Love, Like Ghosts: A Bay City Paranormal Investigations Story

and the sunshine felt nice. “In the memories Lyndon’s sent me before, Cassius was the name of the man Lyndon loved. If this is the same Cassius, it’s possible that he witnessed the murder or had some other insight that made it likely he was right and that Lionel Groome really did kill Lyndon.”
“Wow.” Greg shot a wide-eyed glance at Adrian. “You said you got a glimpse of Lyndon’s death through his memories, right?”
“Yeah. Just bits and pieces, really.” Stubbled jaw. Straining neck. Soiled white collar, blue flowers. So familiar. Where in the hell had he seen that curve of jaw before? And did it really belong to Lionel Groome?
“There’s a picture of him in the castle’s main hall.”
Adrian stopped so suddenly Greg stumbled. “Who?”
“Lionel Groome. We had to take it down for the haunted house. I remember it was a big pain in the ass because it was original to the castle so we had to get permission to move it.” Greg frowned. “Adrian, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Fine.” Adrian chewed his lip, thinking hard. Now that Greg mentioned it, he remembered having seen the picture hanging on the wall behind the head of the long oak dining table. He’d been one of the ten students it had taken to move the massive piece of furniture for the haunted house. “I need to look at that picture.”
“Yeah, I figured you’d want to. I mean, if the old guy really was the murderer, and you saw part of his face—well, kind of—then you’d be able to identify him if you saw his picture, right?” Shifting closer, Greg cupped Adrian’s cheek in his free hand. “Adrian, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, really, it’s just that I kept thinking the part of a face I saw in Lyndon’s memory looked really familiar for some reason.” Adrian laid his hand over Greg’s. “It’s been bugging me.”
Understanding dawned in Greg’s eyes. “Oooh, okay. I hate that. When you know you know something and you can’t pin it down.”
“Me too. My memory’s usually much better than that.”
Greg lifted a skeptical brow. “Adrian, you might have a nearly photographic memory, but you’re always misplacing the picture albums.”
Startled into laughter, Adrian rewarded Greg’s insight with a long, lazy kiss. For once, it didn’t matter that they stood on a public sidewalk on a particularly fine mid-February Saturday morning, for the whole world to see. All that mattered to Adrian at that moment was the taste of Greg’s mouth, Greg’s hands in his hair, the warmth of Greg’s body molded to his. God, he’d missed this during those terrible two weeks like a drowning man misses air. He never wanted to be without it again.
The only things missing now were three little words. Adrian was willing to wait for that.
They drew apart before things could get too heated and started walking again. When they reached the castle’s front door, Greg frowned. “How are we supposed to get in? It’s locked.”
Adrian grinned. “I can move things with my mind, remember?” He gave a mental twist. The lock clicked. He opened the door and swept his arm forward. “After you.”
Greg’s eyes saucered. His fingers clamped down on Adrian’s. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction when I was eleven and did it on purpose for the first time.” Adrian moved forward, tugging on Greg’s hand. “Come on. We don’t want to stand here too long. People do walk past here sometimes, and I don’t want anyone to see us going in here.”
“Oh.” Greg shot a hunted look over his shoulder. “We’re not gonna get in trouble, are we?”
Guilt needled Adrian’s gut. “I don’t think so. I always try to leave everything the way I found it. Except that time I accidentally broke the light bulb in the tower room. And I did replace that.”
Greg shrugged. “Well, I guess it’s a little late to worry about it now anyway, since you’ve already been in here more than once.”
Adrian shut and locked the door behind them with a thought. Greg cast a skittish look at it, but said nothing. Hands still linked, they crossed the foyer into the main hall. Sunshine poured through the arched windows. The brilliant light brought out veins of red and rich gold in the dark wood of the dining table.
As they approached the opposite end of the room, Adrian’s gaze zeroed in on the eight-by-ten photo hanging on the wall behind the head of the table. His pulse sped up as they drew nearer and the sepia tones of the old picture revealed a man