Cian

When I arrived home and the whole place smelled like apples, I was unsurprised. There was nothing my mother liked to do more than bake her sorrows away. I always joked that if she could knead her whole past into a batter and bake the damn thing, she would. My mother seemed alright on the outside, but ever since the accident, she'd been different. I mean, how could she not be? She couldn't even see her youngest son anymore; whenever Vinny said anything to her, it was through me, never directly from him to her.

I came into the kitchen and plopped myself down at the breakfast bar, leaning my chin into my hands. Mom was tapping away at the oven, her back to me. Light fixtures similar to spotlights shone down on me, illuminating the marble countertops and the stainless steel appliances, which the maids kept polished to a mirror-like shine. Our house was not small, and neither was it average. It had to be upscale, to keep the Horne family's good name up.

This was us: a happy, thriving family living the American dream on the outside, with strange secrets on the inside. We were forced to keep it that way.

My mother was afraid of imperfection.

"Cian," she said, turning around and dusting flour from her hands. She smiled at me, her hair floating around her shoulders like golden tinsel. As usual, she was done up, wearing a blouse and a pencil skirt, her makeup probably worked on for hours. "I thought you'd be home soon."

I reached for an apple in the fruit bowl in front of me. Taking a bite, I said, "Yeah. Book club done?"

"Uh-huh."

"Cool."

"People ask a lot of questions, you know."

The sentence seemed out of place, but at the same time it was not. Mom was always concerned about people knowing too much. I looked at her, and noticed she was tired, her mouth in a frown and the skin a bit puffy underneath her eyes. There were some things makeup couldn't hide. Even the way she stood told me everything. She was bracing herself against the counter as if she'd fall over without it, her knees slightly bent. We are Hornes, Cian, I remembered her telling me two years ago, just after I'd found out about Vince, and since we are Hornes we have no room for weakness like this. Stop crying, Cian.

Stop crying.

My relationship with her, in a nutshell, was bittersweet. "Is that so?" my tone was cautious. "Who's people, and what do they ask about?"

"Friends of mine," Mom clarified. She wandered toward her wine cabinet and pulled out some Merlot, filling a glass with it and holding it to her nose for a while before sipping. "Book club members, charity donators, the people I mingle with. They want to know about you, how you're doing, and all. They want to know how we're doing without Vincent."
I bit my lip. "He's not exactly gone."
For a moment, my mother looked around, pale eyes darting from corner to corner. She brushed her hair beyond her shoulder, lowering her wine glass. "Is he here right now? Did he say something?"

"No, Mom, Vinny's not here right now."

She frowned at me, and I knew why. She disliked the fact that I called him Vinny; more than once she'd expressed that it was childish and she had named him Vincent for a reason, but I didn't care. Vinny wanted to be called Vinny, and calling him Vincent on a daily basis felt wrong to me and to him. She'd said once, One day, when he's grown, he'll go by Vincent Horne and he'll be one of the most respected men in the world. That had been, of course, before he'd died.

"Sometimes I don't know what to say," Mom went on with a sigh. She sipped more wine, and the kitchen now smelled less like apples. "I've lost him but I haven't, so when they ask me how I feel, I don't even have an answer. It's the same with you, Cian. You're not who you once were, but you're still here. How am I supposed to feel about that?"

"Mom." My tone was a warning.

She looked at me from under her mascara-coated lashes.

"You haven't lost anything. We're still here. Far as we know at the moment, we'll both be here until I die," I said. "Until my duty as an angel's been done."

"Yes, but Cian—don't you want your human life back? Don't you want to move out, go to college, become a lawyer..."

"Mom, I've never been interested in law and you know that."

"I'm just saying! Don't you want to be normal, sweetie?" she set her Merlot down and walked over to me, heels clacking against the floor. She turned my chair towards her, taking a seat in front of me. This close, I could smell the perfume she wore daily, like flowers just freshly bloomed; I could see the delicate sponge-like texture her foundation left behind on her skin. She ran her hand along my chin affectionately, her smile soft and rueful. "You're nineteen. You should be moving on with your life."

"With all do respect," I said, gently moving her hand away from me, "this is my life now. I'm staying here because I know you want to be close with me, with Vinny. If you want me out of your house, just ask, and I'll go. Just know that Vinny will follow me."

Mom scoffed. "Vincent's just a kid."

"Vincent doesn't want to be alone, Mom. He's going to go with someone who is able to see him, interact with him. Unfortunately that's not you," I remarked. "If he stayed here, it'd be like talking to a wall everyday."

My mother's lips twisted a bit, as if she wanted to say something else, but she never did. Instead, Vinny came stomping from the front hall, his eyes on the ground and his shoulders slouched. I didn't have to be a rocket scientist—or a lawyer, as Mom would want—to know something was up with him.

"Vinny?" I said, looking up. Mom turned, her face flashing with disappointment when she saw nothing, as usual. "What's wrong, buddy? Vince?"

I only stared at him as he made his way past the breakfast bar and to the living room, where he sat himself down at the edge of the coffee table and groaned into his hands. As if the body language was not enough, he was also barely present, everything of him transparent. When something was wrong, Vinny didn't even try to be bodily, which I guess I understood. For ghosts, more fleshiness was equivalent to more energy, and sometimes one just didn't have the motivation.

"I'm getting real sick of this," Vinny murmured, at the same time Mom asked me: "Where is he? What he's saying?"

"Hold on, Mom," I muttered, then hopped off my barstool and went to Vinny. "Getting sick of what? What happened? Cough it up."

Vinny's eyes peered at me from between his fingers for a moment, before he sighed and finally dropped them. "I thought, you know, since it's been a few days since we last saw her, maybe I should try reconnecting with Lucie. It was a crappy idea. Things did not go well."

"Well, I wouldn't have expected them to," I observed. "Considering how she called us bastards last time she saw us..." I shook my head. "Whatever, whatever. What did she say? What did you say?"

Vinny faded even more. I had to snap at him to keep him visible at all. "I was trying to convince her to let us lend her a hand, but when she accused me of haunting her, my...fuse...may have blown."

So I knew most ghosts scowled at the word haunt, and I understood that. It was like calling them the sort of ghosts you saw in movies, ones that killed and possessed people and did other less than noble things. No one wanted to be accused of that. That being said, it did not give Vinny the right to be snappy to a girl who had just lost someone as important as her brother. "Good G—" I rolled my eyes and started again, coughing a bit from the pain. This whole angel thing had its downsides. "What did you say, Vinny?"

"Well, in a nutshell, I called her stupid."

So there were worse things to say, perhaps, but still. I folded my arms. "Stupid? What is wrong with you, Vinny? When you're trying to get on someone's side, you're kind to them, not the other way around."

"I know, I know!"

"You're going to say sorry."

"I know, I should..."

"No, you're going to. I know you followed her, anyway, otherwise you would have came home sooner," I said, and saw Vinny's expression shift with surprise. "Where's she headed, huh? I can see it on your face. You know."

"Of course I know," Vinny said, throwing up his hands and vanishing from in front of me. With a grunt of frustration, I turned to see him at the barstool I'd just left. He glanced at Mom, who looked extremely confused, before looking back to me. "I'm a ghost. There's not much I don't know, or at least can't figure out."

"You'd be a scary good stalker, you know," I said, and saw him crack a bit of a smile, which warmed me. Being us, we savored every chance we got to smile or laugh, since it wasn't often. "So where's she going?"

"She's going to the grocery store."

I frowned. "The grocery store?"

"Yes. Whole Foods. To buy milk," Vinny clarified, then looked at Mom again, waving a fleshless hand before her face, snapping in her ears. He sighed when she didn't respond. It had to hurt, I'd think, that your own mother looked right through you. "Cian, tell her I asked if she needs milk."

"Mom," I said, and her eyes snapped to mine. "Vinny wants to know if you need any milk."

"Milk?" she repeated, brows furrowing.

"Yes. Milk. The stuff from cows."

Mom said, "Sure. I could use some milk."

"Sweet. We're going to buy some milk, then," I said, and started for the front door, knowing Vinny was either already there in the foyer or following close behind me. "We'll be back when Dad's home. Bye."

"Do you see her yet?" I asked for the millionth time. I was sitting outside the Whole Foods, beside the red and yellow mums they were selling. Gold-bronze lights shone down on the exterior, the only light in the darkness now that the sun had set. Vinny was standing at the door, since I had decided it would best if he stood there and waited for her rather than me. He was invisible, after all, and the people walking by him wouldn't notice the random kid staring inside the door. If it were me, I'd get weird looks.

"No," Vinny said. He glanced back at me; I'd plucked a flower from one of the mums and was now rubbing the petals gingerly, watching how the overhead light bounced off their ruby red surface, making the mum shine like a true gemstone. "I can go inside if you want me to."

"No. We're already being stalkerish. We don't need to be Ted Bundy stalkerish."

"That is true," murmured Vinny with a nod. "Average stalker level is good enough. Though, does it really count as stalking if you can't help it that people don't notice you?"

I considered it for a moment. "You know, Vinny, I don't have an answer to that."

"Neither do I," my little brother replied, then made a strange squeaking noise and started waving his hands. "She's coming. She's coming!"

"Okay, okay!" I stood up, dusting off my pants and flipping the hood of my sweatshirt back. I looked at Vinny expectantly. "How do I look?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Not like Ted Bundy?"

"Good," I said, then sighed, mentally preparing myself. I hadn't known Lucie for very long, but I already knew she said what came to mind. I also knew she disliked us, and would probably want to throw us off a cliff as soon as she laid eyes on us. I mean, she'd asked us more than once to leave her alone, but how could I not assist? It was my duty as an angel of God.

Vinny appeared beside me, and shortly after, I saw her coming through the doors. She had a gray beanie pushed back on her head, ebony curls spilling out from underneath it, and her lips were a dark and sultry red. Her shapeless black dress swayed about her knees, a dark complement to the flannel she'd draped over her shoulders. I watched as her boots trampled the mum flower I'd plucked, then I coughed and stepped from the shadows.

"Lucie," I said, and she looked up at me, the lights above us lending both her brown skin and eyes an attractive gold sheen. I had the same thought I'd had back at her high school: she was pretty, in the sharp and daring sort of way that you couldn't easily tear your eyes from.

Her eyes narrowed, and narrowed further when she saw Vinny materializing at my side. She brushed past me with a scowl. "Go screw yourself."

"Very well," I said under my breath. I started after her, trying to match her strides. "So it's going to be like that."

With a huff, Lucie whirled, her grocery bag swinging dangerously from her arm. "Like what, Cian? I've asked both you and Casper over there to leave me the hell alone, but you both refuse! Can't you see I have enough problems right now? I don't need this. I just...I just want to take my reduced fat milk and go home! So let me, you jerks!"

"Not asking for help only makes you weaker," Vinny said, his voice very small.

In the middle of the Whole Foods parking lot at close to eight at night, both Lucie and I stared at him. "What?" Lucie asked, her whole demeanor changing. Her defensive stance dropped, voice quieting.

"You won't admit you need help because you think it's going to make you seem weak, but that's not true. If anything, admitting you can't do everything by yourself is what makes you stronger than everyone else," Vinny elaborated, voice still quiet. He looked at me at his next sentence, and made my heart speed up a little: "Some of us have yet to learn that."

Lucie sighed, turned again, and finished the walk to her car, an old baby blue Subaru. The car beeped as she unlocked it, popping the trunk. "Let me," I said, a bit awkwardly, taking her grocery bag from her and placing it neatly in the trunk. She eyed me, but nevertheless let me assist.

I closed the trunk, and Lucie leaned against it, regarding Vinny and me with a softened expression. That being said, she still looked like she could very well kill me if she wanted. "When you say you want to help me, what exactly do you mean?"

Vinny gave me a hopeful glance, and I returned it. To Lucie, I answered, "I want to help you figure out why you can see Vinny, and maybe even figure out if your brother's actually gone. Don't you at least want to try, Lucie?"

"I mean, of course I do; he's my brother," she admitted, looking away, towards something in the distance. She crossed her arms, tapping one foot with the other. "But I just don't know if I can trust you. I don't want to hurt anymore."

"You can trust me," I said. "I'm an angel, Lucie; it's kind of hard for me to lie. And Vinny and I have been through a lot, too. The last thing we would want is to cause someone else pain."

Vinny nodded in agreement. "He's right."

I smiled at her. "So...what do you say? Saturday morning, you can drive to me to where your brother crashed, and we'll take this step by step. I promise, Lucie, I won't hurt you."

Lucie hesitated, exhaling for a moment. She took off her beanie, raked a hand back through her hair, and lifted her eyes to mine, very slowly. "Saturday morning at my place," she muttered, walking around towards her driver's seat. She called as she opened her door: "I imagine Vinny knows where."

She shut the door and drove off.