It was a warm night, or at least relatively so. Certainly not a night to be out in shirtsleeves and bare feet, and not a night anyone would want to be sleeping rough, but considering how cold this time of year could be—and the fact that it was almost ten degrees colder in London—it was positively balmy. Not that it mattered much to Kieran, one way or the other. Still and all, there could be a worse night for this.
Fair few others out and about, he noted idly as he strolled the streets. Most of them seemed intent on something, or frantically searching. Few seemed to notice anyone else around them. It made him wonder how many of them would truly find a place tonight. Not many remembered the old ways, fewer still kept them, and Kieran wondered how many could truly find their way home for the holidays, as it may be, without the old traditional signs and symbols.
Well. He supposed he would find out.
It wasn’t like he didn’t know where he was going. He’d spent a good part of his adult life in Lancaster, and his destination was almost as familiar to him as the Demeter. Given the timing, for the holiday, there wasn’t anywhere else they could logically be, and he was looking forward to this. He murmured his excuses as he threaded his way through the thickest part of the crowd. Even if none of them were paying him any mind, never hurt to be polite. The foot traffic, such as it was, thinned out the further outside of the center of town he got, until he had the road more or less to himself. A bit more of a walk, and he was approaching his destination.
The place looked like it had the last time he’d been there. Split rail fence separating it from the properties on either side, wraparound front porch with a pair of rockers and a wooden swing hanging from its roof, gingham curtains in the windows. The cherry trees rattled their bare limbs in the slight November wind, dead leaves littered the ground, and the garden beds up against the porch had been covered with burlap against the frost. The only two unusual things about it was the rather jaunty wreath adorning the front door and the man standing on the front path peering at it uncertainly.
“You lost, lad?” Kieran asked, as if the man was that much younger than him. He might have been a touch older even—it was hard to tell.
The man started and turned, blinking owlishly in his direction. “Oh! Ah—maybe? Sorry, I’ve never…been up this way really.” He paused, then added under his breath, “At least, I don’t think I have.”
“You’d know,” Kieran assured him. “It’s not a what you’re looking for on a night like this, though. It’s a who.”
“I don’t think I’d fit on a dust speck,” the man said with a flash of humor and a wry twist of his lips, but he nodded slowly. “Yes…yes, I’m looking for—my children. But I can’t imagine why they’d be…here. Or how I knew to find them. I swear they’re in there, but…” He stopped and squinted at Kieran. Suddenly, his eyes widened. “Martin? My God, is that you?”
Kieran didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You know Martin?”
“Know him? Sink me! He’s my son. Well,” the man amended, “stepson if you want to get technical, but I—I did adopt him. You know him?”
“Aye, though not as well as you do,” Kieran said, a bit regretfully. “You got more time with him than I did, anyway. I’m his da.” He held out his hand. “Kieran Blackwood. You must be…shit, she mentioned your name a time or two…Roger, is it?”
“Roger, yes. Roger King.” Hesitantly, Roger accepted Kieran’s hand and shook it. “Liliana never had much good to say about you, when she spoke about you at all, but her father always said you were a good man. How did you…know about me?”
“Ah—that’s a bit of a long story.” One look at the man and it was obvious he didn’t know anything about the Fourteen. “Let’s just say she…kept in touch with me after my death. For a while, anyway.”
“That’s…good,” Roger said cautiously. “I can’t say I ever heard much from her myself after I…but I’ve been trying to get back to visit my children since. Never can seem to get very close. You?”
“Up until last year I wasn’t in a place where I really could have even tried, and up until a few months back the distance was too far.” Kieran sighed and nodded at the house. “They’ll be in there. Are you coming?”
“You’re sure?” Roger looked up at the house, too. “It’s…I know this was Alastair’s place, but he’s been gone since even before Lily and I got married. It won’t—”
“Roger? Roger!”
Roger turned in just enough time to brace himself before a pretty, petite woman with glossy black hair launched herself from out of nowhere and flung her arms around his neck. He caught her and whirled her around before setting her down on the ground, smiling broadly into her face. “Amy, my God. I—I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I’ve been trying to find you for years,” the woman, presumably Amy, said, her voice soft and sweet and her smile so broad it almost split her face in two. “You didn’t think I was going to move on without you, did you?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know how this works,” Roger said apologetically. He winced and looked around, then turned back to the woman. “I—I remarried after—”
“Oh, don’t be silly, of course you did. Our little moth needed a mother, and you needed someone to look after you.” Amy freed one hand to tweak his nose affectionately. “You only vowed ‘till death do us part’. I certainly don’t fault you for finding love again. You’ll have to tell me about her later—is she coming tonight?”
“She’d better not be,” Kieran said under his breath. A bit louder, he added, “I don’t rightly know if she’s even dead yet.”
Amy turned to him with a charming smile. “I’m so sorry, where are my manners? Amy Yeun King. I was Roger’s first wife.”
“Kieran Blackwood. I was Liliana’s first husband.” Kieran tugged off his cap and bowed politely. “You’d be—Melanie’s mother, then?”
“That’s right.” Amy glanced at the house and sighed. “I’d hoped I would be able to visit her for a night, but…”
“She’s in there, I’m sure,” Kieran assured her. “At any rate, our Martin is in there for certain and I’d imagine if you’re drawn here, there’s a cake for you.”
Amy shook her head. “I know that much, but I’ve also been trying to get in to see her every year since she started leaving them out, and I’ve never been able to. I—I can’t seem to manage the doors.”
Understanding dawned on Kieran. “Ah. You moved when you and Lily got married, aye?”
“Aye. I mean, yes,” Roger said uncertainly. “Neither of us really lived in a place that had enough room for two growing children, and we thought it might be nice to…form new memories.”
“And I’d wager Melanie was a bit older when she started leaving out soul cakes,” Kieran continued. Amy nodded. “That would be why, then. All of those stories of ghosts passing through solid walls are just that, stories. The ones that do are impressions retreading familiar paths and there wasn’t a wall there when they were alive. You’d need to open the door, and for whatever the reason, spirits like us can’t open doors we’ve never touched before.”
“Oh.” Roger slumped, then suddenly brightened. “Wait. I’ve been here before.”
“You have?” Amy said, surprised and hopeful all at once.
“Yes, yes—only once or twice, of course, but I’ve been. This was Alastair Koskiewicz’s house—Lily’s father—we came up for Christmas the year he had his stroke, and we were here for the funeral the next spring.” Roger turned to Kieran. “And you’ve been here, of course.”
“Of course,” Kieran agreed. “The old man and I got on well. Between the three of us, we can get in there.”
“And do what?”
The new voice that broke in was sharp and challenging, and Kieran spun on his heels, instinctively putting himself between the Kings and whoever this was. Standing a few feet away and looking prepared to fight was a man Kieran could have easily broken in half in life, a weedy academic sort in a bottle green turtleneck and a brown corduroy jacket with patches on the elbows. His hazel eyes were still vibrant despite being dead, but he looked…tired was the only word for it.
Kieran raised his hands in a placating gesture. “We’re just here to visit our kids, mate. What brings you out here?”
The man did not noticeably relax, but he did put his hands in his pockets. “Felt called to visit my son, too. I suppose he’s in there.” Softly, he added, “Glad to know Alastair kept an eye on him when I couldn’t.”
Kieran thawed ever so slightly. “You knew Alastair, too? How?”
“Ah—we worked together. Briefly. Sort of.” The man studied Kieran, then stuck out his hand. “Eric Delano.”
“Kieran Blackwood.” For the third time that night, Kieran shook hands with someone who was at least tangentially connected to his son.
Eric stared keenly into his eyes. “Salesa’s first mate?”
That was not the response Kieran had expected. “Aye. And Alastair’s son-in-law. I was married to his daughter, until, well…” He grimaced and gestured at himself.
Eric nodded. “She was pregnant the last time I saw Alastair. Due early October, I think he said? You were meant to be back by then.”
“Aye, that’s when she was due, but he was a bit early. Came into this world end of August instead.” Kieran smiled wistfully, remembering the fear of nearly losing them both and the joy when he’d first been able to hold him. “He’s a fighter, our Martin. Well, he’d have to be, especially now.”
“Martin? Oh, bloody hell, Mary mentioned a Martin once or twice. And a Melanie? That your girl?”
“No, Melanie’s mine. Ours,” Roger amended, gesturing at Amy. “She’s in there too. You knew Mary Keay?”
Eric grimaced. “Not as well as I thought I did, but…yes. She’s my widow.”
“You’re not visiting her tonight?” Amy asked, all innocence. “Did she not leave a cake out for you?”
Eric and Kieran exchanged glances, and Kieran read something of his own story in the man’s face. He broke in. “I think she’s gone. She was the Bookmaster once, but…someone else was until a few months back, so I reckon she died and they got hold of it somehow.”
Roger looked back and forth between the two of them. “Am I missing something?”
“Probably a lot, mate.” Kieran clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. I don’t suppose we’re waiting on anyone else, but just in case, we can leave the door open.” He started whistling as he headed up the steps.
Amy tugged her husband—widower, Kieran supposed—forward and began softly singing along with him. “A soul, a soul, a soul cake, please, good Missus, a soul cake…”
The main door was locked, more or less as Kieran had expected, but there was a second door around the other end of the wraparound porch that led directly into the kitchen. Kieran headed for that one and tried the knob, and this time it yielded instantly. He pulled the door open and bowed to the other three. Roger and Amy went through eagerly; Eric gave him a nod before following. Kieran checked to make sure the door wouldn’t swing shut and went in after them.
The kitchen was spotless, every dish put away properly and the towel hung with geometric precision. An open archway led to the dining room, where the long farmhouse table with its collection of chairs was set out. Kieran could smell the sweet scent of the soul cakes and headed through without worrying if the others were coming. Sure enough, in the center of the table on the ornate cake stand Alastair had rarely used sat a silver serving tray piled with an intricate heap of round shortbread-like cakes carefully scored with a cross. An assortment of wine glasses sat next to them, and beside those a magnum of white wine, along with a corkscrew. Candles burned gently on either side.
What distracted him slightly, however, was the tiny red dot reflected on one of the glasses. He followed its source and discovered a video camera on a tripod, angled in such a way that it would catch someone entering at either door.
“That’s interesting,” he murmured.
Roger, to his surprise, grinned broadly. He pointed to either side of the room. “There’s more, look. They’ve got the whole setup.”
“It’s a trap, then?” Eric said. He sounded like he was trying his damnedest to keep his voice casual, but Kieran didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked towards the doors.
“A trap? Not in the slightest. Probably just an excuse.” Roger’s grin broadened. “Our Melanie runs a show called Ghost Hunt UK. She started it after she got out of uni. And since she’s been leaving cakes out for us for a while, she and her crew probably thought this would make for an easy episode.”
“Huh.” Eric stared at the table. “Should we just help ourselves, then?”
There was a sound from the kitchen behind them, whispered voices obviously trying not to be overheard but sounding worried. Suddenly a man’s voice broke in impatiently, just a shade louder than normal. “I can’t think what you lot are fussed about. If we’re actually ghosts, which I am still not prepared to accept—”
“Edgar,” another voice hissed.
“—then we’re hardly going to be overheard, are we? So let’s just go in here and—” A man strode dramatically into the room, stopped, waved an arm at the group, turned back, and completed, “—get arrested for breaking and entering.”
Kieran snorted. “Not breaking and entering if you’re invited. Which I assume you were.”
The man frowned at him. “Do I know you?”
“Not yet, but I reckon we’re all in the same boat here.” Kieran gestured at the table. “Soul cakes and wine. Ergo we’ve been invited in. Come on in, you lot.”
A woman in a rather smart suit came in, rolling her eyes and swatting at the first man as she passed him. Behind her came a younger couple clutching each others’ hands—and they were far younger than the first; indeed, if they were in their twenties Kieran was prepared to eat his hat—and bringing up the rear, a man slightly older than them but who could not have more obviously been a ghost if he’d been wearing a bed sheet. If Kieran had to guess, he’d say this one had had to work harder than the others to come back.
“Well,” he said, and his voice echoed faintly in a way the rest of theirs didn’t. “This…isn’t what I expected.”
Kieran felt a twinge of sympathy, although he couldn’t have said why. He stepped over and took the young man’s arm, anchoring him as best he could as he escorted him and the others in. “Come on in, lad, take a load off. Maybe you’ll have an easier time once you’re all the way in.”
“I dunno. Not sure I’m supposed to be here, but…thank you, sir.” The man smiled and let himself be brought in.
“Anyone else in there?” Roger asked, craning over their shoulder.
“All right, all right, hold your horses, I’m coming,” groused another voice, this one older and with a heavy Welsh accent. A moment later a ghost stepped in who had clearly been older than the rest of them in life, which would have been obvious even if he hadn’t been wearing a World War II uniform. He surveyed the room, then saluted them with the stick he carried. “Right. Don’t know why I’m here, but I’m here, so let’s get on with whatever it is, eh?”
Kieran was about to introduce himself or try to explain when Roger waved for the others to wait and stepped over to one of the cameras. He clapped his hands once, waited a second, then said brightly, “Hello, and welcome to a very special episode of Ghost Hunt UK!”
“Oh, really,” sighed the man who’d declared the whole thing to be stupid.
“Edgar,” snapped the woman who had to be his wife.
Roger continued as if he hadn’t heard. “We have been invited here to visit for All Souls’ Day, so we’re going to introduce ourselves and go from there! I’ll start. My name is Roger King, and I’m the father of your usual host, Melanie King.”
Amy stepped up next to him, slipping her arm through his. “Néih hó! My name is Amy Yeun King, and I’m the mother of your usual host, Melanie King.”
She nudged her—husband? Widower? Terms were complicated—to one side, leaving the space in front of the camera free. Kieran grinned. He let go of the younger man’s arm, moved into the vacated area, and waved to the camera. “Ahoy there. My name’s Kieran Blackwood, and I’m the father of Melanie King’s stepbrother, Martin Blackwood.”
Eric joined him, also smiling faintly. “My name is Eric Delano, and…I think I’m only tangentially related to Melanie, but my son Gerard knows her in some capacity, at least, so here I am.”
He gave way to the next ghost, which happened to be the older gentleman. He saluted the camera. “Sergeant Rhys Tonner, late of the first battalion Welch Regiment, and I can’t tell you why I’m here, actually.”
The youngest man—boy, really—relaxed visibly at that. “Oh, we don’t have to know?”
“Of course not.” The woman in the pant suit stepped into Sergeant Tonner’s space, dragging her presumed husband along. “Hello. I am Yekaterina James—Kate—and this foolish man—”
“This is ridiculous,” the man protested.
“—is my husband Edgar,” Kate concluded. “Since he doesn’t believe in ghosts, I’m shocked he bothered coming back as one.”
The young woman giggled. Kate shoved her still protesting husband to one side, and the other two stepped up and waved shyly at the camera. The boy spoke first. “Um, hello there! My name is Jacob Sims—Jake’s fine—and this is my wife Josephine.”
“You can call me Josie, it’s much faster.” Josie glanced over her shoulder at the last guest and moved over. “So I suppose it’s you, then?”
From the way the last ghost moved to the camera and stood, it was obvious he was accustomed to being on film—perhaps an actor or a model, then. “Hello, world! My name is—or was—no, is, I’m still here and I’m still me in spite of everything. My name is Danny Stoker.”
Kieran exchanged a glance with Eric, and he knew they had both caught the note of defiance in his voice and guessed at what it meant. Danny Stoker had known about—or died at the hands of—one of the Fourteen, and it hadn’t been pleasant for him. Neither of them said anything, though, and it didn’t appear the others had noticed. Roger turned to the assembled group. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that most of you have never done this part before?”
The others all shook their heads. Kieran pursed his lips. “I don’t think I could have before this year. It’s not just the distance. I was…trapped. But aye, this is my first time actually getting this far.”
“I’ve tried,” Amy said. “A few times. But Melanie has never been somewhere I could get through the door. If Roger and Kieran—and I suppose Eric—hadn’t been able to open this one…”
“I thought ghosts could pass through walls,” Edgar said with a sneer.
“Only if those walls weren’t there in their lifetime,” Eric said calmly. “You walk the paths you know, not the paths you see.”
“An expert, are you?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.” Eric folded his arms over his chest. “I was an Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute until six months before my death, and I had worked there for nearly twenty years. I’d like to think I know more than someone like you.”
Edgar hmmphed, but subsided. Josie hid a giggle behind her hand. “So why are we here? I mean—I know not specifically, you can’t tell us that, but in general, why here? Why now?”
“It’s All Souls’ Day,” Roger said again. “The day the dead are allowed to come back and roam the earth, even if they’re not usually ghosts. It’s tradition in some places to leave out soul cakes and wine as offerings for the dead who might stop by…I’m not sure how many people do it anymore, but I suspect you’re not drawn to just any soul cakes, so logically, we’re all here because someone in this place was thinking of us when they set out this spread.”
“It doesn’t seem like something my mother would do,” Jake murmured. “But I can’t think who else would. Except wouldn’t she have done it that first year?”
“Maybe she only just found out about it,” Josie suggested. She paused, then added slowly, “Or…maybe Jonny read something. He’s so smart, Jake. He’s already reading. Maybe he found out about it and asked her.”
“Maybe this is an inn of some kind?” Kate’s voice lifted slightly on the last word, implying a question. “Maybe that’s why the ones who love us all came here.”
“Maybe,” Roger said, although he neither sounded nor looked convinced.
Kieran pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I won’t ask for how, that seems…rude.” And I don’t want to talk about how I died either, not in front of the man she was married to, he added silently. “But it seems to me that a timeline might be in order, hey? Work out how long we’ve all been dead?”
“I know it’s been two years for me,” Jake said promptly. “Or that’s what Josie said when we ran into each other. At least two years, anyway—when is All Souls Day?”
“Second of November,” Danny said instantly. He shrugged when the others turned to look at him. “Catholic.”
“So maybe closer to three, then,” Josie said. “My gravestone had the same day as my surgery, eighth of January, 1993.”
Jake nodded. “I died in February of 1991, so that tracks.”
“It’s been…five or six years since I died, I think,” Roger said. “At least I think this is the fifth or sixth time I’ve come back. I…didn’t exactly have a firm grasp on dates before then, though, so I’m not sure what year I died.”
“I never noticed the time passing,” Kate said slowly. “Edgar and I died in August of 1989. Our stone had the same date.”
“Kate, you’re being ridiculous,” Edgar said, although he didn’t sound as convinced as before.
Rhys studied them thoughtfully, but whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself. Instead, he said gruffly, “August of 2002 for me.”
“What?” Josie and Jake squeaked in unison.
Amy, however, was nodding. “That makes sense. I died the fourth of March, 1996, but it wasn’t until Melanie was older that she started leaving out the cakes. And I’ve gone to look for her most years since then, so…”
“At least six of them,” Eric put in. “I…died January of 1989 myself, but the last time I spoke to anyone who gave me a date, it was 2008.”
“More than that,” Danny said softly. “I’m…not actually sure how long I’ve been dead either, but the last day I was aware of was August of 2013.”
Kieran closed one eye, calculating in his head quickly. “It’s…2018 now.”
“How did you work that out?” Edgar challenged.
Kieran sighed. “I died in 1997, but I spoke to my boy last year—long story—and he gave the date as twenty-fifth June, 2017—he mentioned you’d been gone five years then, Roger, so I reckon you died in 2012 or thereabouts. And I know it was last year because I’ve been trapped on this side of things, so I’m a bit more aware of how much time has passed.”
“We’ve been dead for almost thirty years?” Josie said, sounding dismayed.
Jake swallowed hard. “Our Jonny must be a man grown, then. Maybe it was him.”
“How old was he when you died?” Amy asked.
“Two. Well, two and a half, almost. His birthday’s in October.”
“The same age as our Melanie, then,” Roger said. “And our Martin. I don’t remember them ever talking about a Jonny, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t meet him later.”
Kieran bit back a grin as a memory of the conversation he’d had with Martin the previous summer came to him. He didn’t say anything, though. Rhys frowned at the table. “Seems a shame to waste this food they’ve set out for us, whoever they are. Does anyone want to pour?”
Eric reached for the corkscrew. As he did, Roger frowned. “You know, something occurs to me.”
“What’s that?” Kate asked.
Roger gestured at the cameras. “It’s not like Melanie to leave something like this unattended. So someone is probably watching the feeds. I wonder if they might like to come in here and join us?”
There was a soft clunk from the great room—all the ghosts fell silent—and a creak of springs, and then a voice floated in to them. “Oi. Am I close enough to being your sister that I can call you Neenie yet?”
“Yeah?” a confused, sleepy voice replied. “What—?”
“Rise and shine. We’ve got company.”
“It worked? They came?” The second voice suddenly sounded much more awake.
There was a yelp of pain and a couple of thumps, but before any of them could react, a new figure appeared in the doorway—a woman roughly the same height and build as Amy, her hair braided in the same way as the first woman’s but dark with a streak of hot pink in it. In fact, she was a dead ringer for Amy, save that her eyes were a deep, clear blue.
“Dad!” she began in delight, then froze, her eyes widening further. “Mama?”
“Melanie? Sai Ngo!” Amy exploded in a torrent of what Kieran could just about recognize as Chinese, although he wasn’t up enough on the dialects to be able to pick out which one it was, especially at the speed she was going. She stretched her arms out longingly towards her daughter. Kieran was drawing breath to say it likely wouldn’t work when Melanie rushed forward and hugged her. Roger stepped in and hugged both of them.
“WHAT?!” The deep bellow from the other room made Kieran jump. In almost the same breath, a figure appeared in the doorway, one very similar to Danny but at least a decade older, wearing a garish Christmas jumper and a hat with a small jingle bell on the end. He gripped the frame, staring around, then sucked in a sharp breath when he saw Danny. “Oh, God.”
Danny managed a shaky smile. “Hey, Dweebus.”
The man, who was presumably not actually named Dweebus, barely missed knocking over a camera as he rushed forward and threw his arms around Danny’s spectral form. Kieran watched in, it had to be admitted, some relief as his form grew more solid as he clung back, even if his fingers didn’t actually wrinkle the fabric. The man murmured something over and over; Kieran couldn’t quite make it out, but whatever it was, Danny was shaking his head fiercely in reply.
“I didn’t know we could do that,” the voice who’d announced their company, probably a woman’s, said.
“Tonight, yeah,” said a new voice. “Rules are a bit different on All Souls’, especially if proper tribute has been paid.”
“You’d know.”
The man who came into the room looked half dead himself. At first, Kieran assumed it was an affect—hair mostly dyed black except for a wide swathe of white, baggy black jeans, shirt for some band that looked as though it had taken its logo from a blackberry thicket—until the man tilted his head to one side and he caught the faint glint he’d come to associate with the End. There was a fond, almost impish smile on his lips as he looked towards Melanie and her parents.
“Glad you could stop by, Uncle Roger,” he said.
Eric sucked in a sharp breath and touched a shaky hand to his lips, staring at the man. “Gerard?” he half-whispered.
The man started and cut his gaze over to Eric. His eyes widened. “Dad? I—I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”
“First time I’ve been…called to go very far from where I end up,” Eric said with a slightly broken laugh. “God, look at you. You’re—you’re all grown up.”
“Yeah, I survived childhood,” the man—presumably Gerard—said with a touch of irony. He came fully into the room, hesitated, and then hugged his father. Eric hugged him back tightly.
Kieran noticed Josie and Jake, out of the corner of his eye, clutching one another’s hands tightly and considered calling out for their Jonny. Instead, however, two women appeared in the doorway, one with long dark hair and the other with sandy blonde hair cut in a shingle. Kate took one look at the dark-haired woman and gasped. “Sasha? Sasha, is that you? Bozhe moy, do you know us?”
“Mum? Dad?” Sasha inhaled sharply, then gave Melanie a sheepish smile. “All right, fine, I owe you a drink.”
“I told you it would work,” Melanie said. “Eventually.”
The other woman folded her arms across her chest and gave Rhys a nod and a small, slightly uncertain smile. “Hey, Gramps.”
“Alice,” Rhys said gruffly, then held up a hand. “No—no, I remember, it’s Daisy now. Or have you gone back to Alice?”
“Only for special occasions.” Alice—Daisy—hesitated, then came forward and hugged the older man tightly. He softened and hugged her back.
Josie was practically vibrating. Kieran patted her shoulder sympathetically and said in a low voice, “Don’t worry. I reckon they’ve just got to be dramatic about it.”
As if on cue, a figure appeared in the doorway—the one person Kieran had desperately hoped to see.
He looked…good. Significantly better than he had the last time Kieran had seen him, which honestly wasn’t hard to beat. He looked healthier, significantly better fed, and much more well rested. His hair was a bit rumpled, and Kieran didn’t think there’d been that white curl there last time, but his eyes were bright and alert and an even more vibrant green than he remembered, and they almost lit up when they met Kieran’s.
Kieran felt tears prick his own eyes. “Martin. There you are.”
“Glad you could make it, Papa.” Martin came fully into the room, smiling.
Close on his heels, looking uncertain and hopeful at the same time, was a man about the same height as Melanie, his face dotted with the same scars as Martin’s and his hair far more liberally streaked with grey than either Martin’s or Gerard’s. He wasn’t exactly holding Martin’s hand, but there was a strong sense that he wanted to. It wasn’t hard to guess who he was—or who he was waiting for, since except for the hair, scars, and shape of his nose, he was nearly a carbon copy of Jake.
Since both Jake and Josie seemed stunned, and the other man didn’t seem to have noticed them yet, Kieran couldn’t resist the urge to be a little mischievous. “This would be the boyfriend, then?”
There was a choking noise that may have been a stifled laugh, and the man looked even more uncertain, but Martin simply smiled even more broadly. “No.” He put his arm around the man’s shoulders and looked down at him, an expression of such genuine love in his eyes that it almost physically hurt to look at, before returning his gaze to Kieran. “This would be the husband.”
“Great jumping grasshoppers, you can do that now?” Jake exclaimed, his tongue evidently freed by this new shock.
Danny and the man who was likely his brother both started laughing, whereas Martin’s husband went ashen. “I—good Lord. Are you…” He trailed off and gave a small, slightly hysterical laugh. “I—I don’t even remember what I called you. Isn’t that awful.”
“You were two,” Jake pointed out. He swallowed hard, looking him up and down. “And…it’s November of 2018, you’re—you’re thirty now? Jesus. Look, just—just call me Jake, yeah? I’m not sure I could handle ‘Daddy’ from someone twelve years older than I am.”
“Liar,” Josie whispered theatrically. Ignoring his sputtering, she moved closer and reached up, hesitantly, to touch the man’s face. “Jonny? Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”
“M-Mum,” Jonny—no, Martin had called him Jon—managed.
Josie made a face. “No, you’re right, it doesn’t sound right with you being so…so grown up. Josie. I’m Josie. And you’re…”
“Just Jon.” Jon hesitantly covered Josie’s hands with his own, then gave her a hug.
Jake stepped up and held out a hand to Martin. “And I thought Jonny—Jon—was my copy. So you’re his husband?”
“That’s right. Martin Blackwood-Sims.” Martin shook Jake’s hand. “It’s good to finally meet you, sir.”
“Nope, none of that. Jake. No one ever called me sir in my life and I don’t think it’s going to start in my death.” Jake looked over at Josie. “Did anyone ever call you ‘ma’am’?”
“A few times, but only over the phone. In person it was always ‘Miss’.” Josie kissed Jon on the cheek and hugged him again.
Kieran shook his head with a fond smile and came over to give Martin a hug. “Sorry it took me so long. I’d have come last year, but it was a bit far.”
“We didn’t set anything out last year,” Martin admitted, hugging him back. “It was…things weren’t going great. We’re in a much better place now.”
“I can see that.” Kieran stepped back and studied Martin up and down. “You made it back in one piece, then?”
“Wouldn’t have if you hadn’t given me the strength to get out of there.”
Melanie stepped away from her parents and wiped her eyes. “Right. Introductions all around, then?”
“Got most of them on camera,” Daisy said. “I’ll edit as needed, but just to refresh…” She started pointing. “Martin, Jon. Jake, Josie, Kieran. Melanie, Roger, Amy. Sasha, Kate, Edgar, who doesn’t believe in ghost stories even though he’s in one.” Edgar sputtered indignantly, but Daisy continued. “Eric, Gerry, Danny, Tim. Sergeant Rhys Tonner, and I’m Daisy. That’s the lot of us. All parents except Danny, who’s Tim’s brother, and my grandpa here.”
There was a brief moment of silence. Kate broke it by laying her hand on Sasha’s arm. “You must tell me what you’ve been up to. I haven’t seen you in so many years, doushenka.”
That seemed to be the spark that started the conversation. Tim turned to introduce Danny to Gerard—no, Gerry; Sasha began explaining things to her mother while her father sulked; and Josie turned to Jon and Martin. “I know we don’t have time for all the questions, but I’m curious about you two. How long have you been married?”
“Six weeks,” Jon said.
“Forty-five days, twenty-three hours, and four minutes,” Martin said at the same time, then added, “If you want to get technical.”
“Not that you’re counting or anything,” Josie said. Martin laughed and didn’t deny it. “Where was it you met? Roger mentioned not remembering hearing anything about a Jonny.”
“No, we met at work,” Jon replied. “I, ah, I was appointed Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute in London. Martin was one of my assistants.”
“No joke?” Jake exclaimed. “I worked there for a bit. Not long, mind. I was still on my trial period.”
Jon’s eyebrows shot up. “I…I never knew we had trial periods.”
Jake shrugged. He looked a bit sheepish. “Don’t think they usually did, to be honest, but I didn’t have a degree or anything. I’d been mucking along with odd jobs for a couple of years, but…well, we were looking for something more stable and a mate of mine told me there was an opening for a practical researcher at the Institute. I thought about lying my way through the door, but I reckoned, well, maybe if I was honest it would do me better. The head—James Wright, that was his name—said he’d hire me on and give it a go and we’d see how things went from there.”
Martin pressed his lips together tightly for a moment. Kieran considered prodding him, then decided that wouldn’t be wise. “You said was. Martin, do you not work for the Institute anymore?”
“It closed down,” Martin said. “Long story, although we have the Bookmasters partly to thank for it. I also wasn’t an assistant at that point.”
“Which is also a long story,” Jon added. “Should we have poured the wine out before our guests arrived, or—”
Daisy’s head suddenly whipped towards the kitchen door, and she hissed twice through her front teeth. Gerry and Martin both straightened, and Martin—seemingly without conscious thought—pushed Jon behind him before putting himself between everyone else and the kitchen.
“Who goes there?” he demanded.
There was a brief pause. “I do.”
Gerry inhaled quickly. A moment later, a figure appeared in the doorway, an old woman in a woolen skirt set, hair pulled back into a thick knot. Her face was sharp and angular, her eyes a green still vibrant despite death, and she seemed…uncertain, if only for a second. Then she straightened up and met Martin’s gaze.
“Archivist,” she said.
“Archivist,” Martin said in reply. He tilted his head to one side, then added softly, “That isn’t why I invited you.”
The woman inclined her head. “Then you know.”
“Had it confirmed a couple of different ways. And it can’t really hurt anyone if we acknowledge it. Not now.” Martin gestured to the table. “There’s a place set for you. If you’d like to join us.”
“I would be honored,” the woman said solemnly. She glanced around the room and flinched slightly at the sight of Eric, who was gaping at her, and Gerry. “Eric. Gerard.”
“Gertrude?” Eric said incredulously.
“You can’t tell me you’re surprised,” Gerry said casually, folding his arms over his chest. “You knew Aunt Lily worked with Mum, you had to at least guess I knew Martin and Melanie.”
“I’d…rather hoped you weren’t that close. More to the point, I’m surprised you’re able to join in.” Gertrude scanned the room. “Sasha, it is good to see you again.”
“Good to see you, too, Ms. Robinson,” Sasha said politely.
Martin made a quick round of introductions, ending—Kieran knew—with the most important. “Jacob and Josephine Sims—Jake and Josie—my father, Kieran Blackwood…and this is my husband, Jonathan Blackwood-Sims.”
“How do you do,” Jon managed.
Gertrude looked around the room. “I don’t suppose Alastair is coming.”
Martin hesitated. “I’m not sure.”
Melanie picked something up off the table and waved it in their direction. “No, look, here’s one.”
Jake frowned. “Alastair is a tape recorder?”
“Something like that,” Martin allowed. “It’s…another long story.”
“We don’t have all night, do we?” Danny asked quietly. “We have to go back at dawn.”
Gerry nodded. “Afraid so. Everyone but Kieran, because he’s not resting at the moment.”
“Working on that,” Kieran grunted.
“Lucky,” Amy said under her breath. Louder, she added, “Is someone going to pour out the wine? Let’s have this party proper while we have the chance.”
“I’ll do it.” Eric stepped forward and uncorked the wine with a professional twist of the wrist.
Soon everyone, living or dead, had a flute of wine and a soul cake. It seemed like a toast was in order, or something, but no one seemed to know what to say; they were all staring at one another awkwardly.
Kieran was almost ready to fumble his way through something when Martin raised his glass and sang out unexpectedly. “Safe and sound we’re home again, let the waters roar, Jack…”
Melanie, Gerry, and Jon all joined in immediately. Kieran knew the song, too, and he raised his own glass and joined in. Eventually everyone at least picked up on the chorus, and the whole house rang with singing.
There were still questions, lots of them. And Kieran might be the only one who would be able to stay long enough to get all of the answers. But for right now, this was enough. For right now, this was everything he could have asked for—everything any of them could have asked for, really.
They had the chance to see one another, to spend time together, to meet their children and their children’s lovers. A true, full family meal, even if it was only cakes and wine, and a chance to get to know their family. And they were one family—that was obvious. A vast, sprawling network of siblings and in-laws and love.
His first All Souls’ Day, and hopefully not his last. But Kieran knew it would be one he would cherish the memory of for the rest of his existence.
He hoped Martin felt the same.