Cope
With everyone tired from the ride and the afternoon on the beach, they’d walked back to the pier and eaten at one of the restaurants there. The one they chose served American food, so there was something for everyone, even Aurora, who could be finicky at times. Fitz had gotten lobster for both of them, and his daughter was happy as a clam.
They’d all gone back to their rooms after walking back to the hotel with ice cream cones. Cope put the kids in the tub and put Lizbet down in her portable crib. It took longer to get Wolf to fall asleep for the night. Jude had put on the Red Sox game, and Wolf tried his hardest to stay up until the end but ended up falling asleep before the fifth inning ended.
Cope had trouble dropping off himself. Within seconds of Jude’s head hitting the pillow, he was out cold, but two hours later, Cope was still staring at the popcorn ceiling. He tried to reach out to Cyrus Longfellow, but he wasn’t sensing the murdered spirit.
His next trick was to count sheep. When he’d reached seventy-seven, he heard the unmistakable sound of water dripping. Jude had been the last one in the bathroom. Maybe he hadn’t turned the tap off all the way? Getting up, Cope went into the bathroom and saw drops of water splashing into the sink. He turned both the hot and cold knobs, and the dripping stopped. Making his way back to bed, Wolf said something in his sleep that Cope couldn’t quite make out. He hoped his son was having sweet dreams about going to the beach or the amusement park.
Getting back into bed, Cope cuddled up behind Jude, who was sleeping on his left side. Thankfully, his husband had warmedup after his icy plunge in the ocean. His eyes slid shut, and he was almost asleep when he heard another drip come from the bathroom.
Cope pulled away from his warm husband and got out of bed again, this time tripping on the edge of Lizbet’s portable crib. He knocked the baby forward. She let out a yelp but thankfully didn’t wake up. Wolf was another matter—when Cope cried out, the little boy sat bolt upright in bed and started speaking gibberish. The more Cope listened, the more it sounded like his son was speaking in tongues. He and Jude had never even brought Wolf into a church, so there was no way he could have heard those words, unless, of course, he was speaking in Navajo, which he didn’t know either.
Another drip from the sink pulled Cope out of his head. He went into the bathroom and turned the taps again. He ducked his head into the shower stall and made sure the knob in the tub was turned the whole way off as well. He wasn’t in the mood to spend the night in and out of the bathroom.
When he walked back into the main part of the room, Wolf was still sitting up. He climbed in on the other side of the bed and pulled Wolf close to him. He was about to ease his son back onto his pillow when he let out a bloodcurdling scream. Cope felt his heart hammer in his chest.
“Wolf!” Jude called, stumbling out of bed.
Cope gave his son’s shoulder a shake. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t wake Wolf up. He could see the look of fear on Jude’s face. Nothing like this had ever happened to their son before.
Jude scooped the little boy into his arms and started chanting. Cope recognized the words as something he’d heardRunning Eagle sing to Lizbet when he’d visited last Christmas. Thankfully, Wolf stopped screaming. Jude laid him back in bed and sat shakily on the edge of his own. “What the hell happened?” he asked when Cope sat beside him.
“I don’t know.” Cope quickly recapped the issue with the dripping sink and tripping over Lizbet’s crib. “Do you think he was having a night terror?”
“Maybe,” Jude said. “Or maybe it was Cyrus Longfellow haunting Wolf’s dreams.” Jude sounded pissed.
“Cyrus?” Cope said out loud. “Are you here?”
There was no answer.
“I swear to fucking God, if you’re messing with my son, I’ll make you pay.” Cope’s hands were balled into fists.
“Are you okay?” Jude asked, sounding worried. “In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never cursed out a spirit before. Is he here?”
Cope was about to answer in the negative when a voice spoke from out of the blue.
“You and what army?” a sassy voice asked in the darkness. “Cyrus Longfellow at your service.”
“Motherfucker,” Cope whispered under his breath. “Leave my son alone.”
“He’s too cute and so easy to manipulate,” Cyrus gushed, sounding excited.
“Don’t fuck with me. You have no idea who you’re going up against,” Cope gritted out from behind his clenched teeth. He was going to give himself a headache if he kept this position much longer.
“Okay, I’ll bite. Just who am I up against?” Cyrus sounded like he was having the time of his life.
“My name is Copeland Forbes. Not only am I a psychic medium, but I’m also a fifth-generation legacy witch from the Devereaux coven.” His mind spun over different spells he could use against the spirit if he refused to leave Wolf alone.
“I didn’t know Blanche fromThe Golden Girlswas a witch.” Cyrus laughed.
“If you are notverycareful, you’ll find yourself bound to the white supremacist dick I saw on the beach today. I’m sure you’d love spending an eternity with him and all of his asshole friends.”
“Oh, the one with the ridiculous red hat about making America great? That tool? I’d have him shitting his pants inside ten minutes.”
Cope found himself wishing Cyrus would do that to the man even if Cope didn’t bind the spirit to him. “Is that what you’re trying to do to my son, scaring the life out of him?” Cope asked, reaching for every last shred of self-control he possessed.
“Of course not, Cope. I wasn’t here for a long time, but I am here for a good time.” Cyrus laughed, his voice echoing through the room.
