I was not the guy who pulled his gun and threatened. I was the one who hit you, disarmed you, and then hit you again to teach you a lesson. The lead-up to that took a while, as my fuse was miles long, but once my patience was at an end, it was done. It came from being the youngest child. Six boys had come before me, so by the time I appeared on the scene, my brothers had torture down to a science. I had to learn to ignore them or fight; there was no middle ground. As a result, I could take quite a bit of merciless taunting before I exploded and laid waste to everyone around me. As I got older, though, a weird thing happened. I took on the role of peacemaker, negotiator, and became the linchpin that everyone sought out. My mother had promised me to God before I was born, wanting me to be a priest, and was certain that was what happened to make me so kind and agreeable. God thought he was getting me, so he’d given me super powers. This made sense to her way of thinking.
“You were blessed with a peaceful spirit,” she assured me often.
I tried to tell her, just as often, that it was the rest of her asshat sons wearing me down over the years who were the reason for my nonviolent streak and seemingly limitless patience, which had served me well in the Marine Corps. I’d retired as a captain after eighteen years, and my superiors had always remarked on my ability to turn around some of the hard cases. All of that stemmed from the same place—that my siblings were the spawn of Satan. My mother always waved her hand dismissively and said no, it couldn’t be her sons.
“You’re my angel,” my mother crooned, especially when everyone was sitting around the table during the holidays, thanks only to my powers of persuasion.
I was the favorite of all the wives and one husband of my siblings, which made me the focus of more matchmaking than should have been legal. My father had finally called a moratorium on setting me up when I ended up with three surprise dates for Thanksgiving dinner, one woman and two men. Everyone always said how great it was that I was bi; it made it so much easier to find me a plus-one.
“Maybe I could ask people out myself,” I suggested to my father, and he had agreed.
Since I’d missed so many holidays when I was deployed, I had to promise my mother that even if I was on the job, I would be home for Christmas. She was insistent now that I showed up for everything. I’d been concerned when I first got the case that I might have to go back on my word to her, but when I realized I was going to be protecting a guy who chased ghosts, I had stopped worrying. I would get to the bottom of whatever the issue was, or find whoever was threatening Benji Grace, and be back to use my Blackhawks tickets I’d given Nash for safekeeping.
“Mr. James?” The girl—because she was a child—was talking to me.
“Sorry,” I grumbled, easing my hand from hers, though she didn’t seem to want to let go. “So they’re doing what now?”
“Clearing a spirit out of a home.”
Of course they were. “Okay.” I was careful to keep the sarcasm out of my voice and not roll my eyes. I wasn’t there to judge, even though I had been judging. I was there to figure out why Sian, and apparently this girl, thought Mr. Grace was in danger. “So, two things.”
“Yes?” she asked, sounding hopeful.
“Call me Shaw, and how about I drive to where they are, and you can direct me.”
Instantly her face scrunched up, and she bit her lip. “But I have to take Sian’s van to her or she won’t be able to get back to her shop later,” she explained. “She has some of her inventory in the van, so only one person can drive at a time, and I’m small enough to fit in the back once it’s all loaded up.”
“I’m sorry?”
“But before we go any further, may I say that your aura is really something,” she awed, staring at me like I was covered in glitter.
I girded. I felt myself do it. That internal tensing when you were prepared to be hit. “What do you mean?”
She took a step back and gestured at me. “I have never seen a purple aura in my life,” she informed me, the excitement easy to hear in her voice. “I’ve heard about them, but I’ve never seen one.”
“Really?” I had no idea what to say.
“Most people have brown or red. There’s the occasional green,” she explained matter-of-factly, “but I never thought I’d see purple.”