“So what you're saying is that you did literally every step wrong and somehow everything worked out?”

“Yes. Which actually reflects pretty poorly on your plan, dude.”

“My plan worked magnificently, and you know it.” Aiden tosses his tie into the backseat. “We got the info, we didn't get caught, and you even had time to make a friend. If anything, it reflects the high quality of my plan that so much went wrong and it still worked. Speaks to its… uh, flexibility. And foresight.”

“Okay, we can go back and forth on this for hours,” I raise my voice over the wind. “Can we both agree that the plan was terrible and that I am an incredible genius who saved us, and just move on with our lives?”

“Absolutely not, no. One thousand times no.”

Aiden looks good driving my car. I’m glad he’s talking, because it gives me an excuse to let my eyes linger on his profile. The top two buttons of his dress shirt are undone, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His dark hair is coming uncombed by the breeze, and afternoon sunlight tumbles in through the windshield, catching on his eyelashes. He has all of the windows rolled down, a small mercy in the sense that the nervous sweat all over me is cooling off and drying up. The suit, on the other hand, is going to need a lot more work before it looks normal again. I already shucked my jacket and tie, which means that Aiden and I are almost wearing matching looks, now. Like a real ghost hunting team. I can’t help but smile to myself.

“What I’m saying is,” he continues, “That without the plan, none of it would have worked.”

I like him so much. I like his plans. I like how they usually go wrong and how sometimes they end with freestyle dives out of second-story windows.

“Okay, well, what I’m saying is, if I had stuck to your terrible plan, I’d be in like - I don’t know. Timber jail?”

“Timber jail?” Aiden laughs, pushing a stray strand of chestnut hair back from his forehead. “That… I mean, doesn’t sound like the worst possible scenario? Sounds easier to escape from than regular jail. All you’d need is a match. Or a lighter. You have both of those things in this car right now.”

“I could escape from any jail, so long as you aren’t the one who plans it.”

“Admit it, Jamie, you didn’t plan any of that back at the FIC, you panicked and coughed up the entire truth and then got extremely lucky.”

“What matters is, I bring the results, babe.”

Aiden rolls his eyes, smiling.

“Fine. You know what? I’ll give you that.”

“I’m basically a master criminal now. What should we do next? Steal the Mona Lisa or something?”

“Just want to remind you that the so-called master crime we committed was stealing a digital copy of a scanned document worth exactly zero dollars.”

“Speaking of which!” I extend my palm, and Aiden uses his free hand to dig the thumb drive from his pocket. He drops it into my fingers. I turn it around slowly. “Here it is. The coveted prize.” I plant a little kiss on its plastic side. “Do you know the things we’ve done to acquire you? Do you know what we sacrificed?”

“Alright, that’s enough of that, give it back.”

“Give it back?” I give Aiden an incredulous look. “No, come on. We’ve been driving long enough, aren’t you dying to see what’s on this thing? There could be a full report of William’s death.”

“Of course, but I’m not sure how thorough of an examination we can do while pulled over on the side of the freeway.”

“There’s a food exit like two miles ahead, I saw the sign.”

“You just want to get more coffee,” Aiden says.

“Only partially correct. I do want more coffee, yes, but also…” I wiggle the thumb drive at him. He looks like he’s going to argue, but he merely lets out one of those smiling-sighs and flips on the blinker.

We end up at a greasy, tiny diner with a tin roof and only two other guests: a trucker half-asleep at a back table and a woman at the counter picking over the last bits of some blueberry pancakes. Oldies play faintly over the gurgle of an espresso machine. Aiden and I look somewhat out of place in our dress shirts and suit pants, but no one bothers to look up at us aside from a waitress refilling the trucker’s coffee. She gestures towards the counter, so we head to it and stand waiting. The thumb drive is still in my hand. I glance up at Aiden, who has one palm on the countertop, the other resting comfortably on his work bag. This disheveled, slightly undone business look he’s got going is really working for me, and I’m having a lot of fun, surprisingly, and I’m excited to see what new information we got-

“You look happy,” Aiden observes, turning and catching me staring. “Having a good time?”

“Yeah, well-” I scramble an answer. “I just had no idea that a life of crime would suit me so well.”

The waitress, who has just returned to the counter, arches an eyebrow but doesn’t comment.

“A life of crime, is it?” Aiden smiles widely at me. “Have I created a monster?”

“You’re jealous because I’ve just discovered my true calling as a supervillain.”

The waitress lets out a little snort, and we both turn to look at her, surprised. She pauses, one hand on the register.

“Sorry.” She shrugs at me. “You just - I don’t think you have the right face for a supervillain. Your whole vibe is wrong for it, really.”

Aiden’s giant grin is threatening to spill over into a laugh. I fix both him and the waitress with the darkest glare I can muster.

“Is that the meanest face you can do?” he asks, poking me in the ribs. “That’s so cute.”

“It is cute,” agrees the waitress, and I toss my hands up in defeat. “So are you two here to rob us, or something? Next step in the supervillain track? You’re doing a terrible job. I’ve already seen both of your faces. And there’s like twenty dollars in this register.”

“I don’t suppose you do caramel macchiatos here?” I ask, and the waitress raises her eyebrows.

“Drink of choice for supervillains," Aiden mutters.

"We don't make those. I guess I could Google how to do it?”

“We will have two regular coffees,” Aiden says firmly, taking me by the arm. “My adorable outlaw and I will be right at that table over there.”

He loses the battle when we sit down. He presses his hands over his mouth, but I can see the laughter living in his eyes, see it shake his shoulders.

“Oh, come on, is it so funny?” I reach over the table to smack his arm. “I can do a mean face. I just need to practice.”

“No, I actually don’t think you can.” Aiden grins, all white teeth and dark hair and big hands in the booth across from me.

“Okay, well, maybe not a mean face, but I can do an angry face. I just have to be properly angry.”

“I know, Jamie.” Aiden’s smile falters and dies. “I’ve seen it before.”

Right. High school. God, he used to make me so frustrated and pissed off. Now he just makes me frustrated, but in ways I’m definitely not going to explain to him. The dream flutters through my head, and I quickly push it away.

“Hey.” I smile at him over the Formica tabletop. “Don’t be sad.”

“I’m not.”

I get out of my seat and slide into his side of the booth. He looks up at me, surprised.

“Scooch over.”

“What are you doing?”

“Well, I can’t see what’s on the laptop from the other side of the table, can I? Are we not still on a ghost hunt?”

“Ghost hunting now, is it?” The waitress sets two mugs down on our table. “Abandoning supervillainy so fast?”

“Maybe it’s part of the supervillainy, you don’t know,” I tell her.

“I don’t know how to do a macchiato, so I just put a bunch of caramel in there. What do you two want to eat? I know you’re not taking up one of my tables for two cups of coffee.”

“Just bring us a super big plate of pancakes, please," I answer.

She nods and sets off towards the counter. Aiden turns to look at me.

“You know, Jamie, I didn’t really think this had to be said, but we’re actually not supposed to go around telling everybody that we’re on a ghost hunt. Unless, you know. You want everyone to think we’ve lost our minds.”

“It was a necessity the first time and an accident this time. And I have lost my mind, for the record.”

“Is that so?”

“That is so. Sitting with you, in a roadside diner, on a ghost hunt? What must I be thinking.”

His smile returns fully, and the restaurant suddenly seems a little brighter. Pleased with myself, I take a sip of my coffee and promptly gag on a mouthful of pure caramel.

“Holy shit.” I slide it away from me, half-choking.

“Too hot?” Aiden asks, extracting his laptop from his bag.

“Nope, it’s perfect,” I answer, reaching frantically for a cup of water. This draws out one of his huffing laughs, and I close my eyes for a second, savoring the sound, rough and sweet. I open my eyes to find him smiling to himself, powering up the computer. “Hey. I know you said that you hate road trips, but I get the feeling I’m not the only one having fun.”

“I guess it’s different with you.”

My heart trips over itself. He’s busy logging in, so he doesn’t see the immediate red flare in my cheeks. Thank god. I offer him the thumb drive, and he plugs it in.

“Which files did you take?” I ask, as he starts clicking open folders.

“Everything related to the Newman & Starr company from the year of William’s death. We’re lucky he didn’t get to work there long. Really helps with narrowing things down.”

“We’re luckier than he was, poor guy.” I remember what Aiden said before: An accident. The incident report suggested he somehow ended up in the river. So he was sort of half-crushed, half-drowned. I almost shudder just thinking of it. “He died so horribly. No wonder he turned into a ghost. Isn’t that a thing? That ghosts are more likely to be borne of violent deaths?”

“That actually doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Aiden answers, with firmness of fact.

“No? Really? That’s some information. I’ll have to email Devin.” Aiden blows out a long breath and leans back in his seat to give me an exasperated look. “I’m kidding! Sort of. Mostly. Is the incident report in there?”

“Let me see.” He scrolls through the pages at a speedy rate, scanning his blue eyes over the text. “Here’s an incident report - oh, that’s about someone else, Clint Nelson. But they usually keep these things together… here.”

The image taken of each document is accompanied by a typed version of all the text: thank you, Mara, because the handwriting is faded and swirly and difficult. A brief silence ensues as Aiden and I read the incident report.

“Noooooooo,” I groan, and Aiden’s head drops forward.

“After all that,” he mutters, his voice muffled against his palms.

“Seriously, the original is the exact same as the summary?”

“I can’t believe it. I really thought we’d find something.” Aiden sighs deeply. “This sucks. I’m sorry. We wasted an entire day. Jesus Christ. Are we terrible at this? We can’t make the glasses work, we didn’t get the full incident report, we couldn’t find the cemetery…”

“Okay, first of all, we are terrible at this. But we’re the only ones trying to help William, so we’re also the best at this, technically.”

Aiden looks over at me, his mouth smiling but his eyes sad.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I tell him.

“Do you?”

“I do. I’ve seen this face before. You’re upset because you wasted time when you could have been honing your skills, right?” Aiden looks surprised, but he nods slowly. “Okay, hear me out. William has been dead for like, two hundred years. He can wait a little longer. He’ll just have to be patient, and it’ll pay off for him. Because we’re going to get the glasses working, and find the cemetery, and we’re going to rescue him, and it won’t matter that you didn’t start sooner."

Aiden looks like he's going to say something, but he only bites his lip. I try not to let my gaze linger on the gentle press of his teeth.

"For the record, Aiden, you may be bad at magic, but you're also the only magic I've ever come across in the whole world. So know that even when you're blowing things up and starting small fires, it looks pretty fucking cool from where I'm standing."

He just looks at me for a moment. I watch his face break into a small smile. He reaches over and messes up my hair, and my heart is helium-light. I need to stop looking at him before I do something I regret in front of a diner's worth of people, so I grab the laptop and face it towards me. 

“I refuse to accept this day as a total loss, by the way. Maybe these documents can still be helpful, right? We could just sort of… learn about the company, flesh out our picture a little bit? Sometimes the solution is in the details.”

“Honestly, Jamie, how are you always so optimistic about everything?” Aiden fidgets with his watch. “I wish I could be like that. I’m jealous.”

“Shush, okay? There must be something. We’re going to make a breakthrough soon. I can feel it.” I tap the arrow key to move to the next document - and freeze. “Aiden,” I say, but he’s already noticed. He sits bolt upright, and we both lean in closer to the laptop. 

This document is far too faded to read on a screen, but thankfully Mara is a champion who already transcribed it for us. We both read the text, then stop and look at each other. Wordlessly, we lean in together to read it again.

“What the hell?” Aiden mutters.

“What does this mean?” I breathe, and he shakes his head.

“I honestly don’t know.”

Ketterbridge September 10th 1822 - Concerning the matter of William Clarke

Dear Henry,

I have recived [sic] your report in regards to the unfortunate passing of William Clarke. I implore you to handle this matter with extreme care. Things at present are in a precarious state. These new factories may do as they please, but I fear that were the true circumstances of Mr. Clarke’s demise revealed, the consequences for a company so young as ours could be disastrous. [Illegible]... have done everything possible to express our contrition. Mr. Clarke’s body has been recovered and interred at the business’s expense. [Illegible]... exception of the request that he be buried with his pocket watch, which could not be found.

Mr. Newman himself has asked me to express to you that disturbances resulting from this unfortunate incident could be quelled if the report of the death was altered to [Illegible]... more forgiving, and the old version destroyed. The sole witness to the event has family under our employ, and has been made to understand that silence is [Illegible - water damage].

Let us bear this loss with Christian fortitude and think on brighter prospects ahead. I trust you will do the right thing for the business. Mr. Newman does not forget those who show true loyalty.

Your friend, as ever,

Robert

“Well.” I sit back in my seat, my head spinning. “Looks like the road trip wasn’t useless at all.”