across my body as he
caressed my throat with his thumb, his hooded eyes riveted to the spot.

"So
beautiful," he whispered.

His words
startled me. He'd said I was beautiful to Aunt Catherine but part of me assumed
that was in defiance and he hadn't really meant it. But here he was using that
word to describe me again, and this time he wasn't trying to convince anyone.

I swallowed once
more because a lump seemed to have formed in my throat. The movement made him
smile, but he pulled away nevertheless. "I'm sorry. That must have been
disconcerting."

"Not at
all."

"I like to
watch you eat."

I'm sure there
was a witty response to that if only I thought about it, but my mind wasn't
working properly. It seemed to be filled with a fuzziness that made thinking
slow. "I like it when you watch me," I said in a voice that sounded
breathy and nothing like my own.

"You
shouldn't," he said then added, "You shouldn't like me at all." He
stood and removed himself to my dressing table stool where he stretched out his
long legs, crossed his ankles and crossed his arms over his chest. He regarded
me as if I'd been a threat and he was safer because he was further away from
me.

I was too
confused by his behavior to think clearly. "I'll like who I want to like,"
I said lamely. "Now stop sounding like my sister and, and..." I waved
my hand. There really was nothing in my head worth saying.

He raised an
eyebrow. "Your sister?" He grunted. "I see she thinks as I do. That
would explain why you're in bed so early."

What in the
world was he talking about? "Stop speaking in riddles. You and she are not
alike at all, in thoughts or otherwise.
You
would not have confined me
to my room after I got a little wet."

That brow forked
again. "Wouldn't I? And what do you mean, 'got a little wet'? I told you
to take an umbrella with you."

"I did. But
it had to cover both myself and your sister at one point so—."

"Adelaide!"
In a lightning quick move, he was at my side again. He must have done his
vanishing and reappearing trick in order to be that fast. "You spoke to
her? Alone?"

"Yes. She
followed me out to the street after I left your parents' house."

"How is
she?"

"In good
health but concerned for them."

He sat down on
the bed and took my hand in his although he seemed unaware he'd done so. "And
how were they?"

I drew in a deep
breath. "Exactly as you said they would be. Your mother doesn't believe
you're dead, even after I told her about the song."

He squeezed my
hand and gave me a sympathetic smile. "Were they very awful?"

"They were
upset, Jacob. That was the awful part."

He lowered his
gaze to our linked hands. "Yes, of course. But even when I was alive my
father could be…domineering."

"You didn't
get along, did you?"

He looked up,
startled. "Not really. You learned that from a brief meeting?"

I laughed. "No,
Adelaide told me."

He chuckled. "Yes,
of course. My sister likes to gossip so I'm not surprised. She never did know
when to hold her tongue." He said it without a hint of irritation and I
got the feeling he would give anything to hear his sister talk just one more
time.

"She wants
to meet with you," I said.

"When?"

"When she
can get away. It's not easy for her."

He nodded. "What
else did she have to say? Tell me everything."

I rubbed his
knuckles with my thumb. "We got to talking about your death and how it
might have occurred."

His hand shifted
in mine but I held it tighter, not letting him go. "I've told you not to
concern yourself with my death," he said. "It happened and that fact
cannot be altered."

"And I've
told you we must learn more. It might be the key to why you can't cross."

He tore his hand
from mine and stood up. "What makes you think I want to cross over?"

I stared at him
but he was pacing back and forth, not looking at me. "But you must—."

"Why must
I?" He stopped pacing and I recoiled at the anger in his eyes. Anger
directed at me. "Why do you want me to go?"

My stomach
knotted at the thread of pain through his voice. I climbed out of the covers
and kneeled up on the bed but did not reach for him like I wanted to. "You
think I want you to leave?" I shook my head over and over and fought
against the tears threatening to spill. "You are the best thing that has
ever happened to me, Jacob. You tell me I'm beautiful, you look at me as if I'm
more precious than the stars in the sky, and your very touch leaves me aching
for more. I've known you two and a half days and yet it feels like forever. How
can you think I want you to leave?"

His breathing
came heavy and fast. The muscles in his jaw pulsed rapidly and it took him a
long time to speak. "I didn't know," he murmured. "You talk
about me crossing over...I didn't know the extent of your feelings." He
stepped closer, closer, until there was nothing between us but an inch of air.

I reached up and
placed both my hands on either side of his face. "I only want what's best
for you," I whispered. "What's right."

"This
is right. You are right for me. Emily." He lowered his head
and his lips brushed my forehead, the touch as gentle as feathers. "I
don't want to cross. I don't want to leave you."

He didn't say "however"
but I heard it nevertheless. My heart opened up and began to bleed, or so it
seemed. It hurt so much. "Go on," I said, even though I didn't want
to know any more. Didn't want to hear the awful words, the ones where he said
he had to go because staying was too hard. Watching me grow old when he stayed
the same was unnatural.

But instead of
speaking, he lowered his lips to mine. His kiss was as light as air as he tasted
and teased again and again until finally I could stand it no more and I pressed
my hands to the back of his head and pulled him closer, locking him against me.
A deep growl rumbled low in his chest and he put his arms around me and held me
tight. I melted into him, conscious of nothing but the strength in his body,
the tenderness of his mouth on mine, and the desire consuming me.

I don't know how
long we explored each other but we became utterly lost as we did so. Eventually,
too soon, we parted.

Jacob rested his
forehead against mine. "Why is it that something that's so wrong feels so
good?" he asked.

"Is it
wrong?"

He kissed the
end of my nose. "A ghost and a girl as full of life as you?" He
nodded sadly. "Very wrong."

I'd not thought
my heart could hurt any more than it already did, but it felt like someone was
trying to pull it out of my body through the eye of a needle. "Are you
going to tell me we must stop this?" It was too hard to keep the hurt from
my voice so I didn't try. "Stop feeling what we feel?"

"Can you?"

"No more
than I could tear my own arm off."

He smiled sadly.
"Me too."

"Then what?"

He let go of my
hands and I almost toppled off the bed as I'd been using him for support. He
went to the fireplace and watched me from there, as if it were safer with more space
between us. I wasn't so sure about that.

"I cannot
watch you live half a life, Emily."

I shook my head.
"What do you mean?"

"Either you
will find another man in time—."

"I won't. There's
no one else for me." Stupid, stupid ghost. How could he think that?

"Or you
will spend your remaining years waiting to join me. That is not the sort of
life you deserve."

I sat back on my
haunches. "But if you are here with me, the waiting won't be so terrible."
Except that I would grow old and he would not. Of course it would be easier for
me, looking at the handsome young man everyday, but for him to see the woman
he'd stayed for turn into an old hag...I couldn't imagine how distressing that
would be.

"And how
long can you wait?" he asked, challenging now. "How many years? You
would not have children, not have a family of your own—."

"I would
have you."

"Is that
enough?" He shook his head and buried his face in his hands.

I went to him
and drew his hands away. "Yes. It is." I traced the contours of his
cheeks with my fingertip, down to his lips. They were still full and soft from
when he'd kissed me.

"I cannot
allow you to do it," he said, taking my wrists and gently drawing my hands
away. "I cannot allow you to give up on living for me."

"I'm not
asking you to allow it."

"You are. And
what if..." He turned his face to the side and shook his head.

"What?"

He closed his
eyes and the dark lashes cast long shadows on his high cheekbones. "What
if I grow weary of watching you wait?"

What did he
mean? That he would grow tired of me in years to come? I could never grow tired
of him. Never.

And yet
he
was not the one who'd turn gray-haired or wrinkly, his body would not sag and
his eyesight or hearing fail him. That would be my fate alone. Of course he wouldn't
want to remain here and watch me age. I really couldn't blame him for it either.

And yet it hurt
knowing his love for me wasn't strong enough to survive the ravages of time.

I let go of his
hands and as if that was a signal, he opened his eyes and faced me.

"I'm not
strong enough, Emily."

"Not strong
enough?" Didn't he mean not in love with me enough to watch me age?

"It doesn't
matter," he said and rubbed both hands through his hair. "I don't
want to discuss it. All that matters is that you were right before. I
must
cross over."

"No,"
I said weakly. "I was wrong. I don't want—."

"Please,
don't do this to me! I cannot stay. It'll be...torture."