Chapter Thirty-Two

The ghosts began cleaning things up. Ezra and Phineas put the suit of armor back together, and Gus did some light dusting. Master Gracey watched it all, strolling through and occasionally murmuring his satisfaction. Occasionally, he was bothered by a nagging feeling that he was forgetting something. But that was soon overcome by his curiosity as a sandy-haired spook staggered past. George recognized him as Manny Festation, the young Irishman who frequently gave Bea rides through the graveyard on his bicycle. In his arms, Manny held three of the five busts from the cemetery.

"And where, may I ask, are you going with those?" George questioned casually.

Manny stopped and peered over the top of the marble heads at Master Gracey. "Oh, the ballroom sir. Bea asked me to bring them. She's a wee bit too tired right now to carry anything." As he shifted the weight of the busts in his arms, they let out cries of, "Hey! Watch it!"

"And I suppose this is for a top-secret project."

"Yes, sir."

George sighed. "Just please be careful with them. They break so easily. We've never repaired poor Uncle Theodore." He watched the young man jog away. Soon, he was followed by the medieval minstrels. Holding out a hand, George stopped the bagpiper. "Let me guess, Bea sent you."

"Aye, sir, for a grand event, me and the boys were told." Peering at him, he asked, "Is there some sort of anniversary goin' on?"

Sighing, Gracey murmured, "Maybe." When he didn't comment any further, the band scuttled off. Piece by piece, it came together what Dustin's little sister had planned. He didn't know whether to gush over how sweet it was, or to feel pity.

Dustin, meanwhile, was fumbling with the sheet. Odd. He could make gourmet meals, but he couldn't fold a blanket. "Blast," he muttered, glaring at the corners that refused to properly line up. It just looked like a bunched-up mound. He shoved it onto a closet shelf. Destiny wouldn't notice or care about it.

He didn't get the chance to close the door before his hand was grabbed and he was dragged down the corridor. "Hey!"

"Sorry," said the voice in front of him. "But we don't have much time!"

Dustin furrowed his brow. "Bea?"

"Yeah." Her form flickered into being, but it was still a little faint. She came to a stop in front of the ballroom. "I have a surprise for you!" Clasping her hands together, her freckled face lit with a grin. "Oh, you're going to love this!" Pulling him into the room, she let him soak it all in.

"You're not serious?"

"Of course I am."

He chuckled nervously. Weakly, he whimpered, "Wow."

Destiny set a large, heavy, cardboard box onto the porch Lying on top of it were a few bags. Shivering, she jammed the house key into the lock. "Open! Open!" she hissed through clenched teeth, pulling the handle. When she let go, the door opened for her. Regaining as much composure as she could, she picked up the box. "Thank you," she said, stepping inside.

George closed the door behind her. "You're welcome." He couldn't take his blue eyes off of the box and bags. "What's that?" he asked, tentatively poking the cardboard.

"It's a T. V. Uh, a television set. Marie, a coworker, wanted to give me a housewarming gift. I just have to plug in everything. Given how old this place is, it's going to take some rewiring, but I got the tools for that." She nodded her chin to the bags. "Soon, we should be able to get cable, too."

Grinning, George exclaimed, "I remember hearing about this! There was talk about television before I died. No one seemed to really know what it was exactly. Supposedly, it was going to be like a miniature theater in your home."

"Yeah," Destiny smiled. "You really didn't die that long ago, did you?"

"Nineteen forty-three, right around my forty-third birthday." Whispering, he added, "Don't tell anyone I said that. People think I'm still in my thirties."

Destiny rolled her eyes. "You're as bad as my mother."

"How so?"

"According to her, she's forty and holding. Her grip's got to loosen soon; she's been clinging for sixteen years." She sighed. "Once, she even told people at a party that I was her younger sister. How pathetic is that?" Shifting the weight of the television, she asked, "Is there anywhere I can plug this in?"

After giving it a moment's thought, George suggested, "The game room. I know there's an electrical outlet there."

"Great," grunted Destiny. "Lead the way. Could you grab the bags, please? This is awkward." He took them as she mumbled her thanks. Together, they walked down the main hall. Painted portraits, eleven in all, stared at her with yellow eyes as ghost and girl went past.

"Who are they?" asked Destiny as they passed what appeared to be a grinning vampire holding a lantern. Surely, that was just absurd. But if ghosts existed, maybe vampires-

"I'm not quite sure," George admitted, interrupting her thoughts. He shrugged. "My mother painted them. Some are probably relatives or friends of the family." A withered old woman with a curled lip stared down her nose at them. Smirking, George leaned in close to his great-granddaughter's ear and said in a hushed whisper, "Eerie, aren't they?"

"Just a tad," she confessed, distracted as they passed under the glaring gaze of an old sailor.

One thing they went by made her pause. It was a crudely boarded up door with a placard above it that read "Madame Leota's Private Chambers." Curious, Destiny asked, "Did you do that?"

George nodded. "Shortly after I died. Ezra, Phineas, Gus and I found some tools and planks in the old caretaker's shed. We wanted to make certain that no one would find her." He sighed. "I didn't know there was another entrance." Growing thoughtful, he added, "She's restricted now to what she can do, but I don't want to give her any chances."

Stopping in front of a door marked, "Parlor and Game Room," he declared cheerfully, "Here we are." After walking through the door, he opened it for Destiny. Like every other room, it was dusty, housing multiple cob webs. Smaller than the foyer, it contained several pieces of well-worn furniture: Two love seats, a sofa, a card table, a billiard table, and a small bar with four stools. Behind the counter was a glass display case full of half-empty bottles of liquor.

"What," demanded Destiny jokingly, "no ping pong?"

"It's in the basement."

"Great, now all this place needs is an air-hockey table." She set the box down on the bar and George placed the bags next to it. "Where's the plug?"

"Just down there, behind the counter. There's a mini fridge plugged in."

"Thanks." Stepping behind the bar, she found the electric cooler. Getting down on her knees, she pushed it aside and pulled out the plug. She could tell exactly what she needed and what she should do. Reaching up blindly, she grabbed the bags and set to work. Always interested in new technology, George quietly watched her work. "I know they helped build planes, but I didn't think women could do work like that."

Without looking up, she said, "Yeah, and there's already been a woman president."

"Really!"

"No, I'm just messing with you."

As she was working, a game of pool began to set itself up. The balls gathered themselves into the wooden triangle and shuffled a bit. Two sticks floated out of the rack hanging on the nearby wall. Quickly two men, each holding one of the cues, materialized.

"Say," said the first in a thick southern accent, "you want to join us in a game, George?" He wore a brown derby and a brown waist length coat. Thick sideburns trailed down the side of his face and became part of a short beard and mustache.

"I'd love to, Claude," Gracey agreed, leaving his spot by the bar to get a stick.

"Are we placing any bets, gentlemen?" asked the other male spirit. A black top hat adorned his head, and he wore a matching black coat and cloak. He had a sharp, pointed chin, and a sharp, pointed goatee and mustache. "What do you say, cousin?"

"Hmm, tough to say, Huet," mumbled Claude. "We could just play for fun, of course. But," he stroked his chin, a gleam in his eyes, "we do have a woman present.

"Indeed," countered Huet slyly. "Would the lovely lady wish to partake in our little game?"

"Iffin' she would like to join us, we could up the stakes and have some real fun."

With a soft grunt, Destiny plugged in the television set. "But think of how ashamed you'd be when a woman beat you." Dusting off her hands, she stood up. "I don't think you two could handle it." She pushed a button on the T. V. and it came to life. No cable yet, but a few local channels came in. "I mean, it'd probably shatter your little macho worlds."

"I'd pay good money to see that," George smiled. "I could never knock these two off their high horses."

"Gimme the stick," Destiny commanded. George tossed one, and she caught it. "So, are we making any wagers on this?" She took the triangle off the green felt tabletop. Already, her mind was working out possibilities.

"Well," Huet winked, "if we win, we would like a kiss from the comely young lady. And not a little peck on the cheek either."

"Fair enough," she flippantly agreed. George frowned his disapproval. "And if I win?"

The cousins looked at one another and laughed. "If you win…?" Huet tweaked his goatee.

"What would you like, sweetie?" asked Claude. "Baby bottles? Some flowers?"

"Actually, I'd like to see you give him a big kiss. Not a peck on the cheek either. I want to see some mustache on mustache action." At their shocked faces, she added, "Of course, if you're cowards…"

"We're not cowards!" shouted Huet.

"Yeah, we accept any challenge!" added Sewell.

"Fair enough," said Destiny. "And lady goes first, right? Snooker, carom, or just casual pool?"

They blinked.

"Pool it is. Go 'till you miss, pocket the eight last?"

"Sure," they agreed simultaneously. They watched as she prepared her shot. Then they watched as she leaned over…

"Ow!" "Ow!" Sewell and Huet snarled as George stamped on their feet.

She pocketed three balls on her first shot. Her second go, she got two. Third, four. Huet and Sewell looked nervous. Finally, on her sixth shot, she pocketed the white cue ball, giving them a turn. George wondered if she messed up on purpose.

The two men played as a team, telling opportunities to one another. "That's not exactly fair," George pointed out.

"If the lady wants help, all she has to do is ask," Huet grinned.

"Do you-"

"No." It was all simple geometry to Destiny, just angles. The men may have been good on sheer dumb luck, but she knew how to win with logic. Math had been her best friend when she was a child.

Soon there were two billiards left, not counting the cue ball. They were a fifteen and the dreaded eight. Looking down at them, Destiny whistled. It was Claude's turn. "Mighty tricky, Mr. Claude."

"Oh you just stay quiet and practice puckerin' yer lips, darlin'." He sized up his shot.

"Bad idea," mumbled Destiny.

"Shut up," he snapped nervously.

"Really, really bad idea. I mean, that is a terrible, horrible-"

"Okay, okay!" He moved and hit from another angle. The white ball rolled at lightening speed. THWAK! It hit the eight ball, which quickly rolled and sailed right into a pocket.

"Told you it would have been bad. After all, if you had gone from where you were, you'd be kissing me now."

Huet pushed Claude. "You cost us the game, you stupid hick!"

"You missed as many times as I did!" Claude shoved him back.

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

Destiny didn't even bother to remind them about the bet. It was funnier to watch them argue. She ducked down behind the counter to clean up wrappers, bits of useless wire, and tools. George played with the television's remote.

Trying very hard to go unnoticed by the three other men, Dustin stepped into the room. Walking past the shouting cousins, he approached the bar. George gave him an unreadable arched eyebrow, but then sighed and went back to watching an animated program with yellow people.

Leaning over the counter, Dustin called, "Destiny?"

Springing up in surprise, she knocked her head on the counter. Rubbing the sore spot, she muttered, "Dustin, I get more injuries with you around." She chuckled and he grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry."

"What do you need?"

He opened his mouth, but waited a second before speaking. "Uh, I would like to know if you would-"

"Don't you dare say that about my momma!" Claude shouted. "Them's fightin' words where I come from, buddy! I challenge you to a duel!"

"I'll beat you like I beat you last time! On the count of ten!"

Rolling his eyes, George groaned. "Not again."

Pushing aside their coats, they pulled out revolvers that had been carefully tucked away into hip holsters. Back to back, they stood. "One…" They took a step.

"Are they serious?" cried Destiny.

"Two!" Another step.

"This is really pointless gentlemen," lectured George.

"Three!"

"They're really serious!"

"Four…five…six…seven…"

Dustin leapt behind the counter, knocking Destiny down to the floor.

"…nine…ten…FIRE!"

A bullet whizzed over Destiny's head, shattering a wine bottle. "HA!" crowed Sewell. "I shot you first!"

"You are clearly in need of glasses," snapped Huet. "I got you right in the heart...again!"

Destiny braced herself up on her elbows. Glancing at the broken bottle and the trickling red wine, she said, "Well, at least it's the same shade as the carpet. And they missed the T. V." Turning her head, she came almost nose to nose with Dustin. "What was it you were asking?"

"I…" Suddenly realizing the position he was in from knocking her down and how close they were, he scrambled up. He pulled her up to her feet. "I was hoping you would- Drat." He picked a couple of tiny pieces of glass out of her hair. "Sorry." Before there could be any more distractions, he blurted, "I was hoping you'd join me in the ballroom."

Unexplained butterflies flittered around in her stomach. After a day like today, though, Dustin was just the person she wanted to be with. "Yeah. Okay. Sure!"

Master Gracey watched the couple walk out. There was nothing quite as amusing as young love. Except for the yellow people. He turned up the volume.

As they approached the ballroom doors, Dustin jumped in front Destiny. "Hold on a second. Let me see if everything's ready." His excitement was contagious, and Destiny could feel her heart beat quicken as the doors slowly opened. "Wow," she breathed, grinning.

Dustin peeked around at her. "You like?"

"I love!"

The room had been cleaned of all of its cobwebs and dust. The floor had been swept and mopped, and the broken plates and old food had been cleaned off the table. Even the organ pipes had been polished. The organist was seated at the instrument, with the band to his right, and the five busts on a table to his left. Like some heavenly light, the chandelier illuminated everything below it. None of the usual ghosts, the revelers and the dancers, were there. It was just Destiny, Dustin, and the musicians.

Mr. Baker began playing a surprisingly soft tune on the organ and the band struck up. Amazingly, they were familiar with something other than scattered noise making. Humming in harmony, the Phantom Five contributed to the song.

"Destiny," Dustin sounded a lot more confident than he felt, "would you do me the honor of a dance?" He held a transparent hand out to her.

Looking from his hand to his calming smile, she could feel her shyness melting away. "I'd love to." Taking his hardly solid hand, she walked with him to the center of the dance floor. Baker started playing a waltz and they spun-granted, a bit out of time-to the music.

"Sorry," she whispered, stepping through his foot for the fifth time.

"Well, they are made to walk on." Smiling shyly, he confessed, "I'm not much for waltz."

"Me neither," she admitted, grinning.

"It's rather boring, isn't it? What I like is something with a bit more upbeat tempo. Like…" He furrowed his brow. "Like what I used to listen to."

Thankfully, the band had been eavesdropping as the couple whirled past. "You heard him lads! Let's kick this bloody shindig up a notch!" Somehow, that ragtag band of musicians managed a jazzy tune. The busts caught on and started singing in time. Mr. Baker, who clung to tradition, was soon drowned out in his vain attempt to keep things classy. Grudgingly, he too, played something with a little more swing in it.

"Like that!" Dustin shouted happily. Carried away with the music, he twirled Destiny and then dipped her low. She sprang up quickly, and playfully spun through him and out his other side.

"I swing, too." She grinned at the sight of his pleasantly surprised expression as he turned around to face her. "Took classes for a year when I was fourteen."

"Oh, you couldn't be taught it, love," he said as they jitterbugged. Holding her hands, he slid her on the floor under his legs, and brought her up again. "You had to live it!" Laughing, they continued dancing, spinning through one another, jiving with the beat.

The music swelled and the ballroom dancers appeared. They seemed so out of place so…dead. They didn't move in their own, unique time like Dustin and Destiny did. They just rotated around the couple in the way they had for years.

Dustin was feeling weary, but he didn't want it to end. He felt alive again! The homesickness was gone, replaced by a sense of peace he had never experienced before. The song slowed and became quieter. With a flick of his wrist, he spun Destiny one last time and pulled her close.

She stopped, her hands on his chest. Logic told her that she should have felt his heart pounding, like hers was doing. Looking into his eyes, she realized just how much she cared about him. For once, logic could butt out for a minute and let emotion take control. In a brief moment, their faces drew closer together. Their lips met.

Just a second ago, he had been so tired, but now that energy rushed back into him. He poured every ounce of it into that kiss. For the first time in nearly a century, he felt warm. It flowed through him, melting away the icy coldness of death. So this is love, he thought. In the hallway, the grandfather clocked tolled midnight. Reluctantly, they pulled apart.

"I have to work tomorrow," Destiny explained softly. It was such a horrible excuse. "Good night, Dustin."

"Good night."

Their fingertips lingered on one another until she forced herself away. She could have remained in the ballroom with him forever. Before leaving, she turned and smiled at him. Then she slowly closed the door.

"YES!" Dustin pumped his fists in the air. Exhausted and exhilarated at the same time, he strutted to the graveyard. Once, he even jumped up and kicked his heels together.

Destiny's feelings were different by the time she reached the foyer. What have I done? It hit her full force like a ton of tombstones. Suddenly drained, she leaned against a wall and slid all the way down, knees almost level to her chin. This isn't right. She wrapped her arms around her legs and tucked her head down. I can't do this! All it'll do is hurt him. And me. We don't deserve that pain! Why did I let it go this far? I love him! But I shouldn't. He's dead! Why does it matter? Think about it. Go to Hell, logic!

Thankfully, her inner turmoil was interrupted by pounding fists. The wall she was leaning against shook with the force. Shrieking, she sprang up. Whatever it was, it was coming from inside the gallery. Eyes on the wall, she reached over to a nearby umbrella stand and pulled out an old cane. Gripping it tightly in her right hand, she flung the panel open.

A middle-aged balding man fell face first onto the floor. Destiny screamed. He looked up and screamed. She held her weapon high. He flung up his hands in surrender.

"Please don't hurt me!"

"How the hell did you get into my house?"

"I-I came in here with my group." He scrambled to his feet. "Did they leave?"

"What group?" She still hadn't lowered the cane. "Who are you?"

"I'm Prof-Professor Hahn..." Quickly he added, "From the Parker Institute for Supernatural Research."

She slowly lowered the cane. "You work with Koji?"

"Yes! He was with me, as were two other colleagues."

Something clicked in her brain that made her feel sick. "He led you into my house?"

"Well, he led us here. We found a way in. Please, you must understand, you are sitting on a hotbed of paranormal activity. It isn't safe here! There are violent spirits everywhere!" he screamed, his eyes bloodshot.

The cane shot up again. "You broke into my home!"

"For your safety, miss! We wanted to make sure the ghosts wouldn't harm you." He sounded like he had been genuinely concerned. His sincerity allowed her a tiny bit of pity.

"Do you have a cell phone?"

The question caught him by surprise. "Yes…" he answered timidly.

She smiled. "Great." Then she frowned and snarled, " Get out and call a cab. Now!"

After the front door slammed shut, she flicked the locks nearly to their breaking point.

"He runs fast, for a heavy set guy."

Pale with rage, she turned around to face George. How long he had been there did not matter to her, nor did she want to know why he had suddenly appeared. Spooky shenanigans were not going to lighten the mood. "You…" she said in a low voice, pointing with a trembling finger. "I don't want to hear one word from you."

"But-" the spirit stammered.

"Not. A. Word." She threw the cane back into the stand, knocking it over. Not bothering to stop and pick it up, she stomped into her room and slammed the door. Then she flung herself onto her bed and cried.

A/N: If you were wondering, I did have a song in mind as I wrote the dance scene. It's Squirrell Nut Zipper's Hell.