Chapter 36: First Date
The dining room felt like a stage set for a play he hadn’t rehearsed. Elias adjusted the collar of his shirt for the tenth time, the starch feeling like an accusation against his usual rumpled state. The grand table, usually a landing strip for mail and abandoned coffee mugs, was polished to a sinister gleam, reflecting the flickering light from a dozen candles. Their flames danced across the stern faces in the portraits, making their painted eyes seem to twitch with judgment.
“Breathe, man. You look like you’re waiting for a firing squad.”
Elias jumped. Moonbeam was leaning against the doorframe, her form solid and glowing softly in the dim light. She wore a simple, gauzy dress that might have been white once, and a wreath of spectral flowers perched in her long blonde hair. Her wide smile was reassuring.
“It’s just a date,” Elias said, his voice tighter than he intended.
“It’s a catalyst,” Moonbeam corrected gently, floating closer. “You’re not just feeding the house tonight. You’re building a bridge. A living, breathing connection to the outside. We haven’t had one of those in… well, a long time.” She reached out, her cool hand a brief, calming pressure on his arm. “She already feels the pull, Elias. Why else would she keep coming back?”
A crash from the kitchen made him flinch. It was followed by a low, guttural curse in what sounded like Gaelic.
“Colin’s… helping with the roast,” Moonbeam said diplomatically.
“Is the roast going to survive the help?”
“His heart is in the right place. He’s just a bit strong for fine china.” She tilted her head, her expression turning serious. “Remember, we’re all here. We’ll be subtle. A warm draft where there shouldn’t be. The scent of roses. A perfectly timed record skipping on the player. We’re your wingmen. Or wing-ghosts.” She winked. “Just be you. The you that’s brave enough to live in a haunted house and make deals with the dead. That’s a pretty interesting guy.”
The doorbell chimed, a deep, sonorous gong that vibrated through the floorboards. Elias’s heart attempted to leap into his throat. He shot Moonbeam a panicked look, but she was already fading, her form dissolving into the candlelight with a final, encouraging smile.
He walked to the front door, his footsteps echoing in the sudden, watchful silence of the house. He could feel them, all of them, holding their collective breath. The air was thick with anticipation.
He opened the door.
Ashley stood on the porch, and the world outside seemed to fall away. She wasn’t in a casual delivery outfit. She wore a simple, short, dark green dress that made her skin glow, and she held a bottle of wine in one hand. Her smile was warm, genuine, and completely unafraid.
“Hey,” she said. “You clean up nice.”
“You… uh… you too,” Elias managed, stepping aside to let her in. “I mean, you look great. Come in.”
She stepped over the threshold, her eyes widening as she took in the grand foyer, the sweeping staircase, the soft glow emanating from the dining room. “Wow. It’s even more incredible at night. Less ‘abandoned’ and more ‘atmosphere’.”
“That’s one word for it.” He led her toward the dining room. “I hope you’re hungry. There’s, uh, hopefully a roast.”
They entered the candlelit room. The table was set for two with mismatched but elegant china that Seraphina had somehow directed him to find in a dusty sideboard. The air carried the rich, savory scent of seared meat, underpinned by the faint, impossible fragrance of blooming roses.
“This is amazing, Elias. You did all this?”
“I had… help.” The words felt like a monumental understatement.
As they sat down, the house itself seemed to lean in. A gentle, warm breeze, smelling of a summer night, drifted through the sealed room, causing the candle flames to sway. From the old gramophone in the corner, a vinyl record crackled to life, and the soft, languid strains of a jazz standard from the 1920s began to play.
Ashley’s eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “Mood music? You’re full of surprises.”
“You have no idea,” Elias muttered, pouring the wine she’d brought.
The dinner was, against all odds, a success. The roast was perfectly cooked, the vegetables were tender, and the conversation flowed with an easy rhythm. They talked about books, their terrible college jobs, their dreams. Ashley was sharp, funny, and looked at him with a focus that made him feel like the only person in the world. The ghosts, for their part, were impeccably behaved. A glass was nudged closer to her hand when she reached for it. The music shifted seamlessly to match the tone of their talk. It was subtle, perfect support.
Until the champagne.
They’d moved to the grand salon with their dessert, a rich chocolate torte that Jezebel had apparently known how to conjure from memory. Elias had found a bottle of vintage champagne chilling in a cellar he’d never seen before. As he worked the cork, he felt a familiar, mischievous presence at his shoulder.
Pop.
The cork flew out with more force than he’d expected, ricocheting off the ceiling. The frothing liquid surged up and over the lip of the bottle, drenching his hand and sleeve.
“Oh, shit,” he laughed, grabbing for a napkin.
But then the champagne bottle was lifted from his grasp by an unseen force. It hovered in the air, tilted, and began to pour itself perfectly into two waiting flutes on the coffee table. It poured with an elegant, practiced twist of the wrist at the end, preventing any spill.
Ashley stared. The flute floated through the air, gliding smoothly to stop directly in front of her. She didn’t scream. She didn’t look terrified. She looked… fascinated.
Slowly, she reached out and took the stem of the hovering glass. Her fingers brushed against the invisible ones holding it. A shiver went through her, but her gaze remained steady. She looked from the glass to Elias’s stunned face.
“So,” she said, her voice calm and clear, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “The help you had with dinner. Were they the same ones who’ve been paying for your groceries?”
Elias’s breath caught. The music from the gramophone scratched to a halt. The warm breeze died. The house was utterly, profoundly silent, waiting for his answer.
She took a sip of the champagne, her eyes never leaving his. “The tips were very generous.”
The silence in the salon was absolute, a physical weight pressing in from the dark corners. The floating champagne flute still hung in the air between them, a crystal accusation. Elias’s mind raced, scrambling for a lie, any lie, that could explain this away.
Then his eyes caught the delicate, geometric pattern tattooed on the back of Ashley’s arm as she held her glass. The memory slammed into him with the force of a physical blow.
It was on a book. A small, leather-bound journal with no title, tucked away in the back of his uncle’s private library. The same symbol was tooled into the cover in faded gold leaf.
“You,” Elias said, his voice low and dangerously calm. The warmth from the dinner and champagne evaporated, leaving a cold, sharp clarity. “You knew. This whole time.”
The floating flute wavered and then shot back to the coffee table, landing with a sharp clink as the unseen presence released it. The air grew cold.
Ashley’s knowing smile didn’t vanish, but it softened into something sadder. She placed her glass down carefully. “I knew your uncle was involved with something. I didn’t know about… them.” She gestured around the room. “Not for sure.”
“Involved with what?” Elias took a step forward, his body tense. The ghosts in the walls felt like a coiled audience. “Start talking. And don’t you dare lie to me.”
“It was a group,” she began, her gaze steady on his, refusing to look away. “A society, they called themselves. The Orphic Guild. It sounded so academic, so harmless.” She let out a short, humorless laugh. “They were obsessed with transcending the physical plane through… intense experience. Pleasure was their sacrament. They believed it could thin the veil, let them communicate with what’s on the other side.”
Elias stared, the pieces clicking into a horrifying picture. His uncle. The house. The energy.
“I was young and stupid and looking for something that wasn’t… mundane,” she continued, her voice gaining a raw edge. “I got the tattoo after my initiation. I left after a year when things got too intense, too controlling. I kept this,” she touched her arm, “as a reminder of my own stupidity. And a warning.”
“My uncle,” Elias prompted, his voice a gravelly whisper.
“I heard rumors he was a major patron. A collector of their… artifacts. When I got the delivery route that included this address, I thought it was fate. I started bringing packages, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, to see what he was really about.” She looked down at her hands. “Then he died. And you moved in.”
She finally met his eyes again, and her expression was utterly open, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t seen before. “At first, I thought I could learn about Alistair through you. You were just a source. But then… I kept wanting to come back. Just to see you.”
The confession hung in the frigid air. The betrayal was there, sharp and real, but it was tangled up in something else, something that felt dangerously like hope.
Elias looked from her face to the tattoo, then toward the shadows where he knew Mary and the others were listening. The house itself seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for his judgment. He finally let out a long, slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.
“So,” he said, the ghost of a wry smile touching his lips. “You’re not just into me for my ghostly roommates.”
A genuine, relieved smile broke across Ashley’s face. “The floating champagne was a pretty strong selling point, I won’t lie.”
Elias chuckled. "Seriously, though," he said, "getting involved with me could be...complicated, in ways that are hard to describe."
A genuine, relieved smile broke across Ashley’s face. “The floating champagne was a pretty strong selling point, I won’t lie.” She took a deliberate step closer, the space between them crackling with a new, unspoken understanding. Her gaze was direct, no longer hiding behind implications. “But Elias, I figured out what this house runs on months ago, within minutes of meeting your uncle.”
Elias froze, the air catching in his lungs. “You what?”
“The energy. It comes from sex, right?” She said it so matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather. “The vibe around Alistair was… grim. Transactional. The house felt like a machine, all grinding gears and no heart.” She gestured around the grand salon, now warm with candlelight and the faint scent of roses. “But since you arrived, it’s different. It’s brighter. Happier.”
She moved right in front of him, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I know that’s because of you. The influence you’ve brought.” A slow, wicked grin spread across her lips. “And if you made this place this much happier in so short a time, you must have an incredible dick.”
Elias barked a laugh, the tension shattering. “That’s the scientific conclusion you’ve drawn?”
“It’s a working theory,” she said, her hands coming to rest on his chest. “And I’m a very thorough researcher.”
He looked down at her, at the absolute certainty in her eyes, and felt the last of his defenses crumble. She knew. She understood. And she was still here. His hands found her hips, pulling her flush against him. “The lab conditions are optimal for testing,” he murmured, his voice rough.
“Then stop talking,” she whispered, rising onto her toes to close the final distance.
Her kiss was not gentle. It was a claiming, all hungry lips and searching tongue, a direct continuation of their conversation. Elias met her with equal fervor, his hands sliding from her hips to cup her backside, lifting her effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms locking around his neck.
He carried her like that, her mouth still hot on his, through the foyer and toward the staircase. Each step was a jolt that made her tighten her legs around him, her laughter a warm puff against his neck. The house felt like a living thing around them, the air humming with a low, approving frequency.
He set her down on the second-floor landing, their breath coming in ragged sync. Her hands were already under his shirt, mapping the tense planes of his back. He cupped her face, his thumb tracing her jaw, the reality of her a solid, warm weight in his arms.
“Ashley, wait,” he breathed, his forehead resting against hers. The words were there, a confession tangled up with the ghost of a woman from another century. “There’s something I need to tell you. About… about how I feel. It’s complicated.”
Before he could form the impossible sentence, the air beside them shimmered with a soft, golden light. Moonbeam materialized, not as a faint outline, but fully present. Her gauzy dress seemed to float around her, and her smile was both kind and profoundly sad.
“He’s trying to say he’s in love with one of us,” Moonbeam said, her voice a gentle chime. She looked directly at Ashley, her gaze clear and unwavering. “And he is. He's in love with me. And I'm in love with him. But you like him, too, and that's great.”
Ashley’s arms were still locked around Elias’s neck, her hips still pressed firmly into his. She didn’t jump back or look alarmed. She just stared at Moonbeam, her eyes wide with a sort of dazed awe.
“Okay,” Ashley said, her voice a little breathless. She blinked slowly. “First of all, you are really fucking pretty.” She gave a slight, disbelieving shake of her head. “If I were him, I’d be in love with you, too.”
She then looked from Moonbeam’s serene face back to Elias’s tense one, a practical question cutting through the surreal moment. “So,” she asked Moonbeam, her tone remarkably casual. “Can I resume kissing your boyfriend now? I’d really like to take him upstairs and fuck him.”
Moonbeam’s laughter was like the ringing of a small, clear bell. She reached out, and her cool, spectral hand brushed Ashley’s cheek in a gesture of pure benediction. “Yes,” she said, her smile widening. “You absolutely should. And you're right about his dick, but you'll find that out for yourself.”
And with that, she dissolved into a shower of golden motes that faded into the wallpaper.
Ashley didn’t waste a second. She turned back to Elias, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and pulled him into a deep, claiming kiss. “Upstairs,” she commanded against his mouth, already pulling him down the hall. “Now.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. A wild, possessive energy surged through him, fueled by her blunt admission and Moonbeam’s shocking blessing. He scooped her back into his arms, her legs instantly locking around his waist, and took the stairs two at a time. Their mouths crashed together again, a messy, breathless collision of tongues and teeth as he navigated the dark hallway toward his room.
Elias carried Ashley the rest of the way up the stair to his third-floor bedroom. He held her up in the air and kissed her as she deftly unbuttoned his pants, pulled it out, and started stroking it.
“Don’t you dare be gentle,” she gasped, breaking the kiss, her hand working him with a firm, knowing rhythm. “I want to feel this fat cock splitting me open against that door.” She bit his earlobe, her voice dropping to a raw, filthy whisper. “I want you to fuck me so hard I forget my own name. And when you’re done, I want you to pull out and come all over this pretty little dress.”
Her words were a lightning strike to his system. He slammed her back against the heavy oak door of his bedroom, the impact shuddering through them both. He fumbled with the hem of her dress, yanking it up around her waist. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. The discovery drew a guttural sound from his throat.
He freed himself from her stroking hand and drove into her in one brutal, seamless thrust. She was wet and ready, but tight, and she cried out, a sharp, satisfied sound that was pure music. Her head thumped back against the door, her eyes rolling shut.
“Yes! Just like that! Fuck, Elias, don’t stop!” Her nails dug into his shoulders through his shirt as he set a punishing, immediate pace, his hips pistoning against her. Each slam of his body into hers rattled the door in its frame. “You feel even bigger than I imagined. God, you’re filling me up so completely.”
He grunted, burying his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling the scent of her perfume and their shared sweat. The world narrowed to this single point of contact, the slick, hot friction of their bodies, the raw sounds of their coupling echoing in the hallway. He could feel the house drinking it in, the energy they were generating a tangible current in the air, making the shadows in the hall seem to pulse and writhe.
“I’m close,” he warned, his voice ragged, the muscles in his back and arms corded with strain.
“Do it,” she commanded, her own body tightening around him, her inner muscles fluttering. “Paint this dress, Elias. Mark it. I want to see it.”
With a final, deep roar, he tore himself out of her and shoved his pants down just enough. His release erupted over the dark green fabric of her dress, hot and thick, striping her stomach and the bunched material with white. She watched, her breath catching, a look of primal triumph on her face as he spent himself on her.
For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged, panting breaths mingling in the dark. He leaned against her, spent, his forehead resting on the door above her head. She traced the patterns his cum was making on the dress with a single, curious finger.
Then she looked up at him, her eyes dark and impossibly warm, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her kiss-swollen lips. “So,” she said, her voice husky. “That was a hell of a first date.”
He laughed, a raw, breathless sound, and finally turned the doorknob. They stumbled into his bedroom together, a tangle of limbs and his still-damp shirt and her ruined dress. The door swung shut behind them, muffling the world outside.
The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the grimy windows. He walked her backward toward the bed, his mouth finding hers again in the semi-darkness. This kiss was different, slower, a deep exploration now that the initial frantic hunger was sated. His hands went to the straps of her dress.
“Let’s get this off you,” he murmured against her lips.
She helped him, shimmying out of the soiled green fabric and letting it fall to the floorboards with a soft whisper. She stood before him, naked and unselfconscious in the silver light. Her body was strong and softly curved, a living map of warmth and vitality in the stagnant air.
He shed his own clothes quickly, his eyes never leaving her. The house emitted a low but intense hum, a vibration that seemed to originate deep within the floorboards and rise up through the soles of his feet. It was different from the energy he’d felt with the ghosts; this was richer, darker, more potent. Elias wondered if sex between two living people fuels the house even more.
He got an answer, of sorts, when figures began to appear around the room.
They weren't the familiar forms of Mary or Carissa or Tucker. These were strangers, their outlines shimmering into existence like images developing in a darkroom. A woman with intricate braids piled high on her head, her gown from another century. A burly man in rough-spun trousers, his arms crossed over a barrel chest. They slowly resolved themselves into people, none of whom Elias had seen before.
A handsome man with no shirt materialized at the foot of the bed. He had the lean, defined musculature of a laborer and dark, intense eyes. "Your passion," he said, his voice a gravelly baritone that held the faint lilt of an old accent. "It called to us. It allowed us all to come forward out of the walls."
Ashley didn't scream. She stared, her breath catching, but it wasn't from fear. Her eyes were wide with awe and a dawning, wild excitement. She looked at the shirtless man, then at Elias, her face illuminated with a radiant, disbelieving joy.
"Elias," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "Did you... did you free all these beautiful spirits just for me?"
She looked so genuinely thrilled, so touched by the impossible spectacle, that the truth felt like a clumsy, complicated thing. In that moment, he wanted to give her the simplicity of her wonder. "Yes," he said, the lie feeling like a gift. "They are just for you."
A brilliant, tearful smile broke across her face. Without a shred of hesitation, she turned to the shirtless man. "Would you mind?" she asked Elias, her tone suddenly shy but determined. "If I asked him if he would like to get naked, too?"
Elias looked at the gathering crowd of spirits, their forms now solid and watching with quiet, curious intensity. He felt no jealousy, only a strange, expansive calm. The house was feasting, and he was its master of ceremonies. He realized that he didn't mind at all.
"Be my guest," he said.
Ashley turned back to the man. "Would you?" He gave a single, solemn nod and his rough-spun trousers vanished, leaving him as naked as they were. His cock was thick and already half-hard. A soft sigh rippled through the other spirits, and then a rustle of movement as they, too, began to disrobe. Soon, the bedroom was full of naked spirits, many of whom had cocks that Ashley wanted to see.
Her head swiveled, taking in the astonishing variety of male forms from different eras. "My god," she breathed, her gaze lingering on one particularly well-endowed Union soldier. She then quickly turned back to Elias, placing a warm, possessive hand on his chest. "But just so we're super clear," she said, her eyes locking with his, "I'm still really just here for you. This is just... the most amazing bonus feature imaginable."
She pushed him back onto the bed, climbing over him, her skin glowing in the spectral light. The audience of the dead watched in respectful, hungry silence as she lowered herself onto him, taking his full length inside her with a slow, deliberate sigh. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second, then opened, fixed on his.
"Now," she whispered, beginning to move, her hips rolling in a languid, powerful rhythm that made him groan. "Where were we?"