All the Rules of Heaven (All That Heaven Will Allow #1) - Amy Lane Page 0,14

the paperweight. You show me the room, we’ll start with the paperweight—but make it a good room, Angel, ’cause I’m spending the next month touching shit and clearing the place out. If I can’t change being stuck here, I’m going to change where I’m stuck. You understand?”

Angel hopped from the dresser like he was a real boy and nodded. Standing, he was short—five eight or nine to Tucker’s six two. He regarded Tucker soberly, as though giving real weight to his words, and Tucker tried not to let his chest get too achy at the sight of those vulnerable freckles. Aw dammit, Damien! You would have hated this place. We could have wreaked beautiful havoc here and made it lovely.

All he got back from Angel was a brooding silence.

“What?”

“What do you think will happen to this place, once all of the psychic energy is gone? It’s an energy trap, Tucker. Do you really mean to let people stay here again?”

Tucker shrugged, standing up and wandering to the window. The ghosts were starting to wander in, fading as they got closer to the house. He wondered if…. “Why not? I mean, we could even bill the place as haunted. It’ll be great!”

“But… but….” Angel actually sputtered, flailing his hands in untold directions as he tried to find words. “It will self-perpetuate. Don’t you understand?”

“What were you going to do with it?” Tucker demanded. “Raze it to the ground? What good will that serve?”

“What good?” Angel asked blankly.

“Yes! It was obviously built as a place to trap souls—”

“Not trap,” Angel said primly.

“Of course trap,” Tucker argued. “If it wasn’t a trap, why won’t they leave on their own?”

Angel blinked. “You know, in almost seventy-five years, I don’t remember your aunt ever asking that.”

“Well, we’ll put a pin in it,” Tucker said. “You’re the one who told me it was surrounded by fairy-repelling metal. I’m pretty sure that’s not great for the souls who get stuck here.”

Angel was mouthing the words “put a pin in it,” and Tucker took a deep breath.

“It means ‘save it for later,’” he said patiently. “Can you tell me why we shouldn’t let people stay here now?”

Angel shrugged. “A hunch? Empirical evidence? Just… history? It attracts the living too—people coming to this house or this hostel were troubled, in transition in their lives. So if they visited here and never found peace—”

“They didn’t know to stop wandering,” Tucker acknowledged. “I get it. But that doesn’t mean it has to die! I mean, it was obviously built for a purpose. I looked out there at the garden—not all those people were bad. Maybe it does have a purpose, but not a sinister one. Maybe we should keep the old place from crumbling around our ears and find out, you think?”

“No,” Angel muttered. “I do not think.”

“Lucky you, I am here to do the thinking for you,” Tucker said grandly. He looked outside and watched the shadows stretch longer. Well hell—it was July. If they were stretching that long, odds were good it was near nine o’clock anyway. “But the home improvement will wait until tomorrow. So will the cat. In the meantime, let’s get a snack and get busy.”

He slid into his loafers, yawned, scratched his head, and grinned. Angel stared back at him, still probably trying to find a reason the plan to renovate the place wouldn’t work.

Screw him. Tucker had long ago learned to accept that his life was not under his control. God knew when he was going to be forced to wander down the street and into some stranger’s bed. But he’d learned that the things he could control—what to eat, how he decorated his apartment, how he chose to keep his body in shape—these were the things that made his existence as sweet as it could be.

He had found the equivalent of roast beef au jus, Henri Matisse paintings, and tai chi in this situation, and he wasn’t going to let a snarky, opinionated ghost talk him out of it!

BUT OH Lord, did Angel try.

“I don’t understand!” he complained as Tucker began pan-toasting the bread for a roast beef sandwich. “You hated this place on sight. Why would you want to fix it up?”

“I don’t understand!” Tucker whined. “You’re supposed to be helping me do shit here, and all you can do is complain that I’m doing it wrong. Jesus, I’ve been here less than eight hours. Give the rookie a chance.” With a practiced flip, he turned the bread and let it brown