Read Coffee and Ghosts: The Complete First Season (Coffee and Ghosts: The Complete Seasons Book 1) for Free Online Page B

flutter and dive.
    The tailpipe.
    I shift into first anyway. I press the accelerator. The engine sputters and dies. I reach for the key, determined to try again.
    “I wouldn’t, my dear. Carbon monoxide poisoning is a nasty way to go.”
    I concede that this obnoxious entity is correct. So I blast the horn instead.
    Now, in the side mirror, I see two figures. Both run. Both glimmer. My grandmother must be keeping pace with them, blurring their images. No matter what Nigel has done, I need to warn him. He can’t swallow this creature. This … thing will kill him, erase any trace of the brother Malcolm knows and—I suspect—still loves.
    But I can’t leave the cab without the stupid thing choking me again.
    “No, I’m afraid you can’t.”
    “Stop that,” I order.
    “I’m not reading your mind, not really. It’s just that all your thoughts play so clearly across your face. It’s like watching a stage actress.”
    “Watch this.” I hold up my middle finger.
    The entity merely laughs that grating, metallic cackle. The sound freezes both Malcolm and Nigel in place. Then they both race forward again. This time, though, it’s as if Nigel is bolstered by supernatural strength. He’s thinner than Malcolm, but his legs stretch farther with each step, and he outpaces his brother easily.
    He is nearly to the tailgate when I fling open the cab door.
    “Nigel, no!” I shout. My throat aches and my words emerge with a croak. “It’s a trap.”
    I’m right. It is. But not in the way I think. That bed sheet bursts from beneath the hood of my truck and drops down on top of me. Someone screams, but I don’t think it’s me. My mouth is too full of what feels like mist. I cough and choke. I push, but there’s nothing to push against.
    Nigel crashes into me. For a moment, we’re both trapped beneath a fluttering white bed sheet that is there, and at the same time, not there. But he’s done this before, and knows what to do. He opens his mouth as if for a big yawn, and then I am free.
    Nigel falls to the ground. His legs and arms twitch. I am only two feet away, but the chill that rolls off him is a force pushing me back. I can’t get close. I can’t help him. Malcolm catches me from behind, wraps his arms around my waist.
    “The ultimate prize.” Malcolm’s voice is ragged in my ear. “That’s what he kept saying. The ultimate prize for a ghost eater.”
    “A trap. That thing will ... use your brother, maybe already has been using him. I’m sorry.”
    Malcolm’s arms tighten around my waist. He buries his head against my neck. “I’m sorry, too, Katy, for bringing this to you.”
    I don’t want to watch, but know I should. If I must fight this sort of being, then I need to know all its tricks. Nigel rolls on the asphalt, through puddles of coffee and damp leaves. He clamps his hands over his mouth.
    “He’s not giving up the ghosts,” I say.
    “Is that good?”
    “I don’t know, but it isn’t part of that thing’s plan.”
    When I notice the darting glimmer, I can’t say. Perhaps at first, I only think it a trick of the September afternoon light. But this light has purpose. It moves and swoops—just like my grandmother.
    “Oh, my God, she wants in,” I say a second before Nigel uncovers his mouth.
    My grandmother dives inside.
    This time, the scream is mine.
     
    * * *
     
    Nigel stops twitching. He rolls onto his back, closes his eyes, his face almost serene. An infant asleep. Or a man near death. In my mind, I hear an echo of a voice, a command from long ago.
    Katy-Girl, the coffee, now!
    “Coffee!” This comes out as more air than word, but understanding lights Malcolm’s eyes.
    We race for the camp stove. Except for the pot I removed earlier, the rest remains, brewing and steaming and filling the air with an aroma to rival the best coffee shop. Malcolm pours cups of tea from the samovar. When that heady mixture of saffron and spice strikes the air, I think I hear a cheer, the sound both