Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Years earlier, in the afterlife…

The caseworker named Juno sat in her chair, running her hands through her hair and trying very hard not to lose her cool. She had many problems, and the source of most of those problems was currently out in the living world, no doubt creating even more problems.

Betelgeuse.

The name alone filled Juno with a rage so strong that it made her want to smash her fist into something. Preferably his face. For years, he had been a thorn in her side, causing mischief, causing trouble wherever he went. On the day that he had decided to become a freelance “bio-exorcist” or whatever the hell he called it, she had been relieved. Glad to be finally rid of the annoying ghost.

But that relief didn’t last long.

For some unknown reason, Betelgeuse had abilities that even Juno herself couldn’t explain. He was powerful, and that power allowed him to roam the living world freely. He was out there right now, causing havoc, while Juno was sitting there trying to deal with endless complaints from ghosts whom he had tried (and spectacularly failed) to help.

“The guy is a menace,” said one man who had demanded an urgent appointment with her one day. “I asked him to get rid of some living people in my home, and he destroyed my ceiling! Then he made lots of sexually explicit remarks about my wife. I want my money back.”

“What the hell do you expect me to do?” Juno had snapped. “You’re the one who paid him! If you want your money back, then go and get it from him yourself. Good luck with that, though, because he’s very likely spending it on the girls in Dante’s Inferno Room.”

The man had frowned in response, and Juno let out a loud sigh.

“A strip club,” she said. “That’s where your money is going. I put the damn thing in the afterlife to distract him from causing trouble but clearly it isn’t working. If you want to remove your unwanted houseguests, then I suggest doing it yourselves. Betelgeuse needs to be out of the picture. Go study the handbook.”

And this is how it had continued. Endless complaints about his noise, his remarks, the damage he had caused to properties, and his perverted behaviour towards both the dead and the living.

So much for being free of him.

And now, sitting there after dealing with what felt like the fiftieth complaint of the day, Juno finally snapped. She was tired. She wanted to retire. But how could she, when he was causing so much trouble? She wouldn’t wish her responsibilities on anyone. Whoever her successor was going to be, she couldn’t leave them with all this mess. Endless files littered her desk, all complaints about Betelgeuse. She’d lost count of the number of times she had forwarded those complaints to the Afterlife Crime Unit.

She’d had enough.

She picked up her favourite mug and flung it at the wall, where it smashed into pieces. Usually, she tried to keep her cool (not that there was much point, it’s not like she had to worry about her blood pressure anymore), but she always liked to remain professional. Right now, at this moment, all that professionalism was melting away, leaving behind a bubbling rage and a desperation to be free of the mischievous ghost who was making her death utterly miserable.

The door to her office opened, and a random football player walked in.

“Coach….”

“I’m not your coach!” Juno screamed. “Now get the hell out!”

God, she needed to retire.

She took a deep breath. She was done. Completely and utterly done. She picked up the phone and dialled a number that she had always tried to avoid using.

“Ophelia? It’s Juno. I need your help. And before you ask…yes, it’s related to Betelgeuse.”

***

Ophelia was a special ghost. Like Betelgeuse, she possessed otherworldly powers not typically found in the afterlife’s ghosts. A beautiful spirit with long, auburn hair and barely any blemishes on her blue skin, she had been in the afterlife for many years and was a kind and gentle soul.

“I want you to curse him,” said Juno, as soon as Ophelia sat down.

“Hang on,” the Ghost Enchantress replied, holding her hands up. “That’s…that’s a bit hasty, Juno. I –”

“I want him to stop causing trouble, and the only way to do that is to place a curse on his name. Doing so will give him limited access to the living world. Take away his freedom. He deserves it after everything he’s put all those ghosts through. For everything he’s put me through.”

“Cursing a ghost is a huge thing, Juno.”

“He’s crude, a nuisance and a pervert. I can’t think of anyone more deserving.”

Ophelia sighed.

“I…look, maybe he has his faults. But this is a big thing. He’ll be completely stripped of his freedom, forced to completely rely on other people for access to the Living World.”

“Good,” spat Juno. “It’ll teach him not to cause trouble.”

“But it won’t stop him from causing trouble, Juno. If someone calls him, he could still trick them, trick people into saying his name.”

“But he won’t be able to go wherever he wants unless he’s called,” said Juno. “And…and I was thinking that you could add something extra to the curse.”

She leaned forward and gestured for Ophelia to move closer. The Ghost Enchantress did so, and when Juno spoke again, the words came out in almost a whisper.

“The curse cannot be broken unless someone falls in love with him and kisses him.”

She sat back in her chair and took a long drag of her cigarette, feeling highly pleased with her suggestion. Ophelia rolled her eyes.

“Very traditional,” she said. “You know that it’s highly possible that the spell will be broken, right? There aren’t many unlovable people.”

Juno threw her head back and let out a loud laugh.

“This is Betelgeuse we’re talking about,” she said. “There’s about as much chance of someone falling in love with him as there is of me being in his company for an entire day without getting a migraine. In other words, none. The man is rude, vulgar and a troublemaker. Highly unlikeable and very hard to love.”

Ophelia chuckled and shook her head.

“You feel really strongly about this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Juno. “I’ve tried to get along with him, Ophelia. I’ve tried to be understanding, to be patient. But it’s impossible. He’s impossible. Impossible to work with, impossible to like. I don’t say that so easily about people. But with him? I can say it with confidence. I’m still dealing with all the mess that he caused when he was my assistant. I can’t do it anymore. He needs to be taught a lesson.”

Ophelia sighed and examined her neatly-trimmed painted nails.

“Ok,” she said. “Tell you what, I’ll do the test.”

“Test?”

Ophelia nodded.

“Before cursing anyone, it is recommended that a test be carried out to see whether or not that person deserves to be cursed.”

“I assure you that he will pass with flying colours.”

“We shall see.”

Juno shifted in her seat and took another long drag of her cigarette.

“So, how will this test be carried out?”

Ophelia’s mouth curved up into a smile.

“He has a penchant for flirting with women, doesn’t he?

Juno nodded.

“Well, then I guess we’ll have to see if he will flirt with this.”

Ophelia stood up, and Juno’s eyes widened as the ghost’s tall frame started to shrink. Her beautiful features melted away, replaced by a very unfortunate-looking face. Juno continued to watch as the Ghost Enchantress's luscious locks began thinning, and seconds later her once full head of hair was replaced by wispy grey hairs that stuck out at all angles.

“Jesus,” muttered Juno. “If you’re planning to flirt with him, then he definitely won’t pass the test.”

“We shall see,” said Ophelia. Her smooth, velvet-like voice was gone, replaced with a harsh, gravelly tone that sounded as though her throat had been cut.

“Care to watch me carry out the test?”

“Ohhhh yes,” said Juno, before taking a drag on her cigarette and smirking as she blew out the smoke. “This I’ve got to see.”

***

“Go fuck yerselves!” Betelgeuse hollered at the ghost couple, who were both wearing looks of disgust.

“Please leave my house,” the man said, waving his hand to dismiss the disgruntled ghost. “I no longer want your business. You’re a very rude ghost.”

“Fuck you!”

“Out. Now!”

Betelgeuse made a rude gesture at the ghost couple before snapping his fingers and disappearing. Uptight fuckers. He had spent the past few hours moving to different residences in the living world, searching for haunted ones so that he could help ghosts remove the living from their homes. Betelgeuse took pride in his work, and so far, hardly any of his clients had been grateful for it. He couldn’t understand why. He had been helpful and had done everything they had asked.

He let out a growl of frustration as he thought of the ghost couple who had just dismissed him. What was their fucking problem? All he’d said was that he would happily spend a night with the man’s wife as payment if they couldn’t pay him in cash. What the hell was wrong with that? Could a ghost not compliment a dead man’s wife anymore? The fuckers needed to lighten up.

He pushed open the doors of Dante’s Inferno Room and headed straight to the bar.

“Oh, it’s you,” said the pretty bartender in a bored voice. She reached up and grabbed a bottle of vodka off the shelf where all the spirits were kept.

 “The usual?” she asked, pulling out a glass and holding the bottle over it.

“Yeah, and make it a double. I like a spirit that has me on my back, if ya know what I mean,” said Betelgeuse, winking at her.

The bartender rolled her eyes and poured his drink.

“Thanks, Eve,” he said, taking the glass from her. “Is Maya in tonight?”

“Yes, and she’s put her prices up. Just for you.”

Eve gave him an unpleasant smirk as she said the words.

“What the fuck’s she done that for? I was already payin’ her double.”

“I think she was hoping you wouldn’t be able to afford her anymore.”

She threw him another unpleasant grin before walking away.

“I’m Dante’s best fuckin’ customer!” he shouted after her. “Don’t any of ya ever forget that!”

He stared down at his drink for a few moments before grabbing it and downing it in one. Then, he pulled a cigarette out of his coat and lit it with his thumb. He took a long drag and blew out the smoke, then grabbed a newspaper that someone had left on the bar and opened it, his eyes raking over the death notices. The obituaries gave information on recently deceased ghosts, and he often used them to target potential clients. In the many years that he had been freelancing, though, he hadn’t had much luck. He just couldn’t understand why. He was a professional and always made this clear. It was laughable that most of the ghosts that he had interacted with had been so easily offended by a few jokes and random hugs.

Betelgeuse blew out some smoke and scoffed. He was funny, charming, approachable and highly sociable. Yet none of these fuckers in the afterlife seemed to appreciate him. So what if he got a little bit handsy now and then? It was just a little bit of affection to break the ice. Nothing offensive. Nothing offensive at all. Nope, they were all the problem, not him.

He was about to call Eve over to get him another drink when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He smoothed his wild hair down, ready to use his charm on whatever gorgeous girl wanted his attention, and turned around, flashing a wide grin.

The grin quickly died when his eyes fell upon the short, very unattractive woman in front of him.

“Eeeee!” he shrieked, almost falling off his barstool.

“Excuse me,” said the lady in a screechy voice that almost destroyed his eardrums. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She winked at him. Actually fucking winked. Betelgeuse recoiled, grimacing. Jesus, was this what his afterlife had come to? Being charged more than double for a night with Dante’s most gorgeous girl and then being hit on by an ugly hag?

“Thanks, but I’m already taken,” he said, turning away from her.

“I don’t see anyone else around?” said the woman, gesturing to the empty space next to him. “Please, I’d love to buy you a drink. I’ve seen you in here before, and I really like you.”

She threw him a wide smile, which made her features look even more grotesque, if that was possible. Betelgeuse shuffled away from her.

“Well I ain’t ever seen you in here before,” he said. “Face like that? I’d definitely remember.”

He snorted and turned away.

“What’s wrong with my face?” the woman asked.

Betelgeuse looked at her in disbelief.

“You really need to ask? Babe, ya got more warts than a fuckin’ toad. Also, I’m a leg man, and there ain’t enough leg there.”

He nodded at the woman’s short, stumpy legs.

“But I…I like you,” she said, her screechy voice laced with hurt.

Betelgeuse grinned and held his hands up.

“Hey,” he said. “I get it. I’m a hell of a catch. All the gals love a bit of The Juice. But I don’t let the juice loose for just any gal.”

The woman looked at him, the huge bags under her eyes making her look very much like a very sad bloodhound.

“Well, would you be so kind as to help me back to my room, then?”

She gestured to the heavy bag on her arm.

“This bag is very heavy, and I need a strong-looking ghost like yourself to help me with it.”

Betelgeuse frowned at her and blew out some smoke. The woman coughed as it hit her directly in the face.

“Ya managed just fine gettin’ in here,” he said, nodding at the door. “Pretty sure you’ll manage gettin’ out by yerself.”

“Please…I just need a little help.”

Betelgeuse took another drag of his cigarette, studying her carefully.

“What’s in it for me?” he said.

“Hmmm?” The woman said, leaning towards him with her hand behind her ear.

Jesus. This hag was just as deaf as she was ugly. He rolled his eyes and leaned forward.

“I said…WHAT’S IN IT FOR ME?” he shouted in her ear, causing the woman to jump back.

“Oh…well, I thought you might just want to help me…you know, just a simple good deed for the day…an act of kindness…without anything in return.”

Betelgeuse threw his head back and laughed.

“Sorry, babe. No can do. I don’t do favours unless someone’s doin’ somethin’ for me in return.”

Betelgeuse sneered at her, then turned away. As he did so, he felt a strange warmth hit his back, and when he turned around, his eyes widened at the sight in front of him. The woman’s short stature was changing, and Betelgeuse watched as she grew taller, her legs slowly reaching a length that was definitely more to his liking. The warts disappeared, leaving behind a perfect, blemish-free blue face with a cute nose and plump, highly kissable lips. The woman’s grey, wispy hair was now a beautiful auburn and hung in soft waves over her shoulders.

“What about now?” she said, hands on her curvy hips, her once screechy voice now smooth like silk.

“Whadd’ya need?” spluttered Betelgeuse, pushing himself off his stool quickly and placing his guide hat back on his head. “I’ll carry anythin.’ As many bags as ya want. And then, I’ll buy you a drink.”

He moved right up close to her, gazing into her mesmerising blue eyes. God, she was the hottest woman he had ever seen. Possibly hotter than his ex-wife, and that was saying something.

“Why?” asked the woman, tilting her head at him.

“Why what?”

“Why are you offering to do those things now but not before?”

“Is this a trick question?” asked Betelgeuse, frowning at her. “Fuckin’ look at you! You’re gorgeous!”

“So you’re only offering to help me and agreeing to have a drink with me because I look like this?”

“Well, yeah?” he replied, pulling a face to indicate that the answer was obvious.

“What was wrong with me before?”

Betelgeuse laughed and shook his head.

“Babe, did you look in the mirror before?”

The woman crossed her arms.

“Yes, I did. So you’re saying that a woman only deserves company and kindness if she’s attractive?”

Betelgeuse thought about this for a total of one second before answering.

“Well…yeah. Duh. Obviously.”

The woman let out a heavy sigh.

“You failed,” she said.

Betelgeuse frowned at her words.

“I…what?”

“Told you that he would…” came Juno’s voice. The ghost pushed herself off a seat, and Betelgeuse’s eyes widened as he caught sight of her. He had been so engrossed in his interaction with the woman that he hadn’t noticed her sitting there.

“Yes,” said the woman, sighing, a hint of sadness and disappointment in her tone. “You were right, Juno. He deserves this. Let this be a lesson for you, Betelgeuse.”

Before Betelgeuse could speak, the woman snapped her fingers. Within seconds, Betelgeuse was surrounded by green dust. He could feel something creeping up his face, and he brought a hand up to his cheek. The woman held out a mirror, and he gasped at his reflection. Patches of what looked like moss were growing on his face, creeping down from his high hairline, near the corner of his mouth and all up his ears.

“What the fuck…hey, actually, I could work with this,” the ghost said, examining his reflection. “This could get me a lot more business. Now I really look like nightmare material! Thanks, babe.”

He looked up at the woman and flashed her a grin.

“Boy, am I gonna have fun with this,” he said. “Can’t wait to get up there and start scarin’ all those fleshbags!”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” said the woman. “Well, not like it was before, anyway. My name is Ophelia. I’m a Ghost Echantress. Juno came to me requesting that I curse you. Initially, I didn’t want to, but I agreed to carry out a test, and you failed it.”

“Test? What the fuck are you –”

“Your unkindness and selfishness are off the scale, Betelgeuse. And so, I’ve placed a summoning curse on you. You will no longer be able to enter the living world unless a ghost haunting a residence in the living world or a living person calls your name three times.”

For the first time ever, Betelgeuse started to panic. Losing his freedom? Because he wouldn’t let an ugly hag have a drink with him and had refused to carry a bag? This was outrageous.

“This is bullshit!” the ghost shouted, waving his hands at the woman. “Fuckin’ take it off, right now!”

“Ophelia won’t be removing the curse, Betelgeuse,” said Juno, before taking a long, dramatic drag of her cigarette. “Punishment for your appalling behaviour and abhorrent personality is long overdue. Give him the rest of the details, Ophelia.”

Ophelia moved closer to Betelgeuse and ran a hand over his coat. Despite his bubbling anger, Betelgeuse found himself thinking that he wouldn’t refuse if she asked him to go into one of Dante’s private rooms right now. That’s how fucking horny the beautiful enchantress had made him.

“The curse,” said Ophelia in her smooth, silk-like voice, “won’t be broken until you learn to love someone and they must love you in return.”

Betelgeuse let out a booming laugh.

“Babe, that’ll be easy. I love all the gals here, and they love me.”

He pointed at himself and grinned, but that grin quickly died when he saw he look on Ophelia’s face.

“I’m not talking about sexual gratification, a quick kiss or any other kind of dalliance, Betelgeuse. I’m talking about real love. True love.”

Betelgeuse scoffed.

“True love? I ain’t got time for that sappy shit.”

“Then I’m afraid you will remain under the curse for a long time.”

Betelgeuse grabbed his hair and began to pace. This was the worst day of his afterlife. Possibly worse than his days as Juno’s assistant. He was going to need a lot of attention from the Dante’s girls tonight. He strolled towards Honey, a beautiful ghost girl who was swaying her hips on the stage. She caught sight of him and quickly moved away from the side of the stage, shouting that her prices had gone up.

“Fuck’s sake, not you as well!” bellowed Betelgeuse, making a nearby customer jump. He walked back over to where Ophelia was standing and jabbed a finger near her face.

“Take the fuckin’ curse off right now,” he snarled.

“No,” said Ophelia. “I’m sorry, but this is for the best. Hopefully, it will be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Considering the chances of him loving anyone else but himself and someone else loving him in return are zero, I’d say that it won’t,” said Juno.

“You…you miserable old hag!” snarled Betelgeuse, moving closer to Juno. “Always hated me, didn’t ya? Always tried to make my life a misery!”

“No, Betelgeuse. You made my life a misery. I tried very hard to deal with your antics, but I’ve had enough. I genuinely hope that you learn your lesson, though I doubt very much that you will.”

Betelgeuse was about to respond, but Ophelia cut him off, holding her arm out to move him away from Juno as she spoke.

“Perhaps, Juno, we need to add a little something to this curse. Something that may motivate Betelgeuse, make him realise that he needs to change for the better.”

She snapped her fingers, and seconds later, they were all standing in Juno’s office. Betelgeuse looked around the room, still scowling. This was all just so unfair. He snapped his fingers and tried to teleport to the living world like he usually did. But nothing happened.

“That will no longer work,” Ophelia said, nodding at his fingers. “Like I said, from now on, you will need to be summoned to have access to the living world. And I would consider treating ghosts and the living in a respectful manner from now on, because there’s very little chance that people will want to summon you if you repeatedly cause mischief.”

Betelgeuse opened his mouth again, but Ophelia threw him a warning look, and he remained silent, not wanting to do anything else to annoy the enchantress. His situation was already dire.

“And now for the extra part that I want to add, the part that might help to give you a little bit of motivation to change.”

She snapped her fingers, and a beautiful, single rose with black and white petals appeared on Juno’s desk, encased in a glass dome.

“This rose,” she said, “will eventually die. If you can fall in love with someone and earn their love in return by the time the last petal falls, then the summoning curse will be broken. If not, then you will remain under the curse for the rest of your afterlife.”

“Sounds fair to me,” said Juno, leaning over the rose and admiring it. “I’ll keep it on my desk. That way, we can monitor his progress. Not that there will be much progress.”

Betelgeuse watched as she took a drag of her cigarette, and for the first time in his afterlife, he had no words. He was angry, full of rage because of the unfairness of it all.

But deep within all that anger was an emotion that he hardly ever felt.

Fear.

He was scared.

He didn’t do love. He disliked the very topic of it. It was sappy shit, not his thing at all. How the hell was he going to fall in love with someone?

And who would ever love a loud, crude, selfish, mischievous ghost like him?

Don’t get him wrong, they were all qualities that he was very happy with, thank you very much. But he knew, deep down, that this wasn’t going to be easy.

The rose on Juno’s desk was blooming, its beautiful black and white petals all looking healthy. But those petals would eventually start to fall. And as he looked at the shimmering flower, he found himself thinking that this was the hardest predicament that he had ever been in.

And he had no idea how he was going to get out of it.

Chapter Text

Present day…

Lydia Deetz knew from an early age that she was different to other people. Everywhere she went, she saw dead people. She could see them right now, moving between the bookshelves in the town's small library, where she was spending some of her day off. She smiled at one of the ghosts, who gave her a polite nod in response, and continued browsing the books on the shelves.

Lydia loved to read, but her choice of book was not to everyone’s taste. Gothic horror, mystery and anything strange or unusual were her favourite topics. She ran her fingers over one of her favourite books about ghosts and pulled it off the shelf to have a look inside. Being able to see the dead was an ability that few people had, so the chances that the book had been written by someone who had met and interacted with a ghost were slim. But Lydia didn’t mind. Sometimes it was fun reading other people’s theories about ghosts, even though none of the authors had firsthand experience with the topic like she did.

Now a freelance photographer with a six-year-old daughter, Lydia should have been feeling like she had it all. A career, a family. But she didn’t. Fresh out of a divorce and now forty-two years of age, Lydia often felt like there was something missing from her life. She craved adventure and loved to daydream about otherworldly things. Such daydreams had interfered with her social life over the years, and Lydia had very few friends. The only close friends she had were a young ghost couple, Adam and Barbara Maitland, who lived close to her home in Winter River. Lydia had met the couple one day when delivering some of Delia’s art to the homeowners, an obnoxious living couple whom Adam and Barbara wanted out of their home.

Lydia's teenage years had been very lonely, and there were times when she’d had very dark thoughts about entering the afterlife. When she had admitted this to Adam and Barbara, the ghost couple had immediately told her that being dead wouldn’t make her feel better and that she needed to focus on enjoying her life. But for someone like Lydia, life wasn’t easy.

Lydia knew that her daydreams would never become reality, that she would never be able to experience the dark, gothic fairytales that she often read about, and she had tried to make the most of life. But it was hard. So damn hard. Since their separation, Richard had started travelling, taking long journeys as part of his desire to fight climate justice. They had, of course, talked this through, and Lydia had agreed to cut some of her work hours to care for Astrid.

For normal people, parenting was hard. For someone like Lydia, who was strange and unusual, it was an ongoing challenge. Astrid was at that age where she wanted to explore everything and asked constant questions, and for Lydia, who loved nothing more than to read one of her dark stories in peace, it was exhausting. But she would never change it. She loved Astrid with all her heart.

The chiming of the library's doorbell caught Lydia’s attention, and she looked up from her book. Through the shelves, she could see the figure of Rory, a local businessman for whom Lydia had provided photography services a couple of times and whom she found highly annoying and conceited. She groaned and immediately brought the large book up to her face, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her. Her choice of attire, which was usually long, black gothic dresses, made her highly noticeable, though, and seconds later, he appeared at her side.

“Lydia!” he beamed. “Thought I’d find you in here.”

He grabbed the book that Lydia was holding, wrinkling his nose as he examined it.

“Another book about ghosts? This can’t be normal. You need to stop reading things like this and start focusing on things that actually exist.”

“Such as?” replied Lydia, folding her arms.

“Well…such as me,” said Rory, grinning. “Now, how about that date? I can take you out tonight. I’ll pay. Just for tonight, of course. You can reimburse me tomorrow by doing a couple of photography projects for me.”

“I can’t tonight, Rory, I’m busy. Can I please have the book back?”

Rory leafed through the pages, pulling a face of disapproval as he did so.

“I don’t know how you can read this. There aren’t even any pictures of ghosts. It’s all text.”

“It’s very fascinating.”

Lydia reached up and snatched the book from him before brushing past him and heading towards the librarian's desk.

“I really do think a date would be good for you, Lydia. It’s not right for a woman to spend so much time with her face buried in a book, especially one about ghosts. It’s…it’s far too strange and unusual.”

“Rory, I’m strange and unusual. Now please, let me just get this. I have to get home to Astrid. Delia’s been babysitting for hours.”

“This one again, eh?” said the elderly librarian as Lydia placed the heavy tome on the counter. “You sure like this one, don’t ya?

“I sure do, Mr. Harris.”

Mr. Harris chuckled as he reached underneath the counter and pulled out a brown paper bag.

“Tell you what, you keep it.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary…”

“I insist. It’s nice to see a lady such as yourself taking a huge interest in things like this. I can’t see the ghosts in here, but I’ve heard you talking to ‘em. Always love to hear your conversations with ‘em even though I can’t hear ‘em myself.”

Lydia glanced at Rory, who shook his head in disbelief.

“Madness,” he muttered. “Complete madness. Books like these shouldn’t be recommended. It’s not right for a woman to be so fixated on a topic like this. Soon she’ll start having deep thoughts about ghosts and death…”

“I have those thoughts all the time, but thanks for your concern, Rory,” said Lydia, taking the bag from Mr. Harris. “Thanks, Mr. Harris! See you soon.”

Mr. Harris beamed at her, and Lydia waved as she exited the shop, Rory close behind her like a dog following its owner. Lydia sighed. Why the hell couldn’t the guy take a hint?

“So when shall we have that date, then?” he asked, running alongside her to keep up with her.

How about never, thought Lydia, as she pulled her car keys out of her pocket. She didn’t voice these thoughts, though, because Lydia sometimes struggled with assertiveness. So instead, she said:

“I’ll see you around, Rory.”

She climbed into her car, which was parked just a short distance away from the library, but he still didn’t leave.

“You’ve still got my number, right? Call me!”

Lydia groaned inwardly as he pressed his face against the car window and excitedly jabbed his thumb next to his ear while pointing his little finger at his mouth. Jesus, would he ever leave her alone? Rory was popular with women. She had seen the ones she had worked with fawning over him many times, but Lydia just wasn’t interested. He wasn’t her type at all, and she highly doubted that if he got to know her, really got to know her, she wouldn’t be his type either. She was far too odd, too strange.

As she drove away, she could see him in the wing mirror, running a hand through his slicked black hair while still making the “call me” gesture with the other hand. Lydia sighed, wishing, not for the first time, that she could just jump into one of those gothic fairytales and live out her fantasy. It would be far more enjoyable than dealing with the mess that she was about to face back at home. She cursed herself mentally for allowing Delia to teach Astrid the basics of sculpting, hoping that her stepmother had placed some sheets down first.

***

It turned out that Delia hadn’t put sheets down, and Lydia was now on her knees, trying to remove the grey stains from the sofa with a cloth and a scraper. She was livid.

“No need to panic, it’ll be fine,” Delia said, waving a hand at the sofa. “Keep scraping away!”

“How about you get down here on your knees and start scraping? You made the mess!” said Lydia, scowling as chunks of clay flew through the air.

“Well, actually it was Astrid who made the mess, but I wouldn’t advise subjecting her to child labour right now. We’ve been very busy. She might be cranky.”

“Why the hell,” asked Lydia, dipping the cloth into the bucket with such force that it slopped all over the carpet, “didn’t you use sheets? Or the attic? Anywhere but the living room for god’s sake!”

Delia scoffed and placed her hands on her hips.

“Well, there’s no need to take that tone! I’ve just given up three hours of my day to do babysitting duties. A thank you would be much appreciated! I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. She was usually highly grateful for Delia’s help. Her stepmother had very kindly offered to take Astrid to school and collect her a couple of days a week to allow Lydia to do her photography work. But this? This was just infuriating. Any feelings of gratitude that she had been ready to express had disappeared the moment she had seen the mess.

“I shall take myself and my sculpting equipment home to your father!”

Lydia remained silent, still chipping away aggressively at the mound of clay that was stuck to the sofa.

“Thank you so much, Delia,” said her stepmother loudly, hovering over her. “Thank you for your help, for giving up three hours of your precious time to teach Astrid the art of sculpting. I’ll be eternally grateful.”

“For god’s sake,” muttered Lydia, rolling her eyes again. “Thank you, Delia, for making a mess of my living room and ruining my brand-new sofa that I will very likely have to spend the small amount that I earn from my photography job to have it professionally cleaned. I’ll be eternally grateful.”

Delia looked furious.

“Ugh, sometimes you really are still that obnoxious goth girl from years ago.”

She let out another loud huff and headed to the hallway.

“Astrid, dear, it’s been a pleasure! Grandma will see you very soon!”

“Bye, Grandma!” came Astrid’s tiny voice from the kitchen. “I had so much fun!”

“I’m sure you did,” muttered Lydia bitterly, throwing the clay-covered cloth into the bucket and causing more water to slop onto the carpet.

“Mommy, I’m thirsty!” Astrid called.

Lydia closed her eyes and sighed heavily.

“In a minute, sweetie. Mommy’s just busy cleaning up yours and grandma’s mess.”

“But I need a drink now! I’m dying of thirst.”

Lydia ran a hand over her face, trying not to lose her cool. Perhaps, she thought, she was letting Delia spend a little bit too much time with Astrid. The young girl was starting to sound just as goddamn dramatic as her grandma.

“In a minute, Astrid!”

Could her day get any worse? Forced to deal with the company of Rory, then coming home to find her new sofa had been destroyed. What more could possibly go wrong?

But things were about to get worse.

A lot worse.

The next sequence of events happened so slowly, so terrifyingly, that Lydia wasn’t even sure if it was real.

The jingle of an ice cream truck drifted through the front door that Delia had left open, and Lydia heard Astrid let out a squeal of excitement. An ice cream would hopefully keep the young girl quiet while Lydia tried to finish her job of cleaning the sofa. Astrid ran into the hallway, and Lydia followed, reaching into her bag for her wallet. She located it and called for Astrid to wait.

But Astrid didn’t wait.

The excited young girl rushed straight out of the front door. The ice cream truck was parked on the opposite side of the road, but a car was fast approaching on the other side. Lydia tried to catch Astrid in time, but she couldn’t, and what happened next seemed to occur in slow motion.

No one could have prepared Lydia for it. It was something that no parent should ever have to see. There was a thud, and someone was screaming.

Lydia was screaming.

Astrid lay on the ground, not moving.

Not breathing.

And Lydia’s world came crashing down.

***

“Fuck’s sake,” growled Betelgeuse, running a hand over his face. So far today, he’d been summoned twice and both times his potential clients had been uptight fuckers. How the hell was he ever going to get rid of this curse if no one wanted his business or his company?

Since being cursed all that time ago by Ophelia, Betelgeuse had done everything to increase his chances of getting a woman to fall in love with him. He had turned up the charm, but none of them seemed interested. Ok, so he made a few perverted comments now and then (actually, it was all the time), but what the hell was wrong with that? He was constantly giving attractive women plenty of The Juice’s attention. Surely something had to happen soon?

He sighed and made his way to the afterlife’s waiting room. Fuck this. He’d had enough.

“Need to see Juno,” he growled at the receptionist. The blue-faced woman rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“I’m afraid there are no available appointments with Juno.”

“Well, gimme an appointment with Ophelia instead, then.”

“There are no available appointments with Ophelia either.”

“Fuckin’ bullshit!” shouted Betelgeuse, bringing his hand down on the table. The receptionist grimaced as flecks of spit hit the sheet of glass that separated them. “I need to see one or both of ‘em, right now!”

“Mr. Geuse, please calm down. And for the hundredth time, they won’t be able to remove the curse. You’re wasting your time. Try being polite and actually putting some work into it, and maybe you’ll have some success.”

“I don’t need to put the work in, I’m already a catch,” said the ghost, jabbing his finger into his chest.

The receptionist sighed heavily.

“Please just leave. And don’t bother taking a number.”

“Babe, the only number I was plannin’ on takin’ is yours. Whadd’ya say? Wanna go on a date with me?”

“No.”

“I’m a hell of a catch.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’d catch something,” the receptionist replied, looking him up and down and wrinkling her nose. “Now go.”

“But –”

“Out!”

Betelgeuse let out a growl of frustration and stomped out of the waiting room. Jesus, why did everyone seem so uptight? He needed a drink, but first, he’d stop by his room and grab his newspaper.

His lodgings were grotty, a typical ghost bachelor’s pad, with beer bottles, and ashtrays full of cigarette butts littered around the room. The room was designed to accommodate two occupants, but Betelgeuse had always refused to share with anyone (unless that someone was one of the Dante’s girls).

A few candles lined some shelves, which were positioned above an old chest of drawers. In one of these drawers was a special stash of items that Betelgeuse had kept from his grave-robbing days. Trinkets, jewellery, even gold teeth. You name it, Betelgeuse had stolen it. He loved his collection and never let anyone look in the drawer. The items were his treasure, a reminder of the world that he had left so prematurely.

Whistling, he approached the building where his room was located and paused, frowning, as he caught sight of a tiny, confused-looking ghost girl standing outside it. He watched as she disappeared inside the building and screwed up his face. It was rare to see a child so young in the afterlife. There was the slightest tinge of colour in her cheeks, hinting that she hadn't been dead for very long. Suddenly remembering that he’d left the door to his room unlocked, he quickly snapped his fingers and teleported straight there, hoping he could scare her away.

Unknown to Betelgeuse, the little girl had been able to see ghosts when she was alive and wasn’t fazed by anything strange and unusual. His sudden appearance in the room, however, did cause her to jump a little, and an unpleasant grin spread across Betelgeuse’s face as she quickly removed her hand from his drawer of treasures.

“I’m gonna give you five minutes to get the hell outta here, kid, or I’ll pull a scary face that’ll haunt ya for the rest of your death.”

The young girl placed her hands on her hips and scowled at him. She looked no older than five or six and appeared to have an impressive amount of sass for someone so little.

“I’m not scared of ghosts,” she said. “I could see them when I was alive.”

“Yeah, I ain’t interested in your life story, kid, now scram.”

The girl’s large brown eyes shifted to the drawer, and she placed her hand inside it.

“This is pretty,” she said, pulling out a gorgeous vintage brooch. “My mom likes things like this.”

“Great,” said Betelgeuse, sounding bored. “Now put it back and get outta here.”

“You’re very rude. Can I have this? I’ve just died, and I ended up here, in this strange world. I’d like to take this back to my mom to make her feel better. She’s really sad that I died.”

“Do I look like I give a shit?” replied Betelgeuse, shrugging. “Put it back and scram! I worked hard to get that, and I don’t want anyone takin’ it from me!”

Before he could stop her, the young girl ran past him, still clutching the brooch.

“I’m taking this to my mom!”

“Get back here!”

This was not how he had expected his day to turn out. Here he was, chasing a freshly deceased kid around the afterlife when he should be relaxing with one of the girls at Dante’s instead. He needed to teach this kid a lesson. The little brat was going to pay for this. He wouldn’t harm her, of course. Nope, that wasn’t his style. Betelgeuse may be crude and ill-mannered with a penchant for making mischief, but even he had standards. He’d never harm a child. But he was going to make sure she paid him back for taking one of his treasures.

“Get back here!” he shouted, as the young girl weaved in and out of the legs of passing ghosts.

Suddenly, she came to a halt, almost crashing into a tall figure who immediately held her arms out to catch her.

“Woah, are you ok?” asked Ophelia, as she studied the young girl.

“That strange man is chasing me!” she said, hiding behind the Ghost Enchantress.

“The kid stole from me!” spat Betelgeuse.

Ophelia kneeled and gently brushed a few stray hairs from the girl’s face.

“What happened, sweetie? Are your parents down here?”

The girl shook her head.

“I-I’ve just died, and I ended up here. My mom was really sad. She helped me draw a door to get in here, and I told her I’d bring her something back from here. Can I go back to her now?”

“No, you can’t,” spat Betelgeuse. “You’re dead dead deadski, kid. You’re with the other afterlife kids now. So get used to it.”

“Betelgeuse!” said Ophelia warningly. “Please don’t speak to her like that, she’s just a child!”

“And? Better to be honest with her than pretend it’s all kittens and rainbows down here. Ain’t easy bein’ dead and the sooner she learns it the better.”

“I’m warning you,” said Ophelia, moving closer to him and jabbing a finger in his chest. “Please, be kind. Is it any wonder that you’re not having any success with breaking the curse?”

“Don’t blame me for that,” growled Betelgeuse. “You’re the one who cursed me, ya fuckin’ witch.”

The little girl giggled.

“You said a naughty word,” she said.

“Yeah, I did, and there’s plenty more where that came from. Now gimme that brooch.”

His nose twitched with anger as the girl stuck her tongue out at him in response. Fuck’s sake. Could this day get any worse?

“What’s your name, sweetie?” asked Ophelia, stroking the girl’s hair.

“Astrid.”

“And your mommy knows you’re down here, does she?”

Astrid nodded.

“She can see ghosts.”

“Well, that’s a good thing. At least she will still be able to see you, even though you are…”

Her voice trailed off, and Betelgeuse sniggered.

“Dead?” he said. “Just say the fuckin’ word. Not like she ain’t heard it before.”

Ophelia closed her eyes and sighed, her patience running thin.

“I’m keeping the brooch,” said Astrid, before blowing a raspberry at him.

“No, you ain’t,” he growled. “Now give it back!

But before he could retrieve it, Ophelia clicked her fingers, teleporting herself and Astrid away from him.

Betelgeuse let out a howl of frustration and teleported himself back to his room. He grabbed the paper and accessed the obituaries. His mouth curved into a grin as he saw the young girl’s photo, and his eyes raked over the obituary, which contained her location of death.

Winter River. Connecticut.

Betelgeuse’s special abilities meant that although he was unable to enter the living world without someone summoning him, he could leave leaflets with his name on up there. He snapped his fingers and immediately made leaflets appear in all homes in Winter River. The town was small, and the chances of the girl’s grieving mother summoning him were probably low, but he had to try.

The little brat had taken his beautiful vintage brooch, and he wanted it back. Either that, or she was going to have to give him something very valuable in return…

***

Lydia jumped when Astrid suddenly appeared in the attic, accompanied by a beautiful ghost woman.

“Astrid! Oh, thank God, you came back!”

Lydia brushed her hands over her daughter’s hair.

“I got you something, Mommy! A pretty brooch!”

Lydia examined the piece of jewellery. It was gorgeous, just the type of thing that she would wear. The fact that it had been taken from the afterlife made the item even more intriguing.

“She was wandering around down there,” said Ophelia.

“I helped her to draw a door to get in after she…”

Lydia’s voice cracked, and she took a deep breath as she tried to compose herself.

“The man I took it from was a big meanie,” said Astrid.

“What man? Astrid, what –”

But Astrid wasn’t listening. She was currently skipping around the room, a biting cool breeze following her ghostly form as she moved.

“It all happened so fast,” said Lydia. “One minute she was running for an ice cream and the next…”

“I’m so sorry,” said Ophelia. “The death of a little one is always hard, even for those such as yourself, who can communicate with dead loved ones.”

“She shouldn’t be dead,” said Lydia, her voice strained. “She should be here, alive and healthy, playing with her toys. I…I don’t know how I’m going to get over this. Her dad’s away…I haven’t even told him yet…”

As soon as she finished speaking, a popping sound came from the dresser in the corner of the room. She looked up, frowning and noticed that a leaflet had appeared. She hurried over and picked it up, her eyes widening as she read the words printed on it.

Recently lost your kid? Call Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! The ghost with the most will help you to come to terms with the death of your little ankle-biter. No kidding around. Call today!

Lydia frowned at the picture underneath the words, which consisted of a man’s head on a giant beetle’s body.

“What’cha looking at?” asked Astrid, snatching the leaflet from her. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the photo.

“That looks like the rude man that I got the brooch from,” she said. “Betel…goose.”

Ophelia’s eyes widened, and Lydia noticed that the woman suddenly looked worried.

“Beetlejuice!” Ophelia said out loud, then clasped a hand over her mouth. She took a deep breath and then said in a whisper:

“I wouldn’t advise saying his name! He’s –”

“Beetle…juice!” shouted Astrid. “That’s a funny name!”

Ophelia tried to shush her, but it was too late. The little girl laughed and said the name two more times. Lydia frowned, having no idea what was happening.

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room changed. Thick green smoke began to engulf them, and seconds later, a man who looked very dead was standing in front of her. Her gaze shifted from his wild, green-tinged blond hair to the patches of moss on his face. He was leering at her, his arms outstretched as though she had been expecting him.

“Beetlejuice!” shouted Astrid, before pointing at the man.

“Eeeee!” shrieked the man. “Easy with the name, kid!”

“Are you a ghost?” Lydia asked, studying him carefully. He didn’t look like any ghost she had ever seen before. He looked chaotic. Completely wild.

He looked her up and down, his blue eyes drinking in every part of her, and his mouth curved into a wide grin.

“Sure am,” he said. “The ghost with the most. And I’m here to get my brooch back.”

“Astrid, you shouldn’t take people’s things without asking,” scolded Lydia, turning and waving a finger at her daughter.

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, turning to face Betelgeuse again. “She’s just passed away, and she wanted to bring me something back from the afterlife.”

“Stealin’ is a criminal offence in the afterlife,” said Betelgeuse, folding his arms.

“It’s a criminal offence in the living world too,” said Ophelia, sounding bored. “Funny how you didn’t mind committing it yourself when you were alive.”

“Shut yer trap,” snapped Betelgeuse. “I worked hard to get that brooch. I want it back!”

“I’m keeping it for my mommy,” shouted Astrid.

Betelgeuse leaned forward, an unpleasant grin on his face.

“Let’s see what the Afterlife Crime Unit have to say then, shall we? Little thieves like you can still get punished in the afterlife, ya know. They lock you up and –”

At these words, Astrid looked frightened and ran out of the room, the brooch clasped tightly in her hand.

“Astrid!” shouted Lydia, her heart hammering hard against her chest at the thought of her little daughter being put in a prison cell.

“For god’s sake, she’s just a child!” said Ophelia.

“I don’t fuckin care! Get me that goddamn brooch back and I’ll let this go! But until that happens, I ain’t movin’.”

Lydia’s heart was pounding. The day had gone wrong. So wrong. She just wanted it to end.

“I’ll pay you,” she said, knowing that it was going to be hard to retrieve the brooch from Astrid and feeling too exhausted to try. “I’ll give you whatever it’s worth.”

Betelgeuse studied her carefully, one eyebrow raised.

“It’s worth a hell of a lot,” he said. “We’re talkin’ thousands.”

Lydia’s heart sank. She didn’t have that kind of money. Her photography wage barely covered the mortgage, and while Richard was providing some financial support, it wasn’t enough to cover all the bills.

As she stood there, she thought long and hard about what she could offer this ghost. Astrid was just six years old. Now facing a long death in the afterlife. At that moment, Lydia suddenly wished that she could somehow take her place. She wanted nothing more than to protect her, for Astrid to be up here safe. But that wasn’t going to happen. She had only just met this ghost, this Betelgeuse. And she knew he wasn’t going to leave until she repaid him for Astrid’s actions.

And right then, Lydia made a decision.

She took a deep breath, and when she spoke, her voice was strained.

“Take me,” she said. “I’ll be your payment. I’ll go into the Afterlife. I’ll switch places with Astrid."

Chapter Text

The day Astrid was born, Lydia’s life changed. The pregnancy had been unplanned and had happened while Lydia and Richard were in the throes of that first flush of romance. Lydia often felt sad when she thought back to those days. It had seemed, to start with, that she had finally got lucky and found someone who accepted her for who she was.

Richard had been kind, gentle and caring, everything that she had wanted. To start with, he had seemed enamoured by her love of dark gothic stories and her interest in ghosts. But eventually, those interests that he had initially been supportive of became one of the main causes of their separation. Like every other relationship she’d had, her ability to see and communicate with the dead had torn them apart.

While Lydia had felt an instant rush of love for her daughter when she was born, she had struggled to adjust to motherhood, and it was during these times that she had turned to her strange and unusual interests to get her through the day. She would savour the peace and quiet in those early years while Astrid was napping, immersing herself in her favourite dark gothic tales or reading about ghosts.

It was hard. The biggest challenge that she had ever faced in her life, and while Lydia was grateful for the experience, to be blessed with a daughter, she couldn’t deny that there were days when she would daydream about those fairytales and mourn the loss of the freedom that her pre-motherhood days had given her.

“It’s perfectly normal to feel that way,” Delia had said to her one day when Lydia had admitted she was struggling. “Motherhood is one big bouquet of emotions, Lydia. One day you feel happy, the next you’re tearing your hair out. You were one hell of an obnoxious teenager. I’m honestly not sure how I’ve got any hair left.”

Lydia had rolled her eyes at this remark, but Delia’s next words had surprised her.

“But you get through it. You have to. And no matter how challenging it is, no matter how much your child, or in my case, stepdaughter, drives you crazy, you love them unconditionally, no matter what. And you would give your life for them. You’d do anything to make them happy and safe.”

And those words were circulating in Lydia’s brain right now as she stood there, ready to take Astrid’s place in the afterlife. Ready to give her life up to let her daughter have hers back.

There was silence now, as they all stood there. The icy chill that had filled the living room moments earlier had gone, indicating that Astrid was hiding somewhere in the house with the valuable brooch still in her possession.

The ghost named Betelgeuse was staring at her, his expression unreadable. Lydia took a deep breath, and when she spoke, her voice was unsteady.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Astrid safe,” she said.

“So you’re sayin’,” said Betelgeuse, “that you would take her place?”

His words usually came out fast, chaotic, as though he hardly ever thought about what he was saying before he spoke it. But this time, he spoke slowly. Lydia nodded in response. His face screwed up then and he looked…confused? Shocked? Lydia wasn’t sure. But it was an expression that, judging from his wild personality and lack of inhibition, Lydia could tell he didn’t wear very often.

“Why?”

His tone was laced with what seemed like genuine confusion, as though he couldn’t understand why someone would make such a huge sacrifice. Lydia didn’t hesitate with her response.

“Because she’s my daughter and I don’t want her being in the afterlife with…”

The words trailed off as Lydia’s lack of assertiveness prevented her from being brutally honest with the chaotic ghost who, while understandably peeved at his valuable brooch being taken, had been nothing but hostile and rude towards her daughter.

Betelgeuse’s mouth curved into an unpleasant grin.

“With me? Yeah, can understand you not wantin’ that. I ain’t fond of kids. Can’t stand the little brats.”

Ophelia groaned and placed her head in her hands.

Lydia glared at Betelgeuse and was about to speak when Astrid came floating back into the room. She slowly approached Lydia, wearing an expression that told her things were about to get even worse.

“Mommy, I lost the brooch,” she said, her tiny hands playing with the hem of the dress.

Lydia sighed.

“Yes, I thought that might happen when you ran off with it.”

“Is that mean man going to hurt me?”

She pointed at Betelgeuse, who looked furious.

“I ain’t gonna hurt ya, kid, but I definitely think your mommy should start makin’ arrangements to pay me back.”

Lydia glanced at him, and he ran a tongue over his moss-covered teeth. Was he leering at her? She scrunched her face up in disgust.

“He might get the fuckin’ witch to cast a spell on me!” said Astrid, now hiding behind her mother.

Betelgeuse let out a roar of laughter, while Ophelia gasped. Lydia’s eyes widened in horror.

“Astrid! What have I told you about swear words? Please don’t use them!”

“But that’s what he” – she pointed at Betelgeuse – “called the nice lady. A fuckin’ witch.”

“You shouldn’t be using foul language in front of my child,” snapped Lydia, hands on her hips, now glaring at Betelgeuse, who was still sniggering.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “A few bad words ain’t gonna kill her…oh wait, she’s already…”

His words trailed off, and he let out another roar of laughter.

“Betelgeuse!” snapped Ophelia warningly.

Betelgeuse’s laughter immediately died, and he held up his hands.

“Woah, easy with the name!”

“You’re unbelievable,” said Lydia, shaking her head at him. “Is it possible? Is it possible for me to switch places with her? I don’t want her anywhere near…him.”

Ophelia nodded.

“Yes,” she said. “I can perform a Switch.”

“So, how will it work?”

“Well, in order for me to perform a Switch, the person switching with someone who is deceased must be a living person, like yourself.”

Lydia nodded in response.

“But I must warn you, the switch obviously means that you will no longer be a living person. You will be giving up your life to give Astrid her life back. And the only way you will be able to come back to life is if you switch places with someone who is alive.”

Lydia was silent. This was a huge decision, but what choice did she have? The brooch was lost, and Betelgeuse had already told her that it was worth an amount of money that she didn’t have. But Lydia realised then that this decision was just as much about Astrid gaining her life back as it was about repaying the rude, insufferable ghost who was still wearing an infuriating grin.

“You will have to sign a contract,” said Ophelia. “It’s annoying, I know. I never realised that paperwork would be such an important thing in the afterlife, but…”

Her words trailed off, and she sighed.

“You need to be absolutely sure that this is what you want.”

“It is,” said Lydia without any hesitation. She stole another glance at Betelgeuse and sighed heavily.

“Look, I don’t have the money to pay you back for the brooch, but hopefully this is enough.”

His grin faltered slightly, and Lydia thought she saw a flicker of confusion on his face again, as though he still couldn’t believe she was making such a big decision. But as quickly as it came, the expression disappeared, and he was grinning unpleasantly again.

“Oh, it’s plenty,” he said. “I ain’t ever gonna complain about a good lookin’ gal such as yourself comin’ to live with me.”

Ophelia let out a gasp of surprise.

“But…but you hate sharing your room with anyone,” the Ghost Enchantress said.

“Not if they look like her, I don’t,” he said, nodding at Lydia. “You can pay me back by bein’ my roommate.”

Lydia, however, was nonplussed. She had expected that to happen. Astrid had, after all, taken the valuable brooch from his home, so it made sense that Betelgeuse would want Lydia in return as a replacement. She had no idea what he had in store for her. He was a stranger who had given her nothing but the impression that he lacked basic manners and disliked children. She caught sight of his grin again and suddenly wondered if he was expecting something…inappropriate? Maybe even sexual favours? There was certainly something perverse about him. But Lydia couldn’t voice these concerns in front of Astrid. And she didn’t need to right now. All that mattered was that her daughter would be safe.

“I can perform it as soon as you’re ready,” said Ophelia. Lydia looked into the ghost woman's mesmerising eyes and nodded.

“How about right now?” said Betelgeuse. “S’only fair that she switches right now. That brooch was valuable, and I want my payment right away.”

Lydia ignored him and instead spoke to Ophelia, her tone pleading.

“I just want a little bit of time to say goodbye to my stepmother and dad…and Astrid’s dad too. They will all be her carers from now on. I…I need to explain to them.”

Ophelia nodded and was about to respond, but Betelgeuse cut her off.

“I ain’t got time for you to go through all that sappy shit. You –”

“Will you please go back to the afterlife and let Lydia prepare for this,” said Ophelia through gritted teeth.

“But –”

“Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse!”

The Ghost Enchantress shouted the words, her tone laced with impatience and anger, and Betelgeuse gave a loud huff before disappearing, leaving behind a trail of green smoke.

“I really should have banished him sooner,” she muttered, wafting away the smoke and coughing.

“He can be banished?” asked Lydia, raising an eyebrow. She had learned that the ghost could be summoned, but hadn’t known that he could be sent back to the afterlife.

“Yes,” said Ophelia. “I’d advise telling your friends and loved ones not to say his name three times. Unless they want a headache.”

Lydia shivered as the icy breeze surrounding Astrid hit her. She reached down and ran her hand through the ghost girl’s hair.

“I will perform the Switch when you are ready,” said Ophelia. “Just say the word.”

Lydia nodded and took a deep breath as she prepared to deliver one of the hardest goodbyes she would ever have to say.

***

Needless to say, Delia, Charles and Richard did not react well to the news that Lydia would soon be dead.

It had been hard explaining to three people who could not see ghosts that she was about to enter the afterlife. It was the last time she would be interacting with her father and stepmother as a living person, and Lydia had no idea when she would see them again.

They were all sitting there now in Lydia’s living room. The awkward silence hung in the air, broken occasionally by Astrid humming happily to herself. Lydia was the only person in the room who could see and hear her.

“This is ridiculous,” Charles finally said, slamming his coffee cup onto the table. “Think about what you’re doing, Lydia!”

“I have thought about it, Dad. It’s the best thing for all of us.”

“How? I’m about to lose my daughter. I…”

Charles’s strained voice trailed off, and he ran a hand over his face. Lydia looked at him in surprise. She had never heard so much emotion in his voice, had never seen him look so…so heartbroken.

“Why on earth didn’t you just tell her to give him the brooch back, Lydia?” asked Richard, his eyes fixed on the empty spot on the carpet where his dead daughter was sitting. “You know we’ve always tried to teach Astrid not to steal.”

Lydia knew he was unable to see Astrid, but she wondered then if he was able to sense her ghostly presence. She noticed him shiver slightly.

“She wanted to bring me something back from the afterlife. I…I did scold her, but I knew it was pointless. She ran off with it and lost it, and…and the ghost she took it from was angry and wanted payment…I couldn’t possibly afford to give him the money for it…so I offered to take her place.”

“This all sounds ludicrous,” said Charles, raising his voice. “Absolute madness!”

“Charles, dear, your blood pressure,” said Delia, placing a hand on Charles’s arm. “Keep calm.”

“It sounds like something from a twisted fairytale,” said Charles, ignoring Delia and shrugging her hand off. “Completely unbelievable.”

“I agree,” added Richard.

Lydia looked at him, and he glanced back at her, his expression full of disappointment and disapproval. She knew that he didn’t believe in ghosts, but she had never heard him properly voice it before.

“I’ve got an important trip to the Amazon coming up in five months,” he said. “This is the last thing I needed.”

Lydia folded her arms.

“I gave up a lot of my working hours to care for Astrid,” she said. “I’ve let you build up your career.”

“And now you’re tearing it down by doing this!”

“Tearing it…Richard, I’m doing this so that Astrid can have her life back, because I can’t afford to replace the brooch.”

“She’s dead, Lydia. She can’t be brought back to life. This is madness. How much longer are you going to –”

“Going to what, Richard? Going to pretend? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I…”

“She’s right there,” said Lydia, pointing at Astrid, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor and humming a nursery rhyme. “I can see her.”

Astrid waved at her father and grandparents, blissfully ignorant of the fact that they couldn’t see her.

“You know what, I’m done.”

Richard slapped his hands on his legs loudly and got up off the sofa.

“You’re not being fair,” said Lydia, trying to remain calm. “I’m doing this for our daughter.”

“Please don’t accuse me of not being fair, Lydia. I’ve been trying, for years, to build up a career so I can provide you and Astrid with financial support. I’ve worked so hard concentrating on my job, fighting for climate justice, which, unlike ghosts, actually exists.”

His words hit Lydia in the chest and painfully buried themselves there. Richard had never taken that tone with her before, nor had he ever spoken so rudely about her ability. Tears pricked her eyes as she watched her ex-husband walk towards the door, and before he exited, he spoke again.

“Just…just call me when all this is sorted.”

Lydia was about to respond and tell him that she wouldn’t be able to call him because she would soon be dead, but she didn’t. Instead, she sat there in silence. It was Delia who finally broke that silence a few moments later.

“Whatever happens, Lydia, we will give Astrid the best life possible, for as long as we can…”

Her voice trailed off, and Lydia felt a rush of love for the stepmother who had become so supportive in her later years. She glanced at Charles, who was sitting there stony-faced, then shifted her gaze to Astrid.

The little girl was so young and didn’t deserve any of this. She deserved to be alive and healthy, enjoying her childhood. The brooch was gone, likely somewhere in the huge house, and the chances of Betelgeuse getting it back were slim to non-existent.

Lydia sighed and took a deep breath.

She was ready.

She was ready to switch places with Astrid, to give up her life and finally enter the strange and unusual afterlife.

What she wasn’t ready for, though, was having an annoying, rude, chaotic ghost as her roommate.

***

Betelgeuse headed towards Dante’s, whistling and feeling very much like he had just won the lottery. Sure, he was angry at Ophelia for banishing him, but hey, what was a little banishment when he was about to gain an attractive roommate?

He had noticed the goth woman’s beauty immediately. Large doe-like brown eyes, midnight-black hair and a nice body. Gorgeous. Definitely his type. But there was something else about her…something that Betelgeuse rarely ever felt when in the presence of a woman.

Perhaps it was because he was always around the girls from Dante’s, he wasn't sure. But she had a certain…air of something about her. Innocence, maybe? Betelgeuse wasn’t sure, but it had immediately drawn him in and prevented him from being his usually perverted self. Usually, he got a little bit handsy with women, but this woman…there was something about her. Something that had made him keep his hands to himself and act uncharacteristically respectful.

Not that he’d been any less rude.

And he certainly didn’t give a shit about the fact that he had been rude.

He didn’t do manners. Or kindness. Or any of that stupid shit.

No siree. Those things were definitely not his thing.

So, despite her beauty, he was going to make this woman, this woman who seemed so strange and unusual and had intrigued him with her selfless act, pay for her daughter’s actions of taking his brooch. He was happy to share his room with her, but that didn’t mean he was going to share his belongings. Nope. That wasn’t going to happen. He had worked hard (grave-robbing had still been a job, no matter what all the judgmental stuck-up fuckers of the afterlife thought) to gain his possessions and no one, not even a good-looking goth woman, was going to take them from him.

Of course, there was the curse, this damn curse that had ruined his afterlife, to think about. Could this woman be the one to break it? He wouldn’t blame her if she fell for him. He was, after all, a hell of a catch. But he wasn’t going to put much work in. Maybe none at all. He was already charming and charismatic enough. After a few months of living with him, she would hopefully feel a little tingle.

The sooner he got rid of this curse, the better. All he cared about was getting his freedom back.

He continued to whistle as he approached Dante’s, looking forward to enjoying the girls’ services before he would no doubt have to go home and deal with the goth woman’s tears at saying goodbye to her bratty little thief of a daughter. And, as predicted, when he arrived back at his lodgings later, sexually satisfied and full of beer and liquor, Lydia was lying on the other bed in the room, sniffling. But Betelgeuse felt no sympathy. She had offered to do this. This was on her.

His cold, dead heart felt nothing.

Instead, he rolled his eyes and sat on the other bed in the room.

“It’s been a long day, and the last thing I wanna hear is you crying yerself to sleep.”

Lydia didn’t respond.

“Fuck’s sake,” the ghost snapped, running a hand over his face.

He snapped his fingers, and the room began to change. He watched Lydia’s eyes widen as the room became larger, before splitting into two. Lydia was now lying in a bed in an adjoining room, rather than in the same room as him.

He leaned against the empty doorway of the new room and watched as her pretty face (she was a beautiful crier, which he was thankful for) looked around her new space in amazement.

“H…how did you do that?”

“Magic, babe.”

He grinned at her.

She tilted her head, studying him carefully.

“Don’t think I ever caught yer name?” he said.

“Lydia,” she replied, sounding defeated despite her momentary look of amazement (was there even possibly a bit of excitement in her gaze too? He couldn’t tell).

“Well, Lydia, welcome to my humble abode,” he put on a faux posh accent for her, always glad to have an opportunity for theatrics. When he spoke again, his usual gravelly tone was back.

“Let’s get a few things straight,” he said. “Everythin’ in this area,” – he gestured to the room behind him, where Lydia had been just moments earlier – “is mine.”

He watched as Lydia glanced around the new adjoining room, which was completely empty apart from the bed.

“Everythin’ in there,” – he nodded at her room – “is yours.”

“I…I don’t have any belongings,” Lydia said softly. He thought he saw a blush creeping into her deathly pale cheeks, something that could often occur when people were still freshly deceased. It was cute.

But it wasn’t enough to melt his icy exterior, and when he responded, his tone was nonchalant and completely devoid of any sympathy.

“Ain’t my problem,” he said, shrugging. “You want stuff, go get yer own.”

Lydia looked away, sniffling.

“I…how is this going to work? How exactly do I…pay you?”

“Yer payin’ me with your existence, that’s enough,” he said. “A guy like me needs the company of a woman every now and then, especially one such as yerself.”

“So, you don’t want any…”

Her voice trailed off, and she looked embarrassed again.

God, she was so cute.

But still, his heart remained well and truly cold.

“Any what?”

He frowned at her.

“Any…favours?” she said, her voice shaking slightly.

Betelgeuse’s eyes widened as he realised what she meant, and he threw his head back and laughed.

“Why? Are ya offerin’? Hey, I never turn down sexual advances from a pretty gal.”

“I wasn’t….”

“Huh, it’s fine, and nope, I wasn’t expectin’ that. But just so you know, I like to have the gals from Dante’s visitin’ me sometimes, and things can get a little hot and heavy, if ya know what I mean. So you can either make yerself scarce when they visit or you’ll be gettin’ yer own personal show.”

“Sorry, what…what’s Dante’s?”

“The afterlife’s strip club. Helps to lift the spirits of the dead, if ya catch my drift. I go there most evenings, but sometimes the gals give me private visits. Obviously, with you livin’ here it ain’t gonna be private anymore. Not that I give a shit.”

He shrugged, and Lydia scrunched her face up in disgust.

“Ugh.”

“Sorry babe, my lodgings, my rules.”

“Can’t you…put a door there?” she said, pointing at the empty doorway where he was standing.

“Nope.”

He grinned at her, and she sighed.

“Haven’t you got any…any books or anything?”

“I have, but they’re mine. You want books, get yer own. You can probably find some somewhere down here.”

Before she could speak, he turned away from her and started whistling. He heard another loud sniffle then, but he didn’t care.

He wasn’t going to let himself care.

The only thing he cared about was getting his freedom back. Not love, or kindness or any of that awful sappy shit.

He just wanted to get rid of this damn curse.

And he was going to make sure he succeeded.

Chapter Text

The transition from life to death had been a bizarre experience. Lydia could still feel warmth in her fingers, and her skin, which had already been pale when she was alive, was now tinged with grey.

Saying goodbye to Astrid had been hard, but seeing her young daughter slowly coming back to life had made Lydia’s selfless act of giving up her own life worth it. Lydia had hoped, as she had slowly felt the life leaving her body after signing the paperwork that Ophelia had presented her with upon receiving permission to perform the switch, that Astrid had inherited her ability to see ghosts.

Lydia had been just six years old when she had first discovered her ability. The same age as Astrid. She often thought back to that very first time she had talked to a ghost. She had been visiting the town library with Charles, who had been searching for books for his bird-watching hobby, and she had spotted one floating between the shelves after wandering off. Charles had found her having a conversation with it and had pulled her away, asking her who she had been talking to.

Having such an ability had been both rewarding and challenging, and while Lydia now hoped that Astrid shared her ability so that she would still be able to see Lydia’s ghost, there had been moments when she had wished for her daughter to have a normal life.

As Lydia sat there now, on her bed in her new room, just a short distance away from the room belonging to her very loud and very ill-mannered roommate, she wondered when she would be able to see her daughter again. She knew that ghosts were confined to the area where they had died, which would mean that, because Astrid had died near the family home, Lydia would still be able to go up there and see her daughter.

But the question was, would Betelgeuse let her?

She had offered to take Astrid’s place, had offered herself up as a replacement for his valuable brooch, which had been taken from his room. She wanted to remain hopeful that she would be able to see her daughter, but she wasn't sure when she would be able to. For now, she was trapped down here in the afterlife, bound to be a replacement for the rest of her death.

And she had nothing to take her mind off the loved ones she had left behind. No books, nothing. She sighed and lay back on her bed. Would Betelgeuse let her explore the afterlife, or was she required to stay in her room? He had mentioned something about there being plenty of books down here in the afterlife, but she wasn’t sure whether he would let her out.

His room was empty, and Lydia wondered if he had gone back to the strip club he had mentioned. She scrunched her nose up in disgust, hoping that he wasn’t going to bring one of the ghost girls back to his room.

She closed her eyes, wondering if ghosts still needed to rest. No sooner had this thought entered her mind, she drifted off into a deep sleep, exhausted by the effects of the transition.

***

“I had hope for him, but that hope is starting to wear thin,” said Ophelia, running a hand over her beautiful face.

“You had hope?” asked Juno incredulously, a large cigarette dangling from her mouth. “For Betelgeuse? Ophelia, that…man…if you can call him a man…is loud and lacks basic manners. I don’t know why on earth you had any hope for him.”

Ophelia sighed.

“I always try to see the good in people,” she said. “I do think there’s something there. But it’s buried very deep within him, and I am hoping that this woman, this woman who has taken her daughter’s place, may be the one to help dig it out.”

“You really think this woman will be the one to break the curse?”

Ophelia was silent. The moment she had met the goth woman who was able to communicate with ghosts, she had instantly felt the warmth and kindness radiating off her. She was the opposite of Betelgeuse. A quiet, gentle soul compared to his loud, chaotic self. And yet…there was something about her. Something that gave Ophelia hope.

She had seen the way that Betelgeuse had looked at the woman. The way he had behaved, or rather not behaved, towards her. Betelgeuse was a handsy ghost. Completely perverted and totally inappropriate. He flirted with every attractive ghost in the afterlife whenever he had the opportunity. Yet with Lydia, he had been surprisingly respectful. He had kept his hands to himself, which had shocked Ophelia. He had been rude, but the lack of his usual perverted behaviour had been, in her opinion, a development. A very tiny one, but a development, nonetheless.

But it was going to be a challenge. A big challenge.

Every time Ophelia cursed someone, she did it to help them learn their lesson, and usually they did. She tried to have hope for all of them. But Betelgeuse was making it so damn hard for himself. She knew that the ghost would be expecting Lydia to instantly fall for him, and that this delusion would make it harder for him to gain her love.

She sighed deeply and finally answered Juno’s question.

“I do,” she said. “But it’s going to take a lot of work for him to stand any chance of her falling for him.”

Juno scoffed and took a drag of her cigarette.

“I don’t envy her at all,” she said. “Sharing a room with him. I’d rather throw myself into the Fires of Damnation.”

“Perhaps,” said Ophelia, “we should check on her. She’s just said goodbye to her daughter, and Betelgeuse has a lot to learn about being kind to people.”

Juno sighed.

“Fine, we’ll check on her. But make it quick. I've got a lot of paperwork to do here.”

She got up from her chair, and the two ghosts exited her office.

As the door slammed shut, a petal fell from the beautiful encased black and white rose on Juno’s desk.

***

A gentle tap on the door in the adjoining room caused Lydia to wake with a jolt. She had always been a light sleeper, and she was sure that if she had still been alive, her heart would have been beating hard against her chest. She rubbed her eyes, wondering who was at the door. It couldn’t be Betelgeuse. He wouldn’t bother knocking. She entered the other room and tentatively opened the door. Her eyes widened as she saw the Ghost Enchantress named Ophelia and a shorter, much older ghost woman with a cigarette in her mouth standing there.

Her eyes immediately went to the large slit in the older woman’s neck, where smoke was seeping out off. She quickly looked away, feeling rude for glancing at the injury that had no doubt been the cause of the woman’s death.

“Lydia,” greeted Ophelia.

The softness in the Ghost Enchantress’s voice was warm and welcoming after dealing with Betelgeuse’s gravelly, rude tone.

“Hello,” said Lydia politely, stepping aside to let the women into Betelgeuse’s room.

Ophelia took in the surroundings, frowning.

“It looks different in here,” she said.

“Oh, he made an adjoining room,” said Lydia, nodding at the room where she had just woken up.

Ophelia raised an eyebrow.

“He did? That was surprisingly...considerate of him.”

“I think he was fed up with listening to me crying. I’m still upset about leaving Astrid.”

“Understandably so,” said Ophelia. “This is Juno.”

The older woman greeted her with a nod, and Lydia smiled in response.

“You’re brave,” said Juno. “Very brave. You must feel like you’re in Hell with him as your roommate.”

Lydia laughed softly.

“He’s…not the friendliest person I’ve met, that’s for sure.”

“Give it time,” said Ophelia, placing a hand gently on her arm.

“More like an eternity,” mumbled Juno.

“May I see your room?” asked Ophelia.

Lydia nodded and led the two women into her room. Ophelia looked horrified as she glanced around the bare room.

“It’s completely empty! Has he not offered you any of his things?”

Lydia shook her head while Juno scoffed.

“What did you expect? This is Betelgeuse we’re talking about.”

“I hoped that he would have at least given you one of his books,” said Ophelia.

“Books?” said Juno. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Betelgeuse reading a book. A porn magazine, yes, but never a book.”

Lydia scrunched her face up in disgust, but considering the way Betelgeuse had spoken about Dante’s earlier, Juno’s words did not come as a surprise.

“I’ll bring you some things, help you get comfortable,” said Ophelia. “You can’t spend the rest of your death in an empty room.”

“Thank you,” said Lydia, feeling grateful for the woman’s kindness.

Her thoughts drifted to Astrid, and she wanted, so desperately, to ask if there was any chance that she would be able to go back up to the afterlife and try and communicate with her daughter, but she didn’t want to push it. She decided to remain silent, but Ophelia must have noticed her sad expression, because the Ghost Enchantress placed her hand gently on Lydia’s arm again.

“I know this is hard,” she said softly. “You’ve made a big sacrifice, Lydia. A truly selfless act. If there’s anything else I can do to make you comfortable…”

The kindness in the woman’s voice made Lydia feel even more emotional, and she decided, then and there, that she would ask about Astrid.

“I…I’d like to see my daughter. Go up there to the living world, just for a moment. Can I do that?”

Ophelia looked at her, and any hope that Lydia had of seeing her daughter instantly disappeared at the sight of the woman's sad expression.

“Ghosts are, of course, permitted to haunt the area where they died, but taking the circumstances of your death into account…the fact that you offered yourself as payment for the damaged brooch…I’m afraid that only Betelgeuse will be able to give you that permission.”

If Lydia’s heart had still been beating, she was sure it would have broken at that moment. Betelgeuse hadn’t even allowed her to borrow one of his books. There was no way he was going to allow her to leave the room and go up into the living world. Whatever excitement she had felt at being able to explore the afterlife died instantly. Here she was, trapped in a room with a ghost who had been nothing but unfriendly towards her.

Ophelia must have sensed her heartbreak because she gently clasped Lydia’s hand.

“Please don’t despair, Lydia. Give it time. I know it seems like it’s impossible, but that icy exterior of his will melt. It may take a while, but it will happen.”

“She’s a little over-optimistic,” said Juno, nodding at Ophelia before taking a drag of her cigarette.”

Ophelia sighed in response.

“I’m just trying to be positive.”

“It’s much better to be realistic,” replied Juno.

The older woman turned to Lydia and blew out a huge plume of smoke before speaking.

“There’s more chance of Hell freezing over than there is of Betelgeuse showing you any kindness and letting you see your daughter. I hope you said a very long goodbye to her. Your bravery is admirable. I hope, for your sake, that Ophelia is right.”

Juno turned and exited the room.

Ophelia turned to face Lydia, and when she spoke, her voice was almost a whisper.

“Don’t give up hope,” she said. “Just give it time. I'll be back later with some things for your room.”

She gave Lydia one last gentle pat on the arm and exited the room. Lydia heard the door in Betelgeuse’s room gently close and lay back down on her bed, suddenly feeling nervous as she awaited the return of her roommate.

***

Lydia quickly learned that there was no way of knowing what time it was in the afterlife. When Betelgeuse finally arrived back, she had no idea if it was morning or night.

The ghost stumbled into his room and seemed in high spirits. Lydia wondered if he had, like she had assumed earlier, visited the strip club again. She lay on her bed and quickly wiped away the stray tears that had fallen during her desperation to see Astrid. She heard Betelgeuse moving around in his room but made no move to greet him. She wasn’t sure whether he would want her company right now, while she was still grieving for the daughter she had left behind in the living world.

“Honey, I’m home!” he called, before letting out a loud laugh.

Lydia shifted on the bed and jumped as his head appeared in the doorway. He rolled his eyes as he caught sight of her face.

“Jesus, you’re still cryin’?”

He pulled the sleeve of his coat and shirt up, exposing three watches and a green bangle on his wrist. Lydia wondered if the watches actually worked.

“It’s been…what…three hours? And yer still in here, bawlin’ yer eyes out.”

Lydia sat up, glaring at him.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve just had to say goodbye to my daughter.”

“How could I forget? You’ve been cryin’ about it for fuckin’ hours.”

“So I’m just expected to get over it, am I?”

Betelgeuse threw her a look that told her that he very much expected her to do that.

“Have you no empathy? No consideration for anyone but yourself?”

He thought about this for a total of two seconds before answering.

“Nope. And why the fuck should I? Your brat stole my brooch and lost it, and you offered yerself as a replacement. So get over it.”

Lydia sighed and ran a hand over her face. She had, until now, resisted asking him about leaving the room, scared of what his response might be. But his rudeness and nonchalance had awakened her assertiveness.

“So, where am I permitted to go?” she asked. “Am I allowed out of here?”

Betelgeuse studied her for a few moments before responding.

“Yep,” he said. “You can pretty much go anywhere in the afterlife, except the west corridor.”

“What’s in the west –”

“It ain’t pretty down there,” he said quickly, cutting her off. “Trust me. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

Lydia felt a jolt of something. Intrigue, perhaps? Excitement? What could possibly be in that corridor that would make even Betelgeuse seem wary of it?

Before she could question him further about it, he spoke again.

“Tell ya what,” he said. “I’ll take ya on a tour. Be your guide. First stop, Dante’s Inferno Room. Food’s great there.”

“You’re inviting me to dinner at a strip club?” Lydia said, raising her eyebrow.

“Yep.”

“Do ghosts even need to eat?”

“Nope, but doesn’t mean they can’t.”

“I’m not hungry,” said Lydia, unable to think of anything worse than being invited to dinner at a strip club by her rude roommate, who didn’t seem to care at all that she was struggling with the loss of Astrid.

“Fine. I’d tell ya to go ahead and starve, but yer already dead, so whatever.”

He shrugged.

“Have you always been like this?” asked Lydia, frowning at him.

“Like what?”

“Unbelievably rude.”

“Yep.”

He grinned at her. Actually grinned. Lydia had never met someone so proud of being a jerk. She sighed. This was going to be difficult. Very difficult.

Betelgeuse glanced at his watches again, his brows suddenly furrowing as though he was concentrating hard on something.

“Shit,” he said. “I’m bein’ summoned.”

Lydia was about to speak, but the ghost disappeared in a puff of green smoke. She coughed as it engulfed her and waved a hand to waft it away.

Sighing, she pushed herself off the bed. She needed to get out of here, needed something to take her mind off Astrid. She wandered into Betelgeuse’s room and opened his door, feeling another small jolt of excitement at the thought of exploring the afterlife.

***

The air was icy cold, but this didn’t bother Lydia. Being dead had made the cold much easier to deal with. She walked along a corridor, Betelgeuse’s words about the west corridor still fresh in her mind. There were so many of them that she wasn’t even sure how to locate the one that he had warned her about. It was one big, endless maze with lots of doors.

After wandering around for what felt like hours, Lydia stumbled across an area that looked like dozens of offices. She glanced through the windows and could see skeletons answering telephones and ghosts sitting at their computers, typing away. A short distance away stood the woman named Juno, who was having a heated conversation with a group of dead footballers.

Lydia’s gaze shifted to the door on her left. A shiny plaque with the words “Juno’s office” caught her eye. She slowly began to walk past, amused but also fascinated by the fact that people had jobs in the afterlife. As she glanced through the window of Juno’s office, she noticed piles of paperwork on the woman’s desk.

Juno was now shouting at the group of footballers, who were all wearing expressions that made them look very much like children being scolded by a parent. Lydia watched as all of them, Juno included, moved into a nearby room, and seconds later, Juno began having what looked like another heated discussion with a disgruntled-looking ghost who was sitting behind a desk.

Lydia glanced back at the empty room and moved a little closer. As she did so, an object on Juno’s desk came into view, and Lydia gasped.

A beautiful black and white shimmering rose encased in a glass dome was on the desk near the paperwork.

Lydia knew that she should have carried on walking, that she shouldn’t snoop and go near the rose, but she couldn’t help it. Her curiosity got the better of her, and before she could stop herself, she was walking into the office.

It was mesmerising. The black and white petals were glowing, and Lydia's eyes shifted to the ones that had fallen from the flower and were now sitting at the bottom of the glass dome.

She should have left. She should have just walked away. But she couldn’t. She had never seen such a beautiful flower. It was captivating. Enchanting.

Lydia had an overwhelming urge to touch it.

She reached out, and her fingers grazed the glass dome. She placed both her hands gently on it and slowly began to lift it. It was surprisingly light, and Lydia was sure she could hear a faint tinkling sound as she moved it. Once the rose was completely exposed, she placed the dome down on the desk and slowly reached her hand out.

Before she could touch the petals, though, she felt herself being pulled roughly backwards. She stumbled, and large hands caught her, steadying her, before pushing her to one side.

Her eyes widened as she watched the ghost that had pulled her away from the rose grab the glass dome and slam it back down over the flower, before turning to face her.

Lydia slowly backed away, feeling, for the first time, terrified of the very angry-looking poltergeist who was standing in front of her.

Betelgeuse took a few steps towards her, and when he spoke, the words came out in almost a growl.

“Get out.”

“I-I’m sorry, I–”

“I said GET OUT!”

The ghost’s face was still twisted in anger, and Lydia took a few steps backwards before turning and running as fast as she could away from Juno’s office, wanting to put as much distance as possible between herself and Betelgeuse.

She had offered herself as a replacement, but she was done. Tired of his temper and his rudeness, she didn’t want to be in his company another minute.

She kept running, with no particular destination in mind. Her feet carried her deep within the corridors of the afterlife, and before she knew it, she found herself in the west corridor that Betelgeuse had told her never to enter.

Chapter Text

He was in Dante’s Inferno Room again. After refusing to share any of his books with his new roommate, Betelgeuse had immediately left the room, deciding it was best to leave her on her own. He had never been good at offering words of comfort, and why should he? She had decided to give up her life and offer herself as a replacement for his valuable brooch, so he wasn’t going to offer any of his belongings or any comfort.

Nope. This was on her.

It was much better to leave her to cry it out.

Pretty crier or not, he would much rather spend time at Dante’s than listen to any woman crying her eyes out, especially one who had decided to put herself in such a predicament.

“I thought you left,” said Eve, the bartender, in a bored voice.

“I did, but I decided to come back. Don’t wanna spend my evenin’ listenin’ to a woman cryin'.”

Eve leaned over the bar, giving him a rather nice view of her cleavage. He licked his lips.

“You could try comforting her.”

“Why?” he said, frowning. “She offered to switch places with her daughter. Why the fuck should I offer her comfort?”

“Because it’s a decent thing to do.”

“I don’t do all that sappy comfort shit,” said Betelgeuse, before taking a swig of his beer. “She’ll get over it.”

He pushed his empty bottle towards her, and Eve sighed as she took it.

“That curse will never be broken if you keep being a jerk,” she said, as she pushed a fresh bottle of beer towards him.

“Hey, I’m a hell of a catch,” he said, pointing at himself. “Give it a few weeks and she’ll be unable to resist me.”

He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. Eve rolled her eyes and walked off, shaking her head.

Betelgeuse watched her go, feeling the slightest twinge of something foreign in the pit of his stomach. He rarely ever got embarrassed or felt sensitive about things, but he had never forgotten the day Ophelia had cursed him in Dante’s in front of all the girls and customers. He had never lived it down.

And that rose, that damn rose in Juno’s office, only added to his embarrassment. He had been in there a few times since it had been placed there, and it was a reminder that time was running out, that if he didn’t find someone to break the curse, he would never be able to roam around the living world freely again. He would be cursed forever, only allowed to enter it whenever someone summoned him.

The banishments always stung. He fucking hated it. He hated having no control over when he could enter and leave the living world. His life had been taken from him prematurely, and now this. It was all just so unfair.

Betelgeuse was still bitter about it. Still bitter about the fact that his freedom had been taken away from him, all because he had refused to have a drink with an ugly hag and carry her bag for her. And to make it worse, it had been a trap. A test.

He scowled into his beer. He believed he was a catch, a charming and charismatic ghost. But so far, Lydia had given him no reason to show her any of these qualities. All she had done was cry about something that she had chosen to give up. Unlike him, she’d had a choice. He hadn’t chosen to die. His life had been taken away from him, and now he had lost his freedom. But did he cry about it? No. He just got on with it, learned to deal with it.

And that’s what she needed to do.

He wasn’t going to offer her comfort. Or make her feel better.

After all, no one had ever comforted him when things had got tough. He had just learned to get through his death himself, without the help of anyone.

A noise interrupted his thoughts, and Betelgeuse looked up to see a tall, shrunken-headed man taking the barstool next to him.

“Bob,” he greeted, nodding at the man.

Bob nodded in return, and Betelgeuse’s spirits were immediately lifted. He hadn’t known the shrinker for long, but Bob had become a good friend. His only friend. Bob never judged, nor did he ever complain about anything. True, his mouth was sewn shut, so he couldn’t express himself as much as the other ghosts in the afterlife, but he was an amazing listener and had quickly become Betelgeuse’s confidante.

He was pretty much the only ghost with whom Betelgeuse was willing to share his deep thoughts. Whenever the shrinker spoke, his words were unintelligible to most people, but during their period of friendship, Betelgeuse had quickly learned what certain noises meant and, unlike most of the other ghosts in the afterlife, was able to have a full conversation with him.

 Bob mumbled something, and Betelgeuse grinned in response.

“Ya know me, Bob, can’t resist few beers and a good fuck when things get tough. Dante’s is my favourite place to go when I need to escape for a bit.”

Bob mumbled in return and patted him on the shoulder. Betelgeuse sighed as the shrinker mumbled again, using gestures to advise him to go back and comfort Lydia.

“Jesus, Bob. Like I told Eve, I don’t do any of that sappy shit. She’ll probably still be cryin’ when I get back there later.”

And when he arrived back, Lydia was, as predicted, still upset. But rather than take the advice of his friend, he had offered no comfort, and their encounter had been cut short when he had been unexpectedly summoned.

And when he arrived at the home of the ghost couple who had summoned him, his day got worse.

***

They were young. Too young. Only a little younger than he had been when he had died. And they looked too…perfect. There were no blemishes, no obvious injuries. Just a slight tinge of grey to their skin. They were a good-looking couple, far too good-looking for people who were dead. The wife was a hell of a looker, and upon arrival in their home, Betelgeuse had immediately been his usual handsy self, grabbing her and planting a huge, loud kiss on her plump lips.

Within the space of five minutes, he had discovered that this young ghost couple were just as uptight and boring as the rest of his potential clients had been. He stood there, looking around the room, which was filled with dusty chairs, chests of drawers and a model of what looked like a miniature version of the town called Winter River.

The woman named Barbara was glaring at him, her hands on her hips, hair still tousled from where he had grabbed her. Adam, the husband, looked equally pissed off. His eyes were narrowed over the top of his glasses, and he looked very much like he wanted to give Betelgeuse a second permanent death.

“So who’ve I gotta kill?” Betelgeuse asked, his gaze flitting from Adam to Barbara.

“You don’t have to kill anyone,” said Adam, waving his hands around. “We summoned you to ask about Lydia.”

Betelgeuse frowned. How did they know Lydia? As though she had read his mind, Barbara answered his unspoken question.

“We’re close friends of hers. Astrid came to see us,” she said. “She told us her mommy had switched places with her, that Lydia had offered herself as a replacement for a valuable brooch that Astrid had taken…from you.”

Barbara nodded at Betelgeuse as she uttered the last part of her sentence. Her hands were still on her hips. His eyes travelled downwards. She was a tall woman, and he could tell that she was hiding a killer pair of legs underneath the long, old-fashioned dress that she was wearing.

Distracted by thoughts of those long legs wrapped around him, Betelgeuse continued to gaze hungrily at Barbara’s figure. Adam cleared his throat loudly, and the ghost looked up, finally realising what the woman had said.

Lydia’s kid had been to see them, which meant that, like her mother, she was able to communicate with ghosts. Well, that was...interesting. Betelgeuse hadn't met many living people who were able to see and talk to ghosts. 

“We need to know if Lydia is ok…and to ask when she’ll be back up here to see Astrid,” said Barbara.

“She’s fine and she won’t,” said Betelgeuse. “She made her decision, now she’s gotta deal with it. She’ll be stayin’ in the afterlife with me.”

He pointed at himself and grinned.

“Astrid is just a child,” said Barbara, frowning at him. “Ghosts are allowed to return to the home or area where they died. Lydia has the right to go back into her family home and see her daughter.”

“The brat stole my brooch, and her mother offered herself as payment. She ain’t comin’ back up here.”

“So she’s your prisoner?” said Adam, glaring at him in disgust. “You’re going to keep her locked away and not even going to let her see her daughter?”

“Hey, she made her decision,” repeated Betelgeuse, holding up his hands. “It’s all on her. The kid stole my brooch!”

“She’s just a kid!” said Barbara. “Isn’t it punishment enough that she no longer has her mother around? Please, can’t you find it in your…”

Her voice trailed off as she nodded at Betelgeuse’s chest and sighed, before speaking again.

“Can’t you find it in your heart to let them see each other, just for a little while?”

Betelgeuse rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for this. Not for the first time since being cursed, he found himself missing the days when he could just enter the living world and leave it whenever he wanted. He was feeling impatient now, wanting nothing more than for the two ghosts to send him back if they weren’t interested in his business.

“I ain’t here to organise a family reunion, Babs,” he said. “I’m here for business only, so unless you got a couple of fleshbags you want me to scare outta your home, then I ain’t interested.”

His eyes raked over her figure again.

“And if ya don’t want my professional services, then I’ve got plenty of other things to offer.”

He grabbed his crotch and gave it a honk, earning a look of disgust from Barbara and an angry grunt from Adam.

“Well?” Betelgeuse said, glancing at Adam and then nodding in the direction of where Barbara was standing. “Have I got a shot at her at all?”

“No,” said Adam through gritted teeth.

“Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to overstep my bounds. Here, lemme give ya a card, show you exactly what you’re workin’ with.”

He patted his hands over his coat, trying to find one of his business cards. He pulled out a rat and handed it casually to Barbara, who squealed and tossed it away.

“Look,” said Adam, clearly trying not to lose his patience. “We do have a couple of people in our home that we want removed, but I’m more concerned about Lydia reuniting with Astrid.”

Betelgeuse ignored him and continued looking through his pockets.

“Sure I got one around here somewhere,” he mumbled. “What did ya say? Ya got a couple fleshbags that need removin’?”

“I said that we’re more concerned about Lydia reuniting with –”

“So what're we thinkin’?” said Betelgeuse, cutting him off. “Possession? That should do it.”

Adam tried to speak, but the ghost interrupted him again.

“I can have ‘em outta the house in a jiffy. Just say the word and I’ll let the juice loose.”

Adam sighed.

“Fine,” he said. “But before we use your services, we need to know if you can be scary.”

Betelgeuse stared at them, feeling very much as though he had been slapped in the face. The guy was seriously asking if he could be scary. The fucker clearly needed stronger glasses, because Betelgeuse was sure (and proud) of the fact that his looks alone were enough to terrify anyone. It was one part of the curse that he was actually thankful for.

“Can I be scary,” he muttered, shaking his head and sniggering.

Without warning, he pulled a grotesque face. Adam and Barbara screamed and backed away from him. Betelgeuse immediately felt a stab of satisfaction at the ghosts’ terror.

“Ya like it?” he asked, holding his arms out, proud of his work.

“W-we just need a minute,” gasped Adam, placing a hand on his chest as though the fright had spiked his heart rate, even though his heart was no longer beating.

Betelgeuse shrugged and gestured for them to talk amongst themselves. Whistling, he shifted his gaze back to Barbara’s legs, wishing that her dress were much shorter.

“Look,” said Adam after a few minutes. “We…we’re willing to accept your services… on one condition.”

“A deal, huh? Go on.”

He gestured for Adam to continue.

“We want you to allow Lydia to come up here to see Astrid. If you allow her to do that, then we’ll use your services…let you remove the living people from our home.”

Betelgeuse scowled at them. The stuck-up fuckers must have thought he was born yesterday.

“Hey,” he said, “I love a deal. But I ain’t stupid. If I let Lydia come up here, then she might not come back down, she might choose to stay up here with that thievin’ kid of hers, and then I’ve lost my replacement for my brooch. So no. I ain’t gonna accept your offer.”

“But –”

“Listen, lemme just get rid of those pesky fleshbags for ya.”

“You need to accept the deal first,” said Adam, crossing his arms.

“Look, pal, I –”

“Either you let Lydia come up here and see Astrid, or we won’t be giving you our business.”

He turned away and within seconds, Betelgeuse had hurled himself onto the man’s back and was clinging to him. Now, usually, he didn’t like to seem desperate. But he was. He wasn’t having much luck at all with any of his clients, and the only thing that was getting him through this curse was making enough money to enjoy his regular visits to Dante’s. Without that, his death would be miserable. He needed their business. 

“Aww come on, Adam,” he whined, ignoring Adam’s cries of protest as the ghost clung to him. He clicked his fingers and was instantly clothed in the same boring checkered shirt as his potential client.

Barbara let out a gasp of surprise as Adam tried desperately to shrug Betelgeuse off him.

"Look at us! Two peas in a pod! Whadd’ya say?” asked Betelgeuse, grinning as Adam’s eyes widened at the ghost’s new attire. “Wanna watch me get rid of your pesky houseguests?”

“I’d like you to leave.”

“Aww, come on! Tell ya what, let’s get to know each other. Lemme use your kitchen. I’ll fix ya somethin’ to eat. Do ya like Italian?”

“No, we want you to –”

“Lemme take your order.”

He snapped his fingers and within seconds, he was dressed as a waiter, holding a pen and pad.

“What’ll it be, signore? Pasta? Pizza? Chicken cacciatore? Brusch –”

Barbara’s voice cut him off, and his grin quickly faded as she spoke his name three times in quick succession.

“Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse!”

***

Betelgeuse felt himself being pulled back into the afterlife, and as the Maitland's attic faded around him, he threw one last look at the model of Winter River before materialising in his room.

Scowling, he looked around. Ungrateful fuckers. He had gone above and beyond, even offering to cook for them, and yet they had banished him. Just banished him unexpectedly! All because he had refused to do a deal with them. Refused to let Lydia go up there into the living world and reunite with the brat who had stolen his precious brooch. Unbelievable.

He stood there, listening for the sound of Lydia crying. But there was no noise. And when he poked his head around the doorway, the adjoining room was empty.

So, she had decided to explore, had she?

For some reason, her unexpected absence irritated him, as though she had defied him even though he had told her that she was permitted to walk around the afterlife.

Still feeling stung by Barbara’s banishment, he stomped out of the adjoining room and slammed the door to his own room shut behind him.

He was tired, so fucking tired of this curse. He craved freedom. He didn’t want other people to be in control of his visits to the living world. Perhaps Bob was right. Perhaps he needed to make some effort with Lydia if he was going to stand any chance of getting her to fall for him and break the curse. 

The thought of it angered him. He was charming and charismatic enough. He shouldn’t need to make any effort at all, but clearly he was going to have to do so, because he was now starting to feel desperate.

This wasn’t about love or kindness at all. Certainly not from him. This was about getting Lydia to fall for him and kiss him, and then he could get his freedom back. Be a lone wolf. Roam the living world as he pleased.

That was all he cared about.

He worked his way through the many corridors with ease, knowing exactly which way to turn, and when he reached the offices, he was surprised to see Lydia entering Juno’s office. Juno, he noticed, had gone into a room on the opposite side with a group of footballers.

As he approached the office, he felt a sudden unpleasant stab of something in his stomach.

The rose.

The rose was still in Juno’s office.

And Lydia was going to see it.

The thought of her seeing the rose, the very object that was being used as a time limit for his efforts to get someone to fall in love with him, filled him with a barrage of emotions he rarely ever felt.

Embarrassment. Shame.

Lydia, of course, didn’t know about the curse. But that didn’t stop Betelgeuse from feeling angry…sensitive…about the whole thing. Having this curse placed upon him had forced him to deal with emotions that he had buried long before his death. He couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else knowing about the curse, especially after having to endure it being placed upon him in such a public place.

As he approached the room, he watched as Lydia gently lifted the dome off the rose, and he sprang forward. He shoved her roughly to one side and steadied her with his large hands as she stumbled.

And his anger took over.

Even Betelgeuse, as rude and unacceptable as his behaviour usually was, knew that he should have remained calm. After all, losing his temper with the girl whom he was hoping would get rid of the curse was not the right way to go.

But he couldn’t help himself.

As soon as he had seen her lift the dome and reach out to touch the flower with her slim, delicate fingers, the shame and embarrassment had overtaken him, causing him to release the emotions in a fit of anger.

Lydia’s beautiful, doe-like eyes widened as she stepped away from him.

She looked terrified, but still, his anger continued to bubble. He heard himself shouting at her to get out of the room, and within seconds, she had fled.

And as he watched her go, he felt another foreign sensation in the pit of his stomach.

Regret.

He glanced back at the black and white rose, his gaze shifting from the healthy flower to the petals that lay on the bottom of the glass dome.

And, for the first time, he began to lose hope.

***

The chilly air that hadn’t bothered Lydia before was now biting into her skin, and she looked around, her gaze shifting between the doors that lined the west corridor. She glanced back, unable to remember how she had even ended up there. All she knew was that she had been desperate to get away from Betelgeuse. He had frightened her, and she was still shaking at the thought of his face twisting in anger as he had shouted at her.

An eerie whistling sound filled the air, and Lydia, though a little scared, felt a tinge of something else. Excitement? Intrigue? She wasn’t sure. But that tinge was pulling her towards the different doors, and she felt as though she was living out one of those mysterious gothic tales that she loved to read. The black and white tiles clicked beneath her feet as she moved, and she suddenly felt drawn to one particularly old-looking door at the end of the corridor.

Surely, she thought, there couldn’t be many things in the afterlife that were unsafe. She remembered Betelgeuse telling her not to come here, but what could be down here that was so dangerous? She was, after all, already dead.

She inched forward, her feet bringing her closer to the door, despite knowing that she shouldn’t be investigating an area that she had been warned about. It was in her nature, though. Lydia had always been curious about death and ghosts, and despite her heartbreaking decision to switch places with Astrid, she couldn’t help but feel a thrill at the thought of being surrounded by all this mystery.

It was like a game show. A plethora of doors to choose from, with each one no doubt offering something different behind it. And Lydia, unknowingly, was about to pick the most dangerous one. But she wasn’t thinking about the risk. At that moment, she believed that whatever was behind there wouldn’t be any more frightening than the bad-tempered poltergeist who had just yelled at her.

As she got nearer, she felt a strange twinge, as though her dead heart was trying hard to beat violently against her chest. She reached out and grasped the large handle with her small hand. With great effort, she pulled the heavy door open and was immediately engulfed in a red light. This alone should have been enough to make her turn back. But she didn’t. Instead, she walked into it. And when she was deep enough into the room, the door slammed shut behind her, trapping her inside.

That was when she heard the wails.

Through the bright light and the wisps of smoke dancing in the air, Lydia could see shapes, large and grotesque, moving. She stepped forward, and the source of the noise came properly into view.

Ghosts. Only, they didn’t look like regular ghosts. Their limbs were elongated, and they floated much higher above the ground than the ghosts that Lydia had seen walking around in other parts of the afterlife. Their eyes were black, making the sockets look almost empty.

They were moaning, and their long, thin, grey-tinged arms flailed in the air. Their mouths were hanging open, and they looked…sad. Broken. Lost.

The depressive atmosphere hit Lydia at once, and she suddenly felt as though she was being suffocated. She brought her hands up to her throat, struggling for breath even though she no longer needed to breathe. Then, suddenly, the ghosts changed. Long claws began to protrude from their fingers, which curled slowly into claws. The moans turned into screeches, and the nearest one lunged at her.

She brought an arm up to her face and closed her eyes, preparing for the sharp nails to pierce her skin.

But they didn’t.

Instead, Lydia heard the door behind her being wrenched open, and seconds later, she was pulled roughly to one side. She stumbled, and this time, no one steadied her. She fell backwards, landing on the icy-cold floor with a thump, and quickly pulled herself into a sitting position. She watched, eyes wide in horror, as the wraith-like ghost's claws pierced the arm of the poltergeist who had pushed her out of the way to protect her.

Betelgeuse let out a howl of pain and turned to face her, gritting his teeth. Another wraith approached her from behind, and Lydia could feel the cold air emanating from the creature’s open mouth against her neck. She tried to move, but the wraith flung its arms around her, holding her tight in its vice-like grip. Betelgeuse snapped his fingers and disappeared, and before Lydia had a chance to even wonder where the ghost had gone, she felt the wraith being pulled off her.

Then, she felt arms wrapping around her again. But these arms felt much larger than the wraith’s spindly ones, and their grip was much gentler. She heard the snapping of fingers and glanced down to see the black and white tiles beneath her disappearing.

Within seconds, she and Betelgeuse were back in his room.

She glanced up at him, shocked at his gesture of saving her from what had clearly been a roomful of malevolent spirits, but he was silent. His face was contorted in pain, and Lydia's gaze shifted to his large hand, which was pressed gingerly against an open wound on his other arm.

His eyes, those cold blue eyes, were now glazed, and Lydia could only watch as they rolled back into his head and the ghost collapsed into a heap on the floor.

Chapter Text

Rory shook his head, unable to believe the words that had just come out of Charles Deetz’s mouth.

“Switched places? Locked up with a ghost? Charles, that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Come on, tell me where she really is! Women like Lydia don’t just…disappear.”

“Rory, I’m telling the truth. She switched places with Astrid. Look, she’s alive and well…”

Charles pointed at Astrid, who was currently sitting on the living room's carpeted floor, playing happily with her toys and humming to herself.

“I didn’t believe in any of it myself at first,” said Charles, sighing. “But it’s got to be true, hasn’t it? Why else would Astrid be here now and Lydia gone?”

“And you’ve actually seen this…this ghost…that she’s locked up with?”

Charles shook his head.

“I’ve seen him!” piped up Astrid. “He’s very mean and he’s got moss all over his face and he…he can do magic. He was in the living room, right there.”

She pointed at the space where Betelgeuse had stood when he had been summoned after Astrid had taken his brooch.

“Jesus,” muttered Rory, shaking his head. “She’s got her head in the clouds, just like her mother. Too many books.”

“It’s all true,” said Charles. “I haven’t met this ghost yet, but it must be true. Lydia’s down there right now.”

“Mr and Mrs Maitland told me he’s keeping her prisoner. He won’t let her come see me,” said Astrid, sounding sad.

“Maybe all of you should lay off the fantasy books,” said Rory. “I told Mr…Mr…whatever his name is at the library to stop giving Lydia books about ghosts. No good can come from reading that trash.”

“Believe me, Rory, I used to think that too. But Astrid was dead, and now she’s alive. Lydia’s gone. There’s no other explanation.”

“I’ll call the Beetleman!” said Astrid.

She opened her mouth, ready to speak, but Charles quickly silenced her.

“Astrid, sweetie, that’s…that’s not a good idea right now. Why don’t you go with Grandma to get an ice-cream?”

He glanced at his watch.

“It’s usually coming by right now.”

Sure enough, the distant jingle of the ice-cream truck filled the living room as it turned the corner onto the street.

Astrid’s eyes widened and she shook her head as Delia entered the room.

“Come on, dear, I’ll take you.”

She gently took Astrid’s hand and led her out of the living room.

“Poor girl has been terrified of going out ever since the accident,” said Charles, sighing and reaching for his cup of coffee. He took a long sip, studying Rory’s sceptical expression as he did so.

“Look,” he said, as he set his cup down. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m telling the truth. Astrid died, got hit by a car right outside the house. Lydia offered to take her place, and now my daughter is down there,” – he pointed at the floor, gesturing to the afterlife – “with some crazy poltergeist. I want her out.”

But Rory shook his head.

“Ghosts aren’t real, Charles. They’re a figment of our imagination. It’s all just made-up nonsense. Look, give me a call when Lydia gets back.”

Rory pushed himself off the sofa, still feeling disgruntled at Lydia’s absence. He was a businessman, highly professional, and here he was, sitting in the home of a crazy old man who was claiming that ghosts were real and that his daughter was being held captive by one.

It was time to take action. Rory had been trying, for a long time now, to get Lydia’s hand in marriage. Not just because she was the most beautiful woman in Winter River, but also because the Deetz family had money. Lots of it. Charles’ real estate business was booming, and with the old man set to retire, there was no better time to try and convince him to sell it to him.

But there was a problem. Getting Charles to hand over the business wasn’t going to be easy. Jefferson’s Real Estate Group, another local company, had its eye on Charles’ business, and Rory knew that it would only be a matter of time before the owner, Henry Jefferson, got his hands on it.

“I’ll be in touch,” said Charles. “I need to somehow get Lydia back, and I could use some help.”

Rory nodded and exited the room. He pulled the front door open and stole a glance at the sight of Astrid and Delia queuing at the ice-cream truck. The whole family were nuts, even the kid. But he was determined to get Lydia. To get his hands on both her and her family’s assets.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, punched a number into it and moved out of earshot of Delia and the kid.

Henry Jefferson answered after three rings.

“Henry!” said Rory, putting on his most cheery voice. “Need a word. Just been to see Charles Deetz. He’s planning to sell his business soon, and I heard you’re thinking of acquiring it?”

“That’s right,” came Jefferson’s voice through the phone. “What of it?”

Rory sniggered at the man’s sharp tone.

“You’re making a mistake, Henry. The old guy has gone mad. Kept talking about his daughter being trapped in the afterlife with a ghost.”

A few moments of silence passed while Henry processed this information. When he spoke, his tone was incredulous.

“A what?”

“A ghost, Henry. The guy’s gone nuts.”

Henry let out a low laugh.

“This is Charles Deetz we’re talking about. He’s as boring, calm, and sensible as they come. He wouldn’t believe in anything like that.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Rory. “But I went there this afternoon, and it was all he could talk about. Kept saying that Lydia switched places with her dead daughter and has taken her place in the afterlife.”

“Jesus,” muttered Henry through the phone.

Rory smirked at the response. So far, Henry’s tone was giving him hope that his plan to persuade the man to pull out of the sale of Charles’ business was going to work.

“Like I said, the guy’s batshit. Lost his marbles. I wouldn’t advise buying the business from him. Think of the state it’s probably in, with a crazy guy like that running it. If I were you, I’d avoid it. Warn anyone from buying it.”

It didn’t take much persuasion. Charles Deetz was a reputable man, well-known in the real estate industry. One of Winter River’s most successful business owners. The very idea of the man losing his mind and talking about his daughter switching places with his granddaughter and ending up in the afterlife in the company of a ghost was ludicrous. Luckily, Jefferson, who was also a reputable business owner and preferred to do business with people who were professional and sane, shared this view.

Rory smirked as the man thanked him for the warning. Then, when he’d hung up, Rory immediately dialled another number, this time contacting the owner of Perfect Properties, another well-known business with whom Rory knew Charles would consider agreeing to an acquisition.

For the next ten minutes, he discussed his visit to Lydia’s house with Henrickson, the business owner, informing him of Charles' poor mental state.

“Completely lost his mind,” said Rory, twirling his finger next to his head as he spoke, even though Henrickson couldn’t see him. “Sad sight, I’m telling you. Couldn’t make sense of anything the guy was saying. He kept saying Lydia had been taken by a ghost. Yes…hmmm...I know, it’s terrible. Can’t imagine anyone wanting to do business with a guy whose lost his marbles…”

Henrickson was, luckily, just as sceptical about ghosts as Henry Jefferson. Ten minutes later, the reputable businessman hung up, reassuring Rory that he would be avoiding buying any business from a man who believes a living person can switch places with a dead one.

Rory rubbed his hands together and let out a little laugh. He placed his hand in his pocket and looked up to see his close friend, Larry, stepping out of a parked car.

“Well? Any news on where Lydia has gone?” asked Larry, nodding in the direction of Lydia’s house as he approached him.

“Charles says she’s living in the afterlife with a ghost.”

Larry blinked.

“A…a what? Say that again.”

“A ghost. Crazy, isn’t it? The guy’s lost his mind. But I’m about to reap the benefits…”

He slung an arm around Larry’s shoulder.

“Old Charles Deetz is planning to sell his real estate business,” Rory explained. “But I’ve just warned two of the biggest, most reputable businesses in the industry not to go anywhere near it. They’re very professional. There’s no way they’ll touch a business being handed over by a lunatic who's claiming his daughter is in the afterlife.”

“I dunno, Rory,” said Larry, shaking his head. “Some people believe in ghosts.”

“Well, luckily, Jefferson and Henrickson don’t. I’ve managed to convince them that Charles Deetz is batshit. Of course, I told them not to let slip that the warning came from me…”

“And what’ll you gain from this?”

Rory laughed and patted Larry’s shoulder.

“Oh, Larry, can’t you guess? If no one will buy Charles’ business, then he’ll have no choice but to hand it over to me…but I’m not going to accept when he does…”

Larry frowned. He’d never been the sharpest person.

“You’re not?”

“No. I’m only going to accept his offer if Lydia agrees to marry me. She won’t want to see her father stressed and struggling to sell his business. He’s never coped well with stress. She’ll want him to have a happy retirement, with his business in good hands. The only way she can have that…is to agree to be my wife. Then, when she says yes, I'll agree to take over his business and we’ll be one big happy family…”

Rory smiled and ran a hand through his slicked-back ponytail.

“And I’ll be rich. I’ll have a beautiful wife and be in ownership of Deetz’s business. And when we’re married, Lydia and I can start a family…we’ll have children. Boys. All normal. Not strange like that kid of hers. They’ll all be pony-tailed with great skin…like me.”

He flashed Larry another smile.

“But isn’t Deetz’s daughter a little…strange?” said Larry. “Always reading books?”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” said Rory, waving his hands dismissively. “Once she’s married to me, I’ll make sure that Lydia never reads any of those ghost stories ever again. I’ll turn her into the perfect wife. There won’t be any more talk of ghosts. She’ll be normal.”

“You’ve got this all planned out, haven’t you?” said Larry, sounding impressed.

“I sure have. Soon, I’ll be the husband of the most beautiful woman in Winter River, and her father’s business will be all mine.”

Rory started walking towards Larry's car, whistling as he did so, and gestured for Larry to follow him.

***

Deep in the afterlife, Lydia was facing a dilemma. The ghost who had just saved her…death…was currently lying on his bed, his eyes tightly shut, looking very much in pain.

Lydia wanted to go and get help, but the tight grip that he had on her arm was an indication that he didn’t want anyone else to see the current state that he was in. They barely knew each other, but Lydia could tell that he was someone who didn’t accept help easily.

She reached out and gingerly touched the hand that was grasping her wrist, something that he was no doubt doing to help him handle the pain, much like someone would bite down on something or hold onto something tightly to help them battle through it.

“I really think you should get some –”

“I don’t need fuckin’ help!” snarled Betelgeuse.

Lydia sighed. Getting him onto the bed while he had been passed out had been hard enough, but dealing with his temper in the aftermath was no doubt going to be harder.

“You’re bleeding,” she said, nodding at the wound on his arm, which was smeared with black blood.

“Yeah, gettin' clawed by a fuckin' wraith will do that to ya.”

“Could you let go of my arm?”

“Hurts,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“I know it does, which is why you need help.”

“I don’t!”

Lydia closed her eyes and ran a hand over her face. This was hard. So hard. Almost as hard as when she had tried to clean Astrid’s wounds and put a plaster on them after the many times she had tripped over during the toddler years. The young girl had often protested, crying and thrashing around as Lydia had tried to put antiseptic cream on the wounds. Betelgeuse, she guessed, wouldn’t even have to worry about getting an infection because he was already dead. It was merely a case of cleaning up the smeared black blood, and he wouldn’t even let her do that.

Sighing, her gaze shifted to the small basin across from the bed. Lydia doubted that the ghost used it very often. She walked over to it, grabbed the small, grotty-looking towel that was draped over it, and soaked it. Then, she walked back over to the grumpy-looking poltergeist, who was still lying on the bed, and gently started to clean up the blood.

“Fuck!” yelled Betelgeuse, thrashing about. “That fuckin’ hurts!”

“Hold still then,” snapped Lydia. “I can’t clean it if you’re moving around like that!”

“Don’t fuckin’ touch it! This is all your fault! I told ya not to go into the west corridor. Did ya listen? No, ya fuckin’ didn’t.”

“If you hadn’t yelled at me to get out of Juno's office, then I wouldn’t have ended up there,” said Lydia, moving out of the way of his arm, which was flailing wildly in the air.

“You shouldn’t have been in the corridor! It’s dangerous in there!”

“You should learn to stop being so rude! Look, I’m sorry I snooped around in Juno’s office. I know I shouldn’t have. But I couldn’t help it…this…this is all new to me…and I just wanted to explore.”

Betelgeuse opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he snapped his mouth shut and tilted his head, studying her with those cold, blue eyes. Lydia gently brought the cloth nearer to his arm again, and he pulled away.

“I…I didn’t realise that ghosts could feel pain…”

“Let it be a warnin’ to ya,” he growled, moving away from her. “Those things behind that door...you don’t ever wanna encounter ‘em again. Nasty fuckers.”

“Why are they being kept behind the door?”

“Would you rather they be wandering around the fuckin’ afterlife?” asked Betelgeuse, throwing his arms around, an action which caused him to let out a hiss of pain.

“Well, no, of course not, but…why are they there? Why aren’t they…”

Her voice trailed off. She wasn’t sure whether Hell was a taboo subject down in the afterlife or not. It wasn’t a favoured topic in the living world.

“What? In Hell? Because even the Fires of Damnation don’t want ‘em. That’s how nasty they are.”

He grimaced as he shifted his injured arm into a more comfortable position. Lydia bravely reached out, the cloth still grasped in her hand.

“This will hurt,” she warned, before pressing the material firmly against his skin.

Betelgeuse let out a howl of pain and tried to pull his arm away from her, but Lydia gripped it just above the wound. Then, gently, she pressed the cloth to his cold skin again. His coat, which was now torn where the wraith-like creature’s claws had scratched him, was hanging on a peg next to his door. Lydia had managed, with great difficulty, to take it off him when he had passed out.

As she ran the cloth over his skin, she glanced at the patches of moss that littered his arm. He was so different to the other ghosts in the afterlife, and Lydia wondered why the patches were there, if it was a result of his death, though she knew she would never be brave enough to ask such a question.

She stole a glance at his face and saw that his features were now relaxed in the aftermath of that initial sting when the water had hit the wound. His eyes were closed, and Lydia was sure that, if he had been alive, he would have been taking deep breaths as the cloth moved along his skin.

She kept her touch gentle, grazing the area around the wound softly with her fingers. As she moved the cloth, she thought about his actions of saving her.

“Can ghosts die?” she asked, as she gently continued to wipe away the blood.

“Yep,” said Betelgeuse, his eyes still closed. “Nobody down here is safe from a second permanent death.”

“So those wraith-like things…they could have given me a second death?”

“What do you think?” he responded, nodding at the nasty-looking gash on his arm.

Lydia was silent. The afterlife was an even bigger mystery than she had ever imagined. She never would have thought that ghosts could permanently die. She knew they could be banished from buildings through exorcisms and rituals, but never permanently destroyed. The thought of her coming so close to dying permanently, of never seeing Astrid ever again or being able to pass on to her final resting place, terrified her.

Betelgeuse had saved her, had risked his own…death…to save her. As she sat there, cleaning his injury, an injury that he had sustained protecting her, she felt a rush of gratitude.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “For saving my life. Or should I say…death…”

Betelgeuse opened his eyes and looked at her. There was a flicker of something in them, something other than his usual cold gaze, but as quickly as Lydia had noticed it, it was gone, and he turned his head away from her.

“Just…just don’t go down that corridor again,” he said.

They sat in silence then, and when she had finally finished cleaning the wound, Lydia stepped over to the sink and rinsed the cloth before returning to her room.

***

Ophelia had very kindly given Lydia a selection of books and other items, but the genre wasn’t to her liking. She had no choice but to read them, though. There wasn’t anything else to do, and no matter how much she wanted to continue exploring the strange and unusual afterlife, she knew that it was too soon to do so after almost getting killed permanently by the vicious ghosts.

She sighed and picked up one of the books that she had already started reading. It was a romance novel. Just a simple, ordinary romance. No gothic elements, no ghosts, no adventures. Just a lot of drama and one-dimensional characters. She flicked through the book, locating the page that she had last been reading and tried to focus.

A noise in the adjoining room caused her to look up. Betelgeuse had been out (most likely to Dante’s again), and Lydia felt that strange nervousness in the pit of her stomach again, just like she had the last time when he had arrived home. She braced herself, waiting for him to appear in the doorway and make some rude remark, but he didn’t.

Well, he did appear in the doorway, but he was strangely silent. Lydia’s eyes were fixed on the text on the page in the book in her hands, but she could sense him standing there. And when she finally looked up, her eyes widened in surprise.

He was holding dozens of books, balancing them in his arms. Lydia could see, even from where she was sitting, that they were very much like the type of books she would choose to read. The dark, leather-bound covers and raised, elegant font on the spines promised interesting tales, far more interesting than the stories within the much thinner books that were currently stacked on Lydia’s bedside table.

Without a word, Betelgeuse walked forward and dropped the entire stack of books unceremoniously onto her bed. Lydia let out a small cry as one of the heavy tomes caught her foot. Then, still without speaking, he started to walk away.

When he reached the doorway, he paused and turned to face her.

“Thought they would be more your kind of thing,” he muttered, nodding at the books.

“Are these yours?” asked Lydia, unable to believe that the ghost who had refused to share his belongings with her was now giving her a huge stack of books.

“Yep,” he said. 

There was a slight pause, and when he next spoke, the words came out in a strained growl, as though it was paining him to utter them.

“Keep ‘em for as long as ya want.”

She opened her mouth to thank him, but he waved a hand dismissively. Then, without another word, he walked away.

Lydia stared at the pile of books on her bed, his books, books that he had told her she could keep for as long as she wanted.

And she smiled, feeling, for the first time since she had arrived in the afterlife, much lighter and happier.

Chapter Text

His skin was still tingling from Lydia’s touch. He scowled, trying hard not to feel, not to let any cracks in that icy exterior form.

But he couldn’t get her face out of his mind.

Those eyes, those doe-like eyes, had looked at him with such concern as she had treated his wound. More concern than anyone had ever shown for him. The minute she had finished cleaning his injury, he had rushed out of the room, as though doing so would enable him to run away from the strange feeling that had formed in his chest as he had watched her tenderly moving the cloth across his arm.

But Betelgeuse couldn’t escape it. It was still there, in his chest, causing him to feel a mixture of frustration and confusion.

He pushed open the doors and stepped into Dante’s.

Again.

It was like a release for him, a place where he could be his usual perverted, loud, chaotic and rude self. A place for him to release any frustration, either through sexual gratification or by drinking copious amounts of beer and spirits. Or smoking.

Bob was seated in his usual place at the bar, and Betelgeuse, without hesitation, immediately made a beeline for his friend. Usually, when he was experiencing feelings he didn’t want to feel, he would head straight for one of the girls, desperate to have those feelings fucked away.

Tonight, however, he didn’t even glance at the girls dancing on the stage. Instead, he took a seat next to Bob, ordered two beers and immediately began to offload.

“I saved her,” he said, as the shrunken-headed man stared, wide-eyed, at the ghost’s torn coat where the wraith-like creature had scratched him.

“She was this fuckin’ close,” Betelgeuse said, holding up his thumb and index finger. “This close to gettin’ a second death.”

“You saved the woman? The one you’re sharing a room with?” asked Eve the bartender, who had paused while pouring a drink and was now staring at him in disbelief.

“Ain’t no big deal,” he said, waving his hand dismissively.

“Oh, it is,” said Eve, smiling widely at him. “You? Putting your death at risk for someone else? Wow…that’s…that’s a huge thing.”

“What fuckin’ choice did I have?” snapped Betelgeuse. “She wandered off into the west corridor.”

He wasn’t going to bother mentioning the reason Lydia had ended up there, that she had put herself in danger because he had yelled at her to get out of Juno’s office. Not only because he was still experiencing that foreign feeling of regret, but also because he didn’t want to mention that Lydia had stumbled upon that damn rose.

“What happened next?” asked Eve quickly, staring at him.

He rolled his eyes. The pretty bartender, who usually had little patience for his presence, was giving him her full attention this time, clearly wanting all the gossip. It was the only thing he hated about Dante’s. The fucking gossip. When the beer and wine flowed, secrets would quickly be spilt and soon the entire afterlife knew about everyone’s problems.

Betelgeuse had wanted to confide in Bob and only Bob, but Eve’s presence was making it difficult. And Betelgeuse, being as stubborn as he was, didn’t want to move from his usual spot at the bar.

“Nosy little minx, ain’t ya?” he said, before taking a swig of his beer.

“We’re all interested in the progress of your…situation…” said Eve, smiling widely.

“Why? The fuck’s it gotta do with anyone in here? Or anyone else in the afterlife, for that matter? It’s my fuckin’ business,” snapped Betelgeuse.

“In case you haven’t forgotten, Ophelia cursed you in here. Everyone saw it.”

The young ghost woman’s words did nothing to improve his mood. He would never forget being cursed in front of everyone. Betelgeuse was someone who loved theatrics and found great pleasure in showing off. He loved playing pranks and cracking jokes. But when it was him on the receiving end…when he was the butt of the joke…well, that was far less enjoyable.

He realised then that Dante’s was becoming less of a sanctuary and more like a place where he was on display like an animal in a zoo. A place where other ghosts would stare at him and point, while muttering about that embarrassing moment when Ophelia had placed the curse on him.

“Look,” came Eve’s voice, pulling him out of his thoughts. Her tone was soft and full of reassurance. But her words brought him no comfort.

“It’s only natural for people to be curious about the curse. You’re well-known in the afterlife. If it makes you feel any better, you aren’t the first one that Ophelia has cursed, and you won’t be the last.”

“Yeah, well, it was easier for those other ghosts,” snapped Betelgeuse. “They were all into sappy shit. I ain’t. I don’t do love or kindness or any of that shit.”

“But you did do a kind act,” said Eve, glancing at Bob, who nodded fiercely in agreement and placed his hand on Betelgeuse's arm. “You saved her from getting a second permanent death.”

Betelgeuse wanted to respond with some cutting remark, to tell her that he hadn’t cared about whether the wraith creature would have killed Lydia permanently or not. That he had only saved her to save his own dead skin, to stop himself from getting into trouble for even mentioning for west corridor to her.

But he couldn’t.

Because the truth was, he had cared about her. As much as he had tried to battle it, he regretted shouting at her in Juno’s office. She had looked terrified of him, and while Betelgeuse usually enjoyed people looking at him with such terror, seeing the fear in Lydia’s doe-like eyes, a fear that he had caused, had not been enjoyable at all.

And when he had watched the dangerous ghost wrap its spindly arms around Lydia’s small frame, he had been scared.

And the fact that he had been scared terrified him.

So far, in the space of just an hour or two, he had experienced feelings that he had buried centuries ago.

Regret.

Fear.

Caring about someone.

They were all foreign to him, emotions that had long been stored away behind his icy exterior. They were buried deep within him, and having them ripped out of him by this woman, this beautiful, strange and unusual goth woman, was painful. It pained him to feel. To care.

He hated it.

Feelings, he had discovered many years ago, made you weak. Made you vulnerable. And Betelgeuse had done his best to bury them to the extent that it had transformed him into someone whom both Juno and Ophelia considered curse-worthy. He had known, right from the start, that breaking it wasn’t going to be easy.

He was charming and charismatic, and his ego, an ego which had developed through centuries of him trying to make himself tough and immune to any type of sappy feelings, had made him feel confident that someone would fall for him. But the very idea of him needing to love someone had seemed like an impossible lesson to learn.

He hated love.

The very idea of it made him screw his face up in disgust.

And yet…

This woman…this woman had caused a twinge of something inside his chest.

She had already intrigued him with her decision to swap places with her daughter. Betelgeuse had never known someone to be so…selfless…so…curious…about the afterlife.

But it was her gentleness, the way she had treated his wound, which was troubling him the most. He wasn’t used to it. People didn’t care for him. He had sustained many unpleasant injuries during his escapades in the afterlife, and not one single person, not one, had ever shown him any care like that. True, such kindness had come after he had saved her, but Betelgeuse wasn’t used to showing or receiving kindness. He only did things for people if they offered him something in return. But this time, he had been the one to do something without asking for anything in return.

And he realised, with horror, that Eve was right.

He could have easily avoided risking his death, just let her be killed permanently by those wraiths. But he hadn’t. Whether it was that foreign feeling of regret for shouting at her or something else, Betelgeuse wasn’t sure.

But he had saved her. Without any hesitation. Without any deal being made.

And that fact terrified him.

Not just because he had done a kind act, but also because, after Lydia’s gentle treatment of him in the aftermath, he was sitting there now, wanting to do another kind act for her…

Jesus, what the fuck was happening to him?

And before he could stop himself, he blurted out:

“She cleaned the injury for me. I…I wanna…I wanna do somethin’ for her…to th…”

He couldn’t bring himself to utter the word “thank.” Instead, he sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face, trying desperately to avoid Eve’s expression, which he knew would be one of shock.

God, this was all so…humiliating…embarrassing.

Here he was, the afterlife’s most well-known poltergeist, a poltergeist who thrived on being scary and chaotic, talking about feelings, about wanting to commit another act of kindness.

Sensing his friend’s discomfort, Bob gently patted him on the shoulder. Betelgeuse looked up, and Bob made a gesture, as though he was offering something to the ghost. Then, the shrunken-headed man nodded enthusiastically, clearly trying to convince Betelgeuse to carry out the suggestion.

“You think I should give her somethin’?” he said, frowning at Bob.

Bob nodded excitedly again.

Betelgeuse sighed.

“I wouldn’t even know what to…”

His voice trailed off, and his eyes widened as he thought of that first night when Lydia had arrived in his room and looked longingly at his books.

Books.

He had many of them.

Gothic tales. Classic horror.

He didn’t know Lydia very well, but her appearance and her morbid interest in the afterlife were enough to tell him that such books would be to her liking.

He almost smiled but stopped himself.

Don’t let anythin’ break that exterior, Geuse, his brain warned him. Gotta keep it cool, protect that reputation.

And yet he couldn’t ignore the twinge in his chest as he thought about giving his books to Lydia.

He quickly thanked Bob and said goodbye, rushing out of Dante’s before Eve could fire any questions at him.

***

He hadn’t waited for Lydia’s reaction to his second act of kindness.

Instead, he’d simply dumped the books down on the bed and walked away, desperate to get out of there, not wanting to see her face. Not wanting to see anything that may cause that small twinge in his chest to develop into something more.

He contemplated taking another trip to Dante’s but decided against it. He wasn’t sure he could deal with people’s “natural curiosity” right now, or whatever the hell Eve had called it. Nope. He was just going to lie there and try to relax.

But he couldn’t.

From the adjoining room, he could hear Lydia flicking pages and giving tiny gasps of shock or surprise as she worked her way through the dark stories that he had given her.

He shoved a pillow over his head and groaned inwardly.

Fuck, this was hard.

Against his will, the strange sensation in his chest grew at the tiny noises she was making, and he realised, with that same horror that he had experienced in Dante’s, that he was pleased. Hearing Lydia enjoying the books that he had given her was filling him with happiness.

Jesus, what was happening to him? The list of foreign emotions was building up, and Betelgeuse was trying desperately to fight them.

And, as if someone had been able to read his mind and sense his struggle, he heard his name being uttered three times.

A summoning.

He almost leapt with joy.

As much as he hated the summoning curse, he was thankful right now. Thankful to have something to distract him from the emotions that he was experiencing.

He rubbed his hands together excitedly as he disappeared in a puff of smoke and grinned widely as he appeared in the home of a terrified-looking ghost, who evidently hadn’t known what to expect when she had called his name.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted cheerily, his mood instantly lifted at being given an opportunity to return to his usual mischievous, flirty, chaotic self.

“So, who do I have to kill?”

***

The ghost woman’s terror hadn’t lasted long. Within fifteen minutes of being in Betelgeuse’s company, he had discovered that this woman was just like all his other potential clients. Stuck-up and highly annoying.

Her home was huge, a sign that she had been wealthy and of high importance when she had been alive. There were no injuries on her face, no clear cause of death, which led Betelgeuse to assume that she had died of a heart attack or some other invisible illness.

“I hope you’re going to pay for that damage,” she growled, pointing at an expensive-looking broken vase.

Betelgeuse stared at the destroyed object in disbelief.

“The fuck does it matter?” he said, shrugging. “Ain’t much use to ya now that you’re dead, is it?”

“That is an antique!” said the woman. “A very valuable object. I don’t expect you would know much about valuable objects.”

She scrutinised his appearance, her eyes shifting from his wild hair to his dirt-stained coat.

“Babe, I got a whole drawer full of valuable objects.”

“Judging from the look of you, I have no doubt that those objects were stolen.”

Betelgeuse held up his hands in defence.

“Hey, grave robbin'’ was a way of surviving back then.”

“Grave robbing?” replied the woman, her look of disapproval now morphing into one of disgust. “Stealing from the dead? Disgusting!”

“Thanks,” said Betelgeuse, throwing her a grin.

“That was not a compliment! Now, please leave.”

Betelgeuse’s grin instantly died.

“What about my payment?” he said, gesturing at the hole in the ceiling where the living couple that he had removed had crashed out of moments earlier. “I got rid of ‘em, just like you asked!”

“Yes, and caused a considerable amount of damage to my home in the process. I will not be giving you any payment!”

“Fuck’s sake,” growled Betelgeuse, stomping his foot. “I’m a fuckin’ professional! You ain’t gonna find services like mine anywhere else! You pay me or else…”

“Or else what?” said the woman, folding her arms. “Threats won’t work on me. Now get out of my home or I’ll report the damage to the Afterlife Crime Unit.”

Betelgeuse scowled at her, making a rude gesture as he did so. People like this woman, rich people, had no idea how hard it was to fight for survival, like he had been forced to do during the black Plague.

He was a powerful ghost, had the ability to get rid of people, even kill them, if he wished. Yet her wealth and status somehow made her more powerful than him. She had clearly had a privileged life, and death rarely humbled people like her. People like that often remained just as stuck-up in death as they had been in life.

He wasn’t going to win this fight.

It was yet another failed bio-exorcist job.

Another waste of his time.

“Just fuckin’ send me back. Now.”

His words came out in a growl, and he saw a flicker of something on the woman’s face. Fear.

Good.

The bitch deserved it for complaining about simply doing his job.

He closed his eyes as she called his name three times and welcomed the comfort of his messy room, glad to be as far away from the woman as possible.

***

The first thing he noticed, upon arriving back, was that there was no noise coming from the adjoining room. He stomped over to the doorway and frowned at the sight of Lydia’s empty bed. One of the books that he had given her lay open on the bed, while the others had been stacked neatly on the small shelf within her bedside table. There was no sign of any of the books that Ophelia had given her.

Like the first time, her absence irritated him. The last thing he needed right now was to be wandering around the afterlife looking for her. Yet he still found himself walking towards the door, grumbling to himself as he prepared to go and find her.

As his hand was about to reach for the door, it suddenly swung open. He jumped back in surprise and saw Lydia standing there, eyes wide with shock.

“Oh!” she said, moving slowly into the room. “I…I didn’t expect you to be back yet.”

“Where the hell did you go?” he demanded, the question coming out in a harsher tone than he had intended.

“I…I went to return Ophelia’s books. Hopefully, she wasn’t too offended that I didn’t enjoy them.”

Betelgeuse sniggered.

“Who gives a fuck?” he said, shrugging. “If you don’t like ‘em you don’t like ‘em, better to be honest than polite. Ain’t no point in that.”

Lydia tilted her head, studying him.

“Sometimes it’s much better to be aware of people’s feelings,” she said. “I don’t like offending people.”

“Yeah? Well, worryin’ about offendin’ people ain’t gonna get you very far in the afterlife, babe. It’s a tough world down here.”

He turned away from her and took off his coat.

“How’s your arm?” she asked, stepping closer to him.

“Fine,” he said. “It’ll heal.”

“Where did you go?”

Betelgeuse sighed. He was a sociable ghost, but the disastrous bio-exorcist job had lowered his mood, and he really wanted to relax. He didn’t want to discuss it.

But Lydia, he could tell, was a naturally curious person. There were too many fucking curious people for his liking. Why the fuck did so many people care about what others did with their life? Or rather, death? Why were people so interested in other people? Betelgeuse was so used to only caring about himself that he couldn’t help but feel confused and irritated at this natural curiosity.

“Look, I’ve had a fuckin’ shitty day and I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Oh.”

She stood there, rooted to the spot, still staring at him. Still wide-eyed.

The fact that she looked so goddamn cute did nothing to improve his mood.

“Well, I’m happy to listen…if…if you need someone to talk to.”

Betelgeuse stared at her.

The words had come out of her mouth in such a gentle, sincere tone. Unlike the ghosts in Dante’s Inferno Room, who were always digging for gossip, Lydia seemed genuinely interested in him. Genuinely concerned.

He felt the twinge again.

He swallowed, trying desperately to ignore it.

He wanted her to leave, to go into the other room and let him have a moment to process every emotion he had felt during the day.

But he also wanted her to stay.

He sighed, too tired after a day of feelings and another disastrous job.

“I know a place where we can get breakfast,” he said. “We’ll talk then.”

Ghosts, of course, didn’t need to eat, but many of them still did. Betelgeuse himself still found comfort in a good meal, even though death impacted ghosts’ taste buds.

His next words came out before he could stop them.

“My treat.”

Fuck, he hadn’t expected that.

A third act of kindness.

Something was wrong with him.

This was not him. He didn’t do kindness. Certainly not to this level. And he definitely didn’t pay for people's meals. Nope, that was not his style.

He opened his mouth to retract that last offer, to salvage his pride, but Lydia cut him off.

“T-thank you, I’d like that. I’d like that very much.”

He snapped his mouth shut. His finger, which he had raised in preparation to fiercely take back his offer to treat her to breakfast, was still in the air as she walked away from him and into her room.

He wanted to shout after her. Wanted to make her aware that this was the final act of kindness that he would be committing.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he sat down on his bed and stared at the basin across from him without really seeing it, trying hard not to think about how much he was looking forward to breakfast. 

Chapter Text

Betelgeuse’s idea of treating Lydia to breakfast, it turned out, was to take her to the afterlife’s strip club. Lydia wanted to ask if there were any other places to eat apart from Dante’s Inferno Room, but she was far too polite. Instead, she sat there in silence, her brows furrowed as she took in her surroundings.

Betelgeuse was at the bar, grabbing drinks and menus. Lydia stared at the back of his messy-haired head, thinking that it was strange that the club was open so early. Not that she had any idea what time it was. Or what day it was, for that matter. She wondered how Betelgeuse seemed to know that it was morning and thought of the watches on his arm, once again wondering if they worked or if he was just wearing them for show.

She breathed in, her nose wrinkling at the pungent scent of alcohol and something sweet, which was mixed with undertones of something mildly unpleasant. Was it rot? Death? She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t yet been dead long enough to get used to the odours of the afterlife.

Betelgeuse approached the table, now armed with a beer, a glass of a red, fruity-looking concoction and a couple of menus under his arm. He set the glass down in front of Lydia, and she stared at it for a few moments before reaching for it and taking a cautious sip.

She immediately spat it out.

“Jesus,” she spluttered. “What is that?”

“Bloody Mary,” said Betelgeuse. “Vodka, tomato juice and some spices. Don’t ask me what the spices are, ‘cause I ain’t got a fuckin’ clue.”

“It tastes…strange,” said Lydia. “Isn’t it a little early for alcohol?”

Betelgeuse shrugged.

“Who cares? Ain’t like any of us have gotta worry about liver damage. Bloody Mary’s a common cocktail for breakfast.”

Lydia stared back at the drink. She had, during her photography career, done a couple of jobs that involved taking photographs of special events, such as birthdays and other celebrations. Looking at the large glass of red concoction now, she remembered seeing it on a few occasions, remembered groups of women laughing as they sipped the drink and ate fancy breakfasts. It was something that, due to her strange and unusual interests impacting her ability to form lifelong friendships, Lydia had never had the chance to do. She had never been to any breakfasts or dinners with a large group of friends and sometimes felt a twinge of sadness at not having such an opportunity. But whenever that sadness hit her, books always helped her to feel better. Books were a constant source of escapism from a world that, for people like Lydia, was hard to navigate.

The first sip of the cocktail had made her wince. But instead of pushing the drink away, she slowly took another.

“It’s…interesting,” she said, setting the heavy glass down.

She examined the heavily garnished drink and plucked out a stick of celery before taking a bite. She sat there crunching it and looked up to see Betelgeuse staring at her. The ghost quickly looked away when she met his gaze. She placed the stick back in the glass and grabbed a menu, wanting something to distract her from the awkwardness that her simple action of eating a bit of celery appeared to have caused.

“So…they do breakfast in here?” she asked as her eyes raked over the menu.

“Yep,” said Betelgeuse, now looking at his own menu.

“But isn’t it…I mean…this is a strip club, isn’t it?”

Betelgeuse glanced up at her, and Lydia looked away, feeling thankful that, as a ghost, she no longer needed to worry about blushing.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t ask so many questions.”

Betelgeuse chuckled and lit a cigarette. He took a long drag, blew out a plume of smoke, then responded.

“I get it. You’re dead. You wanna know things about the afterlife.”

Lydia gave him a weak smile. He continued to study her, taking long drags of his cigarette as he did so.

“Yeah, it’s a strip club, but the dead can still eat and drink in here.”

Lydia glanced at the stage, which was empty, and before she could ask the question that had formed in her brain, Betelgeuse spoke the answer.

“The gals won’t be in until later.”

“Oh.”

Lydia quickly looked back at her menu, not wanting to linger on the topic of the Dante’s Inferno girls. Still worried that Betelgeuse was planning private visits, she couldn’t help but feel relieved to hear that they weren’t working at that moment. She was glad to be able to avoid the awkwardness of sharing a table with him while he flirted with them.

“So what’ll it be?” he asked.

Lydia’s eyes raked over the list of items on the menu. After reading so many gothic horror stories and watching many horror movies, she had half expected to see a plethora of gory items on offer, such as toasted fingers or a drink with an eyeball floating in it. But there wasn’t anything like that. Instead, the menu looked just like the regular breakfast menus that you would see in the living world.

Lydia's eyes immediately went to the breakfast burritos, which sounded very appetising.

“I quite like the sound of that, if that’s ok.”

She pointed at the text, and Betelgeuse grinned at her.

“Great choice. I prefer mine without all the green shit though.”

The “green shit,” Lydia quickly discovered from looking at the menu, was avocado and spinach.

“But those are the healthiest items in the burrito,” she said.

Betelgeuse laughed loudly, and Lydia coughed as a plume of smoke hit her in the face.

“Babe, we’re dead. Who gives a fuck about bein’ healthy?”

Lydia was about to respond when a very attractive ghost woman approached their table, a pad and pen clutched in her hand.

“What’ll it be?” she asked, flashing them a wide smile.

The red dress she wore was tight and accentuated her curves. Betelgeuse glanced at the woman appreciatively and removed his cigarette from his mouth. He placed their order, his gravelly voice somehow sounding smooth as he spoke.

“Thanks, babe,” he added, after the waitress had written it down. The waitress gave him a quick wink, earning herself a long glance at her backside as she walked away.

Lydia cleared her throat, and Betelgeuse tore his gaze away from the woman.

She hadn’t known him long, but her immediate impression had been that he was very ill-mannered, loud, chaotic, flirty and definitely not the type to commit regular acts of kindness. Yet here she was, being treated to breakfast. Lydia had been shocked at him giving her his books, but his offer of taking her to breakfast, of paying for her breakfast, had completely thrown her. She hadn’t expected that at all.

She studied him as he sat there smoking and wondered whether to ask if she was allowed to see Astrid. He had, after all, shown three acts of kindness so far, something that she would never have thought he would ever be capable of. He had saved her, given her his books and was now treating her to breakfast. Would it be pushing it to ask him if he would allow her to go into the living world to see her daughter?

As she watched him sitting there, smoking his cigarette with an air of nonchalance that she would never be able to express due to her tendency to be easily anxious, she decided it would be better not to risk it. Lydia had noticed a very tiny crack in his cold exterior, and the last thing she wanted was for that crack to close up and to make their living arrangements more difficult.

“Whatcha thinkin’?” Betelgeuse asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

Lydia jumped at the sound of his voice and fiddled with the hem of her dress. She quickly made something up.

“Oh…I…I was wondering how you know what time it is down here? There doesn’t seem to be any clocks. How do you know it’s breakfast time?”

He grinned at her and pulled the sleeve of his coat and shirt up, exposing the three watches and green bangle on his arm.

“Do they work?”

Lydia leaned over the table and examined the watches. Upon doing so, she could see that they did, in fact, work. Without thinking, she reached out and traced the bangle with her fingers. She had always had an appreciation for unusual jewellery. She looked up and caught sight of Betelgeuse, who quickly averted his gaze from her cleavage, which Lydia had unknowingly exposed a generous amount of while she had been looking at the watches and bangle.

She quickly sank back into her seat, knowing for certain that if she had been alive, she would have been blushing. Betelgeuse, on the other hand, continued to smoke, though the air of nonchalance was now gone, replaced by something unreadable as he kept his gaze fixed on the bar.

Their food arrived then, and Lydia was grateful for the interruption. Betelgeuse looked equally happy, though whether this was because of the arrival of the food or the attractive waitress, Lydia wasn’t sure.

She thanked the ghost woman as her plate, along with a knife and fork, was placed on the table, and stared at the burrito. It was huge. Betelgeuse immediately dug in, taking a huge bite and chewing noisily, causing pieces of sausage and egg to drop onto his plate and the table. Lydia looked away, feeling that it was somehow impolite to mention the ghost’s complete lack of table manners.

She heard more food drop onto his plate and tried not to look at him, but it was difficult to keep her gaze averted when he was making such a mess. Lydia wasn’t a messy eater, using knives and forks for most items of food, even ones that people usually ate with their hands. It was yet another of her quirks that contributed to her strange and unusual personality.

Betelgeuse stared at her, chewing noisily. Most of the filling had now fallen out of the burrito and was now on his plate. He picked at it with his fingers, struggling to grab at the bits of egg and sausage. He glanced up at Lydia again, and she held her knife and fork out in front of her, nodding at them and smiling, hoping he wouldn’t be offended by her silent suggestion. Then, she began to cut her burrito into manageable chunks. The action would indeed seem odd to others, but she was having far more success with keeping the filling inside the tortilla.

Betelgeuse had stopped picking at his plate and was now eyeing her with interest. Then, he picked up his knife and fork and started to cut up the remainder of his burrito. He popped the fork, which was loaded with bits of tortilla and filling, into his mouth, chewed for a while and then pulled an appreciative expression. Though he remained silent throughout this entire action, Lydia could almost hear him thinking, in his gravelly voice to himself, hey, this kinda works.

She felt an overwhelming urge to laugh, but somehow, she managed not to. He looked so…so silly, sitting there with his wild hair and his usual gruffness, eating his food nicely with a knife and fork.

“So what do ya think of the books?” he asked, after he’d swallowed a mouthful of food.

Lydia placed her knife and fork down excitedly and immediately launched into her thoughts about the stories he’d given her. She had been waiting for an opportunity to talk about them.

“Oh, I love them!” she said. “Especially The Fall of the House of Usher.”

Betelgeuse chuckled.

“Yeah, thought I’d throw in a bit of Poe for Edgar Allen Poe’s daughter.”

Lydia gave him a weak smile, and Betelgeuse's face crumpled into an expression that she wasn’t used to seeing.

“Jesus…I…er…that was a compliment. Nothin’ wrong with lookin’ like you could be Edgar Allen Poe’s daughter.”

She laughed then and picked at her food with a fork.

“It’s fine. I…I’m not used to people reacting well to my morbid appearance and dark interests. I usually get called all sorts of names, weird being the main one.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with your appearance or your interests,” said Betelgeuse, spearing a piece of tortilla and egg with his fork. “Who gives a fuck what other people think? Just be yerself.”

Lydia watched him, feeling a strange warmth at his words. She wondered, then, how often he had been judged for his appearance and his interests, and admired his ability to not care what others thought.

“So, tell me what ya liked about those stories.”

“Oh…I…I don’t want to be boring. People say I talk too much about books.”

“Babe, I gave you the books. I wanna hear your thoughts.”

Lydia looked for any sign that he was simply being polite, but there was none. Politeness wasn’t his thing, but being honest, Lydia had quickly learned, certainly was.

So she talked. She described all the parts of the stories that she enjoyed the most, the characters she loved, and the characters she hated.

And he let her.

He sat there, the most silent he had ever been, listening to her. Not interruptions. No rude laughter or mocking like Lydia often had to endure when she tried to talk about the stories she loved, just pure interest in everything she had to say.

And when she had finished, when she believed she had talked far too much and that she really should stop, she noticed something different about his eyes.

No longer did they seem cold. Instead, there was a new warmth in them, a strange softness in his gaze that Lydia had never seen before. And it caused something to stir in the pit of her stomach, a sensation that she hadn’t felt for a long time.

Perhaps, she thought, this poltergeist would be good company after all.

***

“You must be mistaken,” said Juno, as she walked to Dante’s Inferno Room with Ophelia. “Sharing his books? That doesn’t sound like Betelgeuse at all.”

“Well, it’s true,” said Ophelia. “Not just a few books, but an entire stack of them. Lydia came to return the ones I gave her and told me that he had kindly given her some of his.”

Juno scoffed and took a drag of her cigarette.

“That poor girl must be going through hell being stuck in a room near him.”

But Ophelia shook her head.

“Juno, this is progress. It may be small, but it’s better than nothing. Oh, and did you hear that he saved her?”

Juno stopped walking and stared at the Ghost Enchantress in disbelief.

“He what?”

“He saved her. From the west corridor.”

“What was she doing in the west corridor? It’s dangerous in there!”

“Betelgeuse warned her not to go there, and she did.”

“Where did you find out all of this?”

Ophelia nodded at the large building in front of them. Juno’s eyes followed her gaze and rested on the large demon, whose mouth formed the entrance to the club where the afterlife’s ghosts received all the latest gossip.

“Of course,” said Juno. “Dante’s. Should have known.”

“Apparently, he was in there yesterday, talking about wanting to give her something in return for cleaning the injury he got when he saved her. Then he gave her his books.”

Juno shook her head in disbelief and removed her cigarette from her mouth.

“Let me get this straight,” she said. “He saved her, actually put himself at risk, without making any deals or asking for anything in return, then wanted to do something else for her?”

Ophelia nodded excitedly.

“Isn't it wonderful?”

“It’s unbelievable. There is no way that Betelgeuse would do such huge acts of kindness.”

“It’s true.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” muttered Juno.

And the moment they entered Dante’s, she immediately saw it.

He was sitting there, a knife and fork in his hands, listening intently to whatever it was that Lydia was talking about. There was no leering, no inappropriate behaviour. Juno stood there, her mouth hanging open in shock, while Ophelia let out a tiny noise of glee.

“Oh my…look at him!” she said, placing her hands over her heart.

Juno had no words.

She had not expected to walk into the place where Betelgeuse was usually at his most perverted and loudest and see him acting like…like this.

“He likes her,” Ophelia whispered excitedly. “I can see it!”

Eve, who had immediately placed the glass that she had been cleaning down on the bar the moment she had seen Ophelia and Juno walk into the building, hurried over to them. The three women stood there, staring at Betelgeuse and Lydia.

“I have never seen him listen like that to a woman before,” the bartender said, nodding at the couple. “Never. He...he cut up his burrito.”

“He did what?” asked Juno, her cigarette hanging from her mouth.

“Cut it up. With his knife and fork. I couldn’t believe it either. He just…copied what she was doing and started eating his food…politely.”

“Jesus,” muttered Juno. “It’s…it’s…”

“Amazing!” said Ophelia, sighing. “He’s doing it. He’s learning.”

Juno shook her head dismissively and removed her cigarette.

“Doesn’t mean much,” she said. “She has to like him in return.”

But as she glanced at Lydia and saw the woman speaking animatedly, giving Betelgeuse more attention than she had ever seen any woman give him, she couldn’t help but sense a spark between the pair.

It was…strange. There was definitely something there that wasn't there before. When Lydia had first arrived in the afterlife, Juno had been certain that the goth girl would find Betelgeuse rude, loud and difficult to live with. But watching them now, something seemed to have changed. Betelgeuse’s gaze was full of a warmth that Juno had never seen before.

It was…intriguing and admittedly nice to see.

“There’s still time,” said Ophelia, keeping her voice low so that the poltergeist wasn’t alerted to their presence. “He’s making progress. It’s slow…but it’s far more than I ever thought he would have made by this stage.”

Juno took another drag of her cigarette as she watched them, and when Betelgeuse eventually did notice them standing there, the soft look instantly disappeared.

The cold gaze was firmly back in place.

The mask was back on.

Juno chuckled at the ghost’s desperate attempt to disguise his attraction to the goth woman. It was almost…sweet. And that was a word that she never thought she would use to describe Betelgeuse’s behaviour.

She turned away from the couple, who were now sitting in silence, Lydia looking slightly confused at Betelgeuse’s sudden change of expression.

He had a long way to go. His icy exterior had slowly, very slowly, started to melt. Juno had now seen evidence. But until he accepted it, until he started to see it himself, he had little chance of successfully breaking that curse.

And Juno hoped, despite all the problems he had caused her, that he would start to see what others had seen, that he was capable of caring for someone other than himself.

That he was capable of feeling.

Because the sooner he did that, the higher the chance was of Lydia returning those feelings, and the sooner that damn rose could be removed from Juno's desk permanently and give her more space for all that paperwork. 

Chapter Text

Feelings.

He hated them.

He was trying to run away again, trying to leave everything that he had felt during breakfast with Lydia behind in Dante’s Inferno Room.

But the feelings were following him. They were there, still buried deep, but trying to make their way to the surface.

And they had. Momentarily.

Betelgeuse hadn’t been able to stop it. He’d sat there, visibly softening as Lydia had talked excitedly about the books he had given her. And he had made no attempt to hide it…because he had been too engrossed in what she was saying. It was only when he’d spotted Juno, Ophelia and Eve standing at the bar, all staring at him in disbelief, that he had realised he was letting those feelings seep out of the cracks.

He had immediately pushed the feelings back down and returned to his usual self, making an excuse to quickly exit Dante’s and leaving Lydia sitting there looking perplexed.

Her confused expression was still etched into his brain. And on top of the feelings he was now trying hard to bury, he was now experiencing guilt. He felt guilty for just leaving her sitting there. But it had been too much for him. He'd had no choice but to get out of there. He couldn’t bear sitting there, with Juno, Ophelia and Eve all watching his icy exterior visibly melt before their eyes. No. It was all too much.

And yet…

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Everything about her was so…intriguing. So different to any other woman he had met. Everything little thing she did, from the strangely appealing way she had eaten the garnish on the cocktail to the way she had excitedly described her favourite scenes from the books he had given her, was so…mesmerising. And Betelgeuse, no matter how hard he was trying to fight it, could no longer deny that he was attracted to her.

He had nowhere to run.

If he went back home, she would likely be there. If he went back to Dante’s, he’d have to endure being questioned not only about his action of treating Lydia to breakfast but also his utterly embarrassing action of cutting up his breakfast burrito with a knife and fork.

He sat down on the black and white tiled floor and placed his head in his hands, desperate for a moment to process the feelings that had escaped through those cracks that had started to form in his icy exterior. He closed his eyes, glad that the corridor he was sitting in was empty. The last thing he needed was anyone catching him in a moment of vulnerability.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was loud and chaotic, but also charming and charismatic. Lydia was supposed to be the one falling for him. He hadn’t expected to be the one experiencing all these feelings. He had hoped that the initial twinge that he had felt in his chest would have disappeared by now. But it hadn’t. It was there, growing, like the fucking Grinch’s heart when it grew three sizes bigger.

He had to put that mask back on.

He couldn’t let this happen.

He had let it happen before, and such weakness had resulted in his death.

He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

He was Betelgeuse, the afterlife’s loudest and most mischievous ghost. He couldn’t let love get in the way. It was a silly crush, that’s all it was.

Get a grip, Geuse.

He pushed himself off the floor, determined to keep his exterior ice-cold and not allow any more cracks to form. For now, he needed to focus on repairing the ones that had already appeared, the ones that Juno, Ophelia and Eve had seen.

As much as he wanted that curse to be broken, he couldn’t sacrifice his reputation. Lydia falling in love with him was fine. That was acceptable. But he couldn’t be the one to fall for her. Nope. He was still determined not to let that happen.

He headed home, whistling as he did so, determined to get back to his usual rude, loud, chaotic self.

***

His plan immediately crumbled when he arrived back at his room. Lydia had already returned and was sitting on the bed. Not her bed, but his bed. She jumped as he entered the room, her eyes widening in surprise.

“Oh!” she said, placing the book she had been holding down onto the bed. “I-I didn’t expect you to be back yet. You left so suddenly. I thought you might have been summoned or something.”

He opened his mouth to make a biting retort, to say something that would show her that despite his three acts of kindness, he was the same loud, rude, crude, selfish poltergeist that he had been on that first day when she had offered herself as a replacement for his brooch.

But no words came out.

Everything about her, even the softness of her damn voice, made it impossible to be rude to her. She was just so…sweet. So innocent. The image of her frightened face when he had yelled at her in Juno’s office was still burned into his brain.

He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t bring himself to be rude to her anymore.

Fuck.

This was not going the way he wanted it to.

He stood there, watching her, aware of the twinge in his chest but doing nothing to block it out.

“I hope you don’t mind me sitting on your bed,” Lydia said. “I spotted a book on your shelf, and it looked interesting, so I decided to take a look…”

She looked away from him, and he was certain that if she weren’t dead, she’d be blushing.

“I should have asked first, I’m sorry. Astrid taking your brooch without asking is what got me into this mess to start with.”

“It’s fine,” Betelgeuse responded, the words escaping his mouth before he could stop them.

What the fuck?

Fine?

What the hell was he thinking? He should be getting angry. He should be spitting harsh words at her, just like he had with that kid of hers when she took his valuable brooch.

But he didn't. Couldn't. 

He closed his eyes, groaning inwardly.

“Are you ok?” asked Lydia, her voice laced with genuine concern at his pained expression.

Please don’t, he thought, don’t show me any concern. Don’t make my fucking heart grow any bigger.

She should be hating him. She should be ignoring him and refusing to engage with him. Especially after the way he yelled at her kid.

And there it was again.

Regret.

What was once so foreign to him was now becoming uncomfortably familiar.

With Lydia’s comment about Astrid’s act of taking the brooch now stuck in his brain, his eyes shifted to the drawer full of valuable objects, objects which he had taken, stolen, from the dead. And as he thought about those objects, he thought of Astrid and how she had simply wanted to take her mother, who had been grieving for her, something back from the afterlife.

He had never experienced parenthood, but he had seen enough to know how the loss of a child affected families. He could still see the bodies of the dead, all piled up and rotting, could still hear the screams of the mothers who had lost their children. The images, the noises, the smell of death in the air. They had never left him. But such images, noises and scents no longer bothered him. They were simply a part of his past that he had learned to deal with. 

Betelgeuse had seen so much death that it had desensitised him. It had toughened him up, making him immune to feelings. In the beginning, the Black Plague had been devastating, and he had sympathised with families, had even lost relatives himself. But after a while, the screams, the loss, the pain of it all had simply become a normality, numbing him, rendering him incapable of feeling.

In the end, it had been all about survival. Putting himself first. For him, there had been no point in caring about others anymore, because everyone he cared about had eventually died anyway. 

For him, grave robbing had been easy. He had never, not once, felt any guilt for it. 

Until now. 

Lydia’s comment about taking the book and her comparing the act to what Astrid had done had caused him to think of his own actions of stealing. And he couldn’t feel any anger towards the child's actions anymore. Astrid had taken the beautiful brooch without asking, but that item had already been stolen once before. By him. He had taken it, and survival or not, it was still an act of theft.

He had yelled at a kid who had done exactly what he had done.

The difference was, Astrid was just a child. 

Lydia’s child.

And as Astrid’s wide-eyed expression came into his mind, the expression she had pulled when he had caught her in his room with her hand in his drawer, he was instantly reminded of Lydia. He realised now, now that he had spent time with her, just how much the mother and daughter resembled each other. And the softness that was forming for Lydia was somehow now moving onto her kid. Just like he felt bad for yelling at Lydia, he was now feeling guilty for the way he had behaved with the young girl, who had only wanted to bring her mommy something back to stop her feeling sad.

Fuck. 

Here he was, standing there, feeling guilty about his grave-robbing days for the first time, caring about how his anger had affected not one person, but two. Fucking two! 

He tore his eyes away from the drawer of stolen items and glanced at Lydia, who was staring at him with a concerned expression.

“Are you ok?” she asked again.

He felt himself being consumed again, being suffocated by the feelings he was trying hard to battle.

The guilt.

The regret.

The intense attraction that he was feeling.

It was all too much.

He snapped his fingers, closing his eyes as he did so, not wanting to see those wide, doe-like eyes staring at him as he disappeared from the room.

Not wanting to feel anything else.

He couldn’t handle the pain of feeling anymore.

For so long, he had buried it all, and now that he was being hit with all these emotions, it was becoming harder to cope. He couldn’t handle seeing Lydia’s beautiful face, hearing her sweet voice and having to endure her kindness, kindness that she really shouldn’t be showing him after the way he had yelled at Astrid and refused to comfort Lydia in the aftermath of her selfless act of taking Astrid's place. 

But where could he go?

There was nowhere to escape the feelings. Nowhere to hide from them. They were there, in his chest, threatening to break through the ice. Threatening to consume him and transform him into someone he didn’t recognise.

He should be marching over to Juno’s office, demanding that she call Ophelia so that he could once again beg her to remove the damn curse…

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stood there, rooted to the spot.

And as he did so, Lydia’s face formed in his head again, images of her flicking through his mind like holiday photographs being displayed on a projector.

Her happy expression when he gave her the books.

Her excited expression when she had been talking about those books.

And then the happy images changed, her expression melting into one of pain and sadness, consumed with grief at leaving her daughter behind in the living world while she tried to adjust to her death in the afterlife.

The guilt hit him again, this time bursting painfully into his chest and filling up his insides, twisting them, almost making him double over in agony.

He stood there now, alone, feeling so conflicted. 

He wanted to go back to his room, to be near her, to see her beautiful face, to hear her talking about the books again. But he also didn’t want to feel anymore.

Dante’s was the obvious answer. He was still worried about Eve questioning him about his breakfast with Lydia, but he could perhaps try and avoid the bar and head straight to the stage. The gorgeous girls would all be in there by now, swaying their hips, wearing skimpy outfits. Ready to fuck all of the sappy feelings away.

But he didn’t move.

Instead, he found himself thinking back to breakfast, when Lydia had bent over him and examined his watches, unknowingly exposing a large amount of cleavage to him. He had instantly looked away. If she were any other girl giving him a good glimpse of cleavage like that, he would have jumped across the table, taken her hand and led her to one of the private rooms at the back of the building. But with Lydia, he had been respectful. And her reaction, her embarrassment of realising that she had accidentally exposed her cleavage to him, the fact that it hadn’t been a suggestive act, had somehow made her even more attractive to him.

He let out a growl of frustration, wanting desperately to be able to move, to just walk to Dante’s and just fuck one of the girls without a care in the world, like he’d always loved to do after a hard day, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t move.

He was rooted to the spot.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump, and he spun around to see Bob standing there. The shrinker nodded at Dante’s and Betelgeuse’s eyes shifted to the flashing signs, which promised girls and air conditioning.

And he felt nothing.

“I can’t go in there, Bob,” he said, his voice strained.

Bob made a gesture and a few mumbles that sounded very much like “because of the girl?”

Betelgeuse gulped and nodded.

He slid down onto the floor, and the shrinker, who himself had been contemplating a visit to the strip club, sat down next to him.

And Betelgeuse cringed inwardly, ashamed of displaying such weakness, even to Bob. 

“Me not goin in there…” – he pointed at the strip club – “means nothin.’ Nothin’ at all.”

The words came out in a growl.

“I ain’t in love with her or anythin’ if that’s what ya thinkin’.”

Bob patted Betelgeuse's shoulder as the ghost rested his head against the wall.

“This is just a crush, Bob. That's all it is. A blip. I just need to get a fuckin’ grip. Focus on makin’ her fall in love with me.”

Despite all the emotions he had experienced, he was still trying hard to convince himself that he hated love, that he wasn’t capable of it anymore.

Bob’s mumblings interrupted his thoughts, and he listened carefully, trying to digest his friend’s words, which sounded like he was advising the ghost not to keep running away from his feelings.

“I have to,” Betelgeuse replied. “I already told ya, I don’t do feelings. Or love. Or any…any….”

His voice trailed off, and he let out a sudden growl of frustration, causing Bob to jump.

“Fuck this,” he hissed, running a hand over his face. “I just can’t get her face outta my head.”

Bob made a few noises that sounded very much like he was advising Betelgeuse to go back to Lydia. To be brave and face up to his feelings.

He groaned again.

Dante’s was right there in front of him, the promise of girls still flashing on the signs, tempting him. But still, he didn’t go in.

Instead, he said a quick goodbye to Bob and did exactly what his friend had advised him to do.

He went back to Lydia.

Chapter Text

“The guy’s a fuckin’ idiot, shoulda checked if she was breathin’ before he drank the poison.”

“But the potion was supposed to stop her pulse. She didn’t have a detectable pulse.”

“Well, the fucker should have waited a bit longer then,” mumbled Betelgeuse, scowling at the book that Lydia was holding.

Lydia set the book down and studied the grumpy-looking ghost sitting next to her. They were on his bed, surrounded by heavy books. She had been surprised when he had suddenly returned to his room.

“Tell me what ya think of ‘em,” he had demanded as soon as he had arrived back in the room, gesturing to the books and sitting next to her on the bed.

There had been no explanation for his sudden departure after she had asked him if he was ok, nor had he mentioned anything about where he had been. It was as though he had never even left the room.

He was such a mystery. Like a puzzle that couldn’t be solved. One minute, he was grumpy, and the next, he was doing something kind. He was unpredictable, always appearing and disappearing unexpectedly in a puff of green smoke.

Lydia hadn’t expected him to be a fan of reading. He was so chaotic, always on the move, and she couldn’t imagine him settling down with a huge book and reading for hours. He’d even asked her to read to him, which Lydia had found a little strange, but had happily done so.

Now, as they sat there discussing Romeo and Juliet, Lydia had noticed a shift in his mood. The topic of love, it appeared, was a sore one. Betelgeuse had spent the entire discussion scowling and turning his nose up at the book, and when Lydia had suggested that he read a section of it to her, he had immediately refused.

She wondered, then, if he was able to read. Such a thought was probably silly because he had a lot of books. But Lydia couldn’t help but wonder if that was the cause of his reluctance to read the story aloud.

She fiddled with the hem of her dress, a nervous habit that didn’t go unnoticed by the ghost sitting next to her.

“What?” he asked, almost sounding defensive.

“I…”

“Spit it out.”

Deciding to be brave, she asked:

“Can…can you read?”

“Of course I can fuckin’ read!” he snapped.

“It’s just…you…”

“What?”

His blue eyes were narrowed, and Lydia could almost feel the icy breeze from his gaze. She sighed, wishing that she hadn’t asked the question.

“I noticed that you don’t want to read any of the book to me,” she said, keeping her tone soft, hoping that the words didn’t sound patronising.

“I can read,” he said again. “I ain’t illiterate. Hey, I went to business school. I got qualifications.”

He held his hands up in defence as he spoke.

“I just ain't a fan of...of that.”

He pointed at the book as though it were something unpleasant and made a noise of disgust.

“The characters are idiots. And I hate the way they fuckin’ speak.”

Lydia laughed.

“But that’s just Shakespearean language! It’s archaic, but that makes it more interesting.”

“Babe, I’m six-hundred-years-old. I ain’t got a problem with archaic language. I can easily speak like that.”

He cleared his throat.

“But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”

Gone was his gravelly tone, replaced with a smooth, perfect English accent. His arms were pointed at the ceiling in an exaggerated gesture as he spoke. Lydia stared at him in awe.

“That…that was perfect!” she said. “I’d love to hear you read some of the story to me using that voice!”

Realising what she had said, her mouth snapped shut and she quickly looked away, feeling embarrassed. The look of love that Betelgeuse had adopted while he spoke the words quickly melted away, replaced by the look of disdain that had been plastered on his face throughout the entire time they had been discussing the book.

“It’s fuckin’ sappy shit,” he growled. “You can keep the book, since ya seem to love it so much.”

“You…you aren’t a fan of love stories then?” Lydia asked, closing the book and placing it back on the pile.

“Nope,” he said. “Especially not ones where the characters fall in love within five seconds of meetin’ each other.”

“So, you don’t believe in love at first sight?”

Betelgeuse turned to look at her. A flicker of something passed over his face, but Lydia had very little time to work out what it was because it disappeared as quickly as it came.

“No,” he said firmly, pushing himself off the bed.

Deciding it was better to remain silent, Lydia began to gather up the books. She was about to get up and place them back on the shelf when he spoke. His words caused her to remain rooted to the spot on his bed.

“Makes a person weak,” he said. “Fuckin’ vulnerable.”

His tone was harsh, biting. He stood with his back to her, unmoving, like an ice statue. Lydia wanted to ask him more questions, to ask whether he was speaking from personal experience, but she didn’t. Instead, she stayed silent, deciding that it was better for him to take the reins in this conversation.

He turned to face her then, his movements stiff and slow. The warmth that had been in his gaze at breakfast was completely gone, replaced with a cold gaze that sent a shiver down Lydia’s spine.

She had, of course, expected this moment. Living in such close proximity, Lydia knew that they would eventually learn things about each other. It was inevitable. And despite the pleasant time they’d had at breakfast, she knew it was going to take a little while for them to be completely comfortable around each other. She remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

Wanting him to continue.

“I ain’t had good experiences with love,” he said at last. “And that’s all I’m sayin’ about the subject.”

Lydia smiled.

“Me neither,” she said.

His expression softened, his eyes widening slightly at her words.

“Really?”

Lydia nodded.

“I’m divorced,” she said. “I don’t have many successful relationships under my belt.”

Betelgeuse was still staring at her, studying her with those blue eyes.

“Why did ya divorce?” he asked.

Lydia gave a soft chuckle. Clearly, he was far less bothered about asking sensitive questions than she was.

“We were just…different. To start with, everything was fine. We were happy and then…I guess I was just too strange and unusual for him. He travels a lot, fighting for climate justice and…I guess he didn’t want to be married to someone who could see and have conversations with ghosts. Our interests drove us apart.”

“He sounds like a dick,” muttered Betelgeuse.

Lydia let out a snort of laughter, something which was highly uncharacteristic of her, but she couldn’t help it.

“What? He fuckin’ does. Ain’t your fault that you can see the dead and have conversations with ‘em, is it?”

She shook her head, still laughing.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just that his…his name is Richard and you…you called him a dick!”

She continued to laugh, unsure of why she found such a simple thing so funny, but the way Betelgeuse had muttered the insult, not knowing that he was also uttering the nickname for her ex-husband, somehow made it funnier.

“Oh, that’s…that’s fuckin’ perfect!” the ghost said, throwing his head back and letting out a loud booming laugh. “You were married to a guy called Dick who’s…a dick!”

“Oh, stop it,” said Lydia, still laughing. “He isn’t that bad. We just…we just weren’t compatible.”

“Any gal who has an interest in ghosts and death is perfect to me,” said Betelgeuse.

Lydia’s laughter gently died, and she met his gaze. He quickly looked away and cleared his throat.

“I, er, I’d better go and…and do some jobs or somethin’.”

The words came out fast and were almost intelligible. Lydia felt a stab of disappointment, not wanting to be alone again. While she loved reading, she had been doing a lot of it lately, and part of her wanted to go out and explore the afterlife with him.

“What’s your job?” she asked, naturally curious. “I mean, what do you do…when you get summoned by someone?”

She hoped he wouldn’t be angry at the question. She’d been on the receiving end of questions about her job during gatherings and events at Delia’s art gallery, where people would ask them out of pure nosiness, often throwing looks of disapproval at her gothic attire as they did so.

Betelgeuse, luckily, wasn’t angry. Instead, he answered the question enthusiastically, talking fast and using wild gestures as he did so.

“I’m a freelance bio-exorcist. I get rid of the living. Help the dead to get their homes back.”

“So you…you scare the living?”

“Yep.”

“What kind of things do you do?”

Betelgeuse looked thrilled at being asked such a question.

“Well, some of my work is terrifyin.’ Might be too scary, even for a morbid gal such as yerself.”

“Try me,” said Lydia, folding her arms, her eyes now fixed on him.

“Ok, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya. My work can make people go crazy. It can make people…lose their head.”

As he spoke the words, he reached up and removed his head from the rest of his body.

Actually removed it.

Lydia stared at the head, which was now placed under his arm and still grinning at her. Her eyes travelled up to where his head had been moments earlier and rested on the gruesome sight of the now-exposed flesh of his neck.

But she didn’t flinch.

Instead, she continued to stare at it, in awe of his abilities.

“Wow,” she said, still staring at the gory sight in front of her. “Is…is that what you do? To scare the living away?”

“That and a million other things,” he replied, re-attaching his head. “Got a lotta strings to my bow.”

“Can I see something else?”

Betelgeuse chuckled and studied her for a moment.

“Normally, chicks scream the fuckin’ house down when I do that. Ain’t ya scared?”

Lydia shook her head, wanting to see more.

Without warning, he pulled a grotesque face. Lydia barely flinched as she stared at the hideous tentacles and feelers that were protruding from his face.

“That’s…that’s pretty impressive,” she said.

His face slowly turned back to normal, and he gave a dramatic bow.

“Thank you! Thank you! Shame the fuckin’ clients never seem satisfied.”

“They don’t?”

“Nope, always complainin’.”

“Why would they complain?”

“Because I get a little handsy or flirty with the women sometimes. It’s just a fuckin’ harmless kiss or a hug.”

“Perhaps it’s just a little…too much,” said Lydia.

“Why?” replied Betelgeuse, his tone laced with genuine confusion.

“You can’t just grab people when you first meet them. You have to be professional.”

“I am a professional!”

Lydia ran a hand over her face and groaned. He had a lot to learn.

“I work hard,” Betelgeuse said, now pacing the room. “I take pride in my work, and the last thing I need is a client turnin’ me away because I gave ‘em a fuckin’ hug and a kiss. Hey, I’m a social ghost!”

He sighed and stopped pacing.

“It’s…it’s just fuckin’ hard,” he said. “Bein’ freelance. And there’s all the promotion and shit. I hate it.”

He let out a small sigh of relief. Lydia had a feeling that he had been wanting to admit this to someone for a while.

"Maybe you shouldn’t be freelance anymore,” she said, finally getting up off the bed and placing his books back on the shelves. “Maybe you should create your own bio-exorcist business.”

She turned around to find Betelgeuse staring at her. His mouth slowly curved up into a grin.

“Now that,” he said slowly, “ain’t such a bad idea! Me…in charge…gettin’ someone else to do all the grunt work. It’s perfect! They can answer the phones an’ take care of the promotional shit while I get the fun part, which is scarin’ the shit outta people.”

He stroked his chin with his long fingernails and stared into space, thinking hard.

“But who would I get to work for me?”

“Do you have any friends who might be able to help?”

Betelgeuse glanced at her and grinned again.

“Sure do. Wanna help me recruit him?”

Lydia nodded excitedly.

***

The sound of fingers clicking against keys and the ringing of telephones filled the air. Lydia stared in amazement at the sight in front of her. For what felt like hours, she had helped Betelgeuse gather some recruits and set up an office in one of the afterlife’s empty rooms.

The group of shrinkers typed fast, their wide eyes fixed on the screens in front of them. Beside them, leaflets shot out of a machine, each one littered with puns and phrases to lure in new clients. Next to Lydia, Betelgeuse sat at a desk, browsing the afterlife’s newspaper.

“Gonna take a while for it to be successful, but this is one hell of a start,” he said, placing the paper down and giving Lydia a look of appreciation. She smiled and sat down in the chair opposite.

“And remember, when you do get summoned, keep it professional,” she said. “No grabbing the clients or behaving inappropriately. Always wait for them to tell you what they want first. Try it. See how it works.”

Betelgeuse sighed.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard ya,” he said, rolling his eyes. “No grabbing the clients or behaving inappropriately.”

As he repeated her sentence, his gravelly voice disappeared. Lydia’s eyes widened in awe as she heard her own voice coming out of his mouth.

Was there anything this poltergeist couldn’t do?

“Bob, get over here!” shouted Betelgeuse. 

Bob shuffled over, and Betelgeuse got out of his chair and patted the shrinker on his shoulder.

“Thanks for gettin’ all of yer pals on board, Bob, ya did me a solid.”

Bob nodded in response and patted the ghost’s shoulder in return, before shuffling off.

“And, er…thanks to you too, Lyds, for helpin’ me set all of this up.”

He nodded at the desks in front of them, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he did so. Lydia smiled at him, feeling a pleasant sensation in her stomach at the use of the nickname. 

A noise made them both jump, and Betelgeuse reached out to grab a small card from the machine that had just spat it out.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Jackson’s already on my case. Wants me to meet him to discuss the new business. Fuck’s sake. Ain’t a crime to set up a business.”

“Who’s Jackson?”

“Wolf Jackson. Head of the Afterlife Crime Unit.”

“Oh,” said Lydia. She had forgotten that the afterlife had a crime unit. She stared at the note in his hand for a few moments before gently taking it from him and studying it.

“You’d better go see him,” she said. “And try to keep calm. Don’t lose your temper.”

“I swear the guy is fuckin’ stalkin’ me.”

“Like you said, you’ve done nothing wrong. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

As she spoke, she placed her hand gently on his shoulder. He looked down at her, and their eyes locked. His gaze was soft, and Lydia felt another twinge of something in her stomach, though she wasn’t quite sure what. He moved his hand, and for a moment, Lydia thought he was going to place it over hers. But he didn’t. Instead, he smiled. A genuine smile that seemed to light up the whole of his face. It suited him.

Lydia cleared her throat.

“Well, good luck with the meeting with Wolf. I was thinking of taking a walk around. Exploring a bit.”

“Stay the hell away from the west corridor,” said Betelgeuse, waving a finger warningly at her.

Lydia laughed.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I will.”

She turned to leave and walked away, feeling his gaze burning into her back.

***

The meeting went well. Lydia was surprised when he returned straight home that evening and told her all about it, rather than making his usual trip to Dante’s. She asked him all about the business, how his day had gone, and he asked her about her day.

And that’s how it continued.

Over the next few weeks, they settled into a comfortable routine and Lydia felt…content. What was once a cold, lonely room was now filled with warmth, even when he wasn’t there. Books lined the shelves, and he had given her some of his candles, too. She would often read his books under the candlelight, awaiting his return from work.

Like someone awaiting the return of their spouse.

The happy domesticity didn’t go unnoticed. Betelgeuse’s absence in Dante's Inferno Room was fast becoming the talk of the strip club, and Juno, who knew that the ghost had a penchant for the club’s girls, was shocked to hear that he hadn’t been in for a while.

“You’re telling me he hasn’t been in here at all?”

Eve shook her head.

“Not since he had breakfast in here with Lydia. And guess what else?”

She leaned over the bar, looking excited as she prepared to share the next juicy piece of information.

“What? What is it?” asked Juno, wanting to hear it.

She had never, not once, been so invested in Betelgeuse’s private life. Ophelia stood next to her, also listening intently.

“She helped him set up a bio-exorcist business,” hissed Eve, the words coming out in an excited whisper.

Both women gasped.

“I thought there was something strange going on,” said Juno, blowing out a thick plume of smoke. “It’s been a while since I’ve received any complaints from any of his clients about him.”

“This…this is wonderful!” said Ophelia, clapping her hands together. “She's helping him! He’s learning!”

“So, what next?” asked Juno, before taking a drag of her cigarette. “Is it enough to break the curse?”

“Not quite,” admitted Ophelia. “But he’s making more progress than I ever thought he would. I think we should…help things along a little.”

Juno and Eve leaned forward, ready to hear the Ghost Enchantress’s suggestion.

“We should arrange…a dance!”

Juno let out a bark of laughter.

“A dance? Betelgeuse dancing? The ghost may have shown progress, but he has absolutely no grace. There is no way he’ll be able to dance romantically with a woman.”

“It’s true,” said Eve, nodding at Juno in agreement. “I’ve seen him dancing up there on that stage with the girls lots of times, and it's never a pretty sight.”

She thrust her crotch forward, mimicking Betelgeuse’s vulgar dance moves. Ophelia waved her hand dismissively.

“We must try. Set the scene. Make it…nice.”

“I highly doubt Lydia will want to dance with him in a strip club,” said Juno.

“It doesn’t have to be the strip club. It can be a place of their choosing. Anywhere.”

“But she can’t go anywhere other than down here, and she’s tied to the family home in the living world. Don’t forget, Ophelia, that ghosts cannot go much further than the place where they died. Since Lydia’s daughter died outside their home and Lydia switched places with her, that means Miss Deetz can only visit that location.”

Ophelia shook her head and smiled.

“Juno, I can do magic. Bend the rules. It’s only for one evening. Don’t you want that rose off your desk?”

“Of course I do!” snapped Juno. “But we must be careful. The Afterlife Crime Unit –”

“Oh, forget the Afterlife Crime Unit!” said Ophelia, waving her hand again as she interrupted Juno. “It’s just a little dance. A chance for them to have some fun together.”

Juno glanced at Eve, who was looking just as excited by the idea as Ophelia.

“Fine,” she said, blowing out smoke. “But if we get into trouble, I’m blaming you.”

***

Death impacted a ghost’s ability to smell, but Lydia could still detect the woody scent that lingered in the air. Betelgeuse’s candle burned brightly on the shelf above her head, filling the room with a low, intimate glow.

The sound of a door opening in the other room made her jump, and her stomach gave a jolt. This pleasant jolt, which a few weeks ago had been foreign to her, was now familiar.

He was back.

Hearing stories about his business, about how it was growing, had quickly become Lydia’s favourite part of the day. Betelgeuse had taken her advice, adopting a calmer (only slightly calmer) approach to his clients, avoiding any behaviour that may have put them off.

And it had worked. His client list was growing, and Lydia was starting to see the positive effect this was having on the ghost.

It was wonderful to witness. To see this gruff, cold ghost slowly changing before her eyes filled her with joy. But she had realised, over the weeks that they had spent together, that she also liked the other side of him. The chaotic, unpredictable side that always filled her with awe. His crudeness had calmed down a little, but Lydia realised that this too was something she didn’t mind.

He made her laugh. His rude jokes and puns were ridiculous and would no doubt earn him an eye roll and a groan from most people. But for Lydia, they were a part of who he was.

And she liked it.

Over the past few weeks, she had been fighting a depression that had been threatening to overtake her, which she assumed was caused by desperately missing Astrid. Yet Betelgeuse, despite him being the one she had given her life up for, always found a way to brighten her day, usually through demonstrations of how he had scared the living people in his clients’ homes away or with a simple joke. 

“Honey, I’m home!” he called, before letting out a loud laugh.

Weeks ago, when he had arrived home and said those same words, when Lydia had been consumed by grief over leaving her daughter behind in the living world, she hadn’t reacted to them. Now, she laughed at them. He said it every time he arrived back after work.

And Lydia looked forward to it.

And the best part of it all was that he was letting her simply be who she was. Every night, he would let her talk about the books she had read and the places that she had visited in the afterlife during the day, never interrupting her. He was quiet throughout it all, his eyes always warm as he listened to her voice. 

And Lydia had noticed, and couldn’t deny, that his eyes looked amazing under candlelight. Blue, warm and…sparkling. Full of life, despite him being dead. That twinge of something, the twinge that she had felt when he had taken her to breakfast, had slowly started to grow over the weeks that they had spent together, blossoming into a pleasant warmth that filled her entire body whenever he looked at her softly. 

Lydia wasn’t sure exactly what these feelings were, and there was a part of her that didn’t want to think about it too much. But she couldn’t ignore it. And as he walked into her room and stood there, bathed in the light of his own candle, she felt it again.

His icy exterior had melted even more, leaving behind a ghost who Lydia was starting to consider a friend.

He grinned at her, showing mossy teeth and held a sheet of paper out to her.

“Look at this,” he said. “Ophelia gave it to me.”

Lydia pushed herself off her bed and took it from him. Her eyes widened as she read the words on the sheet.

“An entire evening to go wherever we want?” she asked, feeling a stab of excitement. 

“Yep. I don’t even have to be summoned. She’s lettin’ us go up there, into the livin’ world. Wherever we want. For a whole evenin’! She told me to pick somewhere, er, special, though…”

Lydia looked up at him, and he quickly looked away, rubbing the back of his neck like he usually did when he was feeling awkward.

“Oh, and we need to wear somethin’ nice. Hey, that part ain’t my idea.”

He held his hands up in defence.

Lydia smiled, excited at having the opportunity to go up into the living world with him for an entire evening.

But she also felt sad.

She wanted, so desperately, to see Astrid. But she didn’t want to spoil the mood. So instead, she looked at him and smiled again.

“Let’s do it,” she said.

He grinned at her again, displaying those mossy teeth, and rubbed his hands together excitedly.

“Babe, it's gonna be amazin'!"

Neither of them knew that Ophelia was planning to make their chosen setting as romantic as possible, with a full ghostly orchestra, nor did they know that she and Juno were going to be secretly observing the whole thing.

Chapter Text

Inside Juno’s office, another petal fell.

And inside Betelgeuse’s office, the sound of the shrinkers’ fingers hitting the keys filled the air, along with the ringing of several telephones.

Betelgeuse sat at his desk, his feet resting on its surface, and marvelled at the sight in front of him. Just a few weeks ago, his client list had been empty. Now, he was in high demand, being summoned at least two times a day.

All because of Lydia.

Everything in front of him, from the layout of the room and the office furniture to the pictures on the wall, had been arranged by her. Bob had helped gather the workers together, but Lydia had done most of it.

Taking her advice and keeping his hands to himself when meeting new clients had been hard. He was, after all, a handsy ghost who loved getting physical with the ladies. However, he had tried hard to adopt the approach Lydia had advised him to take.

And it had worked.  

The feelings that Betelgeuse had tried so hard to bury were now resting just below the surface, threatening to crash into his icy exterior and shatter it into pieces. The ice was slowly melting, but Betelgeuse was determined to stay cool. His busy work schedule was helping to keep the feelings under control, preventing them from adding any more cracks to the ice.

But it was becoming harder.

Like Lydia, Betelgeuse had found contentment in their cosy routine, and he looked forward to returning home to her every night after work. Seeing her face, breathing in her scent (how did she manage to smell so sweet despite being dead?), and hearing her soft voice was the one thing that got him through the day.

He loved his work, thrived on scaring people, but nothing could compare to coming home to Lydia. He was trying hard to fight the feelings, but he couldn’t deny the fact that being near Lydia now brought him far more satisfaction than being near any of the girls in Dante’s Inferno Room.

And that was saying something. Those girls were gorgeous.

But since getting to know Lydia, he hardly thought of them.

He still hadn’t set foot inside the strip club.

He knew they would all be talking, that he would still be the main topic of the club’s gossip. But keeping busy with work helped him to avoid thinking too much about it.

He was excited about his upcoming evening in the living world with Lydia. This, he kept telling himself, was because he would be getting an entire evening of freedom with an attractive woman whom he had a crush on, and nothing to do with those feelings that kept hammering at his chest as though it was a goddamn door that they were trying to escape through. Nope, nothing to do with any feelings at all.

He was still denying it, still trying hard to convince himself that it was just a simple attraction and nothing more. But fuck, it was hard.

Lydia was the kindest, gentlest, most interesting woman that he had ever met. Whenever he was near her, it was hard not to feel. But he needed to focus on his main goal, which was getting her to fall for him.

He had already decided that he was going to let her choose the location. After everything she had done for him, helping him to set up his business and offering advice on how to change his behaviour to attract new clients, he owed it to her.

It was a fourth act of kindness, something that he had been trying hard to avoid. But he had to let her have this. The guilt and regret that he still felt for yelling at Astrid and for not yet giving in and allowing Lydia to see her were still eating him. His act of allowing her to choose where they went would hopefully absolve him of the emotions that had once been foreign to him.

He drummed his fingers on his desk, wondering what to wear for the occasion. Betelgeuse had always avoided looking smart, instead choosing outfits that matched his chaotic, mischievous personality.

Since Lydia had helped him set up his business, however, he now spent most of his days in what had become his signature suit – a black and white striped jacket and trousers, with a shirt, tie and matching combat boots.

Patches of moss littered the outfit, but it was vastly different from his previous look, which had consisted of a scruffy, dust-covered trench coat, a red shirt, trousers that were far too short and mismatched shoes. Lydia had, after helping him start his new business, gently suggested that he try wearing smarter attire to make him look more professional, so he had snapped his fingers and swapped scruffy for smart, something that he had initially been reluctant to do, but which had paid off.

He hated smart, though. He didn’t do smart. Yet here he was, trying to think of another smart suit to wear for their…what was it exactly? A date? No, a date was too much. Outing. That was a better word. Outing.

The note had said to dress smartly, but trying to produce something as smart as his black and white suit was proving to be very difficult.

An image of Lydia in a beautiful dress popped into his head, and he groaned. Of course, she would look perfect in anything. The woman was a natural beauty. Betelgeuse had never, not once, felt self-conscious about his appearance. The chicks had always gone wild for his messy hair and his sizeable gut. Yessir, no complaints there (at least not to his face). But he sat there now, feeling nervous.

Fuck.

This…this was getting out of hand. Here he was, feeling self-conscious, fucking nervous! What the hell?

The feelings were bubbling again, pushing against the surface, threatening to burst out of his chest like aliens that had invaded his body against his will. He swallowed hard, hoping that such an action would somehow push them back down far below the surface.

Get a fuckin’ grip and focus, Geuse!

He snapped his fingers, and his black and white suit instantly disappeared, replaced by a very smart tuxedo that didn’t have a single speck of dust on it.

He cleared his throat and called for Bob, who immediately shuffled over. Betelgeuse stood there sulking, feeling utterly miserable. Bob made a few noises which, in Bob-speak, sounded very much like “Wow, boss…you look so…so…”

“…Fuckin’ stupid,” growled Betelgeuse, scowling at the spotless outfit. “This ain’t me. I fuckin hate it.”

He snapped his fingers, and the smart suit was instantly replaced by an old-fashioned burgundy tuxedo with a frilly undershirt, a bow tie, and shiny white shoes. Betelgeuse examined himself and grinned.

“Well?” he said, glancing at Bob and holding his arms out. “Ya like it?”

Bob nodded enthusiastically and gave him a thumbs up.

Betelgeuse grinned widely, happy that his best friend approved of his attire.

He didn’t usually give a fuck what people thought of his appearance, but as he stood there now, he realised that he cared about Lydia’s reaction to his outfit, and he found himself hoping that she would like it.

***

The afterlife was one big maze, and Lydia was lost. Again.

She sighed as she walked through endless corridors, hoping to stumble across a familiar room and praying that she wouldn’t accidentally end up in the west corridor again. She sat down on a rickety chair outside a dry cleaning store and ran a hand over her face.

She needed an outfit for her evening in the living world with Betelgeuse.

Her black dress, which had not been changed since she had entered the afterlife, was smart and sleek, but she wanted something more…special.

But how would she find such an outfit? Her style was so different to that of the people she had seen down in the afterlife.

She had seen the girls heading to Dante’s in their bright, skimpy dresses and high heels. Lydia’s choice of attire was much darker, less revealing, and she hated wearing shoes that had anything more than an inch of heel.

She had nothing to wear and didn’t even know where to find anything. The afterlife was huge, and other than the dry cleaning store, she couldn’t see any shops that contained clothes.

She placed her head in her hands as her thoughts drifted to Astrid. Part of her still wanted to ask Betelgeuse if they could visit her during their trip to the living world, but she didn’t want anything to spoil the pleasant atmosphere that their cosy routine had created. She didn’t want to anger him and risk him reverting to the cold, bad-tempered ghost that he had been on that very first day when she had given up her life.

She felt a gentle tap on her shoulder and jumped. She looked up to see Eve, the pretty bartender from Dante’s, frowning down at her.

“Are you ok?” she asked. “I came here to get some dresses dry cleaned and noticed you sitting there, looking a bit down in the dumps.”

“I’m fine,” said Lydia. “Just wondering what to wear.”

Eve’s face lit up, and she shrieked with excitement.

“Oooh, is this for your date with Betelgeuse?”

“It’s not a date,” chuckled Lydia. “But Ophelia told us to wear something smart.”

She watched as Eve studied her carefully, feeling a little self-conscious under the pretty woman’s gaze.

“You know, I like your style, Lydia. The girls in Dante’s always wear bright clothes, but I love the whole goth look that you’ve got going on.”

“Thank you,” said Lydia.

She smiled softly at Eve, who beamed at her.

“And I think I might have just the dress for you.”

“You do?”

Eve nodded.

“Might need to ask Ophelia to make a few minor tweaks, but I think it’ll be perfect. I’ll just take these inside and then we’ll head into Dante’s to get it, if that’s ok?”

Lydia nodded. While grateful, she felt a stab of something unpleasant in her stomach at the thought of entering the club. Like Betelgeuse, she had noticed the looks that people had given them when he had taken her to breakfast.

Lydia hated being the subject of any gossip, and the fact that Betelgeuse had not been in the club for weeks, that he had instead chosen to come home to her every night, would not have gone unnoticed. Lydia didn’t want to endure the stares and the whispers. But she knew she had no choice. She needed an outfit, and this, as far as she knew, was the only way to obtain one.

Eve stepped out of the store and gestured for Lydia to follow her. As they walked, Lydia took in her surroundings, wondering how ghosts managed to find their way around the maze of corridors.

During the journey, Eve tried to get as much out of Lydia as she could about the routine that Lydia and Betelgeuse had slipped into, but Lydia was deliberately vague. Eve, it soon became clear, wasn’t an easy one to fool, though and continued to probe for answers, determined to squeeze every drop of information out of Lydia about her newfound friendship with the afterlife’s loudest, crudest and most troublesome ghost.

“It’s going very well,” she said in response to Eve’s question about Betelgeuse’s new bio-exorcist business.

“And you helped him set it up, didn’t you?”

The tone in the young woman’s voice told Lydia that Eve already knew that Lydia had helped him, that she was asking the question purely for the purpose of hearing it directly from Lydia herself, like a journalist trying to squeeze information out of a celebrity. Lydia hated it when people asked questions, hated any kind of attention being on her, but kept her answers polite, not wanting to snap at Eve when the woman was kindly helping her with her outfit.

After what felt like several hours and many questions later, they reached Dante’s. Lydia stared at the gigantic demon, her eyes raking over the mouth that formed the entrance to the club. They stepped inside, and Lydia winced as that sweet scent, which was always mixed with alcohol and undertones of death, hit her nostrils.

As Eve led her to one of the rooms behind the bar, Lydia could feel the club’s customers staring at her. She deliberately kept her gaze fixed on Eve’s back, determined not to look at any of the ghosts that were seated at the bar. The bartender led her to a private room that contained a dressing table, a couple of lockers and a wardrobe.

“The girls come here in their work clothes,” explained Eve, opening the wardrobe. “But we do sometimes have a couple of outfit changes between their dance routines. Here’s the dress.”

She pulled out a red and black dress, which, while nice, was very short.

“It’s not as dark as you’d probably like, but like I said, we can get Ophelia to make some changes.”

Lydia nodded and thanked the young woman, hoping that the Ghost Enchantress would be able to make the dress a little longer. Eve smiled and told Lydia to wait in the dressing room, promising her that she would be back soon.

As Lydia stood in the room alone, she suddenly felt nervous. For weeks, she and Betelgeuse had spent evenings together, talking about books, his job and her days out exploring the afterlife. But the trip to the living world was going to be the first time she had been up there since that difficult day when she had agreed to switch places with Astrid. Would the pleasant atmosphere that had developed during their routine suddenly become awkward? And what, Lydia wondered, would they talk about when everything that was usually the main topic of their conversations was stripped away from them?

It wasn’t a date. Lydia knew that. But it felt like she was getting ready for one. She was strange and unusual, and while she knew that Betelgeuse didn’t have a problem with that (he was just as strange and unusual himself), she couldn’t help but feel nervous.

They hadn’t yet decided on a location, but Lydia knew where she wanted to go. She loved graveyards, and Winter River’s cemetery always looked beautiful when bathed in the autumn sunset.

Was it autumn by now? Lydia had no idea. Her mind drifted back to that horrifying day when Astrid had been hit by a car while running to the ice-cream truck. That had been weeks ago. Lydia didn’t know how long she had been down here, but it felt like long enough for it to be autumn by now.

Was it selfish of her to ask Betelgeuse if they could visit the graveyard? She knew that he was bound to some sort of summoning rule, that he could only go up to the living world when someone called his name. Would it be wrong of her to suggest the location of their outing when Betelgeuse rarely had a choice of when and where he went in the living world?

She sighed, hating how she felt, hating the insecurity that came with these types of occasions. She’d had very little luck with men, and Betelgeuse, too, said that he had been unlucky in love. But this outing…it wasn’t about love. Was it? They were barely even friends. But he had changed. It was just a little change… but it was enough to have caused something to stir within Lydia, something that she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

A noise interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up to see Eve entering the room, now accompanied by Ophelia and Juno. None of the women spoke, but their expressions told Lydia that the dress that Eve was clutching had not undergone the minor tweaks that had been promised, but rather some drastic changes.

The young woman held the dress out, presenting it to Lydia as though it were a trophy. Lydia took it, held it against her body and gasped.

It looked stunning.

The length had been altered to one that was much more to Lydia’s liking, and the red and black material now had intricate spider-like patterns that crawled up the arms and along the hemline. The neckline was low, but not too low. Enough to show just a bit of cleavage, which Lydia was thankful for. While it was admittedly pleasant to be the focus of Betelgeuse’s soft gaze, she didn’t want to be wearing anything that would cause any awkwardness.

She looked up at Ophelia, who was beaming. Juno stood next to her, studying Lydia intently as she took a long drag of her cigarette.

“Thank you,” said Lydia, looking back down at the dress and marvelling at the stunning patterns that the Ghost Enchantress had added. “It’s perfect.”

Ophelia nodded in response, beaming at her.

“He’ll love it,” she said.

“Oh, I wish I could be there to see his reaction!” said Eve, marvelling at the dress. “Are you sure I can’t come along?”

Lydia noticed Ophelia throwing Eve a warning look and frowned.

“Oh, there isn’t going to be someone there with us, is there?” she asked.

“Of course not!” said Ophelia, giving her a grin that was far too wide. “We won’t be there at all, will we, Juno?”

Juno blew out a plume of smoke before shaking her head, but Lydia thought she caught the ghost of a smirk on the woman’s lips.

She swallowed hard and glanced back down at the beautiful dress again, feeling even more nervous. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell the three women that it wasn’t a date and that Betelgeuse’s reaction to the dress wasn’t as important as they all wanted it to be.

But the words didn’t come out because if they had, Lydia would have been telling a lie.

Betelgeuse’s reaction was important, and she couldn’t wait to see it.

***

“A graveyard?” scoffed Juno, wrinkling her nose up at their surroundings. “They had so many nice places they could have visited, and they chose a graveyard? Jesus.”

She shook her head, the heavy cloud of smoke that surrounded her dancing in swirls as she did so. Ophelia had cleared some bushes, giving them a full view of the spot where she was planning for Betelgeuse and Lydia to enjoy their dance.

The two ghosts, of course, still had no idea that they would be dancing together. As far as they knew, it was going to be a simple trip to a graveyard. After Lydia had left Dante’s, the altered dress clutched tightly in her hands, Ophelia had stopped by Betelgeuse’s office and advised him to consider letting Lydia choose the location of their outing. The poltergeist had shocked her when he informed her that he had been planning to let her do that all along as a show of appreciation for her helping him set up his business.

This information had filled Ophelia with glee. He was learning, changing, showing further acts of kindness and appreciation, something that he had not seemed capable of that day when she had cursed him.

The graveyard looked eerily beautiful in the autumn sunset. The gravestones were bathed in an orange glow, and candles (courtesy of Ophelia) floated in the air, their flames flickering like fireflies. A short distance away, a full ghostly orchestra was awaiting Betelgeuse and Lydia’s arrival, their grey-tinged fingers hovering above their instruments, waiting for a signal to start a symphony that would set the romantic atmosphere that neither one was prepared for.

“Where are they?” asked Juno impatiently, breaking Ophelia’s thoughts. “I’ve got so much paperwork to –”

“Shhh, they’re here!” hissed Ophelia, as Betelgeuse and Lydia emerged from the cloud of green smoke that had suddenly appeared as the poltergeist had transported them both there.

The two women leaned forward, eager to see the ghosts’ reactions to the romantic scene that Ophelia had set up. Lydia gasped as she took in their surroundings, her eyes shifting from the flickering flames of the floating candles to the sunset-drenched gravestones and finally resting on the orchestra. Betelgeuse stood there, a look of utter confusion plastered on his moss-covered face.

“This will never work!” hissed Juno. “Look at him! He hates it! He hates anything remotely romantic. I knew this was a bad idea! I’m getting out of here –”

She tried to get up, but Ophelia grabbed her arm and pulled her back down.

“Patience,” the Ghost Enchantress hissed. “Just wait…they’re both new to this. Let the atmosphere consume them, let them feel it…”

Lydia’s eyes shifted from the orchestra to Betelgeuse. The poltergeist, meanwhile, was still standing there, frowning.

“Well, at least he made an effort,” mumbled Juno, nodding at the ghost’s burgundy tuxedo. “Could have dusted it off a little more, though.”

Ophelia was silent, watching the couple intently. Slowly, Betelgeuse and Lydia turned to face each other. Juno leaned forward, the pile of paperwork on her desk now completely forgotten. Her cigarette dangled from her mouth as the two women waited. Would the two ghosts turn around and leave, deterred by the romantic setting? Or would the candles, the gorgeous autumn sunset and the orchestra help to ignite the spark that both women had detected when Betelgeuse had taken Lydia to breakfast?

Ophelia snapped her fingers as quietly as she could, and the ghost conducting the orchestra turned around, clearly having somehow received the secret signal for them to start playing. A romantic melody filled the air, and Betelgeuse and Lydia continued to stare at each other, both wide-eyed and nervous.

“This will never work,” hissed Juno. “He can’t dance, and she looks terrified.”

“They’re both a little scared,” said Ophelia. “Unprepared. But they’ll figure it out…just watch…”

The two women watched as Betelgeuse’s frown melted away. The poltergeist studied his surroundings again, then shrugged.

“Fuck it,” he said. “Might as well make the most of this evenin.’ Wanna dance?”

He held his hand out, and Lydia, who was still wide-eyed and looking nervous, nodded gently. He stepped forward and took her hand.

“Here it comes,” hissed Juno, pulling her cigarette out of her mouth. “Wait for it. He’ll be thrusting his pelvis obscenely any moment, just like he does when he’s on that stage with the girls in Dante’s.”

But Betelgeuse didn’t thrust his pelvis obscenely. Instead, the ghost moved with a grace that shocked both Ophelia and Juno to their core. He moved slowly, leading the dance, twirling Lydia with an expertise that matched that of a professional ballroom dancer.

Juno stood there, her cigarette dangling from her mouth, frozen with shock. Ophelia felt a pleasant warmth in her chest as she watched the couple dance. They were completely lost in each other, oblivious to everything else around them. But what filled her with glee the most was their expressions.

Betelgeuse was looking at Lydia with a softness that betrayed his icy exterior, and Lydia never tore her eyes away from his, keeping her gaze fixed on him as they moved gracefully between the headstones. She looked nervous, but she also looked happy.

They both looked happy.

Ophelia glanced at Juno, who was watching the couple intently. When she finally spoke, her voice was even croakier than usual.

“I…I don’t believe it…”

“They’re perfect, aren’t they?” sighed Ophelia. “And just look at the way he’s looking at her! God, I’m almost swooning!”

Ophelia expected Juno to make a noise of disgust in response.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she agreed.

“I…I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that before.”

The women watched as the ghosts continued to move, Betelgeuse still leading them expertly between the gravestones. Then, slowly, they began to levitate. Ophelia and Juno looked up, watching as the ghosts slowly moved higher, both silhouetted against the blood orange sky.

They stayed like that for a while, hovering in the sky like birds of prey. The orchestra continued to play, and the candles bobbed in time to the romantic melody, their flickering flames bouncing as the ghosts’ fingers expertly moved against their flutes, violins and cellos.

Ophelia and Juno watched, neither one speaking, as the two ghosts continued to float in the air. Both women were awestruck, filled with happiness at witnessing a sight that they never thought they would ever see.

And with that happiness came hope.

For the first time since placing the curse, Ophelia felt positive about it being broken. She had, throughout it all, tried to remain optimistic, but this was the first time that she had felt so hopeful. Watching him now, she could see that this ghost, this loud, rude, selfish ghost that she had tricked when she had transformed herself into an unattractive hag, had changed.

The evidence was there.

And as she stole a quick glance at Juno, who was still gazing at the couple in amazement, Ophelia knew that the older woman thought the same. But Juno had made clear once before, that she much preferred to be realistic about the whole situation.

“Well, it’s certainly evidence that he cares for her,” she said, watching as Betelgeuse began to gently lower them to the ground. “But what about her? Just because she’s danced with him doesn’t mean she feels the same as he does.”

As soon as the words had escaped her mouth, though, Lydia did something that caused Ophelia to shriek in delight. Juno, meanwhile, was now staring with her mouth so wide open that her cigarette had fallen from it and was now burning the grass underneath their feet.

Betelgeuse looked equally shocked and was glancing down with wide eyes as Lydia's head rested against the frills of the shirt underneath his burgundy jacket.

***

She was dead, but Lydia had never felt so alive. This, she knew, was what she had always wanted to experience. It was just like the gothic stories that she had read…magical…wonderful…perfect.

The twinge that Lydia had felt in her stomach when Betelgeuse had asked her to dance had slowly grown as they danced, filling her with a pleasant warmth that she never wanted to fade.

She didn’t want the moment to end. He was holding her so gently, his hand resting on her waist, touching her lightly as though she were a piece of fragile glass. His gentleness and grace had surprised her – she never would have thought that Betelgeuse would dance like this. He was gruff, rough around the edges, but it was now clear to Lydia that deep beneath that icy exterior was a softness that few people got to see. She had, over the past few weeks, seen glimpses of it. But tonight, as they danced, she could see it clearly. It was there, in his eyes. He was looking at her like no one had ever looked at her before.

If her heart had been beating, Lydia knew that right now, it would have melted under his soft gaze.

She didn’t want to come back down. She wanted to stay up there, floating with him, feeling like a character from one of the stories she had read. She didn’t want the moment to come crashing down. But as he lowered them, she knew it would have to end.

And she didn’t want to break away from him.

As their feet gently hit the graveyard’s soft grass, Lydia felt an overwhelming urge to get even closer to him. His hand was still resting gently on her waist, but their bodies weren’t pressed together. Betelgeuse had kept all his movements respectful, taking care to avoid holding her in a way that might make her uncomfortable or spoil the friendship that had been formed between them.

But Lydia wanted to close the gap. She wanted to be nearer to him. With great difficulty, she tore her gaze away from his and slowly moved closer. Then, she rested her head against his chest. She had no idea what Betelgeuse’s reaction to this would be, but she didn’t care.

All she cared about was savouring the moment. She breathed in his scent, a scent that had become so familiar to her over the past few weeks. She felt happy and content, but deep beneath those feelings was something else…a sadness. She closed her eyes, thinking of Astrid, her heart hurting even though it could no longer beat. But right now, being close to Betelgeuse was bringing her comfort, easing her pain of not being able to see her daughter.

Lydia almost wanted to laugh. It was all so…strange. When she had first arrived, being near him had been painful, a constant reminder of the life that she had selflessly given up. Now, he brought her comfort. He had allowed her to be who she was, had listened to her talk for hours about her favourite things without even so much as a snigger.

She clung to him, not wanting to let go. He was stiff against her, clearly shocked at her showing him affection. The orchestra continued to play, but the music was much softer now, a sign that their dance would soon be ending.

Lydia reluctantly moved her head away from his chest and looked up at him, smiling. He stood there, stiff and unmoving, like an ice statue. But his eyes were on fire, letting out a warmth that Lydia took a moment to bask in.

Slowly, his hand moved from her waist, and the music stopped. The candles, however, continued to bob in the air, still burning brightly. Betelgeuse gently took her hand and led her to a bench underneath one of the graveyard’s trees. The blood orange sky was now tinged with purple, and red and orange leaves danced in the air as they made their journey from the tall tree to the ground below.

They sat there in silence, glancing around at the gravestones, which were fast becoming silhouettes as the sun disappeared.

“Thank you,” Lydia said softly. “For asking me to dance and for letting me come here.”

Betelgeuse was still holding her hand. Lydia wasn’t sure if he’d even noticed he was still doing so, but she didn’t want him to let go of it.

“No problem,” he said, his gravelly voice somehow sounding soft. “Lydia…”

His voice trailed off, and Lydia noticed that he looked awkward. She felt a tinge of sadness, not wanting there to be any awkwardness between them. Not wanting any fractures to appear in their new friendship.

He didn’t use her full name often, but Lydia liked the way he spoke it. A pleasant tingle ran through her.

“Are…are you happy here? I mean, with me?”

The question came out strained, as though he were forcing himself to ask it. And at that moment, he didn’t sound like the Betelgeuse she had come to know at all. He sounded nervous, as though he were worried about her answer.

Pushing thoughts about Astrid aside, Lydia answered him.

“Yes,” she said, but as she spoke the word, she knew her tone would betray her. That it would reveal her hidden pain. A pain that she was trying so desperately not to reveal, out of fear of how he would react.

She had grown to love his company. That much was true. But the pain…the pain was always there, always gnawing at her, reminding her of what she had left behind in the living world.

And she knew that Betelgeuse noticed it. His expression told her that he had heard the way the word had been spoken, that he had seen her eyes trying hard not to meet his own.

And she knew that he had seen the pain in them.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said, his gravelly voice still soft.

He reached out and touched her face, gently forcing her to meet his gaze.

“I…I just wish I could see Astrid again," said Lydia, her voice shaky. "I miss her so much.”

She fell silent then and quickly looked away from him, not wanting to see his reaction to her confession.

But when he spoke, his tone was full of a surprising excitement, and Lydia dared herself to hope.

“The evenin’ isn’t over,” he said. “There’s still time for us to visit her.”

“Really?” said Lydia. “You’d really let me see her for a moment?”

Betelgeuse nodded.

“I’ll come with you, though,” he said.

Lydia understood his reasons for this. He was committing an act of kindness by letting her see Astrid briefly, but he wasn’t ready to let her go alone.

But it was enough.

However, there was still one problem.

“Will we be allowed to go there?” asked Lydia. “Ophelia said we were only allowed to go to one location in the living world.”

A rustling noise caused them both to jump, and the two ghosts stared, wide-eyed, as Ophelia and Juno emerged from the bushes.

Betelgeuse chuckled.

“This was all you, wasn’t it?” he said, nodding at the orchestra and the candles. “Shoulda known.”

Ophelia grinned while Juno stared at them intently, puffing on her cigarette. The Ghost Enchantress didn’t give any confirmation that the romantic setting was her work, but her next words filled Lydia with joy.

“I give you both permission to visit Astrid for the rest of the evening,” she said. Juno opened her mouth, probably to protest, but Ophelia held up a hand to silence her.

“It’s only for one evening,” she said. “But make sure you return soon.”

Betelgeuse nodded and took Lydia’s hand before transporting them to Lydia’s family home.

***

The moment they arrived at Lydia’s home, she knew something was wrong. Delia was sitting on the sofa, comforting a sobbing Astrid, while Charles sat on the armchair opposite, looking almost as white as a ghost.

Neither Delia nor Charles could see Lydia. Betelgeuse hovered in the hallway, choosing not to interrupt what was clearly a sad moment and Lydia was thankful for the ghost’s respectfulness.

Lydia so desperately wanted to pull her sobbing daughter into her arms, wanted to comfort her. But she didn’t want her daughter's reaction to her presence to alarm Charles or Delia. So she stood there, waiting. Hoping that someone would speak.

And when Delia did speak, her voice was strained, full of pain.

“Oh Charles,” she sobbed. “What are we going to do?”

“Nothing we can do, Delia. You heard what the doctors said.”

At hearing these words, Astrid struggled out of Delia’s arms and ran out of the room. The little girl was so consumed by what appeared to be grief that she didn’t even notice Lydia standing there.

“For god’s sake, Charles, you shouldn't say things like that in front of Astrid!” scolded Delia.

“She needs to know, Delia! Just leave her, let her go. We need to talk about this.”

Lydia hurried after her. Betelgeuse was no longer in the hallway, but Lydia had no time to think about it. She rushed up the stairs, following her daughter, desperate to find out what was wrong.

And when she finally reached her, Astrid let out a shriek as her eyes settled on Lydia’s ghost. Lydia gently pulled her daughter into her arms and let her sob against her chest.

“It’s ok, sweetie, I’m here, I came back,” Lydia said, rocking her. “What’s happened?”

Lydia heard a noise outside the door and knew that Betelgeuse was once again nearby. But he didn’t come in. He remained outside the door, listening. Waiting to hear what it was that had caused an overwhelming sadness to fill the house.

And when Astrid finally spoke, when she finally told Lydia what was wrong, the words hung in the air for a few seconds as both Betelgeuse and Lydia tried to digest them, and when they did, when the words had finally sunk in, both their worlds came crashing down, crushing the happiness that they had both basked in during their dance.

Chapter Text

Betelgeuse stood there, frozen, snippets of the sentence that Astrid had just uttered running around in his brain on a loop.

“Daddy…accident...Grandpa Charles said…he said…that Daddy is going to…to die!”

He hovered outside the door, unsure of whether to go inside and interrupt the moment. The old Betelgeuse, the Betelgeuse who he had been before the curse and before he had met Lydia, would have burst through the door and rudely interrupted with a joke or a pun. He would have immediately turned the attention to himself and used everyone's vulnerability to his advantage.

But he wasn’t that Betelgeuse anymore.

He knew now, as he stood there rooted to the spot, listening to Astrid sobbing and Lydia’s whispered words of comfort, that he had changed. He wanted to deny it. But he couldn’t. His dance with Lydia had left all the feelings he was trying so hard to bury sitting just below the surface, and Betelgeuse knew that it wasn’t going to take much more for them to break out.

The happiness that he had felt during their dance had completely dissipated, leaving behind a sickening feeling of dread.

“What happened?” he heard Lydia ask, her voice strained and full of panic.

“Daddy…daddy fell off his boat…into the water…the piranhas…they...they…”

The little girl was struggling to get her words out, and Betelgeuse could hear her gasping between each one as she sobbed.

“He was travelling?” asked Lydia incredulously. “Why was he travelling? Why wasn’t he here looking after you?”

Astrid continued to cry, and Lydia tried to soothe her. Betelgeuse wanted to go in, wanted to say something, but he couldn’t. He had never been good at comforting people, a result of spending centuries burying his own pain caused by all the life experiences that had scarred him. But Astrid’s sobs took him straight back to those dark days during the Black Plague, when he had heard children crying for their parents as families were ripped apart by disease and death.

And his hardened heart gave a twinge.

He continued to stand outside the door awkwardly, his hands buried in the pockets of his dusty burgundy tuxedo. The patter of footsteps caused him to look up, and his eyes widened as Delia Deetz appeared at the top of the stairs.

For a moment, they stared at each other. Delia’s deep blue eyes were wide, surprise and shock plastered all over her face. Her fiery red hair hung in unbrushed waves, and she looked exhausted. She didn’t scream. Nor did she turn around and hurry back down the stairs to tell Charles that there was a dead man in a tuxedo standing outside their granddaughter’s bedroom.

For reasons unknown, every living person was able to see Betelgeuse. It was yet another thing that made him so unique, so different from regular ghosts. Usually, Betelgeuse had a lot of fun with it. Scaring the living was his work. His deathlihood. But now, as he stood there, he found no enjoyment in seeing Delia’s alarmed expression.

And he realised that he was going to have to bear the weight of all of this. Neither Delia nor Charles was able to see Lydia. But they could see him. And that meant that he was going to have to communicate with them on Lydia’s behalf. He was going to have to pass on Lydia’s words, like some goddamn ghostly messenger, to get answers out of Delia about Astrid’s dad.

Fuck, he was no good at all at this.

He hated situations like this. He had no idea how to handle them and had always avoided such situations. But here he was now, being plunged into it, like a person who was unable to swim being thrown into the deep end of a swimming pool.

He held his hand up, a defensive gesture that caused Delia’s eyes to widen even more, if that was possible.

“I...er…I’m the ghost that…that…”

What the fuck was he supposed to say? How the hell could he say that he was the ghost who had yelled at Astrid? The ghost for whom Lydia had given up her life?

He stood there, almost dying a second death from the awkwardness and embarrassment of it all. The once foreign feelings that were now becoming familiar burned inside his chest, and he felt a wave of nausea rush over him.

He fucking hated this.

He hated feeling anything.

This…this was exactly why he had spent all those years burying his feelings, locking them away deep within him and keeping them at bay. He didn’t want to be in this situation. He was Betelgeuse, the afterlife’s loudest, most troublesome ghost. They were his top qualities, badges that he wore with pride.

But he didn’t feel any pride now.

All he felt, as he stared at Delia and took in her dishevelled appearance, was shame. Fucking shame! He kicked the hard surface of the floor with his smart, pointy white shoe, scuffing it in the process, and cleared his throat,

He had to own it. He had to do this. He owed it to Lydia. Hell, he owed it to her poor daughter, who, from what Betelgeuse had gathered from the broken words that she had gasped out between sobs, was very close to becoming an orphan.

He didn’t need to breathe anymore, but that didn’t stop him from taking a deep breath, an action that he hoped would enable him to compose himself. When he spoke, his gravelly voice was strained, and it almost pained him to get the words out.

“I’m the ghost who Lydia switched places with Astrid for,” he said.

Delia’s frown made him wonder if he had spoken the words so fast that they were unintelligible. He opened his mouth to repeat them, but Delia held up a hand to silence him.

“You’re…you’re him?” she asked, studying him with wide blue eyes.

Betelgeuse nodded.

A flicker of something passed over Delia’s face. It wasn’t disgust or fear, a reaction that he always enjoyed seeing on the faces of the living whenever they saw him for the first time. Instead, Delia looked impressed. Wonderstruck.

The Deetz family, Betelgeuse realised at that moment, was one of a kind. This woman…was she Lydia’s mother? Stepmother? Betelgeuse didn’t know. But what he did know for sure was that this woman standing in front of him had not reacted in a typical way to his presence. She seemed just as strange and unusual as Lydia was.

“Is Lydia here?” asked Delia.

Before Betelgeuse could answer, Astrid’s bedroom door creaked open, and Astrid and Lydia appeared in the doorway. Lydia's arms were wrapped around her daughter, and Astrid’s hands were resting on top of them, holding them close to her. Betelgeuse deduced from Delia’s confused expression that it must have looked as though the child was holding herself. Delia walked over to her and bent down.

“Is your Mommy here, Astrid?”

The question came out in a whisper this time, her tone softer than it had been when she had uttered it to Betelgeuse.

Astrid nodded.

Lydia was glaring at Delia, her usually warm brown eyes cold and narrowed.

“Why wasn’t he here with Astrid? Why was he travelling?”

The questions came out fast, her tone clipped and sharp. She quickly shifted her cold gaze to Betelgeuse, which confirmed his fears – he was going to have to pass on her questions to Delia.

So he did. He stuttered as he asked them, desperately wanting to disappear, to get away from the situation. He felt like an impostor in the Deetz family home, like someone who shouldn’t be stuck in the middle of all of this.

“It was only for a few weeks,” Delia said softly, looking at Betelgeuse as she gave her answer to Lydia’s questions. “He promised he would be back soon…we…we didn’t expect this to happen, obviously.”

Lydia scoffed and shook her head. Astrid was still clinging to her mother, now burying her face in the material of Lydia’s dress.

“A few weeks? A few weeks?” snapped Lydia, staring at Delia in disbelief and momentarily forgetting that her stepmother couldn’t see or hear her. “He was supposed to be here, caring for Astrid! I had to cut my work hours to care for her while he went on countless long trips. I never expected him to do that after I switched places with her…after I died.”

Lydia’s tone was harsh as she uttered the word “died,” and Betelgeuse watched as her beautiful face twisted into an expression he rarely saw. He could see her trying hard and failing to contain her anger in front of Astrid and almost felt relieved that Delia couldn’t see or hear her.

Delia glanced at him, her eyes pleading, wanting to know what Lydia had just said. Betelgeuse sighed, then spoke.

“She’s pissed,” he said.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his eyes shifted to Astrid.

“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling guilty for his use of the crude word.

Jesus, he had changed.

Weeks ago, he hadn’t cared about using bad language in front of a child. Now, he was standing there apologising for it.

Neither of the women seemed bothered by it, though. Lydia was still seething over Richard’s decision to travel, while Delia was taking deep, dramatic breaths, clearly preparing to try and make the situation less tense.

“I understand the anger, the frustration,” she said, after exhaling. “But it was only for a few weeks. He’s been doing his best for Astrid, he really has.”

She turned and continued speaking, now addressing the invisible spot above Astrid’s head where Lydia was standing.

“You know what Richard’s like…the man never turns down an opportunity to fight for climate justice. He had that opportunity…and we told him to go for it. He…he promised he would be back…”

Delia’s voice cracked. Lydia stood still, her arms still wrapped around Astrid’s front. She was still glaring at Delia, but she didn’t speak. Then, Astrid’s small voice filled the air.

“Is…is Daddy really going to die?”

Delia let out a wail that sounded like a wounded animal and placed her head in her hands. Betelgeuse’s gaze shifted to Lydia, whose expression had immediately softened at seeing her stepmother’s pain.

There was a moment of silence, which was broken by the sound of feet hitting the stairs. Seconds later, Charles appeared behind Delia. His eyes widened as they settled on Betelgeuse, and he jumped. He fell back against the wall, and Delia grabbed him, pulling him away from the top of the stairs to stop him from tumbling down them.

“Jesus Christ!” spluttered Charles, placing his hand over his heart.

If the situation hadn’t been so glum, Betelgeuse would have laughed. Charles Deetz’s typical reaction upon seeing a poltergeist in his daughter’s home was evidence that he was the only normal person in the family.

“Charles…this is Beeee..uhhhh…”

Delia’s words turned into nonsense sounds as she immediately tried to stop herself from uttering Betelgeuse’s full name. Betelgeuse deduced that she must have learned his name from Astrid.

“He’s the ghost who…who Lydia switched places with Astrid for.”

Charles’s look of shock slowly melted away, and Betelgeuse watched, feeling anxious, nervous, as the man’s expression twisted into one mixed with disgust and anger.

“You’re the one my daughter gave everything up for? The one she left her daughter behind in the living world for to replace a piece of jewellery?”

Betelgeuse slowly nodded, and Charles let out a low growl.

“As you’re already aware, Astrid can see ghosts,” he said, his face slowly turning red as he spat the words out. “I didn’t believe in them…until Astrid died and I watched Lydia slowly fading as she took her place. Lydia has a couple of ghost friends that she talks about…”

“Adam and Barbara!” said Lydia. Her voice was laced with affection, but Charles didn’t react to her words. Like Delia, he couldn’t see or hear his daughter.

“Astrid told me they met you,” he said.

“Yeah,” muttered Betelgeuse, not wanting to be reminded of his encounter with the uptight young ghost couple. “It…er…it didn’t end too –”

“I know how it ended,” snapped Charles, whose face was now an unhealthy shade of red. “Astrid went to see them, and they had to tell her that you wouldn’t let Lydia come up here to see her own daughter.”

He was edging forward now, looking very much as though he wanted to hit Betelgeuse hard in the face. For a guy who had initially reacted with such terror to the poltergeist’s presence, Betelgeuse had to admire how quickly Charles had overcome his fear. The guy, like any father and grandfather, seemed fiercely protective of Lydia and Astrid.

Betelgeuse looked down at the ground, feeling very much like he was being scolded by a parent. The shame and guilt were burning inside him, making him avoid Charles Deetz’s angry gaze.

“Charles, this isn’t the right time…”

“Dad, it’s fine, he…”

Both Lydia and Delia spoke over each other, Lydia momentarily forgetting that her father couldn’t hear her. Delia’s words, the words that he was able to hear, did nothing to placate him.

“Weeks…weeks…she’s been down there in that…that place! And you wouldn’t even let her see her daughter. You –”

Betelgeuse shifted his gaze to Lydia, who looked shocked at her father’s outburst. Clearly, Charles Deetz was a man who rarely expressed such anger.

“Grandpa,” interrupted Astrid, her small voice immediately causing Charles’s fist, which had been raised in the air, to drop down by his side. “Bee is a bit of a grumpy meanie, but he’s let Mommy come here tonight. She’s here right now and she’s wearing a very pretty dress.”

The innocence in the child’s voice, along with the nickname “Bee,” gave Betelgeuse the uncharacteristic urge to bend down and pull the little kid into a hug. He glanced at her, and she stuck her tongue out at him before waving and giving him a sad smile.The simple action hit him squarely in the chest, and he felt a twinge in his heart. He had been nothing but bad-tempered and unpleasant with the poor kid when he had first met her, and here she was now, defending him, waving sweetly at him. He swallowed and forced himself to wave back.

Charles’s anger was dissipating, and his skin was no longer red but instead back to its usual healthy colour. He sighed and ran a hand over his face. Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but Betelgeuse gave her a signal to be silent.

“I’m sorry,” he said, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. “For not lettin’ her come up here sooner.”

Charles nodded, accepting the apology.

It was time for Betelgeuse to start bearing the weight again, to gain answers. He held his hand up to Lydia again, letting her know silently that he was no longer going to pass on any questions of hers to the father and stepmother who could not hear her, because he would be taking over and asking his own questions.

“Where is he now? What’s his condition?”

Charles sighed again, while Delia let out another wail and shook her head, unable to speak.

“On a riverboat in the Amazon, getting medical attention,” Charles explained. “Thousands of miles away. We haven’t even been able to get out there to see him. They can’t even get him to a proper hospital because he…he’s…”

Charles’s voice, which had become shaky during his explanation of Richard’s condition, trailed off. He took a deep breath to compose himself.

“It’s not looking good.”

“When you say not looking good…”

Betelgeuse couldn’t bring himself to ask the rest of the question, but he hoped that the first part of it would gain him the clarification that he needed, even if it meant Charles having to confirm it in front of Astrid.

“He’s not going to make it. They’ve given him a few days at most.”

The words came out strained, Charles’s voice shaky as he uttered them.

Betelgeuse nodded, trying hard to keep his own feelings under control. Lydia’s anger had melted away now, and Betelgeuse watched, his chest tightening painfully as her face crumpled up in pain. Delia released another small whine, and Charles gave another heavy sigh. Little Astrid was now clinging to her mother and sobbing again, and as he watched her, Betelgeuse knew that he had no choice.

Richard was still alive, still breathing for now.

And that meant that there was still time.

There was still time for Ophelia to perform a switch, for Lydia to switch places with Richard. The switch, Betelgeuse knew, enabled a dead person to switch places with a living one, even if that living person was close to death themselves. As long as that living person’s heart was still beating, a dead person would be able to take their place and come back to life.

He had to let Lydia go.

The feelings were battering against his chest now, like wild animals trying to break out of a cage. But Betelgeuse had to ignore them. He couldn’t think about feelings right now. Right now, he needed to be tough. He needed to stop the ice from shattering. He needed to be the poltergeist that doesn’t feel anything.

When he finally broke the silence, his gravelly voice was firm.

“Go to him.”

Lydia looked up, her eyes widening as she took in his words.

“What…”

“You need to be with Astrid,” said Betelgeuse, keeping his voice firm. “Ophelia will come and do a switch.”

Lydia opened her mouth, perhaps to protest, but Betelgeuse held his hand up.

“This ain’t up for debate,” he said firmly. “You have to do this.”

He turned to face Charles and Delia, who were both staring at him in shock. The couple knew what a switch entailed after watching Lydia experience it before, and judging from their expressions, they hadn’t expected Betelgeuse to let her go free.

“Could you…” Betelgeuse’s voice trailed off as he spoke to Delia and nodded at the stairs. “…and take the kid with ya. Just need to talk to Lydia for a moment.”

Delia nodded and gestured for Charles and Astrid to follow her.

“Bye, Bee,” she said, her voice soft and shaky.

“See ya, kid,” he said, nodding at her, trying not to feel anything as her large, brown eyes looked at him with sadness.

As soon as Delia, Charles and Astrid had descended the staircase, Lydia rushed over to him.

“You…you’re letting me go? You’re…you’re letting me switch places with Richard and come back to life?”

“Yeah, I am,” said Betelgeuse, still keeping his voice firm.

He watched as relief flooded Lydia’s face, and he hoped, wanted to believe, that such relief was because Astrid would be gaining her mother back and not because Lydia would be glad to be away from him. They’d had a wonderful few weeks together, bonding, settling into a happy domesticity that Betelgeuse didn’t want to think about right now. He had hoped, deep down, that Lydia had found as much contentment in their pleasant routine as he had. But the relief in her face had caused insecurity to burn through him.

He hated it.

But there was nothing he could do. It was there, consuming him, fighting with the other emotions that were still hammering against his chest, invading his body like a foreign object.

Lydia touched his shoulder gently, breaking his thoughts.

“Thank you,” she said, her tone soft and full of sincerity. “Thank you so much. This means so much to me.”

Betelgeuse was about to respond when a small pop made them both jump. Ophelia had appeared at the top of the stairs in a puff of pink smoke and was standing there beaming at them both.

“Sorry to sound like Cinderella’s fairy godmother delivering a warning about it being almost midnight, but your time’s up,” she said, her voice cheery. “Don’t worry though, you’ll be able to…”

Her words trailed off as she studied Betelgeuse and Lydia’s expressions.

“What’s happened?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

Betelgeuse nodded at Lydia, inviting her to speak, not wanting to say anything that might break the cage and cause his feelings to come tumbling out.

And when Lydia had finished, when she had explained, Ophelia looked as devastated as Betelgeuse was trying not to feel.

“Oh my…oh no…oh I’m so sorry, Lydia.”

Lydia gave a sad smile in return and brushed away a few tears that had escaped as she had given the Ghost Enchantress the details of Richard’s accident.

“You can do a switch, can’t you?” barked Betelgeuse. “He’s still alive, so she can still switch with him, can’t she?”

“I…well, yes,” said Ophelia, looking at Betelgeuse with wide eyes. He averted his gaze from her face, not wanting to see her shock at his decision to let Lydia go. “Is that what you want?”

Her tone was heavy with sadness, and Betelgeuse knew why. Like him, she had hoped that Lydia would be the one to break the curse. This tragic situation had ripped everything away, crushing all the hope and happiness that not only Betelgeuse himself had felt but also Ophelia and possibly Juno too.

“She’s free to go,” he said. “Do the switch.”

The words came out firm again, with a sharp edge to them.

Ophelia turned to face Lydia and took her arm.

“I’ll take you there,” she said. “We’ll perform the switch as discreetly as we can there, and I’ll make sure he knows that Astrid is safe with you when he enters the afterlife.”

“Thank you,” said Lydia.

Ophelia raised her hand to snap her fingers and begin the teleportation, but Betelgeuse stopped her. The Ghost Enchantress frowned at him, while Lydia looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and sadness.

He pulled the sleeve of his burgundy jacket up and pulled off the green bangle that Lydia had been so interested in when he had taken her to breakfast. He gently took her hand and placed the bangle on her slim wrist. The heavy piece of jewellery was far too big, but Lydia placed a hand over it, holding it in place as she choked back a sob.

“Take it,” Betelgeuse said. “It’s yours. Share it with Astrid if ya want.”

Lydia’s fingers traced the shiny surface of the bangle, and she looked up at him for a moment before reaching up and pressing her hand gently against his cheek. He resisted the urge to close his eyes at the softness of her touch.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I…I won’t ever forget you.”

Betelgeuse wanted to throw her a flirty remark, wanted to act like his old self and tell her to call his name sometime, but he couldn’t. Right now, that part of him was dead, buried deep beneath the feelings that were still hammering against the iciness of his chest.

Lydia’s words had sounded so…so final, like they wouldn’t ever see each other again. Since he could be summoned at any time by anyone living or dead, Betelgeuse knew it was likely they would. But he knew that it wasn’t going to be for a very long time. Richard’s passing into the afterlife would bring with it the grieving process. And since the guy was about to die so far from his home, Betelgeuse knew that it was unlikely either Lydia or Astrid would be able to see his ghost. Lydia would likely want as much time with Astrid as she could to get them both through the difficult time.

He wanted, so desperately, to pull her into his arms, to tell her how beautiful she looked in her dress, to thank her for helping him with his bio-exorcist business and for changing his afterlife for the better, but he didn’t. Because if he held her, if he said all of that, then the ice would crack completely, exposing him at a moment when it wasn’t about his feelings. This was about Lydia and Astrid. He couldn’t express anything at the moment because all he cared about was them trying to cope with their own pain.

And so, he uttered a simple, soft goodbye and snapped his fingers, leaving Ophelia and Lydia standing there, engulfed by green smoke.

***

He was walking to Dante’s.

His mind was blank.

He felt nothing.

He stared at the huge, blood-red demon in front of him without seeing it. He wasn’t even sure how his feet managed to carry him through the club’s entrance. As he stepped inside, the music consumed him, the vibrations and beats crawling all through his body like ants over candy.

He took a seat at the bar, not even noticing anyone around him. Somewhere to his right, he heard an excited gasp and seconds later, Eve was standing in front of him. He felt a pat on his shoulder and realised that Bob, whom he hadn’t even noticed when he had sat down, was sitting next to him.

Eve made a gesture, as though she was asking someone to lower something. Then, the music became much quieter, and the chatter instantly died down.

It was as though someone had hit a pause button on a remote. All around him, people stood still. Whispering, waiting.

Betelgeuse wasn’t exactly sure what they were all waiting for. An explanation for why he hadn’t been in the club for so long, perhaps? Or maybe, and judging from their excited expressions, this was the most likely reason, they were all waiting to hear the outcome of the romantic outing that Ophelia had organised.

Betelgeuse couldn’t even bring himself to be angry at being the main topic of the entire club’s gossip anymore. He should have been shouting at them all, telling them all to go fuck themselves and mind their own damn business, like the old Betelgeuse would have done.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t move.

“Well?” demanded Eve, who was holding a glass in one hand and a cloth in the other. “How did your evening with Lydia in the living world go?”

Her words were confirmation that everyone in the club had been waiting for someone, most likely Ophelia or Juno, to come in and give them all the juicy details.

“Boss?” Bob mumbled, shaking Betelgeuse’s shoulder.

Betelgeuse said nothing. He didn’t even notice Eve placing down the glass and cloth that she had been holding, quickly grabbing and opening a bottle of beer and setting it in front of him. Betelgeuse lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip, welcoming the taste, the bitterness of the amber liquid matching his mood.

Beside him, Bob made a few noises, which sounded as though he was repeating Eve’s question of how the evening had gone.

Despite his numb state, Betelgeuse’s brain somehow managed to translate his friend’s mumblings.

“How did it go, my friend? I’ve been waiting to hear all about it! Is Lydia at home, waiting for you after your evening together?”

And that’s all it took.

Bob’s mention of Lydia being at home instantly reminded Betelgeuse of the happy routine into which they had settled. The routine of him coming home to her every night after work and hearing her voice as she talked about the books she had read and how she had explored the afterlife.

The routine that had been destroyed.

The ice shattered.

The feelings that had been hammering against his chest for so long finally burst out of him, leaving his body like rabid dogs that had just been released from a cage. He gasped at their release and placed his head in his hands, wincing in pain at the realisation that tonight, he would not be going home to Lydia.

Or any other night.

The excited whispers had died now, replaced with hushed voices laced with concern. Betelgeuse could feel the gorgeous girls on the stage staring at him, their sensual dance routine long forgotten as they waited, along with the rest of the club, to hear the cause of the pain that he had expressed in response to Bob’s words.

Fuck it.

There was nowhere to run anymore.

Nowhere to hide.

And why should he?

He had lost everything.

He couldn’t keep up the pretence anymore because the loss was too huge.

He was grieving, like a person who had lost a loved one. And he knew, at that moment, that there was no way he was going to be able to hide it anymore.

When he finally spoke, when the words somehow managed to escape his mouth, his voice was shaky.

“She’s gone. I let her go.”

A collective gasp filled the air. Betelgeuse stared ahead, keeping his gaze fixed on the bottles of liquor behind the bar, not wanting to meet anyone’s gaze.

“You did what?”

Juno’s croaky voice cut through the air from behind him, the shock in her tone piercing through him like a sharp knife, hurting him even more.

He slowly turned around on his barstool to face her.

She was staring at him with wide eyes. Her cigarette, which had been on its usual journey to her mouth, was now stationary in the air, clasped tightly between her fingers. Ash tumbled from it onto the floor near her feet. She, too, was frozen to the spot, as though someone had hit a pause button.

“I let her go,” he repeated. “The kid’s dad…he’s dying…I let Lydia switch places with him while his heart's still beatin’.”

He locked eyes with Juno, feeling his dead heart shatter into pieces as she continued to stare at him in shock.

“But…why?”

The old Betelgeuse would have tried desperately to grab this one last chance to protect his pride, to rebuild that icy exterior, to tell the entire club that he had let Lydia go because he didn’t care about her anymore and that they should all mind their own damn business and just all get back to normal. But the old Betelgeuse was gone forever, destroyed by the selfless, kind, gentle and beautiful woman that he had just let go. She had changed him, moulded him into someone he had never thought he would ever be.

His icy exterior was broken forever. There was no point in this new Betelgeuse, the Betelgeuse he was now, trying to fix it. He stared at the floor, as though he could see the tiny fragments of his now damaged exterior scattered all over it.

And when he finally answered Juno, his voice was shaky.

“Because…I love her.”

Betelgeuse didn’t pay attention to the gasps. He didn’t turn around to glance at Eve, didn’t see her holding her hand to her mouth in shock at him finally admitting the depth of his feelings for Lydia out loud to the entire club. He didn’t see Bob, who had almost fallen off his stool at his best friend’s unexpected honesty.

He locked eyes with Juno again, and the old woman slowly lowered the hand that was clutching her cigarette. And he saw it in her eyes.

Pity.

Disappointment.

Devastation.

All the things he had never wanted anyone to look at him with. He was supposed to be scary, not stared at the way Juno was staring at him right now.

And he realised, as he stood there, that Juno had wanted the curse to be broken just as much as he had. For the first time ever, she had been rooting for him, wanting him not only to be free of the curse but for him to experience love.

He locked eyes with her again, and he knew…he knew that Juno knew this was hard for him. She remained silent, not judging him, not berating him for his shockingly unselfish decision to let Lydia, the woman who had given her and Ophelia so much hope that his curse would be broken, go free. Instead, she just continued to look at him, more softly than she had ever done.

And inside her office, a delicate petal broke free from the rose and drifted down towards the bottom of the glass dome, finally coming to rest on top of the now large pile.

Chapter Text

Lydia held her daughter close, breathing in her scent, savouring every moment with her. They stood by Richard’s grave, and Astrid, who had experienced far too much loss for a child her age, clung to her mother, her small hands grasping the material of Lydia’s black dress. Charles and Delia stood close by, both staring at Richard’s gravestone, their sadness palpable. Rory was standing a short distance away, and his presence at Richard’s funeral had done nothing to help Lydia’s low mood. She kept her eyes averted from him, not wanting to deal with his overzealousness right now.

The switch with Richard had been hard, far harder than when Lydia had switched places with Astrid. Ophelia had been kind, patient and respectful, remaining seated on a boat close by as Lydia had taken Richard’s hand gently in hers and explained the process to her dying ex-husband.

She had contemplated asking Ophelia to transport Charles, Delia and Astrid there so that they could say goodbye, but as she had sat there, her eyes raking over Richard’s ravaged body, she was glad that Astrid hadn’t seen her father in such a horrific state. Lydia wasn’t sure if she was ever going to be able to remove the image of him lying there, covered in gaping wounds where his body had been torn apart by piranhas, from her brain.

Richard had been too weak to speak, but Lydia had seen his response to her explanation in his eyes. Those brown eyes had been full of warmth and understanding, and he had clasped her hand tightly throughout it all.

Ophelia had, just as she had promised, performed the switch discreetly, allowing Lydia’s heart to start beating again as Richard’s own heartbeat had become slower and slower before eventually stopping.

No one had noticed. No one had suspected anything strange and unusual. To them, to all the medics and people surrounding them, who had tried their best to save Richard, it had looked as though Richard had finally given up his fight and had passed away peacefully with Lydia at his side. And Lydia, with her beating but broken heart, had thanked Ophelia before the Ghost Enchantress had transported her back to the family home.

Organising the funeral had been hard. Astrid couldn’t understand why she couldn’t see her father’s ghost and had bombarded Lydia with questions throughout it all, causing Lydia much stress and adding to her heartbreak. But Lydia understood her daughter’s confusion. She, too, couldn’t see Richard’s ghost, and the realisation that they may never see him again had made the situation even more tragic.

And now, as they stood beside his grave, Lydia wondered how they were going to navigate this. During her time as a ghost, she had known that Astrid would still be able to see her, that there would still be the possibility of interaction. But with Richard, there was nothing. Lydia couldn’t promise Astrid that she would get to see her daddy again because the truth was, Lydia didn’t know if she would. She had no idea when, or if, they would ever see Richard again.

This, Lydia realised, was what it must be like for people who could not see ghosts. For normal people, people who couldn’t see ghosts and had no knowledge of the afterlife’s existence, the funeral was the final goodbye. All they could hold on to was the hope that their loved ones were at peace, that they had crossed over to a better place.

And on top of grieving for the loss of her ex-husband, Lydia was also struggling to adjust to being a living person again. For weeks, she had been cold and dead, not needing to breathe or do any of the things that people needed to do to survive. Now, on top of dealing with the raw grief, she had to remember to live, had to remind herself to do the simple things that living people needed to do to stay healthy, such as eating well and keeping hydrated.

It was hard. It shouldn’t be, but it was. Food, Lydia couldn’t deny, tasted much better as a living person, but the scents, the smells all around her, were often too much. Being in the afterlife, with the scent of death engulfing her daily, had rendered her noseblind. But the moment her heart had started beating again, the stench of the fish-filled river and the blood from Richard’s wounds, some of which still had piranhas attached to them, had immediately invaded her nostrils, almost causing her to lean over the boat and vomit.

And that’s how it had been ever since. Every scent smelled ten times stronger, hitting her straight away and causing her to feel nauseous. The fumes from her car’s exhaust, Delia’s perfume, even the scent of cooked food, were all too much for her nose to handle.

And the gentle breeze in the autumn air was more biting than it had been before her days as a ghost. Despite her skin being stone cold for weeks, the warmth that had spread throughout her body when her heart had started beating again now made the sudden exposure to anything remotely cold almost unbearable. Lydia often now found herself reaching for a thick sweater before she left the house, something that she never used to do during autumn. The temperature during these months, for Lydia, had always been just right. But not anymore.

Being with Astrid again, though, made all these struggles worth it. She would let a thousand scents invade her nostrils, would endure the coldest breeze, if it meant being able to spend every day with her precious daughter.

But Lydia couldn’t deny that she missed the afterlife. She missed the strange, unusual maze of corridors. She missed the mystery.

She missed Betelgeuse.

Her heart ached whenever she thought of him, and every now and then, when things got a little too much for her, she would think of that pleasant routine they had settled into. She would think about him arriving home every evening after work, his gravelly voice travelling through to the adjoining room where she would be sitting on the bed waiting for his return.

“Honey, I’m home!”

And Lydia would smile to herself, wishing that she could call him, wishing that she could see his face again. But she couldn’t call him. It wasn’t the right time. Right now, she needed to focus on Astrid, on guiding her daughter through a grieving process that would very likely affect her for years to come due to her being unable to see her daddy’s ghost. She needed to remove that other world, that mysterious afterlife, from her brain for now and focus on living and breathing.

The situation was so very sad, so tragic. But that, Lydia had learned, was the harsh reality of life. Life was full of tragedy, of heartbreak. And with Lydia’s support, with her guidance, Astrid would hopefully be able to get through this difficult stage, and the foundations for her growing into a strong-willed, independent girl, strengthened by pain, would be built.

Lydia took a deep breath, preparing herself. The hardest part, saying that final goodbye at Richard’s grave, was now over. It was now time for the wake, for the celebration of the life of a man who had suffered horrific injuries trying to fight for something he had felt so passionate about.

And that part, Lydia realised, as her eyes fell upon Rory, who was smiling widely at her, was not going to be easy.

***

It was perfect.

Almost too perfect.

The pieces of his plan were slotting into place nicely, and this unexpected occurrence had just made things a hell of a lot easier.

Rory glanced around at the people surrounding him, flashing his charming smile. He raised his glass of wine at a man who had caught his eye, and the man nodded in response, a sad smile on his face. The man, Rory knew, was one of Richard’s colleagues.

Usually, the wake would take place at the church or in the home of a grieving family member, but Charles had chosen a large venue with several function rooms instead to accommodate everyone who wanted to celebrate Richard’s life and share their memories of him.

Rory hadn’t known Richard well, had only met him once or twice, but he knew that the man was popular. Being Charles Deetz’s ex-son-in-law had brought Richard many opportunities in the real estate business, but he had always been much more focused on climate change. Rory almost snorted with laughter at the thought of it.

The man, in Rory’s opinion, had been an idiot to turn down all those opportunities to get his foot firmly in the Deetz family business and instead go off on boating trips amongst the fishes.

It was laughable. It was perfect. Rory couldn’t think of anything more ideal than this situation. His plan was already in action. Thanks to him, several companies had already refused to take on Charles Deetz’s real estate business. It was all working out well. And now, with Lydia back from wherever the hell it was she had disappeared to for weeks, he was going to be able to focus on wooing her, on finally taking that step to getting his hands on her family’s assets.

Her ex-husband’s death had just made things even better. Richard would surely have left all his wealth, his own assets, to Lydia and Astrid, and that, Rory thought as he took a sip of his wine, meant that the family's worth had just gone up even more. Which meant more money for him to get his hands on.

Yep, life was good.

His eyes sought out Lydia, who was sitting at a table nursing a small glass of wine. Her daughter sat next to her, colouring in what looked like a picture that she had drawn. He straightened his tie and sauntered over, flashing Lydia a grin as he caught her eye.

“Lydia! We didn’t get a chance to speak in the church, did we? My condolences.”

He offered her his hand, and she took it. She tried to shake it gently, but Rory quickly moved his fingers underneath her palm and brought her hand gently to his lips. Lydia remained silent, which Rory didn’t mind.

She was in the grieving process, and this would take time. He couldn’t put that part of his plan, the part where he would start trying to woo her, into action yet. But he could, if he really wanted to, try and speed things up. And that, Rory decided, as he sat down next to her, was exactly what he was intending to do.

“Such a tragedy,” he said, bringing his hand up to his heart dramatically. Women loved a sensitive guy, and if there was one thing he was good at, it was acting sensitive. Being soft and sensitive was his first full step to full deception, to making Lydia believe that he actually gave a fuck about her idiot of an ex-husband, who had lost his life to a group of piranhas because he was more concerned about the climate than he was about all the money that he could have got his hands on.

Rory almost laughed again, unable to believe that so many people in the room were mourning such a loser.

“So, Lydia,” he said, after taking another sip of wine. “Tell me, where have you been all these weeks?”

“She’s been in the afterlife,” said Astrid, who was still colouring in her drawing. Upon closer inspection, Rory could now see that the drawing was of two large figures who were holding the hands of a much smaller figure. Clearly a drawing of Richard, Lydia and Astrid.

“Oh, come on now,” said Rory, setting his glass down on the table. “Let’s not start with all that silliness on a day like this.”

Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but Rory cut her off.

“It’s not good to say things like that, is it? We all know that the afterlife doesn’t exist.”

“Yes, it does,” argued Astrid. “I went there.”

Rory shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. Jesus, this kid was messed up.

“It’s really not good to say things that aren’t true,” he said, waving a finger at Astrid, who had stopped colouring and was glaring at him.

“It is true! I met a ghost…he –”

“Please, let’s not talk about this right now,” said Lydia, her voice strained.

Rory almost grinned. Oh, she sounded distraught. Devastated. Defeated. This was going to be easy.

“Ghosts don’t exist, Astrid,” he said, his words coming out in a slow and patronising tone as he spoke.

Lydia’s head snapped up, her brown eyes now narrowed.

“Please don’t say that to her,” she said, her tone sharp.

“But Lydia, they don’t. It’s not good to make her believe that they do.”

“I’m not making her believe anything.”

“Well, she’s clearly got the idea that they exist from you.”

“I have done nothing to influence her beliefs,” said Lydia, folding her arms. “She’s seen them, she believes in them, and I intend to let her carry on believing.”

She was still looking at him through narrowed eyes. Clearly, he had pissed her off. No matter. His next words, the words that he had been planning to utter ever since he had received news of Richard’s death, would surely cause her to soften. He reached out and gently touched Lydia’s arm as he spoke.

“Lydia, I’m sorry if I offended you. But, you see, for people like me, normal people, we can’t think about things like that. We don’t believe in things like that. We just have to…carry on. When…when my fiancée died…”

He let his words trail off, making sure his voice cracked as he uttered that last part of his sentence. He took a deep breath, dramatically trying to compose himself. And when he looked up, he could see that his words had had exactly the effect that he had intended them to. Lydia’s hard gaze had softened, and her eyes were warm again. He had always thought that she had pretty eyes. They were big and gorgeous. He pushed visions of the six or seven brown-eyed boys that he intended to produce with her out of his mind and looked down at the table, forcing his face to contort with pain.

He added another little sigh, along with a small sniffle for extra effect.

“Oh, Rory…I’m…I’m so sorry, I had no idea…”

“I don’t talk about her often,” he said, making sure to keep his voice shaky. “But she…she…”

He allowed his voice to trail off again and brought his hand to his heart.

“She’s always in here.”

He tapped his chest, keeping his voice strained as he did so. Lydia reached out and gently touched his arm.

And just like that, he had her right where he wanted her. He had to force himself to keep his face screwed up, to keep his expression full of pain when inside he was bursting with glee. Astrid, however, wasn’t as easy to fool. The little girl glared at him, her small arms folded across her chest, the crayons that she had just been using now forgotten.

“Ghosts do exist,” she said defiantly. “I saw one. I took his pretty brooch and lost it, but then a nice ghost lady who can do magic came along and let Mommy switch places with me to replace it. Mommy was dead for weeks and…and she made friends with the ghost.”

“Astrid,” said Lydia warningly, “This isn’t the best time to –”

“Ghosts exist!” Astrid said again, now raising her voice and stomping her foot. “And one day I will see my Daddy's ghost! I will.”

She got up and ran from the table, her small body weaving in and out of the crowds of people as she headed towards one of the venue’s other empty function rooms.

“Astrid!” called Lydia, getting up out of her seat.

“Please, allow me,” said Rory.

This was his chance, his opportunity to show that he was a worthy father figure. The kid was weird, but fixable. He could handle this. He needed to handle this. It was all part of his plan.

“I really must go after her,” said Lydia, her voice laced with anxiety and defeat. “I…I…”

She broke down then, tears leaking from those warm brown eyes as her shoulders shook.

“Please,” Rory said, keeping his voice soft and smooth. “I’ll bring her back. You can trust me, Lydia. Just relax, I’ll fix this.”

She looked up at him, brushed away a few tears, and nodded. As he moved around their table, Delia appeared from the crowd.

“What’s happened? I thought I heard Astrid shouting. Where is she?”

“She got a little upset and ran off into that empty function room over there,” said Rory, nodding in the direction of the room. “I’ll make sure I bring her back. You stay here, take care of Lydia.”

Delia nodded and took a seat next to her stepdaughter.

“Such a pleasant man,” she said, as she reached for Lydia’s hand.

Rory turned away from the two women, grinning widely.

***

Rory stared at the chairs and tables in the empty room, calling Astrid’s name as he did so. His calls were met with silence, and he found his patience waning slightly as he lifted a tablecloth and glanced underneath it.

For the next twenty minutes, he repeated the process of calling her name, waiting for a response, and then checking underneath the tables. Then, finally, she emerged from behind a chair, her arms folded, still wearing that same glare that she had given him at the table earlier.

“Ghosts do exist,” she said again. “And you won’t change my mind. I’ve seen them.”

“Sweetie, let’s just get you back to your mommy, shall we? I can take you out for a bit, get you some candy. Not too much, though, and no cake, either. No one likes a big fat kid.”

Astrid shook her head and continued to glare at him.

“Mommy was in the afterlife with a ghost. They became friends. I think Mommy likes him.”

“Now, Astrid, remember what I said about –”

“He’s my mommy’s best friend. She told me all about the things they did down there together.”

“Down…what? Down where?”

Rory frowned at her, his patience growing thinner by the minute. Jesus, this kid was annoying. But he had to keep his cool. He had to handle this.

“The afterlife,” answered Astrid. “You can call him if you don’t believe me.”

“Sweetie, I don’t believe you. Now let’s forget about all this and –”

“My mommy is sad,” Astrid said, her tiny voice cracking. “She’s sad because Daddy is gone and we can’t see him, and she’s also sad because she can’t see Bee.”

“Bee – what?”

“Bee is the ghost she stayed with. They will be friends forever.”

Rory ran a hand over his face, the final drops of his patience drying up and leaving behind nothing but pure irritation.

“I can call him if you –”

“Will you just shut the hell…”

Rory cleared his throat, catching himself before he expressed his frustration and took a deep breath. He had to stay calm.

“Will you just come back to the other room with me? Your mommy is worried. Please, sweetie, just…just let’s go to –”

“He gave my mommy this,” said Astrid, reaching into a pocket in her dress and pulling out a green bangle. “He said she could keep and share it with me. Mommy always looks at it whenever she feels sad…”

Astrid’s eyes were fixed on the piece of jewellery in her hand, and her fingers traced over its shiny surface. Rory rolled his eyes, not caring, not wanting to hear any more of this weirdness.

The first thing he was going to do, he decided, as he watched Astrid twirling the bangle in her hands, was get rid of the damn thing. Everything that was associated with this…this ghost…this ghost that didn’t exist…had to go. It looked expensive. He would sell it, and hopefully it would add a bit more money to the huge amount that he was already set to gain through his marriage to Lydia.

“I want to call him,” said Astrid, still looking down at the bangle sadly. “I just want mommy to feel better. Bee…he can be a bit grumpy sometimes…but…but mommy told me he’s changed. She says we can’t call him for a while, though. But you can.”

“Astrid,” said Rory, trying to keep his voice smooth and soft, “I don’t want to call anybody. I just want to take you back to your –”

“I’m not supposed to say his name out loud.”

“Whose name?”

“The name of the ghost.”

Rory closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to move on from all this ridiculousness. But he realised as he stood there that moving on wasn’t going to be easy. Astrid was a very stubborn little girl. So, he did the only thing he could do. He went along with it.

“What will happen if you call the name of this…this ghost?”

“He will appear in the room.”

“Will he now?” replied Rory, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Jesus, Lydia had definitely been letting her kid read too many of those silly ghost stories.

“Yes. Call him yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Still trying hard to remain calm, Rory took a few steps towards her and bent down in front of her. Then, he took her hands and spoke, making sure to keep his voice smooth and free of the irritation that was bubbling inside of him.

“Tell you what, why don’t we go and get that candy, hmm? Just you and me. Give your mommy a little break. Then we can talk a little more about your…ghostly friend.”

Astrid looked at him for a few moments, her brown eyes wide, before slowly nodding.

Thank fuck, thought Rory, glad to have finally persuaded her to leave the room with him. He took her hand and led her back to Lydia.

And then, determined not to let his plan fail, he forced himself to endure an entire afternoon with the weird kid, resisting the urge to roll his eyes every time she uttered the ridiculous nickname that she had given this non-existent ghostly friend.

But throughout it all, something had burned deep within him. A curiosity. It was something he rarely felt about the strange and unusual. About ghosts. The very topic was utterly ridiculous to him and yet…

He couldn’t stop thinking about this friend of Lydia’s…this…Bee. And so, before he and Astrid headed back to Lydia, he had pulled her to one side and finally asked her for this ghost’s full name.

“Beetle…juice…” Astrid had replied, giggling as she did so, before clapping a hand over her mouth. Then, she leaned towards Rory, her next words coming out in a whisper.

“But you have to say it three times for him to appear and then another three times to send him back to the afterlife.”

The name alone sounded unbelievable, like something from a child’s twisted fairytale. Once again, Rory had to resist rolling his eyes.

But later, when Astrid had her candy and was back with Lydia, he finally gave in to that bubbling curiosity, determined to get it out of his system so that he could continue with his plan.

***

He was back inside the empty function room. Through the double doors leading to the room where Lydia, Astrid and all the other people celebrating Richard’s life were, Rory could hear music and chatter. Perhaps, he thought, he should wait until they had all left. Then he mentally chastised himself for having such a thought, because this…this ghost…whose name he was about to utter, didn’t even exist, so it didn’t matter if he called him now whilst everyone was here.

He took a deep breath, not wanting to speak the ridiculous name. What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t him. He didn’t believe in this nonsense and yet…

Just do it!

He snarled in response to his brain urging him to say the word, but a few seconds later, he was speaking it, the ghost’s name passing his lips three times in quick succession. He waited, letting out a dry laugh as the room remained silent. As predicted, nothing was happening.

Rory rolled his eyes, wondering how he was going to cope with all the weirdness that came with the Deetz family. First Lydia, then Charles and now her kid. The stepmother wasn’t much better either. They were all a bunch of weirdos. The only thing keeping him determined to go through with it all was the money and the fact that Lydia was going to be one hell of a hot wife and give him lots of strapping sons.

But mostly, it was the money.

He was about to leave when he heard a cracking sound coming from the floor a few feet away from where he was standing. Rory looked down, frowning at the crack, watching as it slowly started to spread. Then, thick green smoke began to seep from it, travelling upwards and settling in the air in swirls.

Rory stepped back, his eyes widening as he watched the smoke slowly creeping towards him. The sound of the floor splitting open was growing louder now, but Rory couldn’t see the crack anymore. All he could see was smoke, which was now so thick that everything in front of him, including the chairs and the tables, was no longer visible.

Slowly, the smoke began to dissipate, and a figure with wild hair and a sizeable gut came into view. As his features became clearer, Rory could see that the man standing in front of him was dead. He had to be. His skin was a deathly white, and his face was littered with patches of…was it mould? Moss? Rory couldn’t tell. He wrinkled his nose as the pungent scent of rain-soaked earth, cigarettes, and liquor hit his nostrils. His eyes raked over the man’s attire, which consisted of a black and white striped suit and combat boots.

For a moment, they stood there, just staring at each other. Rory’s heart hammered hard against his chest, and he began to take slow, deep breaths, a technique that he had once learned at a survivor’s retreat years ago when he had tried and failed to lure a grieving widow into his trap.

The dead man’s facial expression betrayed his frightening appearance. The guy looked depressed. Utterly defeated. 

“Well?” the dead man barked, his gravelly voice making Rory jump. “Whaddya want? I ain’t got all day.”

How…charming, Rory thought, still studying the man.

“You’re…a ghost…” he said slowly. “You aren’t a figment of my imagination, are you?”

Betelgeuse tapped his foot, then rolled his eyes.

“Does it fuckin’ look like I’m a figment of your imagination?” he replied, his tone snappy and impatient.

Rory threw a quick glance in the direction of the other room, where the Deetz family were still celebrating Richard’s short life, before shifting his gaze back to the ghost.

“Astrid…Lydia’s daughter…said that Lydia had been down…down there with you.”

Rory nodded at the floor as he uttered the word “there,” and when he glanced back up at Betelgeuse, he noticed that the ghost’s expression had softened considerably. His cold blue eyes suddenly lit up, and Rory could see the warmth slowly appearing in them.

Betelgeuse slowly turned his head towards the room where people were chatting loudly, and his eyes widened.

“Is…is she… in there?”

He nodded at the room that Lydia and Astrid were currently in.

“Yes,” replied Rory. “It’s her ex-husband’s wake, but don’t worry, I’m doing a great job of comforting her.”

He grinned widely, feeling a stab of satisfaction as he watched the ghost’s expression morph into one of pure shock.

“Lydia and Astrid have got me now. They don’t need anyone else.”

Betelgeuse continued to look at him, the hurt and shock still evident in his eyes. Then, suddenly, the ghost’s lip curled up into a snarl, and he let out a low growl, like a dog who could sense something unpleasant, something evil. Rory stepped back and held his hands up, hoping that the defensive movement would calm…him? It? He wasn’t quite sure exactly what this man was. A poltergeist, perhaps? Whatever he was, he was certainly not happy at the thought of Rory trying to get closer to Lydia.

And then, without warning, Betelgeuse’s anger, hurt and pain were released, bursting out of his face in the form of hideous tentacles and something that looked like bat wings.

“Jesus!” Rory screamed, stumbling backwards and falling over a chair. Shit, he hadn’t been prepared for that. His heart hammered hard against his chest, and he used the breathing technique to calm himself down again, pushing himself off the ground and rubbing the area on his leg that had collided painfully with the chair behind him.

Betelgeuse’s face slowly returned to…well, Rory wouldn’t exactly describe the ghost’s face as normal. But the hideous tentacles were gone, leaving behind an expression that looked very much as though the ghost wanted to cause him great harm.

“Listen, pal,” said Rory, holding his hands up. “I don’t know what went on with you and Lydia down there, but…but I’m here now. I’m what she needs. She needs someone normal…someone like me.”

He jabbed a finger into his chest, trying to stay calm. Trying to be brave in front of this…this ghostly monster, even though he knew Betelgeuse had detected his fear.

“Send me back,” the ghost growled, glaring at him, his face still screwed up in an expression that looked as though it was trying desperately to mask his pain. “Send me back right fuckin’ now.”

“Rory?”

Lydia’s voice cut through the air, and both Rory and Betelgeuse’s heads snapped towards the function room’s door. Through the door's frosted glass, they could see Lydia’s hand reaching down towards the handle.

“Rory? Are you in there?”

Rory shifted his gaze to Betelgeuse, whose gruff expression had completely melted into one much softer.

“Please,” he said, the snarling tone now completely gone, replaced with one that was thick with emotion. “Just fuckin’ send me back! Now!”

His plea was laced with desperation, and Rory almost had to stop himself from smirking.

This thing…this ghost…was clearly in love with Lydia, to the point where seeing her would have been painful for him.

Remembering what Astrid had told him about how to banish Betelgeuse back to the afterlife, Rory quickly said the ghost’s name three times, just as Lydia appeared in the room. The last few remnants of smoke disappeared, and Lydia frowned at the spot beside Rory’s head, where the last green swirl danced in the air for a few seconds before disappearing.

“I just thought I’d let you know that we’re going home soon…I…I wanted to thank you for taking Astrid out today.”

“It was my pleasure,” said Rory, bowing not only for extra effect but also in a desperate attempt to hide the fact that spending an entire afternoon with her weird kid had been anything but a pleasure.

“Wh-what were you doing in here?” Lydia asked, her eyes darting back to where the swirl of smoke had just been.

“Oh, I was just, er, making a call,” said Rory, pulling his phone out of his pocket and waving it in the air.

A few moments of silence followed his words, and when he spoke again, he kept his voice smooth.

“I’ll call you.”

Lydia gave a weak smile and nodded before exiting the room.

Rory acted straight away, dialling his loyal friend Larry’s number.

“How’d the wake go?” came Larry’s tinny voice through the phone.

“It was torture,” said Rory, the words coming in a groan as he thought of the afternoon he’d had to endure. “But…Larry, something happened. It turns out that I was wrong…ghosts are real. I summoned one today.”

Silence followed his words, then Larry laughed loudly.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“I’m serious. I’ve just seen one. And he’s…dangerous. Larry, get the boys together. We need to arrange a meeting. We need to warn the residents of Winter River about this…ghost.”

“But…”

“Do it,” Rory said, before hanging up.

Nothing was going to stand in the way of him marrying Lydia. Certainly not a dangerous, lovesick ghost.

Another part of his plan was forming, a plan that would enable him to dispose of this ghost forever. Rory knew that the villagers of Winter River would never believe that Betelgeuse existed, just like he hadn’t believed Astrid.

But that was easily fixable. He would call a meeting, summon Betelgeuse to prove that he existed, make everyone aware of this ghastly, lovesick ghost and then…then he would quickly banish him and start preparing to have him destroyed for good.

He was going to make Lydia his wife, and nothing, not even a ghost, would stop him from succeeding.

Chapter Text

During the two weeks that followed his decision to let Lydia go, Betelgeuse felt nothing but raw pain. The feelings that he had finally released had now left behind an unpleasant ache in his chest, an ache so strong that he hadn’t even been able to work.

Bob, being the sweet and loyal friend that he was, had tried his best to cheer Betelgeuse up, but nothing, not even work, could lift Betelgeuse’s mood. And so, Betelgeuse had avoided any jobs, instead choosing to spend his days drinking and smoking in Dante’s Inferno Room.

While a simple confession of love from anyone else in the strip club would have quickly become yesterday’s news, the fact that it was Betelgeuse who had uttered it and the fact that Lydia had been the first woman since the curse had been placed on him to bring hope that it would be broken, meant that it was still a hot topic a couple of weeks later.

But Betelgeuse didn’t care. He was oblivious to all the gossip, too consumed by grief and pain to care that the afterlife’s ghosts were all still talking about him.

Juno, who usually tried to spend as little time in Betelgeuse’s company as possible, had been making regular visits to the ghost to check on him. She was being surprisingly respectful in the aftermath of Lydia’s departure, simply sitting beside him during his visits to the club and smoking her cigarette quietly. She always remained silent, only talking when he wanted to talk. Which he never did. And even though he never talked, he was secretly grateful that Juno was allowing him to battle through his heartbreak in peace.

Ophelia, however, was the complete opposite, trying to encourage him to talk more about his feelings and trying her hardest to convince him that even though Lydia was gone, he needed to focus on the fact that he had changed for the better, that he had learned to be unselfish and to love.

“It’s a good thing, it really is,” she had said to him one evening, ignoring the warning looks that Juno was throwing her behind Betelgeuse’s back. “I know Lydia isn’t here anymore, but…”

And on that occasion, Betelgeuse’s pain had finally been released in the form of a string of biting words.

“Shut up!” he had shouted, bringing his fist down hard on the bar and causing Eve to jump and several bottles to shake. “Just shut the fuck up! This is your fuckin’ fault. You did this. This is exactly why I was the way I was before you put that curse on me…to protect myself from…from this.”

“I know you’re hurting,” Ophelia had said softly, her eyes brimming with tears. “You’re in so much pain right now. And I’m so sorry, Betelgeuse. I truly am. But Lydia…she changed you for the better. But there’s still ho –”

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he had spat, jabbing a finger at the Ghost Enchantress. “Don’t you dare tell me there’s still hope. Not now. Not fuckin’ ever.”

Ophelia had reached out to comfort him then, and he had smacked her hand away before storming out of the club. The young, beautiful Ghost Enchantress had looked just as heartbroken by the whole situation as he was, and Betelgeuse had felt a stab of regret at speaking to her so harshly. Such regret was no doubt a result of him no longer being the selfish, ill-mannered ghost that he used to be. Usually, he wouldn’t care if he hurt someone’s feelings, but afterwards, after he had stormed off, with Juno’s words of comfort to Ophelia ringing in his ears (“Leave him, Ophelia. You said it yourself, he’s hurting. Give him time”), he had felt bad for upsetting her.

But he didn’t apologise. He couldn’t bring himself to do that because even though Ophelia had done all of this with the intention of helping him to learn to love and become a better person, he couldn’t help but feel bitter about it all. And since that interaction, he had avoided her.

He didn’t want to think about the curse anymore. He just wanted to forget about it all. But he couldn’t. The rose, that damn rose that was still sitting on Juno’s desk, was losing more petals by the day. He knew that it wouldn’t be long before the last one fell, binding him to the summoning curse forever.

But there was nothing he could do.

When he had let Lydia go, she had taken his dead heart with him and left him with nothing but emptiness. And that emptiness had left him incapable of doing anything. Bob was holding the fort in the office, but Bob didn’t have Betelgeuse’s powers. Bob couldn’t be summoned, nor could he transform himself into different scary forms to satisfy the requirements of the clients. Betelgeuse knew that he would be losing customers. But he didn’t care.

The Afterlife Crime Unit, however, did. And Betelgeuse found himself sitting there right now, opposite the actor-turned-cop who never missed an opportunity to make sure the ghost was staying out of trouble.

“Two weeks,” said Wolf Jackson, flicking through Betelgeuse’s file. “It’s been two weeks, Geuse, since you’ve been to work. Care to explain what the problem is?”

Betelgeuse said nothing. Instead, he sat there, staring at the coffee cup on Jackson’s desk without seeing it. Jackson leaned forward and waved a hand in front of the ghost’s face, but still, Betelgeuse remained silent.

Jackson sighed heavily and sank back into his seat.

“Look,” he said. “I heard about your…confession. I think everyone in the afterlife heard about it. But come on, Geuse. You can’t let a woman get you down like this. This, right here?”

He gestured to the depressed ghost sitting in front of him.

“This ain’t the Geuse that I know.”

Betelgeuse still didn’t speak. Wolf sighed again, before taking a long gulp of his coffee. He set his cup down and sat back in his seat.

“Ya gotta keep busy. That’s the way to deal with heartbreak. Don’t let a woman get you down. She’s an ex-ghost now. A fleshbag. Not worth bothering with.”

Betelgeuse’s head snapped up, and his lip curled into a snarl.

“Don’t,” he growled. “Don’t talk about Lydia like that.”

Wolf held his hands up in defence.

“Relax, I was just –”

“She’s worth everythin’ to me. She’s…”

His voice cracked and trailed off. Lydia’s departure had shattered his heart, and whether he liked it or not, he was now exposed. That icy exterior was shattered, destroyed, and that meant that everyone was now able to see his pain. But he no longer cared. He loved her. He loved her so much that he didn’t care who knew it anymore. He placed his head in his hands.

He knew that he must have looked weak and pathetic, and he waited. He waited for Wolf to snigger, for the head of the afterlife crime unit to throw some sneering remark in his direction. But Wolf didn’t do any of that. Instead, he sighed heavily again, and when he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically soft.

“Look, I know how it feels, believe me, I do. Had my fair share of heartbreak as a fleshbag during my acting career, and there were times when I thought I’d never recover. But I did. And I know you will too. You’re the Juice! The ghost with the most. The afterlife’s number one bio-exorcist.”

Betelgeuse let out a hollow laugh and shook his head.

“Not anymore,” he said, his voice cracking again. “I’m nothin’ without her. She…she was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

The raw honesty tumbled out of him so easily, and he looked up and finally met Wolf’s eyes. There it was again. The same look that Juno had given him in the club. The same look that Ophelia, Eve and even the goddamn girls in the strip club had been giving him ever since his confession.

Pity.

Sadness.

He fucking hated it. But this, he knew, was how things were going to be from now on. No one would ever look at him like they used to, like he was the scariest ghost in the afterlife. No, that part of his reputation was gone forever. It had melted away with the rest of his cold exterior the moment that he had told an entire club full of ghosts that he was in love with Lydia.

He gasped then, a wave of pain hitting him. He reached forward, clutching at Wolf’s desk, waiting for the ache in his chest to stop.

And when Wolf finally allowed him to go, gently telling him to take it easy and to try and stay out of trouble, Betelgeuse felt relief wash over him and immediately headed to his room, desperate to be alone.

Being in his room caused him great pain, but right now, he just needed to be away from everyone. On the day he had let Lydia go, he had considered getting rid of the adjoining room that he had created that day when she had first arrived. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t bring himself to remove the room where they had settled into that blissful routine, where he had seen her sitting on the bed every night when he returned home from work.

Now all he could do was stand there, thinking about how much he missed her, about how much he was aching to see her face and hear her voice again.

And suddenly, he felt a tugging sensation which pulled him forwards, cutting through his thoughts of Lydia like a knife through butter.

He was being summoned.

He materialised in what looked like a function room, and for a moment, he assumed that he was going to be asked to remove a roomful of living people by the dead ex-owners of the fancy-looking venue.

But the guy with the slicked-back hair and ponytail who had summoned him wasn’t dead. He was very much alive and breathing, and Betelgeuse quickly learned that Lydia was just a few feet away from him, grieving for Richard with the rest of the Deetz family at his wake.

Knowing that she was so close to him was torture. Just pure torture. But the thing that hurt him the most was learning that this guy, this weaselly-looking guy who had summoned him, was helping Lydia and Astrid through their grief.

And Betelgeuse knew that there was something not right about him. That there was something slimy and unpleasant. He sensed it straight away.

All the pain he was feeling burst out of him then, causing the guy to scream and fall backwards over a chair. But Betelgeuse felt no satisfaction at frightening him. Instead, he felt angry, angry at the thought of Lydia moving so quickly from that wonderful routine that they’d had.

For him, this was confirmation that she didn’t have any romantic feelings for him, that she didn’t love him in return. And that last bit of hope, that hope that Ophelia had tried to tell him to hang on to before he had interrupted her angrily, was crushed.

He asked the man to send him back, wanting to disappear before he tore the guy to pieces in a blind fit of jealousy.

And then he heard Lydia’s voice.

“Rory? Rory? Are you in there?”

And he saw her figure through the frosted glass of the door leading to the other room.

And all the anger disappeared, leaving behind nothing but raw pain and a desperation to get away from her. He wanted to see her, ached to see her. But doing so would have caused him even more pain, and he couldn’t handle any more salt being rubbed into his already open wounds.

He needed to go back.

And so, he begged to be sent back, unable to hide the desperation in his voice.

And when he arrived back in the safety of his room, away from everyone, with the sound of Lydia’s voice calling out Rory’s name still ringing in his ears, he did something that he hadn’t done for centuries.

He cried. He buried his face into the pillow, releasing his grief into the soft fabric.

That night, he stayed away from Dante’s.

***

Rory grinned at the sight in front of him and rubbed his hands together excitedly. Just a few days after Richard’s funeral, he had decided to put his plan to expose Betelgeuse to the residents of Winter River into action, and some of them were sitting there now in a local tavern, all nursing beers.

“Good job rounding them all up, Larry,” whispered Rory excitedly. “I think things are gonna go smoothly!”

It hadn’t taken much work to get the men there. They were usually at the tavern most evenings. But Larry had told them all, before Rory had arrived, that his friend had some very important news to share with them all.

“What’s this all about?” asked a grumpy-looking man who was sitting at a table not far from where Rory was standing. “I just want a quiet drink.”

“We ain’t interested in any mere gossip,” muttered the man sitting next to him, who, like his drinking partner, was clutching a tankard of beer.

“You'll soon find out, Pete. And this isn’t just mere gossip, John. This…this is huge. Very important stuff. You’ll all be thanking me after this.”

“Get on with it then!” barked a man sitting on the table next to Pete and John.

“Patience, Bill. I’ll get to it in a moment. I'm just waiting for my lady friend.”

“Lady friend?” Pete’s grumpy tone had disappeared, and the man now sounded intrigued.

Rory grinned and smoothed his hair.

“Haven’t you heard, boys? I’m dating Lydia Deetz! We’re going to be married. We’re having –”

His voice cut off as he felt Larry tugging at his arm. Rory scrunched his face up in irritation and leaned down so that he could speak his next word into the ear of his friend, who was considerably shorter than him.

“What?”

“You’re not exactly dating her yet, though, are you?” whispered Larry. “Maybe you shouldn’t –”

“She’s crazy about me,” Rory hissed into Larry’s ear. “I can tell.”

“But –”

Pete’s voice cut through the air.

“Deetz? As in...Charles Deetz’s daughter?”

He and John looked at each other for a few moments before collapsing into peals of laughter.

“What’s so funny?” asked Rory, placing his hands on his hips.

“That gal is far too obsessed with books to care about dating any guy,” said John. “She’s gorgeous, but she’s….”

He twirled his finger next to his head.

“…a little crazy.”

Rory’s hands dropped from his hips, and he studied John for a few moments before nodding in agreement.

“I know, I know, she’s a little weirdo. But I can change that. She’ll never look at another book again when she becomes my wife.”

Pete, John and Bill all sniggered. A lady at a nearby table cleared her throat.

“And what,” she said, her hand clutching her glass of wine tightly, “are you planning to do exactly? You can’t stop her from reading books.”

Rory laughed and shook his head.

“Oh, Carol…of course I can! I’m a handsome guy. She’ll be far too busy admiring my looks to care about her books. We’ll be busy producing our boys.”

The three men, along with Larry, all sniggered. Carol rolled her eyes and took a sip of her wine.

“Speaking of my future wife…she’ll be here in just a minute.”

“Lydia Deetz coming into a tavern? I’ll believe it when I see it. Never once seen her in here.”

As soon as the words had escaped Pete’s mouth, the tavern’s door opened, and Lydia stepped inside, dressed in a black coat that looked far too thick for the early autumn air.

The three men sat there, staring at the beautiful goth women, while Carol smiled politely and nodded her head in greeting.

“Rory, what on earth is wrong?” asked Lydia, sounding irritable. “You sounded desperate for me to come here on the phone. I had to ask Dad to babysit Astrid. I hope this is urgent.”

“Darling, this is very urgent,” said Rory, slinging an arm around her shoulders and not even noticing when Lydia flinched.

He had contemplated not involving Lydia in the meeting. Part of him had wanted to summon this ghost…this…Betelgeuse…without her there. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised he could use Lydia to prove that this ghost was a dangerous, lovesick entity that needed to be destroyed. He knew that this ghost had deep feelings for Lydia, had seen it in the ghastly thing’s eyes.

It was laughable. But perfect. By using Lydia, he could also make her believe that he hadn’t doubted her ability to communicate with ghosts, (even though he had made it quite clear in the past that he didn’t believe in ghosts). He could make Lydia believe that he was someone who believed in her ability now and that she didn’t need this ghost in her life anymore.

“Well?” Lydia asked, now tapping her foot impatiently. “What is it, Rory?”

Rory took a deep breath, then stood in the middle of the tavern and addressed everyone.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Winter River…you’re all in danger!”

He glanced around at the sea of faces, shifting his gaze from the group of women in the corner, to Carol, who was still nursing her glass of wine, to Pete, John and Bill, who were frowning.”

“My Lydia here…my dear Lydia…”

Rory pulled a dramatic face that matched his tone and pulled Lydia closer to him. Lydia tried to move away, but he held her to him.

“She disappeared a few weeks ago because she was kidnapped…by a…a ghost.”

The women in the corner, along with Carol, let out a collective gasp, while Pete scoffed.

“A ghost?” he said incredulously. “That’s bullshit. You’ve been spending way too much time with her, Rory.”

He nodded at Lydia, who glared at him.

“Yeah, weren’t you in here just a few weeks ago, talking about how crazy Charles Deetz is because he kept mentioning something about his daughter living with a ghost?” asked Bill, frowning at Rory.

Lydia shifted her gaze from Bill to Rory, her eyes wide with shock. Rory tried his best not to look sheepish.

“Yeah, he was,” piped up John. “He told the owners of Jefferson’s Real Estate Group and Perfect Properties not to take over Charles’s business because the guy had gone crazy and kept mentioning ghosts.”

“That wasn’t me,” said Rory, trying to keep his voice smooth. “That was someone else!”

“Oh no, it was definitely you, Rory,” said Larry with a straight face. “Don’t you remember, it was part of your plan to –”

“Would you shut the hell up!” hissed Rory.

Larry’s mouth snapped shut, and he looked down at the floor.

“Rory, is this true?” asked Lydia, removing his arm from her shoulder and stepping away from him.

“O-of course it isn’t!” said Rory, shaking his head and tugging at his shirt collar, while secretly seething at Bill, John and Larry for revealing his plan.

“Dad was telling the truth, I was living with a ghost," said Lydia, folding her arms. "And I wasn't kidnapped. It was my decision to live with him. My father’s not crazy.”

Rory tried to throw his arm around her again, but she moved away.

“I know, my dear, that’s exactly what I was trying to tell everyone! I mean, how awful of them to say that I was trying to tell those businesses that your father was crazy. I would never do that. Nope, definitely not.”

He shook his head dramatically.

“He’s lying,” said Carol in a deadpan tone, before taking a sip of wine.

“Be quiet!” barked Rory. “And anyway, I would never lie about Charles like that…because this ghost…I…I’ve seen it.”

He took a step backwards, drinking in the reactions of the villagers sitting in front of him. Bill, John, Pete, and even Larry all looked sceptical, as did Carol and the group of women in the corner. Lydia, however, was looking at him in shock.

“You have?” she asked. “But that’s…that’s…”

“My darling, I summoned him at the wake.”

“What?”

Rory nodded his head dramatically.

“He was there in the room with me. I sent him back to…to…what’s that place…”

“The afterlife,” replied Lydia.

“That’s it! The afterlife. I sent him right back there. Good thing I did, too, because he was ghastly! Very dangerous.”

“He isn’t dangerous!” said Lydia.

“Darling, that…that thing is obsessed with you. It’s not good. We need to get rid of it for good.”

“No!” said Lydia, raising her voice and rushing forward.

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!” said Pete, banging his tankard down on the table loudly. “Absolute bullshit!”

“It’s –”

“It’s true!” said Lydia, cutting Rory off before he could respond. “It’s all true. But…but he isn’t dangerous. At first, he was…selfish and grumpy. But he’s changed. He’s no longer like that.”

“He pulled a threatening face when I summoned him!” said Rory, holding his hands up to his face as he spoke. “It was horrific! I thought he was going to kill me! He’s dangerous, Lydia.”

“He’s not! We…we had a routine…”

Lyda’s voice cracked as she spoke.

“He gave me his books and I helped him set up his business. He was…kind to me and gentle too. He would never harm me.”

Rory studied the beautiful goth woman standing next to him. Was she blushing? Actually blushing? This was ludicrous! Unbelievable! Something was bubbling around in his chest, something unpleasant. He was jealous. Jealous of a goddamn ghost. A dead man. Jesus, what the hell was wrong with him? Rory shook his head, knowing that he needed to keep his cool. But Lydia’s voice, the way it had cracked…the way she had talked about the time she had spent with this ghost…it angered him. He could almost feel the tiny cracks forming in his plan.

And as hard as he was trying to stay cool and calm, when he spoke his next words, his tone was sharp and accusatory.

“Sounds to me like you have feelings for this…ghost.”

Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but Pete cut her off.

“She can’t have feelings for something that doesn’t exist, Rory.”

“He does exist!” shouted Lydia and Rory at the same time. They looked at each other for a moment, and Rory placed his arm on Lydia’s shoulder.

“Why don’t we call him? Prove to them that he’s capable of harming the living? I saw it, Lydia. I saw the look in his eyes when those hideous tentacles burst out of his face. The people of Winter River need to know that there’s a dangerous poltergeist in our midst.”

“I’m not calling him,” snapped Lydia, shrugging Rory’s arm off her shoulder. “He’s not some animal to put on display in a zoo. He’s…he’s my friend. He has feelings, just like we do. I’m not calling him.”

“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to –”

“No!” shouted Lydia.

The whole tavern had gone quiet now, and people from across the room had stopped chatting and were now staring, listening to their conversation intently. Even the bartender was watching them.

“Lydia, darling, we need to warn everyone. If you don’t call him, I will.”

“Please,” said Lydia, her voice cracking. “If I see him…it’ll…I…I can’t. Not yet. I just…please don’t.”

Rory studied her, frowning. Oh, she was desperate not to see the ghost, just like the ghost had been desperate not to see her. There were definitely feelings involved. This just wouldn’t do. He had to get rid of the ghost. But Lydia wasn’t going to make this easy.

It was time to speed things up. To quickly repair those cracks in his plan that had started to form.

“Ok,” he said. “Ok, fine, I won’t call him.”

Lydia sighed in relief.

But Rory wasn’t finished.

“I won’t call him,” he repeated, “But you have to agree to marry me.”

A collective gasp filled the air.

“You can’t do th –” came Carol’s voice.

“Quiet, Carol!” snapped Rory. “What do you say, Lydia? Be my wife, and I promise I’ll leave the ghost alone.”

Of course, he had no intention of leaving the ghost alone. But this was the perfect way to get Lydia where he wanted her. The sooner she became his wife, the sooner he could get his hands on the Deetz’s money.

He watched as Lydia glanced around the tavern, her gaze shifting to the residents of Winter River, who were all awaiting her response.

"One little word, Lydia," said Rory, taking her hand. "That's all it takes."

Lydia glared at him.

“Even if you did summon him at the wake, you never believed in ghosts before that,” she said, pulling her hand away from his. “Never. My dad…he’s been getting phone calls from other real estate businesses refusing to buy his business. What those men said...about you trying to sabotage my dad's plans to sell his business for his retirement... "

She pointed at Bill and John.

"It all makes sense now. I’m not stupid, Rory, and my father’s not crazy. He’s the most normal, sane person in our family.”

Rory laughed nervously and waved his hand dismissively.

“Oh, Lydia, I never said he was crazy!”

“Yeah, you did!” piped up Larry. “Don’t you remember? You said it when –”

“Shut up, Larry!” growled Rory.

Lydia stepped closer to him.

“I will never marry you,” she said. “And that ghost? He’s not the ghastly one. You are.”

Rory stood there, seething. How dare she? How dare she reject him? He was Rory, Winter River’s most handsome eligible bachelor. Women hardly ever turned him down. This…this was unacceptable.

“Fine,” he growled. “Have it your way! I’ll make sure that that dirty ghost is disposed of! And when I do, when he’s gone forever, you’ll come running back to me! You’ll thank me and you’ll want to be my wife!”

“He’s a ghost, Rory. A powerful one. Good luck trying to destroy him. I’m going home to my daughter now, goodbye.”

Rory tried to argue, but Lydia was no longer listening. He watched, seething, as she exited the tavern. Then, he stood there, his gaze shifting between the townsfolk. They were all watching him carefully, waiting to see his reaction to being rejected by the strange and unusual, beautiful goth woman. It was Bill who finally broke the silence.

“She’s got a point, Rory,” he said. “I don’t think you can kill a dead guy. And anyway, ghosts don’t exist, you’ve said it yourself many times.”

“I already told you,” snapped Rory. “I saw it! I can prove it.”

“Sure you can,” sniggered John.

Rory took a deep breath, preparing himself to utter the ghost’s name three times.

And when he did, the villagers, despite their scepticism, fell silent, all waiting.

***

For a few minutes, nothing happened. And then, the tables began to shake. John tried to grasp his tankard, but it slipped out of his hands and fell onto the floor with a loud smash.

The group of women in the corner clutched their wine glasses, shrieking as the liquid spilt out onto their dresses. Behind the bar, the bartender’s arms were spread out against the shelves as he tried to stop several bottles from falling off them.

And then the smoke came. It started as a thin wisp before quickly transforming into thick, green swirls. The chairs and tables were no longer visible, and Rory waved his hand from side to side, coughing as the swirls engulfed them.

The ceiling began to shake, covering the men and women who were seated at the tables in bits of plaster and dried paint. The pleasant warmth that had filled the room was now gone, replaced with a biting chill that caused the tavern’s customers to shiver.

Rory’s teeth chattered, and his stomach churned unpleasantly. This ghost, he knew, was dangerous. But he had to try and stay calm. As soon as they had all captured a glimpse of it, he would send it straight back to the afterlife before it could cause any harm.

The smoke was clearing now, but there was no sign of the moss-covered ghost. A few coughs filled the air, and for a moment, Rory wondered if the thing hadn’t turned up.

But then there was a loud puff, and the ghost named Betelgeuse was standing right next to the bar with his back to him. Rory grinned as a collective gasp filled the air. They couldn’t accuse him of lying now. The ghost was here, right in front of them.

For a moment, no one said anything. Then, Betelgeuse’s gravelly voice filled the air.

“Look, whatever it is, make it quick. I…”

His voice trailed off as he turned around and spotted Rory standing there.

“Oh. It’s you.”

His blue eyes narrowed, and his lip curved up into a snarl.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“See?” said Rory, spreading his arms out. “Told you he existed. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the ghost who Lydia was living with.”

Betelgeuse tried to speak, but Rory cut him off. He continued baiting the ghost, teasing him, taunting him about Lydia. 

And it had the desired effect.

Betelgeuse, who upon his arrival had looked just as depressed as he had when Rory had summoned him at the wake, finally snapped. He threw his arm back, then thrust it forward and seconds later, Rory’s mouth was sewn shut. Rory clawed at the stitches in his mouth in a desperate attempt to remove them. He was terrified now, scared of what this ghost could do, and now, now that his mouth had been sewn shut, he wouldn’t be able to utter the ghost’s name and send him back.

Bill, Pete and John were huddled together, the normally loud, confident men reduced to whimpering wrecks underneath Betelgeuse’s cold gaze. Carol had taken shelter underneath the table, and the group of women in the corner were hiding behind their handbags, shaking.

Horrified at the attack on Rory, Larry bravely rushed forward, his fist pulled back, ready to punch the ghost. But Betelgeuse was prepared for the attack. The ghost’s hand quickly transformed into a large punching glove, and he swung it forward into Larry’s small, portly body, sending the man flying backwards into a table. Larry groaned as his backside collided with the hard wood, before letting out a hiss of pain as a broken bottle sliced through his hand.

“Come on then!” growled Betelgeuse. The punching glove was now gone, and the ghost's arm was back to normal. He held both arms out as he dared the others to attempt another attack on him.

Rory could see the pure anger in the ghost’s eyes. And behind the anger was something else. A flash of something raw. Rory gave another tug and ripped the stitches away from his mouth.

“What’s the matter?” he asked in the same baiting tone as he had used when Betelgeuse had first arrived. “Missing Lydia?”

“Don’t you dare mention her,” growled Betelgeuse.

“Ha! You see? He’s in love with her!”

Rory gestured to the ghost, determined for everyone to see how besotted the thing was.

“Shut up!” shouted Betelgeuse, slamming his fist down on a table and causing an empty tankard to fall to the floor. Then, he brought his hands up to his ears, clearly in distress, clearly not wanting to be there anymore.

“Send me back,” he growled. “Just send me back, right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, in a minute,” said Rory. “Let’s talk about Lydia a little more first, shall we?”

He knew he was taking a huge risk. The ghost had just sewn his mouth shut and had just sent Larry hurtling into a table. But he had to do this. He had to prove to everyone what this ghost was capable of. He had to push it a little more. 

And mentioning Lydia's name again was all that it took.

Betelgeuse let out a roar, releasing his anger and pain to the entire tavern and pulling the same grotesque face that he had when Rory had summoned him at the wake.

Bill, John and Pete were under the table now, and the group of women were cowering behind their handbags, all clutching each other’s hands. Larry, who was still on the floor clutching his bleeding hand, screamed as a large, brown tentacle moved close to his face.

Betelgeuse stepped forward, but before he got any nearer to any of the villagers, Rory called out his name three times.

The ghost disappeared instantly in a puff of green smoke. Slowly, the men got up off the floor, still flinching as the last few remnants of smoke slowly disappeared.

“See?” said Rory, gesturing to the spot where Betelgeuse had just stood. “He's dangerous! We’re not safe until he’s dead…permanently.”

“I agree!” shouted one of the women in the corner. “He’s a dangerous spirit! Our children may be in danger!”

“But how can we kill a ghost?” asked the woman sitting next to her.

“An exorcism!” said Bill, his voice shaky. “That should do it!”

“But that only removes the spirit from haunted buildings, doesn’t it?” said John, who was clutching the handle of his now broken tankard tightly. "This ghost...he can be summoned anywhere! We've just seen it in here with our own eyes!"

“He might come stalking us at night,” said Carol. “Emily is right!”

She nodded at one of the women in the corner.

“Dangerous spirits sometimes target children,” she added. 

“Lydia’s daughter said that he was a mean ghost,” said Rory, choosing to omit anything positive that Astrid had said about Betelgeuse. “He may indeed be a danger to children.”

“Father Damien might be able to help,” said Larry through gritted teeth, still clutching his wound.

“Good suggestion, Larry!” said Rory, reaching down and patting Larry on his arm near his injury and causing the man to wince.

“Boys…and ladies…it’s time to take some action. Follow me!”

“What…right now?” asked Pete, frowning and then looking down at his empty tankard.

“Yes, right now!” barked Rory. “We can’t waste any time.”

The tavern’s customers, still clearly shaken from their encounter with Betelgeuse, got up from their tables and followed Rory out of the door, none of them paying any attention to the bartender, who was still leaning against the shelves behind him with a startled look on his face and his arms outstretched, surrounded by broken bottles.

Rory led the group towards Winter River's small church, which was a short distance away. He was unsure whether Father Damien would be able to help, but he had to try. The sooner he got rid of Betelgeuse, the better.

The ghost was powerful, but he was still a ghost, and as Rory thought of all the holy objects that he had seen in the church during Richard’s funeral, he was hopeful that there would be some way to defeat Betelgeuse permanently.

Chapter Text

Rory tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the church’s locked doors to open. Behind him stood the string of villagers who had followed him there, all talking in hushed voices.

“He isn’t answering!” hissed Bill over Rory’s shoulder. “He’s probably passed out drunk somewhere in the graveyard.”

Rory groaned inwardly. As determined as he was to destroy Betelgeuse permanently, he should have known that such a task wasn’t going to be easy. It was common knowledge that Father Damien had an issue with alcohol, no matter how many times the priest had tried to hide it. But he had to keep trying. He wanted the ghost gone tonight.

He knocked on the church door again. After a few more minutes of foot tapping and whispered words of frustration, the door creaked open slightly, and a brown, bloodshot eye peered out at them.

“Rory! What brings you here at this hour?”

“Father, we need your help.”

“Help? Right now?”

“Yes, Father. Right now. There’s a dangerous ghost on the loose, and the ghastly thing needs to go.”

“But if he can be summoned and sent back straight away, he’s not much of a danger to us, though, is he?” asked a woman who had followed the throng of villagers from the tavern.

“Quiet, Isabelle!” hissed Rory. “If you don’t think that this ghastly thing is a threat to us, then why did you follow me here?”

Isabelle pouted in response and folded her arms. She was, of course, right. From what Rory had learned, the living had complete control over when Betelgeuse entered and exited the living world. But he didn’t care about that. He wanted the ghost out of Lydia’s life forever.

“I’m afraid getting rid of dangerous spirits is far beyond my capabilities, Rory,” said Father Damien, before letting out a loud hiccup.

Rory scowled at the brown, watery eye that was still peeking out at him.

“This church used to be haunted, did it not?”

“Well, yes, but –”

“And you exorcised the ghost, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but –”

“Then that means you’re capable of destroying this ghost!”

“Exorcisms don’t always mean permanent destruction of the ghost, Rory,” came John’s voice from somewhere behind him.

Father Damien pushed the door further open and nodded at John’s words.

“Quite right,” he said, swaying slightly as he agreed. “Not a permanent destruction at all.”

“This…what the hell was the thing's name?” asked John. “Beetlegoose?”

“Beetlejuice!” shouted Larry.

“Shhhh!” hissed Rory. “Don’t say his name until we’re ready to destroy him!”

“This…Beetle guy,” continued John. “He seemed powerful. Not sure an exorcism would do it.”

“Look,” said Rory, leaning towards Father Damien and wincing as the scent of whiskey and wine hit him squarely in the face. “You’ve got things, right? Books. Holy items. You’ve got things in there that will destroy him. I’ve seen them.”

He pointed at the small section of the church’s interior that was visible, and Father Damien quickly turned and glanced at the collection of holy items before shifting his gaze back to Rory.

“The Lord’s sanctuary welcomes all who seek peace and wish to rid the world of evil,” he said, his voice calm and soft. “Except between the hours of nine and midnight.”

Rory glanced at his watch, which told him that it was now precisely nine o’clock in the evening. He growled in frustration, like a person who had arrived at a store just as it was closing.

He leaned forward again, trying not to breathe in the fumes of alcohol.

“I’ll make it worth your time,” he said, grinning. “I’ve got a whole cellar full of wine and the finest whiskey in the land.”

He wiggled his eyebrows, and Father Damien stood still, swaying slightly as he contemplated the offer.

“That’s so unethical!” said Carol, who was standing right behind Rory and looking at the back of his head in disbelief.

“Quiet, Carol,” hissed Rory. “What do you say, Father? The finest whiskey…”

Rory’s voice adopted a sing-song tone for the latter part of his sentence, and this did the trick, because seconds later, Father Damien was nodding profusely.

“Very well,” he said. “The Lord’s sanctuary shall welcome you all this evening. Come.”

Rory grinned widely as the priest gestured for them all to step inside the small church. His eyes raked greedily over the collection of holy objects, which included cast iron crosses and basins of holy water. Weighty tomes were piled on shelves in front of the pews, and Rory smirked, knowing that these books contained special prayers that would protect the residents of Winter River from spirits.

Father Damien disappeared behind a curtain at the back of the church for a few moments before emerging with a book. He wiped his mouth and hiccupped before gesturing for the villagers to form a circle.

“We need something that will weaken him straight away,” said Rory. “He’s powerful.”

“Then we shall use this,” said Father Damien, gesturing to the pot of holy water beside him. “But first, we need to see if this ghost is among us, we –”

“He’s not here right now,” said Rory, his mouth curving up into a grin. “But I’m going to call him.”

He began to utter Betelgeuse’s name in quick succession, paying no attention to the terrified look on Father Damien’s face, which, despite his drunken state, was now completely devoid of colour.

***

The anger that Betelgeuse had felt as Rory had taunted him about Lydia had dissipated, leaving behind nothing but depression. The hope, that last shred of hope that he had dared to feel, had now gone completely, leaving him feeling defeated.

The curse had won.

He would be forced to remain like this forever, stuck with the curse like a prisoner chained to the wall of a cell with no hope of escape. Rory’s summoning of him in the tavern had been a stark reminder that, no matter how frightening he was, no matter how powerful, the curse had robbed him of any control. All the ghosts, all the living people who could summon and banish him whenever they wanted, were the ones in control. They could use him and then toss him away whenever they wanted to.

Betelgeuse had found enjoyment in his bio-exorcist work, but this reminder, the reminder that anyone could call him and send him away at any time of the day or night, had taken it all away. And he realised that the only reason he had started to properly enjoy his work was because of Lydia. She had made everything worth it. And now that she wasn’t there anymore, now that all he had to come home to was his room and the empty adjoining one that he had created upon her arrival in the afterlife, it just wasn’t worth it anymore.

He found himself heading to Dante’s Inferno Room. Before, when he had returned after Rory had summoned him at Richard’s wake, he had wanted to be alone. But this time, he couldn’t bear it. He wanted the chatter, the music and all the other sounds that filled the club. He needed to hear them, needed the distraction.

He took his usual seat at the bar, and Eve immediately placed a beer in front of him, throwing him her usual look of pity as she did so. Free beers had become a regular thing since his confession in the busy club. He should have been pleased, but he hated it. He loathed all the pity, so much that the free beers, which he knew were supposed to be an act of generosity to comfort him, brought him nothing but irritation. Even so, he brought the bottle to his lips and drank, savouring the taste.

He turned his head and groaned as Juno and Ophelia came into view. No matter where he went, he just couldn’t escape the pair of them. He immediately looked away from them, not wanting to see anyone else giving him looks of sadness and pity.

Ophelia started to speak, but Betelgeuse never got the chance to hear what she had to say, because he felt that familiar tugging sensation in his stomach.

He was being summoned. Again. Less than an hour since Rory had banished him back to the afterlife in the tavern.

And this time, he felt no anger. All he felt was that crippling depression. And somewhere amongst it all, was hope, hope that this torturous curse would end and that he would cease to exist.

***

He was in a church.

Candles flickered all around him, and Betelgeuse stared at the expressions of the people surrounding him, their faces looking almost demonic under the candlelight. Their eyes were closed, and they were muttering some sort of prayer under their breath, holding hands as the words escaped their mouths in almost a whisper. Amongst them was a priest, who was holding a heavy book.

It didn’t take Betelgeuse long to work out what was going on. This had happened to him before, centuries ago, when someone had tried and failed to exorcise him. Usually, in more recent situations like these, he would laugh and make jokes about The Exorcist, quoting lines from the movie and proudly announcing that he had seen it a hundred-and sixty-seven times.

But this time he didn’t.

This time, he welcomed it.

And this, he quickly realised, wasn’t just an ordinary exorcism to remove him from a building. This was a ritual that was being carried out to permanently destroy him.

And he didn’t care.

He was so depressed, so exhausted by all the grief and anger that he had felt and expressed since Lydia’s departure, that this was an easy way out for him.

He could see Rory in the circle, looking very much as though he was enjoying the whole thing immensely. The ponytailed fucker opened his eyes briefly, pausing his chants to throw Betelgeuse an unpleasant grin. But Betelgeuse didn’t feel angry at the taunting expression. Instead, he felt glad, glad that Rory was doing this.

Lydia didn’t love him. She would never love him. She had Rory now.

And Betelgeuse had nothing.

Something wet hit his cold flesh, and he looked up to see Rory and the rest of the villagers flicking holy water at him, their expressions full of determination as they did so. He could destroy every one of them right now if he wanted to, could transform his hands into giant jugs of water and drown them all.

But he didn’t. Instead, he welcomed the water, cool and wet against his skin. And he did nothing. He remained there, in the middle of the circle, waiting, wanting to die a second permanent death, wanting to be released from the curse and to be free of the pain caused by letting Lydia go.

***

Lydia hung her thick black coat up on the peg and stomped into the living room, seething.

That snake! She had always considered Rory to be arrogant and annoying, but this? Attempting to destroy her father’s plans to sell his business for his retirement? This was unforgivable. Lydia would be very happy if she never saw the lying, arrogant weasel ever again.

“Something wrong, pumpkin?” asked Charles, as he studied Lydia’s expression. Astrid was sitting on his knee, playing with a doll.

“Yes, I’ve just wasted my time meeting a man whom I never want to see ever again.”

Charles frowned.

“Rory? But I thought things were going well with you both?”

Lydia started to speak, but Astrid cut her off.

“He’s a loser,” the little girl said.

“Astrid!” scolded Charles. “He brought you lots of candy the other day at Daddy’s wake, remember?”

“So? He’s still a loser.”

“Yes, one big almighty loser,” said Lydia, sitting down on the couch opposite Charles and Astrid.

“Ok, tell me what’s happened,” said Charles, sighing.

Lydia rolled her eyes at the disappointment in his voice. She had been expecting this. She knew Delia and Charles wanted her to settle down and find love with someone. After a string of unsuccessful relationships and a divorce, Delia had made it clear that her wish was for Lydia to find someone who was, in Delia’s own words, “just as weird as you are, Lydia.”

Delia and Charles had made it clear that they approved of Rory, who, despite not being as weird as Delia had wished for, had been nothing but charming to them. That charm had reeled them in, hooking them both like a fish that had been fed bait. And now Lydia had to break the news that Rory had been spreading lies about Charles, that he had been telling high-profile real estate businesses that Charles was crazy. She couldn’t do it now. Not in front of Astrid.

“We’ll talk later, Dad. Why is Astrid not in bed?”

“I’m waiting for Grandma to get back,” said Astrid as she combed her doll’s hair.

Lydia frowned.

“Grandma is at home, at her house, isn’t she? It’s just grandpa babysitting you tonight, sweetie.”

But Charles shook his head.

“Shortly after you left, Astrid begged me to phone your stepmother. So, I did. I put Astrid on the phone to her, and Astrid begged her to come. She said she had a note that she wanted Delia to place on Richard’s grave.”

“Why couldn’t you take Astrid to the graveyard to put it there herself?”

“Because I didn’t want to go,” said Astrid, now looking down at the floor. “I thought that maybe…maybe if I wrote a note, then Daddy’s ghost would visit us here. I didn’t want to go to the graveyard because…because.”

Her voice cracked.

“I hate the thought of him being dead in the ground all alone,” she said, her voice shaking. “I thought that if Grandma took the note there for me…his ghost might somehow come out of the ground and see it and come to us here.”

“Oh, Astrid,” said Lydia, her heart twinging painfully. “Come here.”

Charles gently lifted Astrid off his knee, and the little girl rushed into Lydia’s arms.

“You know what Delia’s like,” said Charles, before letting out a loud sigh. “She’ll do anything for Astrid.”

“Grandma’s there now, putting the note on Daddy’s grave for me,” said Astrid, sniffling as she pressed her head into the soft material of Lydia’s dress.

“She’s been gone quite a while,” said Charles, shifting his gaze to the clock on the wall. “Almost an hour, to be exact.”

“That’s strange,” said Lydia. “What could be taking so long?”

As soon as she spoke the words, her phone began to ring. Lydia gently moved Astrid before pulling the device out of the handbag next to her. Her eyes widened as Delia’s name flashed up on the screen.

“Delia?”

“Lydia? Are you back yet?”

The words came out of Delia’s mouth in a frantic whisper, and Lydia’s stomach dropped at the fear in her stepmother’s voice.

“Yes, I’m back. Wh –”

“I’m outside the church, and you need to get here. Right now.”

“What? Why?”

“He’s in there, Lydia. Bee….”

Astrid, who could hear Delia’s voice coming out of the phone, immediately sat up as her grandmother uttered the word “bee.”

“Is Bee there?” the little girl asked, plucking the phone out of Lydia’s hand and talking loudly into it.

“Astrid, dear, put your mother back on the phone right now.”

Charles, sensing that there was an issue, immediately got up and gestured for Astrid to follow him.

“How about a hot chocolate?” he said, nodding at the kitchen.

“Yay!” shouted the little girl, jumping off the couch and following Charles out of the room.

Lydia would usually protest at her daughter having the sweet drink so late at night, but right now, she didn’t care. Her heart was pounding hard against her chest, and when she spoke, her voice was strained.

“What’s happening, Delia. Please tell me.”

“He’s in the church, Lydia, and they’re trying to destroy him.”

***

The journey to the church was only a short one, but for Lydia, it felt like hours. She should have known that Rory would end up summoning Betelgeuse after she had left the tavern. He had promised her he wouldn’t if she married him, and Lydia, so consumed with anger at him trying to ruin her father’s reputation, had rejected him and left. She hadn’t even thought about the fact that he would go ahead and summon Betelgeuse after she left, and she mentally chastised herself for not staying and trying to stop him. But what could she do? Betelgeuse was under some kind of…Lydia wasn’t sure exactly what it was. Law? Rule? Whatever it was, he could only enter the living world by being summoned by a ghost or a living person. That much she knew.

The thought of Rory summoning him, calling him in a tavern full of people, had angered Lydia. Betelgeuse, like herself, had been heartbroken when they had parted ways, and Lydia hated the thought of his sad feelings being on show for everyone to see. And even though he had changed, even though he was now kind and gentle, Lydia knew what he was capable of. He was a very powerful ghost who had many abilities, and Lydia couldn’t help but feel worried about the chaos that might ensue now that he was roaming around the church.

But she couldn’t bring herself to think badly of him. During their wonderful routine, when he had returned home to her every night after work, he had been kind, gentle, and funny. And in the weeks that they had been separated, Lydia had missed him so much.

Her stomach had given a pleasant jolt when, at Richard’s wake, she had walked into that empty room and seen the faintest hint of green smoke next to Rory. But at the time, she had dismissed it, mentally scolding herself for thinking that Betelgeuse had been there and telling herself that it was just her mind playing tricks on her because she was missing him so much. But when Rory had revealed to her in the tavern that Betelgeuse had been there, that he had summoned him, her heart had started racing as she thought back to how close she had come to seeing him again. Yet in the tavern, when Rory had wanted to summon him, Lydia hadn’t been able to bear the thought of seeing him. For her, it was too soon, a painful reminder of the friend who had so kindly let her go.

She knew that she would be able to see Betelgeuse again someday. But she and Astrid were still grieving for Richard, and the time just wasn’t right, no matter how much she was aching to hear his gravelly voice, to listen to his laugh and to sit and read books with him again. But here she was, driving to the cemetery, about to see him again and scared of what she would find when she got there. Delia had said that he was in the church being destroyed, but this didn’t sound possible to her. Betelgeuse was powerful, unlike any ghost that she had ever encountered before.

It was one of the reasons why she had developed an attraction to him. It was an attraction that she had initially tried to dismiss, an attraction which she now knew, as she sat there desperately trying to get to him, she could no longer deny. He was so mysterious, so strange and unusual, just like she was. And Lydia knew, as she pulled into the car park just a short distance away from Winter River’s church and graveyard, that that attraction was fast developing into something else.

The graveyard was the same one where she and Betelgeuse had danced, but Lydia had tried not to think about that special moment during Richard’s funeral. Despite it being a happy memory, she had felt it was better to try and stay focused on Richard and helping Astrid get through the day. And so, she had pushed the happy memory aside. But now, as she exited the car, that special memory came flooding back to her again, and Lydia glanced up at the starry, purple and orange-tinged sky, wishing that she could have that happy moment with Betelgeuse again and hoping that everything would be okay.

She quickly located Delia, who was standing with her ear pressed against the church’s door.

“Oh, Lydia,” she said as she noticed her stepdaughter approaching her. “They’re…they’re trying to destroy him with strange prayers and holy objects!”

“They won’t succeed,” said Lydia. “They can’t succeed. He’s too powerful. I’m going in there.”

She pushed the church doors open with ease in her haste to get to him, and as her eyes fell upon the ring of people, all chanting and shielding the ghost in the middle of the circle from her view, she paused, rooted to the spot. But before she could call out to Betelgeuse, there was a loud smash. Lydia watched as several very tall and very thickset ghosts burst through the church’s windows. The chanting immediately stopped, and the whispered words were replaced with screams as the ghosts immediately tried to break up the circle.

“Break it up, break it up!” came a voice from behind Lydia. She spun around and saw Wolf Jackson standing next to Delia, who was looking perplexed. Seconds later, Ophelia appeared behind Wolf in a puff of pink swirls, followed by Juno, who materialised in a thick cloud of grey smoke beside her.

“I knew there was something wrong when he was summoned in Dante’s,” Ophelia said, her voice strained. “I could sense it! I gathered Wolf and his squad immediately. Oh, I hope we’re not too late!”

Lydia glanced back at the floor, and, amongst the chaos, she could see Betelgeuse’s black and white striped figure still lying on the ground. Rory was hovering over him, a sneering look on his face.

“Is someone smoking?” asked Delia, waving her hand to get rid of the cloud of grey and pink smoke and wrinkling her nose.

“Go home to Dad and Astrid, Delia!” said Lydia, turning to face her stepmother. “I’ll deal with this.”

Delia, who could only see the smoke but not Wolf, Ophelia or Juno, tried to protest, but Lydia was having none of it.

“Just go! I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“Lydia, I am not leaving you here to deal with this on your own!”

“I’m not alone, I have help. You just can’t see them. Please go.”

“If he dies, then I promise we’ll form a Grief Collective,” said Delia, nodding in the direction of Betelgeuse, who was still lying on the floor.

“Go! Just wait in the car,” ordered Lydia, waving a hand in Delia’s disgruntled-looking face.

With Delia now gone, Lydia turned back to the group of villagers, looking for an opportunity to get closer to Betelgeuse. Some of the villagers were now cowering in corners as objects floated around the room. She knew that none of them could see the Afterlife Crime Unit’s Ghost Squad, but that didn’t stop some of them, who had gained newfound confidence at succeeding in weakening Betelgeuse, from trying to fight them. One man was jumping up and down, waving his fist at what was, to him, nothing but thin air. But Lydia could see the ghost standing in front of him, and she watched as the squad member slammed his fist into the man’s stomach, sending him flying backwards into a stand that was holding a heavy book. The book toppled off it and hit the man on the head, causing him to let out a howl of pain.

A clump of villagers lay on the floor a short distance away, all scrabbling to reach the church’s exit. Near to Rory was his loyal friend Larry, who was throwing holy water frantically at the space in front of him, where another Ghost Squad member was standing.

Father Damien, who was still clutching his heavy book, was slowly stepping away from the chaos, edging nearer to the church’s rear exit. When he finally reached it, he quickly rushed out of it, slamming the door behind him as he did so.

“This is chaos!” said Lydia, her voice cracking as she wondered how she was going to get to Betelgeuse, who, from what she could see, was still lying on the floor.

Rory moved closer to Betelgeuse's body and sneered down at the ghost. 

“Look at you!” he said, kicking him. “You can’t even fight! You have no power left!”

Lydia watched, seething, as Rory continued to lean over Betelgeuse’s body and taunt him.

“Did you honestly think that Lydia would love you when she has someone like me?” he snarled.

He kicked Betelgeuse again, and Wolf's voice cut through the air. 

“Get up, Geuse!” he shouted. “Get up and fight!”

“He’s too weak!” said Ophelia. “He’s let his feelings consume him, and the chanting…the ritual…has weakened him. He’s close…he’s close to…”

Ophelia’s words trailed off.

“Help him!” Lydia begged, turning to the Ghost Enchantress. “You have power! You can help him! Give him his strength and power back!”

But Ophelia shook her head sadly.

“He’s Betelgeuse,” said Juno, waving her cigarette around. “He can fight anything and anyone. He’ll beat this. I know he will.”

But Lydia didn’t miss the shakiness in the older woman’s voice.

“Go on, Geuse, get up!” shouted Wolf.

This time, his words of encouragement gave Betelgeuse a sudden burst of strength, and Lydia watched as the poltergeist’s hand reached out and grabbed Rory by the throat. Then, Betelgeuse’s head appeared above the heap of villagers and ghost squad members on the floor. He was snarling, and Rory’s smug expression immediately melted into one of pure fear. Lydia was about to call out, but before she could say anything, both Rory and Betelgeuse disappeared in a puff of green smoke.

Lydia immediately panicked, scanning the room for any sign of them as she wondered where they had gone. Seconds later, bits of dust and plaster began to rain down on the villagers who were still on the floor.

“They’re on the roof!” Lydia shouted. “Ophelia, I need to get on the roof! Please!”

Ophelia snapped her fingers, and seconds later, Lydia was on the roof of the church, watching as Rory begged for Betelgeuse to spare his life.

“Please, don’t hurt me! I’ll…I’ll send you back! I won’t ever bother you again! Just please…let me go.”

Lydia glanced up at the starry sky, wishing that none of this was happening, wishing that it were just her Betelgeuse dancing happily again. Neither Rory nor Betelgeuse had noticed her. Both were too consumed by their emotions, which in Betelgeuse’s case was rage and in Rory’s, pure terror.

This, Lydia knew, would be the end of Rory. She could see it in Betelgeuse’s eyes. She wanted to call out, wanted to tell him not to stoop to Rory’s level, to be the better person, to be the ghost that she knew he could be. But she didn’t need to, because Betelgeuse’s anger slowly melted away, leaving behind a look of compassion.

He was doing it. He was being the kind, gentle ghost that she had taught him to be. He was going to let Rory, who had taunted him and tried to defeat him permanently, walk away unscathed.

“Get the fuck out of here,” growled Betelgeuse. “And stay the hell away from Lydia. You understand?”

Rory nodded frantically and moved away from the ghost, trying desperately to steady himself on the church’s sloping roof.

Betelgeuse turned around then, and Lydia’s breath caught in her throat as they finally locked eyes. His gaze, which had been cold as he spoke to Rory, immediately softened and became warm.

“Lydia!” he breathed, his gravelly voice soft.

Lydia took a careful step towards him, and he gently took her hand, pulling her closer to him. He ran a hand through her hair, his expression a mixture of both joy and pain.

“You’re here,” he murmured, touching her as though he couldn’t believe she was real. “You’re really here.”

He moved his hand to her face and pressed his palm gently against her cheek. Lydia closed her eyes, relishing his touch, and placed her hand over his. For a moment, it felt as though there was no one else there but just them.

“That…right there,” Betelgeuse said, nodding at the ground below and laughing gently. “That was where we danced. That was an amazin’ night, wasn’t it, Lyds? Well, apart from the bit where I had to let you go…that part of the night sucked.”

Lydia let out a shaky laugh and reached out to touch his face, her heart racing as she looked into his warm, blue eyes. His form seemed different, less solid. Lydia realised, with horror, that this was a result of the damage caused by the prayers and rituals that Rory and the villagers had carried out in their quest to destroy him. The ghost seemed vulnerable and exposed, as though the slightest touch would destroy him.

And then, a sudden movement behind Betelgeuse caused Lydia to avert her gaze from his eyes, and she caught sight of Rory, whose expression was cold and murderous.

It happened in seconds. Rory reached underneath his shirt and pulled out a cast-iron cross. He lifted it high into the air and brought it down hard onto Betelgeuse’s back. The object pierced the ghost’s weakened body, and Betelgeuse let out a howl of pain before collapsing. Rory repeated the action of lifting the cross and then bringing it down onto Betelgeuse’s flesh, this time stabbing the ghost straight through where his heart had once been beating.

Betelgeuse brought his hand to his chest, where thick, black blood was now pooling. He looked up at Lydia and swayed precariously on the spot.

Lydia watched as Rory backed away with an unpleasant grin on his face. But his look of delight quickly melted into one of terror as he almost lost his balance. While Rory was steadying himself, Lydia shifted her gaze back to Betelgeuse. She tried to reach out to him, but he held a shaky hand up and shook his head.

He looked broken, defeated, and Lydia could see that he was dying. She could see it in his eyes, which were fast losing the brightness that she had grown to love. Betelgeuse gave her a weak smile, and then he spoke.

“Lydia…I…I l-love –”

But he never got to finish his sentence, because he finally toppled off the roof and hit the ground below with a sickening thud.

“No!” screamed Lydia, reaching out to the spot where Betelgeuse had just been standing. Rory took an unsteady step towards her, but before he could say or do anything, a loud cracking noise filled the air, and the roof began to shake. Lydia grabbed hold of the structure on which the church’s spire rested and steadied herself. Seconds later, a huge black and white striped worm burst out of the church’s roof. The creature, which had an extra head protruding from its mouth, swooped down and swallowed Rory in one whole mouthful, before disappearing back into the hole.

Wondering where the creature had come from, Lydia slowly leaned forward, trying hard not to lose her balance, and glanced through the huge hole in the church’s roof. Below, where the clump of villagers had been earlier, was a huge, square-shaped hole. Lydia guessed that the worm must have come from there, most likely summoned by Ophelia, who was standing next to the gaping hole in the floor and looking up at her with a morose expression.

Lydia slowly backed away, her heart racing, her mind telling her not to look down at the ground when Betelgeuse had landed.

But she did.

And all she could do was stare helplessly at his broken body, which had landed in the exact spot where they had started their dance a few weeks ago. Lydia shouted at him to move, to get up, to utter a joke or a pun, anything.

But he didn’t.

He lay there, unmoving, his form slowly becoming fainter as his body began to succumb to the rituals and the wounds caused by Rory’s final attempt to destroy him permanently.

And in Juno's office, the rose's last petal dangled, preparing for its descent to the bottom of the glass dome.