Free Mortal Ghost by L. Lee Lowe Page A

dreadful stuff.’
    But Jesse would be glad to drink it, anything at this point to avoid a migraine; nightmares. Then a bath and bed: he shivered with pleasure at the thought of an entire night in comfort and safety. To sleep as long as he liked . . .
    As Meg handed him the mug of herbal tea, she let her hand rest on his shoulder for a moment. Unprepared, he camouflaged his reaction with a neck roll, almost smoothly enough to fool her that his muscles were stiff. A small crease puckered her brow.
    Sarah’s voice cut across the open waters between them like the fierce carved prow of a longboat. ‘Are you’re OK? You’re very pale.’
    Tomorrow. He would leave first thing tomorrow. He could feel the weight of Meg’s solicitude bearing down on him like a second ship.
    Why were they bothering with him, a complete stranger? Nobody just took some kid in off the street. He liked them, but well-meaning people were often the most dangerous sort. With the nasty ones you knew where you stood, had no compunction about dealing with them. But those fools who imagined they knew what was best for everybody else, who were only doing it for your own good —if he heard that phrase one more time—they were the ones to watch out for. You wanted a little relief, you wanted to trust them, and then wham! rammed by a bloody frigate. And the self-righteous never forgave.
    ‘ What’s the matter?’ Sarah persisted.
    ‘ Drink your tea, Jesse,’ Meg said. ‘I’ve added some honey for energy. Then get a good night’s sleep. There’ll be time enough to talk tomorrow.’
    At least she hadn’t said that things would look different in the morning, Jesse thought. And then he understood that Meg had reproved Sarah, however mildly.
    Sarah rose, collected the plates, and scraped the remains of Jesse’s quiche into Nubi’s dish. The dog didn’t need any prompting when it came to food, and he’d licked the basin clean and bumped it noisily across the floor with his muzzle, trying to get the very last smear, before they had a chance to wonder whether he’d eat French cuisine. They all laughed, even Jesse, and the slight tension in the room dissipated.
    Sarah brought out a chocolate mousse and arched an eyebrow. Jesse shook his head, then ducked it with a rueful grin. Headache or no headache he could never resist chocolate.
    ‘ Do you have something to sleep in?’ Meg asked him when he’d finished. ‘If we get rain, the temperature will probably drop.’
    ‘ I raided those trunks in the attic,’ Sarah said. ‘I thought it would be OK under the circumstances. But I forgot pyjamas.’
    Sarah was studying her spoon from all angles, as if a secret password were etched somewhere on its surface. She avoided looking at her mother. There was a short silence.
    ‘ It doesn’t matter,’ Jesse said. ‘I can manage without.’
    ‘ No, it’s fine,’ Meg said. ‘Would you mind fetching a pair, Sarah? There should be some in the smaller trunk, underneath the underwear and T-shirts. I’ll bring Jesse an extra blanket in the meantime.’
    Sarah nodded, and Jesse could see the relief on her face.
    A door slammed from the front of the house. Nubi rose from his place at Jesse’s feet and stretched. He padded towards the kitchen door, cocking his head curiously.
    ‘ I’m back,’ a man’s voice bellowed.
    ‘ Dad!’ Sarah whooped, evidently forgetting to use his first name in her enthusiasm.
    Even Meg, normally soft spoken, couldn’t repress her delight. ‘Finn!’ she exclaimed.
    The next few minutes passed in a jumble of hugs and kisses and parcels and cases and exclamations and cameras and questions and snatches of sentences. Jesse had risen with the others and stood a little apart, watching the effervescence with unexpected pleasure. He couldn’t help being caught up in their excitement. When things had quieted down, Sarah’s father turned to Jesse.
    ‘ And this is—’ he began.
    ‘ Jesse.’ Meg said, her smile drawing him into