Page 13 of Shake Your Boo Thang

To my surprise, he opens the small bag he’s been carrying and pulls out a Polaroid camera, snapping a picture of the bar.

“I didn’t know anyone still used those,” I say.

Beau admires his newly developed print and tucks it away in the bag with the camera again. “I appreciate old classics, and the Polaroid camera is definitely one in my book.”

“If you say so.”

He ignores me and leans forward, eyes sparkling. “Y’all have so many fascinating buildings that are just stuffed full of history. Most everything back home in Alabama isn’t more than a century or two old.” He smiles and rubs his hands together gleefully. “I want to visit some of the haunted pubs in the city. From my online research, it looks like there are quite a few.”

I frown. He actually wants to seek out ghosts for fun? Definitely an odd one.

It’s time to get down to business. “Tell me more about your, em, abilities.”

He flashes a dazzling smile that nearly knocks the breath out me, and I have to tell my dick to simmer down. It’s been ages since I’ve found myself attracted to anyone, but now is not the time.

In all honesty, there’s never been a good time for relationships for me. Being a workaholic dedicated to my job, I discovered a lot of men grew tired of my frequent absences and ghosted me, pun not intended, within a couple of months.

Then, after my brush with death turned my life upside down, the prospect of dating just became too much. At first, I was grappling with my own mortality, the premature end of my career, and the fact that I could now see the dead. For nearly a year, I didn’t even want to pursue anything with another human. After that? Well, try telling your date that the ghost watching you both get frisky is killing the mood. I still had needs, taken care of by the occasional one-night stand, and while I enjoyed myself physically, each encounter just felt fucking empty afterward.

However, this spark of attraction is a new and surprising problem that I don’t need in my life right now, no matter how tempting he is.

Beau takes a sip from his own pint, then leans back in his chair with a coy smile. “Well now, I can give you the short and sweet version or the longer, full-on life story with all the bells and whistles.” The smile turns into a grin. “I could even throw in some brass band music at the important parts, if you’d like.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Short and sweet, if you will.”

He chuckles. “Somehow, I had a feeling that might be your answer. Sweetheart, I hate to mention it, but you don’t exactly give off an air of incredible patience.”

I scowl but I don’t deny it.

He looks around the only moderately busy pub and lowers his voice. “I was born with what my mama likes to call The Gift, but what folks these days would understand as ghost whispering. Did you ever see that old TV show?”

I shake my head.

He shrugs. “Not really important. Essentially, I can see and hear the dead. Been that way since I was old enough to talk. At first, I didn’t realize spirits weren’t the same as living folks. Where I live in Alabama, there are quite a few lingering souls from all the way back to the Civil War period or earlier.” He shakes his head. “When I was little, I made friends with some of them, then later got really good at being able to help quite a few of those poor souls cross over to the other side.”

That makes me frown. “What do you mean, the other side? At ExorSquad, I was taught to either trap or zap a ghost, not help it. The company never mentioned anything like this.”

Beau sighs. “I don’t know these ExorSquad folks, but they don’t know their ass from their elbow if they think you need to go around trying to capture or destroy a spirit. That’s plain foolish.”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. That part never sat quite right with me either. Maybe that’s why I was reluctant to use any of their questionable gadgets designed for offense.

Beau gives me another one of those mysterious smiles. “On the subject of the other side, I’m afraid I don’t have the answers. The next realm isn’t something I can see with my powers.” He leans forward. “Now, this is purely speculation on my part, but my theory is that you can only see the other side once you’re ready to go there. Some spirits describe a bright light or being met with a sense of deep peace and harmony shortly before moving on. Some have told me that they’ve seen a loved one they lost long ago. I reckon some folks would call that heaven, but I can’t say for sure.” He shrugs. “All I know is that there’s something waiting for us once we shuffle off this mortal coil, and I try to help those I can in crossing over. It’s what’s supposed to be natural when we die, but it doesn’t happen right away for some folks.”

I furrow my brows. “And why do you think that is?”

He takes another sip of his beer and taps a finger on the table. “There are lots of reasons spirits can get stuck in this realm. Many hold on to deep regret or a strong sense of unfinished business. Those are usually the easier ones to help.” His expression turns serious. “The more difficult tend to be those who died a traumatic death, one so awful that they’re almost shell-shocked. It’s a small blessing that the majority don’t seem to fully remember what happened when they died. Sometimes they have what I like to call puzzle pieces, little snippets of memory, but usually not a complete picture. And those who died at the hands of another? Well now, those are the ones that often linger because they want justice. Or worse yet, revenge.” He shakes his head. “The latter can be a dangerous line to walk, whether you’re living or dead.”

Now I’m curious. “How so?”

“Because it can eventually corrupt a soul until it becomes a poltergeist, and once that happens, the soul can’t pass on to the other side. At least not, that I’ve seen. I don’t exactly have a PhD in this stuff, so I can’t claim to be the foremost expert. I just speak as I find.”

Fucking hell, this man’s already educated me far more than the piss-poor attempt at training I received from ExorSquad. What he’s saying is simpler and makes a lot more sense.

I take a deep gulp from my pint. “You seem to know a lot about the supernatural, PhD or no PhD.”

He gives me a crooked smile. “I’ve lived with it all my life, so I suppose that’s only natural.”

“So, Mr. Ghost Whisperer, what brings you to London, then? It’s a far way from Alabama.”