Page 97 of Ghost Hunted

She shrugs. “I don’t know, Logan. I was at home a lot. I spent most of my time staring out the window. Or helping mama take care of the house and garden.” She sighs again. “I just remember boredom... and pain.”

“Pain? What kind of pain?”

“I dreaded when papa would come home,” she admits, her face flushing. “He could be... cruel. And then, it was hard for me to think very clearly. But I had dreams. Very painful dreams.”

“About me? About Piper?”

She hesitates, then shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I think I forgot about you very quickly. But I remembered Jane. Even when the memory grew hazy, some part of me remembered. And it hurt so bad, Logan.” She brings a hand to her face, and I let the spoon drop, squeezing her to me. “I want to find her, Logan. I really want to find her. And Piper...” She hiccups a sob. “But no, I can’t ask for that. I know I shot her. I remember I did. What kind of mother shoots her own daughter? She was right to leave. I hope, for her sake, I never see her again.”

“Lia.” I sink my head into her curls, incapable of saying anything for a moment. “I promise you, we’ll find Jane. And you will see Piper again. You’re not a bad mother. You’ve suffered, but I’m going to take care of you. I promise. No, I can’t promise; I know my promises are meaningless. But I’m going to try my hardest. I realize I’m cruel. I don’t know what’s wrong with me for being like this when you’ve already suffered so much. But I’m suffering too, and I’ve never known how to deal with pain except by hardening myself. I won’t lock you in a cage anymore. That is, I’ll try very hard not to. But I won’t hurt you anymore, Lia. No, I can’t promise that either; but I’ll do my best. I guess none of that makes you feel better though, does it?”

By now, her back is shaking, and I can’t tell if it’s because she’s still crying, or if it’s because my sad attempts at promises are making her laugh. I’m not sure she knows whether she’s laughing or crying either.

“Okay, Logan,” she says at last, wiping her eyes.

“Tell me, Lia,” I ask, kissing the last tears from her face. “I might have gotten a little carried away, before. I know I’m a little fucked up. But you would have used the safe word if you’d needed to... right?”

She hesitates for a long time, so long I start to feel sick to my stomach.

But at last she murmurs, “Yes, I would have. But I guess I’m just as fucked up as you.”

28

Lia

Istare down at the plane tickets, then back up at Logan.

“Are you sure about this? I remembered the black holes talking about Paris. How do you know she went to the States?”

He hesitates and I swallow nervously, getting the eerie feeling that he’s concealing something from me.

“She’s alive,” he says at last.

“Okay.” I frown. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

“I don’t know. Of course she is. Never mind.” He pulls me into an embrace, pressing his lips to mine. “I told you I would fix you, didn’t I, baby? And I did. And now, I’m telling you we’ll find Jane. We’ll find Jane, and get back to Piper. She’s waiting for us in Oregon. Soon, we’ll be a family again. A bigger, happier family than we’ve ever been. Okay?”

I nestle my face in his chest, breathing in his warmth. “Okay, Logan.”

“And I’m going to take care of you.” He repeats his oft-spoken promise. “We have a whole life ahead of us. What’s nineteen years when we’re talking about a lifetime?”

I nod, an old, familiar lump rising in my throat.

“A lifetime to chain you up and use your body and punish your ass. I can’t wait.” He pulls me down on his lap, and I hide my flaming face in his chest again. “I love you, ghost girl.”

“I love you, Logan,” I breathe.

_

I trust Logan—a normal person probably wouldn’t, given how he’s made no secret of wanting to kill me on several occasions. But I’m not normal, clearly, and I do trust him. Still, I can’t help the rising sense of foreboding that burns my chest as I follow him onto a private plane.

“Damien isn’t here,” Logan says, settling down on one of the roomy couches and pulling me onto his lap as usual. “He had to finish up some work in Paris. The plane is asshole-free. Well, except for me.”

“I don’t mind Damien so much,” I answer, absent-mindedly playing with the buttons on his shirt.

“Yeah, compared to me, I guess he isn’t so bad.” Logan accepts the two glasses of champagne the stewardess offers us. “Not for you, baby,” he adds when I reach a hand out. “No alcohol, or drugs, or mind-altering shit ever again. I’m not going to risk losing even an inch of you.”

I bite down on a sharp retort and nod instead. I can’t really fault him for that. I can fault him for a lot, but not that.