Rhea and Taryn returned with a round of hot wine, Taryn carrying the pot and Rhea ladling it out. Joe held out his glass. Rhea's eyes met his as she dipped the ladle into the pot, pouring the stream of red. The glass heated between his hands. They didn't speak, but Joe thought that for a moment Rhea might have recognized him. He felt someone tapping on his knee and jumped.
It was only Misha, handing him a dish of apples. "Eat. This or red dyed eggs. I saw bread in the kitchen, but they tell me that's for later. Hah! As if the ghosts care what we eat."
"Always thought they liked pepperoni pizza myself." Joe said, absently taking an apple. "You had too much to drink?" Misha asked, looking into his face.
"Nah. It's loud in here, it's giving me a headache." Joe said.
"It's as quiet as the grave. What are you talking about?" Misha asked.
"Not that kind of loud. Never mind, Misha. Egyptia's trying to get your attention."
Rhea sat back down in her chair, a glass of red wine like heated syrup in her right hand. Taryn stood by the mantle, leaning, a knight in repose. There was a vase of dried flowers behind her head, framing her black hair with a halo of red and orange. Joe felt his head buzzing like a kicked hive when he glanced at the girl.
"We should welcome our guests to the house. All wanderers may come in tonight, and no one will be turned away from the fire. From now until dawn, let all who come in peace be welcome here." Rhea held out her glass in a toast.
The vase of dried flowers on the mantle crashed down, shattering on the tile floor of the hearth.
"Taryn?" Rhea asked, wine cup still midair. The girl backed away from the mantle.
"It wasn't me." The sound in his head was splitting him open. Joe gave in, and listened. The door opened, and the voice rushed in like water over a dam, confused, terrified. It wasn't a prediction after all; it had no coherence, just an outpouring of anguish. He clutched at his head with the force of it.
"It's not Taryn. Listen, we've got a very scared guest on our hands, and he's freaking out. Wait, calm down, we'll talk to you…" Joe stood up, one hand still on his temple. The wreath of flowers and ears of corn swept off the mantle in a rush, scattering to the floor.
"Okay! Listen, he's scared to death, too many people. Everybody get out of the living room." Joe waved them out and stood in the center of the room, facing the fireplace.
"Leave it to Joe to find a ghost who's scared of us," Misha said, as Egyptia pushed them out of the room.
"Is this part of the Halloween party?" Stephan asked Irene and Garnet. Taryn hesitated by the archway into the middle room, waiting for a signal from Rhea, who hadn't left her chair.
"No, Taryn, you stay. You make him calm," Joe said, motioning back into the room. The flowers and corn husks that had been stirring around in circles subsided as Taryn stepped back into the room. "Good. He's calming down a little. Come stand next to me, he won't look at me directly right now. That might help him talk to me."
Taryn stood shoulder to shoulder with Joe, facing the fireplace. "Do I know him?" She whispered.
Joe shook his head. "No, he doesn't read you as Taryn. He seems to like being around you, it brings him joy…he associates you with somebody he loves. Give me a minute, he's starting to trust me more with you here. He's not making a lot of sense yet." Joe put his hand on the girl's shoulder, the wind around the fireplace died down. "There, that's it. We're friends here. This is a safe house, you are welcome here." Joe said, soothingly.
"Can you see him? What does he want?" Taryn asked, staring at the fireplace.
"I don't know. I see a lot of red and orange, angry adolescent colors. He's young. He's confused too, he's not sure why he's here."
"The ritual probably drew him in. Joe, can you ask him what he needs from us?" Rhea said, calmly.
"I'll try. He's very upset, he doesn't want to talk to any adults. Adults are his enemies. He wants to be around Taryn, but she can't hear him. He's scared, he doesn't want to move on, he hasn't been dead long. I'm getting a lot of regret, a lot of shame. I think he took his own life. He's caught, but he's freaked out about going on." Joe said.
"Tell him to go into the light!" Stephan called out from the middle room.
Joe whipped around and shouted at him. "No! Don't do that, it gets him all agitated. He can't stand the light. It's okay, I'm right here with…who? Evan. Taryn, he reads you as a guy named Evan. Your energy is familiar to him. Talk to him, he's whirling around again."
"What am I supposed to say?" Taryn asked.
"Just talk to him. Get him to focus on you and tell his story. I don't know how to help him." Joe said.
"Hey buddy. Hey, it's me. Evan. Chill out. Whatever happened, it's cool. We can deal with it. You want a beer? Sit down and have a beer with me." Taryn dropped down into a crouch and grabbed for a beer bottle.
"That's good. He's listening to you. See if you can get him to talk," Joe said, stepping away.
"So what's going on? What's got you freaked out?" Taryn asked.
"He's slowing down, he's focusing on you. Keep it up. Just be calm, offering him a beer was good. He's got tears in his eyes. That's what I'm seeing, he's looking at you and he's crying." Joe said.
"What's with the tears? What's got you down, buddy? Hey, anybody gives you shit, I'll kick their ass." Taryn said.
"He's laughing. His name is Clifford, I think he's Canadian. He's saying he's sorry, he keeps repeating that, telling you he's sorry. He didn't know what it would mean."
"What, Cliff? What are you sorry about? Come on man, it's Evan. You can talk to me. Couldn't you talk to me about anything?" Taryn asked, her voice low.
"He's shaking his head. Not this. This was bad. He's turning his face away from you." Joe said.
"What is this shit? You think I can't take it, Cliff? You killed yourself, right?" Taryn asked.
"He's nodding, yes, yes." Joe said.
"I know how things can suck. I'm sorry because I miss you, not because I'm mad. I'd never be mad at you." Taryn said, in her own voice.
"You would for this. It's better this way, but he's scared, he doesn't want to go." Joe's voice was very soft.
"Try me." Taryn said.
For fifteen seconds the only sounds in the room were the breathing of the living and the snap and hiss of the fire. Joe crouched down next to Taryn and started speaking, slowly. "It's afternoon. I see walking home from school, I see kicking up leaves. He's happy. Evan is walking with him. They were working on a project for an art class, building a castle out of clay. Grade 10? I think so. He's just looking at you, he loves you. He loves you."
Taryn shifted her weight, the beer bottle dangling from her hand. "That's it? That's the bad thing?" She asked Joe.
"Yes. He won't tell you, he knows it's wrong. But he's too happy. His mother asks him why he's smiling. He tells her. She gets very very angry, makes him kneel down and pray. He's sick, perverted. You are going to burn in hell, she shouts at him. And you'll drag your friend down with you."
"Tell me he didn't believe that." Taryn asked, horrified.
Tears were sliding down Joe's cheeks, into his beard. "He believed it. He didn't want you to be sick, too. He went upstairs and hung himself in the attic. He's afraid to move on, he thinks the light is the fires of hell, like his mother told him."
Taryn started to swear, but Joe looked at her sharply. "He thinks you are mad at him. Tell him it's okay." Taryn felt a bolt of fear climb up her spine. How was she supposed to make this dead kid feel like it was okay? It was something she didn't know herself, if there was enough love in the world, if there was peace. She nearly told Joe she couldn't do it, when the vision from the ritual came back. Just a flash, the sight of the woman walking down the street, her laughter…and Taryn felt it, the same joy and recognition. It gave her a certainty that life was funny, it was full of grace if you knew where to look. The veil, for that one instant, was brushed aside. It was easy to talk to the boy after all.
"I'm not mad at you, Cliff. I'm mad at your mom. Have I ever lied to you? The light isn't the fires of hell. You didn't do anything wrong. Love is a good thing. Listen to me. You can hang around here for a few more hours, until dawn. Have a beer with me. But it'll be okay to move on, I promise. There is no hell."
"He's crying. He needs something more, he isn't sure." Joe all but whispered. "I love you too, man. It's cool. It's just like a door opening. You can walk through when you are ready." Taryn said, looking toward the fireplace. Joe took a deep breath, and stood up. "The weight is gone. He's here, but he's done talking. He's just lingering. I think he'll be okay."
The storytelling started up, in a more muted tone. The bread was brought out, platters of cold meat and cheese, more wine was poured. Taryn sat with her back against the wall, next to the fireplace. She sat there for the rest of the night, occasionally sipping at the bottle of beer Joe handed her. She watched the rest of the party, watched Rhea and Joe take over the entertaining as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. People started to drift home as the night wound down. Egyptia left with Stephan and Ray, Misha fell asleep on the couch. The women of the coven helped Rhea clean some of the debris, carefully leaving Taryn and the fireplace a wide berth.
Joe was the last, staying as he said he would to help Rhea douse the fires. The candles and the flames in the pumpkins were all blown out. When they came to put the fire out in the fireplace, Taryn finally got up and stretched.
"Almost dawn," Joe said, lifting the bucket over the last glowing coals.
"Wait." Taryn held her beer bottle out and tipped the last bit of liquid onto the fire. "Go on, buddy. The door's open." She walked toward the kitchen as they poured the water.
She was sitting at the table drinking wine when Rhea came in and leaned against the door-frame. "Joe's gone?" Taryn asked, looking at the middle of the floor.
"Yes," Rhea said.
"You like him," Taryn said, in what might have been a nonchalant way.
"He's a good man," Rhea said, simply.
"He was good with the ghost," Taryn said, and looked away.
Rhea came and sat down at the table. "You were good with the ghost. He needed a boy. He was drawn to you, because of who you are. Not to Joe, not any of the others. You said what he needed to hear. But you've been quiet all night."
"I... yeah. There was something during the ritual, it got me thinking," Taryn admitted.
"What about?" Rhea asked. Taryn lifted her head, her face white and drawn in the morning light.
"Having a place to belong. Being loved. Things like that."
Rhea took the wineglass away from her and held her hand. "The wine was too sweet; you'll have a hangover. I don't have the right touch for making hot wine."
"Your touch is all right to me," Taryn said.
Rhea gripped her hand. "Samhain's over. Come to bed, my once and future King. We can clean all this up later on in the day."
The End.