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When Edwin and Charles first started up their agency, clients frequently expressed surprise at seeing the pair together. In the three decades since, Edwin had heard every variation on the theme. Some clients danced around it. They asked, with forced casualness, questions about the detectives’ ages, their hometowns, or how they had met. Others were bolder, their eyes following the pair’s exchanges with ill-concealed interest. Few, however, were bold enough to ask what they actually wanted to know: what were Edwin and Charles to one another?
Over the years, they’d settled into shorthand to explain their dynamic to others. Edwin was the brains, and Charles the brawn. This explanation seemed to satisfy their clients’ curiosity. If they had further questions about the nature of the detectives’ relationship, well, they tended to keep those to themselves.
Truthfully, Edwin found it all rather tiresome. After so many years, one would think their supernatural neighbors might find something else to gossip about. Instead, the introduction of a new psychic to their agency—a living girl, of all things—had only fueled the fire. For better or for worse, the reputation of the Dead Boy Detectives tended to precede them.
But regardless of what they told clients, Edwin had never believed his best friend was stupid. Charles was observant and quick on his feet, the first to react to any sign of trouble. He was keenly aware of other people’s emotions, smoothing over rough edges with ease. Charles liked to learn, and often asked Edwin to read to him. He just didn’t tend to go for a book himself.
So Edwin was startled to find Charles by the bookshelves of their office on a slow spring afternoon. Charles seemed lost in thought, fiddling with his earring as he inspected the titles on a lower shelf. Fiction, early 20th century, Edwin noted.
“Looking for something?” He asked.
Charles jumped, straightening with the sort of casual athleticism that Edwin privately admired. He turned towards Edwin with a sheepish grin.
“No mate,” Charles said quickly, “Just looking for something to read is all.”
“Oh?” Edwin arched a single brow.
“Oi, that’s uncalled for! I read.”
Edwin’s brow arched perilously higher. “Since when?”
“Maybe I’m looking to improve myself, yeah? You’re always saying, “The books aren’t just decorative, Charles,”” Charles imitated. Edwin should not have found the impression as charming as he did.
“In that case, might I suggest the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice? Virgil’s version is scarcely two pages.”
“You’ll never let me live that down, will you.” Charles rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Edwin knew that Charles could never hold a grudge for long—at least, not where Edwin was concerned.
“All right, you win. If you must know—” Charles hesitated, looking almost bashful. “I was wondering how people went about… well, dating, back in your time. When you were alive, I mean.”
Edwin froze. Surely, Charles already knew all he needed to know on the subject. He’d certainly acted that way with Crystal, Edwin thought, with just a touch of bitterness. He spun on his heel, looking out the window as he gathered his thoughts.
Edwin knew he was being unfair. Charles had been nothing but honest with Edwin about his feelings. More than that, he had been impossibly, devastatingly kind. It wasn’t Charles’s fault that he could not return Edwin’s affections. No one could help how they were made. Edwin knew that better than anyone.
“Courting,” Edwin said stiffly, “We would have called it courting.”
Resolutely, Edwin turned to face his friend. Edwin prided himself on his ability to impart knowledge. If Charles wanted knowledge, then knowledge he would have.
“In truth, I paid little attention to such things when I was alive,” Edwin admitted. “Though naturally, I knew what was expected of a gentleman.”
He took a deep breath, as if preparing to deliver a lecture. “One must never approach a young lady without an introduction,” he recited, “and one must expect to be accompanied by a chaperone. Couples might go for a walk or promenade. Physical displays of affection would be absolutely untoward, but a suitor might offer a token or gift. He might even fulfill a request or favor.”
Edwin paused, searching his friend’s face for any sign of boredom. Charles, he knew, cared little for formalities. He quite literally advertised the fact—if the “Rude Boys” patch on his jacket was any indication. Edwin could scarcely imagine why his friend would be interested in etiquette from half a century before he was born. But Charles only nodded eagerly, gesturing for Edwin to continue.
“There would have been teas, parties, and other excursions, arranged so that young people of marriageable age could become acquainted. There were balls, too, on occasion, though there were fewer once the Great War began.”
“Did you do that sort of thing?” Charles asked curiously, “Go to balls and all that?”
“I never had the opportunity. I was a bit too young at the time; courting was really more for men of marriageable age. Besides,” he added wryly, “I was not exactly looking for opportunities to be alone with young ladies.”
Charles snorted. “Right, of course. And I guess there was nothing about going around with blokes.” His smile never faltered, but his pitch rose at the end of the sentence, a question lingering just behind his words.
“Indeed,” Edwin nodded. Nervously, he pulled at the lapels of his jacket.
He wanted to ask why Charles cared. He wanted to ask why Charles had suddenly taken an interest in long-dead courtship rituals. Charles had asked about Edwin’s life before, of course. But his love life had, until recently, been off-limits. Edwin recalled their first meeting, when Charles had asked if he missed kissing. He’d sputtered and shook his head with the intensity of one possessed. The memory still made his cheeks burn.
Charles might not have known its source, but he’d recognized Edwin’s discomfort. Since then, Charles had asked plenty of questions, but never about anything so intimate. For decades, they’d had a tacit agreement not to pry. Both had aspects of their lives that they would rather forget.
Unwittingly, Edwin’s knuckles drew together like magnets. Could these questions be for Crystal? He wondered. If Charles and Crystal had “snogged” since Port Townsend, Charles hadn’t mentioned it. Was Charles looking to rekindle their courtship?
Edwin knew that some young women romanticized the customs of the past. They fantasized about proper young men undone by elegant ladies, or dashing scoundrels stealing kisses under cover of night—at least, if the covers of modern romance novels were to be believed. Edwin never read that sort of thing himself, of course.
But Crystal didn’t seem like the type to swoon over big romantic gestures. So why then, would Charles want to know about courting?
He wanted to know. He didn’t want to know.
“Is that…what you were looking for?” Edwin asked instead.
“Yeah, that was brills, thanks.” Charles grinned. “Oh wait—you mentioned gifts. Like flowers and chocolates and all that?”
“Certainly flowers, but other items as well. It was a way of showing that you…valued someone, I believe. That you thought of them, even when you were apart.” At least, that was what Edwin had gathered, from the novels he hadn’t read.
“What would you want, if someone was courting you?” Charles asked.
“I cannot say I ever gave it much thought,” Edwin snapped. His confession in Hell had been mere months before. Surely Charles would realize what this line of questioning did to Edwin, the kind of thoughts it inspired.
But if Charles noticed Edwin’s agitation, he didn’t seem troubled by it. Instead, he grinned almost conspiratorially.
“Come on, Edwin,” Charles said, resting a hand on Edwin’s shoulder. “You must have thought about it at least once.”
Edwin sighed. Charles could be relentless when he chose to be.
“A book. I think I would have quite liked to receive a book,” Edwin said faintly.
“Course you would,” Charles said brightly. “Cheers, mate.”
When had his afterlife come to this? All Edwin had ever wanted was solve cases with his best friend. Now he was being asked to weigh in on his friend’s romantic gestures? And just when he’d realized he wanted said friend to be more than a friend? It made his head spin. It was all too much.
But Charles, it seemed, wasn’t finished.
“You know that woman from the Lost and Found? Charlie’s boss?” Charles asked.
“Don’t let the Night Nurse hear you call her that,” Edwin said tartly. It had become a common refrain, of late.
“She’ll come around eventually,” Charles declared, with wholly unwarranted confidence. “Anyway, she called Charlie our chaperone. Do you think she wanted to make sure we weren’t… you know…” He trailed off suggestively.
In spite of everything, Edwin snorted. Charles really did have a gift for keeping spirits up—chasing away any tension with a joke and a smile. It was one of the things Edwin loved about him.
“I doubt that was what she intended,” Edwin scoffed, “Though with the way the Night Nurse carries on, you’d think we had never solved a case before she arrived.”
“Besides,” he added lightly, “chaperones were meant to …protect a woman’s virtue. Men were already presumed to have none.”
Charles choked out a startled laugh. “Was that a dirty joke, Eds?” he asked, eyes wide with wonder. “Port Townsend really changed you.”
“Port Townsend changed many things,” Edwin agreed. He paused. Not for the first time, he wished he could read people as easily as he could read Aramaic. “Does it bother you?” He asked, carefully.
“Not at all, mate,” Charles replied warmly, “I think it’s brills.”
“Brills,” Edwin echoed dryly. Charles laughed. Then his expression turned thoughtful. “Would you want to go for a walk, sometime?” He asked.
Edwin tilted his head to one side. “Certainly. But we usually walk together, do we not?”
“Course we do,” Charles agreed quickly, and dropped the subject.
There were flowers on the office desk the next day: a bouquet bursting with reds, whites, and yellows. They had been arranged carefully in a simple glass vase. Edwin hadn’t known they owned a vase.
He couldn’t be sure when the flowers had arrived. He’d been deep in thought, brow furrowing as he attempted to translate a passage from an old French grimoire. It was a spell for retrieving dropped items. It would be perfect for Charles. Somehow, their opponents always managed to fling his weapons just out of reach at inopportune moments. Edwin might not be able to protect Charles in combat, but he could at least make sure his friend was well-armed.
It was just past noon when Edwin first noticed the bouquet. He startled.
“Charles,” Edwin asked, “Has the postman been by?” Surely, he hadn’t been quite so distracted. The postman was rather difficult to miss.
Charles was crouched over his bag of tricks, his arm elbow-deep in its contents. Charles liked to take stock of their supplies in the lulls between cases, arranging and rearranging them in a system only he could understand. A small hoard of trinkets had built up around him as he worked: an empty scabbard, a shark’s tooth necklace, a slinky.
“No mate,” Charles called back, without looking up.
“Then where have these come from?” Edwin asked.
Charles’s arm had now fully disappeared into the bag. His mouth tightened in concentration, as if he was straining to reach something far away. A moment later, he removed his arm from the bag triumphantly.
“Found them!” he announced, producing what appeared to be a jar of small, glowing shrimp. “Super Sea Monkeys,” the duct tape label on the jar read. “Told you they’d still be alive,” he crowed. He raised the jar high, still riding the high of victory as he turned to face his friend. “There’s something about the bag that keeps things—” He cut off, eyes widening as he noticed the vase in Edwin’s hands. “Oh!”
Charles exhaled. He ran a hand through his curls, his eyes darting between the flowers and Edwin’s face. “Oh, uh, I bought them,” he said nervously.
Charles stood up, adding the jar of sea monkeys to the growing pile on the floor. He leaned back against the office desk as he regarded Edwin. “Do you like them?”
“Yes, they are lovely,” Edwin said absently, eyes already returning to his book. He was eager to commit the spell to memory as soon as possible. For someone with a bag that could hold an infinite number of things, Charles could be so picky about what he brought along on cases.
But Charles didn’t move away. “Do you know what they mean?” He asked softly.
There was something strange in his expression. If it had been anyone else, Edwin would have called it caution. But Charles, famously, was never cautious. Edwin had lost track of how many times Charles had barged into unfamiliar rooms, or reached for cursed artifacts, or wrestled with rabid ghosts. He’d once seen Charles dive headfirst into an allegedly cursed wishing well. Just yesterday, he’d jumped between Edwin and a snarling grim, brushing off Edwin’s concerns with a laugh.
It was unsettling, to see that look on his impetuous friend’s face. Edwin looked up at Charles, his brow furrowing. “The flowers?”
“I heard that they all mean something, yeah? And when you put them all together—”
“The language of flowers,” Edwin nodded. “I am afraid I never paid it much attention. Even by my time it was rather out of date. Besides,” he added, with just a touch of cattiness, “It always seemed a bit frivolous for my tastes.”
He smirked at Charles, as if to invite him in on the joke. Charles loved to make fun of stuffy old traditions. But Charles looked away, his usual grin flickering. It made Edwin’s stomach twist in a way that should no longer be possible.
“But intention is everything in spell work, and plants are a vital source of magical energy,” Edwin improvised quickly. “Perhaps flower language could be useful for future cases.” He looked at Charles imploringly, willing him to hear the apology behind his words. “I could always look into it, if it’s something that interests you?”
“Nah, don’t worry about it, mate,” Charles said. His smile was back, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes.
When Edwin looked up again, the flowers were gone.
Edwin refused to dwell on the flowers. Why should he? After all, there were cases to solve, days to be saved, jobs to be jobbed. The Dead Boy Detectives had a reputation to uphold, and Edwin was nothing if not a professional.
Besides, the agency’s assignment to the Lost and Found department came with certain conditions: priority cases, filing deadlines, and, most troublingly, a litany of paperwork. Edwin could respect the need for documentation. From the outset, he’d kept detailed records of all their cases. He’d insisted that Charles do the same, much to his friend’s chagrin. But frankly, the Afterlife’s reporting requirements were tedious even by Edwin’s own, exacting standards.
Wearily, Edwin contemplated the instructions on yet another form. His pen hovered between check boxes as his thoughts drifted.
He could admit a certain…curiosity about the flowers. In all their years of friendship, Edwin had never known Charles to take an interest in interior decorating. But what troubled him most was the absence of the flowers. It was one thing for Charles to purchase a bouquet for the office; certainly, both boys had had stranger whims over the years. But for Charles to purchase a bouquet and bring it somewhere else? Well, that was another thing entirely.
The flowers must have been for someone, Edwin thought. Someone else, his mind supplied, traitorously.
With a slight shake of his head, Edwin fixed his attention back on the form. He checked three boxes, circled two answers, and ran out of space jotting down why, precisely, he’d classified the case as a category three haunting. Satisfied, he moved on to subsection F.
No, it was better not to dwell on the flowers. Regardless of what had gotten into Charles, there was work to be done. Edwin was perfectly content to carry on as he always had: dedicating himself to the job at hand and ignoring whatever feelings arose in the process. It worked brilliantly, if Edwin did say so himself.
At least, until they closed their latest case.
It was late, well past midnight, when they left the client to her afterlife. They did not stay to see her off. Even if they technically worked for Death these days, neither detective was keen to meet her for a performance review. Crystal departed shortly after, insisting through yawns that she would see them first thing in the morning. Edwin, rather generously, held his tongue.
“Care for a game of Cluedo?” Edwin asked Charles, already rolling up his shirtsleeves. He was halfway to the games closet when Charles replied.
“We should dance,” Charles blurted.
“What?” Edwin whirled around to face him.
“We just closed a case, yeah?” Charles said. “We should celebrate it properly.” He said it as if they had always done things this way, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“And you want to celebrate it by…dancing?” Edwin asked skeptically. “Charles, you loathe ballroom dancing.”
“Says who?” Charles asked breezily.
“Said you, Charles,” Edwin said, in disbelief. “During the Case of the Crystal Conservatory. I proposed we attend a cotillion to eavesdrop on the client’s former partner. You nearly got us thrown out.”
Edwin folded his arms. “I believe you told the host that ballroom dancing was for “posh old snobs and royalists,”” he quoted tartly.
“Nah, couldn’t have been me, mate,” Charles declared, his faux innocence belied by a teasing grin. Utterly infuriating, Edwin thought. It made Edwin want to kiss the smirk from his lips.
It was an absurd idea. Charles would surely hate the constriction of it all: the prescribed movements and predetermined steps. As for Edwin—well, while he was fond of music, he had never quite grasped the appeal of waltzing through it.
“Very well,” Edwin heard himself agree. Wordlessly, he held out his hand. Charles grinned victoriously, as if he were the one getting away with something. He retrieved a record from the closet and placed it in Edwin’s open palm, beaming all the while.
Delicately, Edwin positioned the needle of the Victrola.
“We’ve done this once before, as you’ll recall,” Edwin said. He was determined to have the last word on the matter—no matter how charmingly Charles smiled. “How much do you remember?”
“Not much,” Charles admitted. “I know I’m supposed to put my hands here.” His hands settled firmly on Edwin’s waist. They were improbably, impossibly warm. “Or was it here?” he said, resting his palms gently on Edwin’s shoulders.
Edwin took a slow, stuttering breath. “That depends,” he said, as smoothly as he could manage. “Traditionally, the person following would place their hands there.”
I shan’t get invested, Edwin thought. Someday, he knew, Charles would find someone he could love properly—someone he could be in love with properly. How could he not? Charles was terribly easy to love. So while Edwin might indulge in this moment, he would not let himself get carried away. He could commit every word, every touch, to memory—but he would not forget himself.
“Perhaps you might prefer to lead. It would make things simpler, should you ever wish to dance with a partner.” A female partner, Edwin attempted to clarify, but the words caught in his throat.
“Nah, it’s fine,” Charles said, “I’d follow you anywhere, remember?” He had the audacity to wink.
Edwin’s cheeks blazed. It really shouldn’t be possible, for him to feel so warm. But Charles had already defied the rules of Heaven and Hell, Edwin supposed. Why not the laws of thermodynamics, next?
“Then I’ll lead,” Edwin replied quietly.
“Cheers.”
Edwin gently corrected the placement of Charles’s hands, willing his own not to shake. He clasped their right hands together, before slowly settling his left on Charles’s slim waist. He was beginning to see the appeal of a waltz.
Shakily, he cleared his throat. “One, two, three, one, two, three,” he murmured, as he took a step forward. Like this, the office was strangely quiet, their usual banter giving way to the soft strains of the Victrola and Edwin’s quiet count.
Charles stared at his feet, his steps catching awkwardly on the transitions between directions.
“Don’t look down,” Edwin instructed. “Keep your eyes on me. Try to feel my movements.”
“Right, yeah,” Charles said, sounding dazed. Was that a hitch in his breath? Surely not. Edwin chided himself for his wishful thinking.
It had been Edwin who told Charles not to look at his feet; now, too late, Edwin realized his mistake. Charles met Edwin’s eyes, his expression warm and admiring. It was a familiar look—the same look Charles gave Edwin when he’d made a particularly clever deduction, or pulled off a finicky spell just in the nick of time. But here, bodies pressed close, Charles’s breath somehow hot on Edwin’s face, it became something altogether different: something less friendly, and more intimate.
“St. Hilarion’s used to require lessons, at least back in my time,” Edwin said, casting desperately for a distraction.
“Mine too,” Charles said. “They were right awful. Once I even faked sick just to beg off.” He chuckled at the memory.
Edwin stared at him in bewilderment. “Then why, pray tell, would you ask me to dance?”
“Well, it’s different with you, innit,” Charles said cheerfully. Had the office always been this hot? A window—Edwin must open a window.
“Besides,” Charles added, his voice soft and fond, “Everything’s different now.”
“Different…how?” Edwin asked carefully.
Charles took a breath, as if bracing himself. “Edwin—” He began. Edwin thought he might combust.
“Oh, what is this infernal racket?” The Night Nurse burst into the room. Her suit was perfectly pressed, as always, her hair immaculately curled, but there was stress rolling off her in waves. She had mentioned something about a deadline, Edwin recalled distantly.
“Charlie!” Charles greeted, stepping out of Edwin’s hold. Edwin’s shoulders felt strangely bereft. He stifled a shiver. “What can we do for you?”
“Your jobs, for a start,” she sniffed. “What is the status of the Lucretia Peters case?”
“Closed,” Edwin replied tersely, “As well as the Smith case, the Dorman case, and the Castellanos case.” He straightened his bowtie, needlessly. “Will that be all?”
The Night Nurse blinked, mollified. She looked between them searchingly, as if only just processing the scene she had interrupted.
“Very well,” she said, after a moment. “Please see to it that you file your reports promptly.” Behind her back, Charles looked to Edwin with a mischievous grin. He mouthed something that looked suspiciously like “Charlie.”
“And do not call me that, Charles Rowland,” the Night Nurse called, as she retreated into her office.
First Charles had asked about courting, then he’d gone out and bought flowers. Now he suddenly wanted to practice the waltz? And there had been all that talk about things changing, about things being different now.
Charles had clearly fallen for someone. It was the only possible conclusion. But whom?
Edwin could admit that he’d reacted poorly when Crystal first joined their agency. Since then, however, he’d made his peace with her place in their lives. Crystal’s powers had proven to be an asset to their investigations in Port Townsend. She had saved their lives—or after-lives—twice-over. If Charles had to date someone, Edwin supposed, he could do far worse.
Against all odds, the three of them had reached a sort of comfortable equilibrium. Edwin had his role in Charles’s life, and Crystal had hers.
But Edwin was almost certain that Charles and Crystal were no longer together. Granted, Charles and Crystal were still rather affectionate towards one another. Crystal liked to ruffle Charles’s hair as she teased him, and Charles would casually fling an arm over her shoulders. All of it, in his day, would have been rather improper. However, they no longer made the kind of charged, prolonged eye-contact that had marked their interactions in Port Townsend—the kind that made Edwin nearly forget not to fall through the floor.
Yes, something had definitely changed between them. Edwin was quite confident in his deductions—though that hadn’t stopped him from replaying their kiss at the Tongue and Tail in minute and agonizing detail.
Could Charles really have found someone else so quickly? The thought that he might have a new love interest resurrected all of Edwin’s old jealousies. Stubbornly, the pieces slotted into place: Charles’s sudden interest in Edwardian courtship rituals, the disappearing bouquet, his insistence on learning to dance. Charles had met someone from Edwin’s time, and he’d enlisted his best mate to help him court her.
Edwin hadn’t dared hope that Charles might one day return his feelings. Still, Charles had said they had forever to figure it out. Edwin hadn’t expected an answer quite so soon. He’d thought the uncertainty had been torture, but this—this definitive rejection—stung far worse.
Edwin exhaled slowly. He needed to treat this as a case: to plot each piece of evidence rationally, objectively. If this was a case, then he needed to interview key witnesses. And in this particular case, there was really only one witness to call.
He needed to talk to Crystal. He needed to talk to Crystal, privately. He needed to talk to Crystal, privately, about her relationship with Charles.
It was a nightmare. Hell itself could not have dreamed it up. Papercuts, he thought faintly. To think, I could have been dealing with papercuts.
The next morning, Edwin asked Charles if he could go out to restock some of their spellcasting supplies. Edwin had passed the evening anxiously rehearsing excuses for his absence: Edwin was terribly busy with a new research lead. There was a time-sensitive spell he wanted to try out. He just wasn’t very good with people. But to his surprise, Charles hadn’t asked any questions.
“Sure thing, mate,” Charles had acquiesced with a smile.
With Charles distracted, Edwin made his way to Crystal’s apartment. Crystal still stubbornly insisted that it was “rude” and “anti-social” and “an invasion of privacy” to enter her apartment directly through her personal mirrors. In a rare concession, Edwin opted to travel through a mirror in the lobby of her building. He was asking for her help, after all. Even so, he wasn’t about to knock.
He phased through the wall and found himself in Crystal’s bedroom. The curtains were open, but her bed was unmade, sheets and comforter twisted by the foot of the bed. Crystal looked into the mirror of her vanity, running an eyeliner pencil against her lower lash line. Perhaps it was best he had not tried to travel through it, he conceded.
Edwin cleared his throat.
“Jesus Christ,” she swore, “What is it with you and knocking? Did they not have doors in your century?”
Edwin ignored her. “Charles is currently occupied, and there is a matter on which I must consult you,” he said. “Privately.”
Crystal huffed, but gestured for him to go on. “Fine. What’s up?”
“I wanted to confirm that you and Charles are no longer partnered with one another,” Edwin said, “Romantically.”
Crystal rolled her eyes. “Wow, Edwin, way to rip off the band-aid. I’m fine by the way— thanks for asking.”
“I am … sorry if I have brought up bad memories,” Edwin replied awkwardly, “It was not my intention.”
Crystal sighed, more exasperated than sad. “Honestly, it’s fine,” she said. “It was never going to last. I mean, I’m still planning to grow up, you know? And Charles just … can’t. It was bound to get weird, eventually.”
She laughed, though not quite convincingly. It felt more like the recognition of something that she would laugh about, someday.
“Did you know that I’m older than him, now? It’s so weird. No offense,” she added quickly.
“None taken,” Edwin replied, though he wasn’t sure why he should take offense.
“We called it off right after my birthday,” Crystal continued, “We probably should have told you sooner. But Charles thought you might not want the details, and honestly, I wasn’t ready to hear an “I told you so.”
“Crystal,” Edwin said incredulously, “I did not come here to mock you. I know how important Charles is to you. And you are important to—to our agency.” He hesitated. “You have proven yourself an asset to our investigations,” he added, stiffly.
Crystal looked at him, her eyelashes suspiciously damp. For one horrified moment, Edwin thought she might cry. But then she smiled at him teasingly, and Edwin was horrified for an entirely different reason.
“So why are you here again?” Crystal asked, “You’re not here with boy problems, are you? Because we might be cool now, but I am so not ready to hear about your love life.”
“Boy problems? No, nothing of the sort,” Edwin said seriously. “This is about Charles.”
Crystal looked at him in the way she did when a bit of modern slang went over his head. It was entirely uncalled for, in Edwin’s opinion. He refused to give her the satisfaction of asking.
“Go on,” she said, finally.
“Charles has been acting strangely, of late,” Edwin began. “I think he may be seeing someone.”
“Edwin,” Crystal said disbelievingly, “Where would Charles have even met someone else? All he does is hang out with you.”
“That is not true. He went out just this morning to fetch us some turpentine—”
“So he went out on an errand for you,” she continued, unimpressed. “Seriously, you two might as well be married.”
“It was for the agency, Crystal, do keep up,” Edwin snapped, though it had been nothing of the sort. “Last week, Charles asked me about…courting.”
“Hold up,” Crystal said. “Charles was asking you for advice? About dating?”
“While I do not appreciate your tone, I am inclined to agree with you,” Edwin said testily. “He asked me what courting was like, back when I was alive.”
A strange expression came across Crystal’s face. Edwin hardly knew what to make of it. He pressed forward, pacing as he recounted the facts of the case.
“Charles wanted to know what kind of gifts men gave to those they courted. The next day, he bought flowers, but would not say who they were for. Then last night, he asked me to waltz.”
Edwin took a deep, bracing breath.
“I have concluded that he must have someone in mind. Someone who came of age around my time.”
“No shit,” Crystal replied, looking almost impressed. “Well, he was bound to figure it out eventually. Congratulations, I guess.” She raised a brow provocatively. “What are you going to do about it?”
“What?” Edwin asked, taken aback. Clearly, Crystal’s deduction skills were still woefully underdeveloped. And to think, he had almost begun to respect her abilities.
“Naturally, I am going to investigate,” he declared, drawing himself up to his full height. “There are only so many Edwardian ghosts in London, and I am already acquainted with most.”
“Are you serious?” Crystal asked, suddenly and inexplicably irritated. “Edwin, you can’t be this dense.”
“I am a detective, Crystal,” Edwin said loftily, “And a good detective—”
“Does what he needs to do to solve the case,” Crystal said with him, imitating his accent. Her impression had not improved since their time in Port Townsend. “I know.” She paused, as if searching for the right words. “Charles really cares about you. You know that, right?” Her voice was uncharacteristically gentle.
“I do,” Edwin murmured. He frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I am sure by now you have heard what passed between us. In Hell,” he clarified, unnecessarily.
“I did,” Crystal said, nodding. Edwin searched her face for any trace of derision, but found only concern.
“While Charles does not return my sentiments, he has not allowed them to interfere in our friendship. I do not like to imagine him with someone else but I—” Edwin broke off, as if he’d hit his emotional quota for the conversation mid-sentence. He straightened his shoulders as he met Crystal’s eyes. “I must be supportive, as he was for me.”
“You boys and your self-sacrificing bullshit.” Crystal sighed. “I get it. I want him to be happy, too.” She looked at Edwin almost pleadingly. “But aren’t you missing something here?”
“Whatever could you mean?” Edwin asked, his head tilting inquisitively.
“Why would Charles want your opinion on how to date someone else?” Crystal asked slowly, as if explaining something to a small child.
Edwin bristled. “I may be inexperienced, Crystal, but I am still his best friend.”
Crystal threw her hands in the air. “Ugh, I give up. I’ll see you at the office in a couple hours. Just, talk to Charles. Please?”
“I will keep you informed,” Edwin said curtly, already moving towards the mirror. “Oh, and Crystal?” he added, looking over his shoulder. “Thank you.”
By the time Charles returned to the office, Edwin was firmly settled at his desk. There was a stack of paperwork to his right, for the sake of appearances, but he’d scarcely touched it all day.
“Brought the turpentine, mate,” Charles said cheerfully.
“Thank you, Charles,” Edwin said, with an appreciative smile. Charles grinned in return.
“I, um, found something else too, while I was out,” Charles said. His tone was decidedly too casual. He slid a large, leather-bound volume on the desk. The corners were crinkled with age, the binding slightly cracked at the spine.
“The Picatrix,” Edwin breathed. He opened the book with relish, eagerly skimming its contents. “And in the original Arabic, no less.”
“You’ve been looking for this one, yeah?” Charles asked, clearly knowing the answer.
“Charles,” Edwin said with wonder, “It’s remarkable. Wherever did you find it?”
“Oh, you know, out and about,” Charles said lightly, as if he regularly came across hand-written medieval spell books during routine errands. Still, he was beaming.
“So,” Charles asked, leaning forward, “Did you find anything while I was out?”
“Nothing to speak of, no,” Edwin said, unable to tear his eyes from the tome. He’d been looking for an effective invisibility charm for years. Their recent altercation with Esther Finch had made the matter more urgent. The memory of Charles’s cry when he was hit by her iron cane still made Edwin flinch. If they could conceal their presence from supernatural beings, it would be far easier to deal with witches in the future.
“Crystal’s not in yet?” Charles frowned. He looked around, as if only just noticing her absence.
“She said it would be a few more hours yet,” Edwin said. “Can you believe she’s only just woken up?”
Charles looked at him in confusion. “When did she say that, mate?”
Edwin could feel his eyes grow embarrassingly wide. His mind raced for excuses, but came up troublingly empty. He’d spent all that time worrying about how to distract Charles while he talked to Crystal, and not a moment on what he would do if Charles found out where he’d been.
“I visited her, this morning,” Edwin admitted reluctantly. “While you were out.”
“Okay,” Charles said slowly. “Erm, aces. Why?”
“You’ve been acting rather peculiar lately, Charles,” Edwin deflected. “I hardly knew who else to ask.”
“What?” Charles looked baffled. “How do you reckon?”
This—the outright denial— was too much. And yet, Charles seemed genuinely confused. Had he honestly believed that Edwin would not put the clues together?
Edwin stood up, closing the spell book with a dramatic thud.
“One week ago, you asked me about courtship rituals from the Edwardian era. You specifically asked about flowers and gifts. The following day, you purchased flowers and then gave them to someone. I thought that was the last of it, but then last night you asked me to dance.”
Edwin folded his hands behind his back, willing his voice not to betray his hurt. “I may not be knowledgeable about this sort of thing, Charles, but I am still a detective. The only remaining question is whom you are courting.”
Charles listened with the rapt attention he always gave Edwin during his deductions. Normally, it warmed Edwin, to have his thoughts held in such obvious regard. Now, it only confused him further.
Charles, for his part, looked equally confused. “Hang on, whom I’m courting? Who did you think I was trying to court, mate?”
“That was what I was trying to ascertain, Charles,” Edwin said impatiently. “I had hoped Crystal might be able to provide some insight.” At the mention of Crystal, Charles looked strangely apprehensive. “However, she was less than helpful.”
Charles sagged in relief. “Right, that’s brills then.” He ran a hand through his hair, in what Edwin recognized as one of his nervous gestures. A moment later, Charles seemed to come to a decision.
“So, I saw the lily you brought back,” Charles said, “From the Cat King.”
“You knew that I met with him?” Edwin asked incredulously.
“Figured as much. You snuck away right after a cat came up to the window. I’m still a detective, yeah?” Charles said, teasingly echoing Edwin’s phrase.
“Yes, of course,” Edwin said. Charles had always been quick to notice things, quick to put things together. “It’s just that you never mentioned it. After all this time.”
“I nearly did,” Charles admitted. “I almost lost it, when I thought he’d been bothering you again.” He ducked his head, as if ashamed of this impulse. It was all wrong, Edwin thought. Nothing should ever make Charles Rowland shrink.
“I am glad you refrained,” Edwin said, kindly. “Though I appreciate your concern. It wasn’t like before, Charles.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say what the Cat King had been up to, before: flirtation? Seduction? Still, he could tell by the look in Charles’s eyes that his friend had caught the implication.
“The Cat King was merely offering his condolences. For Niko.”
Charles looked at him skeptically. “But you kissed him.”
“I did.” Edwin’s throat felt horribly dry, but his voice held steady. After all he had been through, he refused to be embarrassed by a peck on the cheek.
“If you…fancy him, I won’t stand in the way,” Charles said slowly, reluctantly. It was as if the words were being pulled from his lips one syllable at a time.
“What?” Edwin asked stupidly.
“You deserve to be happy,” Charles continued, undeterred, “Even if it is with that wanker.” Edwin opened his mouth to interrupt, but froze as he met Charles’s eyes. There was an uncharacteristically serious look on his best friend’s face.
“Let me finish, yeah?” Charles said. Edwin nodded.
“That flower got me thinking. Maybe Whiskers was on to something. Maybe that was something you wanted. Flowers and all that. Even if it was too late, I had to let you know how I feel. Properly, I mean.” Charles let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Only, I didn’t know the first thing about courting. Wasn’t alive back then, was I? So I had to ask you about it. About, well, how to court you.”
“Charles, I—” Edwin broke off, his mind reeling at the implications of that statement. Suddenly, he was furious. “Charles, you absolute idiot. Have you already forgotten what I told you in Hell? I love you. I am in love with you.”
Charles beamed, and, for a moment, Edwin was distracted. Charles smiled as if he hadn’t quite dared to believe it—as if Edwin’s love was, in fact, news to him.
At Saint Hilarion’s, Edwin had studied the classics. He’d been an exceptional pupil, all told. Still, he’d always been puzzled by the sirens in The Odyssey. Who would jump to their death for a song? He’d wondered. The whole thing had sounded ridiculous at the time. But Charles, it seemed, didn’t even need a song. He could pull Edwin under with a smile.
Edwin hesitated, caught between annoyance and desire. But then he thought over the events of the past week: the anxiety of recalling courtship etiquette from his life, the despair he had felt over Charles moving on, the mortification he felt now over getting it so wrong. His annoyance won out.
“I never asked to be courted, Charles,” Edwin said fiercely. “I’m not some blushing Victorian.”
“Edwardian,” Charles corrected. He looked far too pleased with himself.
Edwin’s mouth opened, closed, opened, then closed again. Distantly, Edwin wondered if Charles might actually be able to see the words getting stuck somewhere between his mouth and his brain.
“What?” Charles added cheekily, when no response was forthcoming, “I do listen when you tell me things, Eds.”
“That’s not—that is to say—well, good,” Edwin managed after a moment. Good God, did love make everyone this stupid? Or just those who, like Edwin, made words their weapons of choice?
“I’m not a girl,” Edwin tried again.
Charles raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “Never said you were, mate.” He looked Edwin up and down, appreciatively. “It’s not a problem. I mean, it was, for a bit. Had me in a proper panic, yeah? Never been with a bloke before. Didn’t want to muck it all up."
“Since when?” Edwin asked, feeling a bit dazed.
“For ages, I think? Only it took me a bit to catch up. I never was as quick as you.” Charles rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. “I might’ve had a chat or two with Crystal.”
“She certainly didn’t mention that piece of information this morning,” Edwin said, peeved.
“Oi.” Charles looked at Edwin meaningfully. “Would you have wanted someone else to tell me about you?”
Edwin looked away. “No, I suppose not.”
“Right then,” Charles nodded. “Anyway,” he said, placing a hand on Edwin’s shoulder. “I know you. You’re a proper romantic at heart.”
“That’s not—” Edwin said defensively.
“Come on, Edwin,” he teased, “I’ve seen the books you read when you think no one is looking.”
Edwin sputtered indignantly. Not for the first time, he was grateful that ghosts couldn’t blush.
“I know that it wasn’t what was done between guys, back when you were alive. But you deserve it,” Charles said earnestly. “The flowers, the walks, all of it. You know that, right?”
Had Edwin known that? Truthfully, he hadn’t allowed himself to entertain the thought. While he might admit to enjoying the romantic gestures in his novels, they felt far removed from real life. Like witchcraft, or fairies. Only, he’d already been tortured by a witch this year, and he’d faced down his fair share of fairies.
“I did rather like the book,” Edwin admitted quietly. And the dancing, he thought, but he kept that to himself. No reason to give Charles an ego so soon into their courtship.
“I could tell,” Charles chuckled, “Besides, I had to prove it to you somehow, didn’t I? Had to show you I was worth the trouble.”
Charles was smiling, as always. But there was something too raw, too real, in his words. He actually believes that, Edwin realized with a start. His throat felt tight. No, that wouldn’t do at all.
“I’m told I have a rather high tolerance for pain,” Edwin said slowly. Charles startled, not expecting the non-sequitur. “I was in Hell, you see,” Edwin added, almost conversationally.
Charles’s smile looked strained; his fists clenched, then released, at his sides. “I know that, mate,” Charles gritted out. “I was there, remember?”
“Exactly!” Edwin declared. “Charles, you were there with me. You came for me. How could I possibly ask for anything more?” He looked at Charles desperately, pleadingly.
“So do not say another word about you not being worthy of me. I won’t hear of it.”
Charles smiled then—another one of his real, devastating smiles. He leaned back against the desk. “I thought you said that coming after you was “so fucking stupid,” Charles teased.
“It was,” Edwin insisted, “So. Fucking. Stupid.” He breathed a long-suffering sigh, but even he wasn’t convinced by his performance. Judging by the fond look on his face, neither was Charles.
“You know,” Edwin said, “Niko believed that I had a “type.” “A “himbo,” she called it. She said that it meant fit and stupid.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully. “I think it seems rather apt, don’t you?”
“You think I’m fit, Edwin?” Charles asked, far too smug.
“I thought you said you listened when I talk,” Edwin huffed. He took in the sight of his best friend, relaxed and grinning as he leaned back against the desk. Suddenly, Edwin couldn’t bear to not be touching him. Edwin moved forward.
“What I need you to understand, Charles, is that I am not going to break.”
Edwin stepped closer to the desk, settling between Charles’s spread legs. Charles swallowed audibly. Edwin took in the movement of his throat with fascination.
“You do not have to prove yourself to me.”
Edwin traced Charles’s cheekbone with his thumb, his touch soft and reverent. Charles’s eyes flicked down to Edwin’s mouth. There was something in his expression—not just warm or fondness, but heat. And Edwin, Edwin, had put it there. He felt impossibly light and impossibly brave.
“And we certainly don’t need a chaperone.”
Charles surged forward, pressing their lips together firmly. Edwin followed his lead, his movements careful and precise. His thoughts were racing. He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know where to rest his hands. But then Charles nibbled his lower lip insistently, and Edwin’s mind went helpfully blank. He gasped as Charles pulled him closer, one hand fisting his lapel.
They pulled apart after a moment: breathing needlessly, foreheads resting together. Edwin would have sworn his pulse was racing, ghost rules be damned. Suddenly, Charles laughed.
“I bet Niko would have helped me court you,” he said, grinning, “Bet she would’ve been brills at it, too.”
“You’ve set a rather low bar, Charles,” Edwin said, but it lacked any real bite. “You’re supposed to tell a person that you are courting them.”
“Still, it worked, didn’t it?” Charles insisted. “And I didn’t even take you for a promenade.”
“Oh, do shut up,” Edwin said breathlessly. Charles only grinned wider as he leaned in again.