Perception (Apparition Investigations #1)

Case #1: Villanova Apartments: Part 8

"You don't seem like a Noah," I said, swirling around the straw in my iced water.

We sat in a booth at a local Italian restaurant. It'd been darkened to cater to the late-night daters, with mood candles flickering and soft guitar music dancing throughout the room. We took up one of the large booths, tucked away from the two-seater tables, which ironically gave us the most privacy.

And judging from the way Rose and Noah kept glancing at each other and smiling, they might need here pretty soon.

In the meantime, I tried to get to know him. All the time hoping he'd reveal something about how he'd heard Cyril and Oliver.

He grinned, helping himself to another breadstick. "And what do I seem more like?"

"Mark," I said, then frowned. "Clark. Stark. Oh, that last one fits better, but not quite. Something with a sharp 'K' sound though, I think.  Like your last name."

Rose leaned into Noah. "She likes to give nicknames—she gave Bronte hers. She's still working on mine though."

"I'll get to it eventually," I said, dropping my straw back into my glass. "Something stately. Royal. I'll find it."

Noah smiled at Bronte. "What's your real name?"

"Charlotte. But I love Bronte. Everyone says it suits me perfectly."

He nodded. "It does. Because of the author?" he asked me.

"Yes. Mostly. But just the sound of it too, how it rolls off the tongue—I love the sound it makes."

The waiter returned with our salads. For a moment, there was nothing but the soft crunch of eating. Then Noah looked up at Bronte. "Rose tells me that you've lived in that apartment for almost a year now. Do you like it?"

I worked on keeping my face impassive, even as my entire attention focused on their conversation.

"The stairs suck," she chuckled. "But it's not bad. You looking to move?"

"Thinking about it. I'd like to get closer to work, if possible."

"And where do you work?" she asked.

"Hardwick Elementary. I'm a fourth-grade teacher."

I froze with my fork halfway to my mouth. Bronte's head snapped up from her salad.

Both Rose and Noah laughed at our expressions. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

"But you look—" I started before Bronte jabbed me in the gut with her elbow.

I let out a whoosh of air and that only served to deepen Noah's laugh. "I admit, I was the stereotypical frat boy in college. I guess I haven't really updated my wardrobe much—but I like the style. I'm comfortable in it."

"So long as you don't get white-boy wasted," I mumbled into my salad.

He grinned. "Not on school nights."

Rose put her hand on Noah's arm. "Do you mind sliding out? I need to use the restroom."

He slid from the booth and stepped aside so she could get to the bathrooms. Bronte hopped up from her seat. "I think I'll go too."

Noah and I retook our spots as they disappeared down the hallway on the far side of the restaurant.

He waited until they'd turned from view before addressing me. "Your apartment is haunted."

I eyed him for a moment, not sure whether to deny it. But he sounded certain. And our behavior earlier hadn't exactly given me a solid foundation for lying through my teeth about it now. He'd seen the Ouija board. Bronte had admitted that we'd done something with it.