We end up spending much more time with Floyd than we intended to. It's just too fun to watch him zip around in his endless excitement.

He speed-reads the Botswick notebook - gasping out loud at certain parts - then rereads it very slowly, then reads it a third time while taking notes. He bounces back and forth between shocked silence and wild exuberance. On more than one occasion, he springs up to rush from one end of the kitchen to another, purely to burn off the tornado of energy that whipped him up out of his seat. At one point he gets so excited that he does a lap of both the kitchen and the living room before he races back to his chair.

Like us, he hones in on codename Rouge as an important player in the Botswick case.

“She didn’t come to the meet-up,” he says, peering down at the notebook through the thick lenses of his glasses. “Could be any number of reasons for that, perfectly fair reasons. But Botswick was clearly suspicious of her. Thought she was keeping secrets.”

“We did find that cigarette butt in the evidence,” Aiden points out. “It had red lipstick on it.”

“True, but don’t take that as conclusive evidence of anything,” Floyd warns him. “Even if it was found near the body, that doesn’t necessarily mean it was hers, or that it's even connected to the case. It was the sixties, boys! Everybody smoked, all the time! People used the last cigarette to light the next one. Anyone could’ve dropped it on the beach, or the wind could've blown it there...”

“Then what’s our next step?” I ask, and Floyd gives it some thought before he answers.

“The two Stasi agents,” he says, tapping his pen on the page of his notes. “Let me do some digging on them. The warring intelligence agencies of the time have released a lot of records since the Cold War days. Mostly the ones that make them look good and the others look bad, but - I might be able to find something on these two agents, if I look in the right places.”

Aiden nods, and Ida shifts sleepily in his arms. “What should we do, in the meantime?”

“Keep working on that code. The information in that letter could help me find the agents."

It dawns on me that we have no reason to lie to Floyd about Kasey's role in all this, and she deserves credit for all her work on the case.

“Our friend Kasey is the one working on cracking the code, actually,” I tell Floyd. “She’s a historian, and she's brilliant.”

“Excellent,” Floyd says brightly. “Always good to have a historian on the team. You’ll have to bring her by, sometime!”

Night has fallen by the time we wave goodbye to Floyd and Ida. We talked for a long time, and not just about the case. Floyd is overflowing with interesting stories, and it’s clear that he’s had no one to tell them to for a long time. Aiden and I have a lot to tell Kasey and Will about when we get back.

As we drive down the wooded, secluded road that leads away from Body Bag Books, I think to myself that Kasey really would like Floyd, his oversized dog, and his tiny, disorganized bookshop. I do intend to bring her by to meet Floyd, even if Floyd can’t meet her. As soon as she can leave Ketterbridge, that is.

Team Ghost Office will solve this case, and then we'll make the ghost battery. I'm determined to do everything I can to make it happen.

Kasey will be able to go wherever she wants, and keep Will by her side while she does.

~~~~

Kasey looks down at the sea of paper blanketing the workbenches at the Ghost Office.

"Nice work, Jamie," she says approvingly.

I searched up everything that she asked for about Stasi Cold War codes, then printed it all out. I’ve got it laid out page by page, so that Kasey can read them without having to turn them, which she can't do. I also pulled out two old textbooks that she requested, left open to the relevant pages.

In the middle of it all, I put the coded letter from the well, weighed down with some of the gemstones Aiden’s mom left him.

Kasey has pulled her shoelaces out, tied her hair up. I can already see thoughts moving behind her dark eyes, sense her sinking into a place of deep focus and concentration.

Will is outside, talking with Aiden. He'll be staying here with Kasey while she works. The ghosts can't write anything down, which means that Kasey can't take notes. Will essentially offered to be her notebook, instead. He's exceptionally good at remembering every word she says to him, as he's proven time and time again.

Aiden and I offered to stay, too, but Kasey firmly turned us down. She prefers complete peace and quiet while she works.

Will is good at providing that. He was incorporeal for centuries, so he’s used to staying silent for endlessly long stretches of time. But I think he volunteered so eagerly because he loves to watch Kasey work. And Kasey doesn’t mind it, because Milo used to do the exact same thing.

Now that I'm thinking about it - Will and Milo have more in common than just that.

I met Milo when I visited Kasey in New York. I'd heard a lot about him, but didn't really know what to expect.

“He’s always looking beneath,” Kasey had told me.

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but as soon as I met him, I understood.

He had these perceptive, sea-green eyes that seemed capable of looking right through things, through people. I got the sense that he skipped past the surface of whatever he was looking at, listening to, or thinking about. Like Kasey said, he was interested in what lay beneath.

He had a genuine warmth that made him easy to talk to. Coal-black hair that he fidgeted with when deep in thought, that he ran a hand through when he laughed. He was always ending sentences with phrases like - but what do I know? I could be wrong.

But I could tell how much he understood, how deeply he could see. I saw right away why he went into archaeology. To unearth and understand the layers, the foundations hidden beneath our feet.

He had already gone on a dig by the time he met Kasey. When I asked if he had any pictures from it, he pulled one up to show me. Everyone in the photo was gathered around the biggest remaining architecture of the ruins, except Milo.

He was off in the background, kneeling behind a little carved statue of a goddess that was still attached to its marble base. He was distracted, not looking at the camera, but rather straight out over the head of the figure. I had the feeling that he placed himself behind the stone eyes of that small, long-lost goddess because he wanted to see what she was looking at.

Will, on the other hand - he's been around to actually see the buildings become ruins, to watch as the earth slowly layered over them, as new life sprang up on top of them. He’s a walking part of the story that Milo was always digging at. It's evident in every word he says, in even the smallest of his gestures.

It makes sense to me that these would be the two men Kasey has loved. Both of them live and breathe history.

Not that Kasey’s told Will that she loves him. But I see the way she looks at him. It’s a new flavor of the way she used to look at Milo. There are differences in every subtlety, but the same thing exists at the core.

With Will here, I suspect that Kasey will spend the night working away happily. Just like she used to with Milo.

Still, I feel bad.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay?” I ask again. “What if you need our help?”

“I’ll be fine,” she promises, already bent forward over the printed pages. “I’ve got Will.”

She says it with so much certainty that I stop pushing and let it go. I lean over to kiss the top of her head, and she flashes me a very quick smile before she turns back to her work.

I head over to the open rolltop door, watching Kasey over my shoulder. Then I turn to face forward again, and stop still, my eyes widening.

A wave of incoming fireflies breaks gently over my head, filling the wide doorway, glittering and glowing. Brushing against me as they go past, moving as if carried by the breeze. I stare at them, hypnotized, watching as they flow into the Ghost Office. Little clusters of golden light, spreading out to illuminate the entire interior.

“Hi,” Aiden rumbles.

I blink rapidly, twisting to face him. He’s leaning his shoulder against the doorway, his blue eyes luminous with the reflection of his fireflies.

“Think that’s enough light for them to work by?” he asks, nodding at the ghosts.

Will has materialized by Kasey’s side. He's looking with interest at the pages spread out on the workbenches, his blonde hair falling forward, green eyes bright and curious.

I nod silently, amazed that Aiden made so many fireflies in one night. I've seen him do it by accident, but not on purpose. He’s really getting good at them. He started out making one at a time, sinking focus and concentration into each one. Now he can make them spill out from his hands in shimmering waterfalls.

He looks a little tired, though. It must have taken some effort. I should probably get him home.

Will quietly says something to Kasey that makes her laugh and give his shoulder a shove. He breaks into a happy smile, leaves a hand on her back as she turns back to the code.

I take my Companion Plant by the hand, and leave Kasey with hers.

~~~~

Aiden is sprawled out on his bed, reading the poetry book I gave him for Christmas. The one filled up with all my little love notes. I think he’s probably read it twice already, but he keeps going back to it, starting over.

Maybe more than twice, actually. The pages are starting to take on a slightly worn quality, and that book was brand new when I bought it.

I’m curled up next to him. Watching him. The occasional slow, languid movement of his body. His blue eyes, somehow both serious and dreamy. The way they go back to reread certain lines.

I’m admiring the look of him - all handsome and quiet, nestled in the downy bedding - but I’m also thinking about what he said in the car on the way home.

I was telling him my thoughts about Milo and Will, how they’re different and similar. I explained the way that Milo seemed to hear more than what was said, see more than what was visible.

“You do that, too,” Aiden had answered. “In your own way, but - you’re always doing that.”

He caught me off guard, saying that. It was a reminder that Aiden has his own way of seeing me, and it’s definitely very different from how I see myself.

“Hm,” he says softly, without looking up from the poem he's reading.

I gaze up at him, smiling, my face half-buried in a pillow. “What?”

Sometimes he’ll read me little lines or phrases that stand out to him. I like it when he does that.

“Surrounded by cozy earthtones,” he says, reading out of the book. “Cozy earthtones.”

He looks over at me, his eyes staring right into mine.

I blink at Aiden, waiting for an explanation. He reaches out and gently trails his thumb over the curve of my cheekbone, just beneath my eye. He usually looks into my eyes deeply, but this - it's like he's admiring the surface.

His lingering gaze makes my cheeks start to burn.

Aiden bites his lip, then suddenly sets the book aside. He rolls me onto my back and climbs on top of me. I let out a surprised laugh, folding my fingers into his chestnut hair.

“What’s-?” I begin, then shut right up as Aiden kisses me deeply, his mouth melting into mine. I sigh happily against his lips, cozy in the safety of his arms.

Sometimes I still can’t believe that this is the same person who made me cry myself to sleep so many times in high school.

I don't get how the same person can be so soft and tender with me, how hands this big can be so gentle. How a voice I always found ice cold now reminds me of warm, melted caramel. How there could turn out to be such powerful magnetism between us, an eternal fire of responsiveness between our two bodies.

It’s always there, but sometimes it burns white-hot. It's starting to happen right now. I can feel it.

Aiden pulls back and looks down at me, his blue eyes molten and smoldering. My breath catches in my throat, and my hands catch the hem of his t-shirt. I pull it off of him, and he leans back, drops his head to let me do it. The powerful muscles of his back and shoulders all shift with the movement, the natural strength of his body on full display.

I love taking Aiden’s clothes off. I don’t care if he’s in a t-shirt or a sweater, or his dress shirt after work, open at the neck, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I love it every time.

I roll us over, sit astride Aiden’s bronze body, and bend down to brush little nibbling kisses all over him. His breaths pick up with the movements of my hands and mouth, with the teasing way I rock myself against him, until he’s panting. His hands slide up the back of my shirt, rippling the fabric until he drags it over my head and off of me. Then they slide back down my spine until they find the edge of my jeans, and slip beneath it.

I draw back, and we stop for a second, staring at each other, out of breath. Aiden looks up at me, imploring, and I look down at him, enraptured.

Aiden Callahan, I think wonderingly, reaching down to stroke his cheek. Staring into those blue eyes. Remembering the first time we tangled our bodies together like this. It was in this same bed.

Or - was it?

I’m struck out of nowhere with a long-forgotten memory. A time back in high school when I was running pell-mell for the main building, being chased by two upperclassmen who were being jerks to me. Aiden was walking in the opposite direction, alone, and I didn’t see him. I crashed right into him, knocked us both over, and landed on top of him.

I guess that was the actual first time our bodies ended up all tangled together.

I remember expecting Aiden to do or say something terrible, like he always did. But he didn’t say anything at all, only stared up at me with very wide blue eyes. I staggered back to my feet and kept going, and he didn’t say anything or try to stop me. He hadn’t even gotten back to his feet by the time I made it far enough that he slipped out of my sight. He just sat up and stayed there on the grass, silent and unmoving. He watched as the two upperclassmen came running after me, laughing and shouting at me.

I forgot about the whole thing, because for some reason those two guys never bothered me again, after that. And while I expected to get a lot of shit from Aiden about it, he never said anything about it. Not even once.

I wonder if he remembers that day. But it’s an embarrassing memory - I mean, I was fucking mortified - and I don’t want to ask him.

Maybe I will, eventually.

Maybe when we have our own home, a place overflowing with safety, warmth, and intimacy… maybe we’ll both find it within ourselves to open up about things like this. We’ve already shared so much with each other - things we would never share with anyone else - but I know that with Aiden, there are always deeper layers to explore. It’s something I love about him.

I want to know everything, everything that Aiden keeps locked up in his heart. And I want to tell him about the things I keep locked up in mine.

I have a feeling that it’ll be so much easier, when we’re finally sharing a key.