061 Bizarre Ghost - Part 2 - Mark’s POV

  I’d never been to a party before. Not a real one, anyway. Not the kind with chandeliers, a live string quartet, and people who used words like decadent without irony.

  But I was here now. And honestly?

  Not bad.

  After the whole dancing thing—which, for the record, I nailed—Mirai and I drifted off to the side of the ballroom where the buffet table beckoned like a warm, golden beacon. Plates stacked like tiny shields. Silver trays gleaming with foods I couldn’t pronounce but was absolutely going to eat anyway.

  Mirai picked at a small hors d'oeuvre while I carefully engineered my plate into a modern art sculpture of skewers, puff pastries, and some kind of jelly cube that smelled expensive.

  “This,” I said through a mouthful of meat wrapped in mystery dough, “is living.”

  Mirai smirked. “You’re easy to please.”

  “Why complicate joy?” I said. “Eating is immediate, effective, and doesn’t require telepathic countermeasures.”

  She laughed, but her eyes still scanned the ballroom with that subtle caution she always had… like a cat pretending it wasn’t watching the room for threats.

  For once, I wasn’t thinking about the cloak and dagger stuff. It wasn’t completely gone—because, you know, secret mission, strange reincarnating noble girl, and the whole mysterious exploding airship thing—but for right now? Not top priority.

  Top priority was sampling one of everything on the buffet.

  I thought briefly about Mom. The journals. The long nights deciphering scribbles and metaphysical warnings written in the margins of cookbooks and bedtime stories. None of that was useful now. Not here.

  There was nothing in those journals about how to hold a conversation with a noble while trying not to get spinach puff stuck in your teeth.

  And besides, the point of me being here wasn’t to study. It wasn’t even to observe. It was to exist—specifically within Mirai’s line of sight. That was the job. Be near her. Stay near her. Look casual while doing it.

  “What do you think about Lady Enoch?” Mirai asked suddenly.

  I blinked. “Huh?”

  She nodded across the ballroom.

  Lady Ash Enoch was talking quietly with Elena Faust. The two looked like a painting—old and new elegance, mirrored in posture but distinct in presence. Elena held herself like a knife kept in velvet. Lady Ash… softer, lighter, but with something ancient curled behind her smile.

  “She seems like an okay noble,” I said, chewing thoughtfully. “Didn’t try to curse anyone on sight. That’s a win in my book.”

  Mirai gave me a look. “If I mingle with them,” she said slowly, “do you think they won’t mind?”

  I followed her gaze. The noblewomen were still chatting, sipping from flutes of something that wasn’t champagne but sparkled like it wanted to be.

  I nodded. “Objectively? Lady Enoch wouldn’t mind. She’s just two years older than you. Statistically speaking, there’s probably a lot of overlapping interests. Books, politics, cursed heirlooms, tea preferences, etc. She doesn’t seem the type to judge.”

  Mirai didn’t reply immediately.

  I turned to her. “Why’re you asking? That’s not like you.”

  Her shoulders stiffened, just a little.

  “I’m not that impolite,” she said, voice clipped like she was swatting away a fly that didn’t deserve her full attention.

  I raised an eyebrow but let it go.

  “Didn’t say you were. Just surprised, is all.”

  She poked at the food on her plate, expression neutral, but I caught the flicker of something beneath it. Worry? Insecurity? Or just the rare discomfort of trying to socialize in a room full of powerfully dressed strangers?

  “I’ll go with you if you want,” I offered casually. “Make it look like a completely normal social engagement between a few incredibly overdressed teenagers.”

  She looked at me sideways, a half-smile forming. “You think she’ll talk about cursed heirlooms?”

  “One can only hope.”

  We both watched Lady Ash for a moment longer.

  I didn’t know what kind of noble she really was. Not yet. But if Mirai wanted to try, to step into that world for a minute… I’d back her up.

  Even if it meant risking another jelly cube.

  “You should go talk to them,” I said. “It’s part of the mission, right? Mingle. Build rapport. Observe from the inside.”

  Mirai hesitated, her brows scrunching like I’d just suggested she walk barefoot through a minefield. “You stay.”

  “Why?” I asked, grinning. “I’d like to mingle too, you know. Maybe swap cake recipes. Establish diplomatic ties.”

  But her gaze wasn’t on me anymore.

  I followed her line of sight.

  Elena Faust.

  Of course.

  Our brooding, sharp-tongued, perfect-postured classmate stood next to Lady Ash Enoch like she’d always belonged there. Elegant. Composed. She even held her drink like it was an accessory. Mirai, meanwhile, looked like she was trying to convince herself not to throw a canapé at her.

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  I got it. Sort of.

  According to Mom’s meta-knowledge—the fragmented, frustrating notes she’d left me in her journals—Elena was considered Mirai’s foil. The dark mirror. The rival. The villainess, in narrative terms. The kind of character designed to push the heroine into action. Conflict incarnate.

  And it seemed like neither of them had gotten that memo subtly.

  Mirai exhaled sharply, then dumped her half-full plate directly onto mine without a word. She didn’t even glance back as she marched toward Lady Enoch and Elena, her stride full of a confidence I wasn’t sure she actually felt.

  I watched her awkwardly deposit her empty plate on a tray a staff member was already trying to clear. She missed the mark slightly—clinked it onto the edge—but the staff caught it with practiced grace.

  Then she was gone, folded into the orbit of two powerful young women and trying not to look like she’d rather be anywhere else.

  I sighed, looking down at my now overburdened plate. A precarious tower of finger foods. I considered this the price of moral support.

  “You wanted to talk?” I asked, not turning around.

  I knew he was there. Had sensed him coming. Professor Merrick had a way of moving without sound, but I’d been training. Ever since his weird gladiator-style sparring tournament for our class—“educational purposes,” he claimed—I’d been pushing my five senses to the edge.

  Paranoia? Maybe.

  Preparedness? Definitely.

  He chuckled quietly behind me, that low, unreadable Merrick laugh. “Very good, Mark. You noticed.”

  I turned then, careful not to jostle the leaning tower of hors d’oeuvres on my plate. “You’re not that stealthy.”

  “That’s the lie you tell yourself so you can sleep at night,” he said, adjusting his coat. “But yes. I wanted to talk.”

  I frowned. “You going to finally tell me why you made us fight each other last week without safety net? Because frankly, professor… The rest of the class still hates your guts especially after the preferential treatement you’d shown to Greg.”

  “No,” he said smoothly. “But it was educational, wasn’t it? I admit, my teaching method have flaws, but it’s for a better future.”

  “That’s one word for it.”

  Merrick looked past me, toward where Mirai now stood in polite conversation with Lady Enoch and Elena. He didn’t smile, but something thoughtful settled behind his eyes.

  “She’s trying,” he said. “It’s not easy for her.”

  “I know,” I said. “She’s trying to prove she belongs.”

  “To herself or to them?”

  I shrugged. “Both, probably.”

  He gave a small nod, then looked at me again, more directly. “Tell me, Mark… do you think you’re just here to guard Lady Enoch?”

  I tilted my head. “Isn’t that the job?”

  “Part of it,” he said.

  I blinked. “That sounds… weirdly poetic for you.”

  Professor Merrick smiled faintly. “Enjoy the party while it lasts. And keep watching. Some ghosts don’t rattle chains… they just slip quietly between conversations.”

  I squinted at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Instead of answering, he gave me a meaningful glance and said, “Follow me.”

  Then he turned on his heel and started walking away.

  I hesitated. My arms were still full of Mirai’s abandoned food pile with my food mixed with them. But curiosity won. I took a step after him… and just like that, he reached over, swiped the plate from my hands, and unceremoniously dumped the entire thing onto Karl’s plate as he happened to pass by.

  Karl let out a surprised grunt. “Hey! Bonus snacks! Praise be to whatever hungry god decided I was worthy.”

  I stared. “I never knew he could be such a pig.”

  “He’s a growing boy,” Merrick said with mild amusement, already moving. “Come on. Keep close.”

  I jogged after him as he dropped the plate neatly onto a waiter’s tray without breaking stride. His walk had shifted—no longer casual but swift, refined. Too refined. The man didn’t so much walk as glide now. I had a sinking suspicion he was using telekinesis to fine-tune every muscle movement for optimal speed and grace.

  Show-off.

  We slipped out through a staff access door and into the cool night air. The temperature dropped by a few degrees. Outside the venue, the ballroom’s noise dulled to a muffled hum, like a party happening in someone else’s dream.

  I expected him to stop at the courtyard.

  He didn’t.

  He accelerated.

  “Wait, are we—?” I started to ask.

  Merrick launched himself off the edge of a low stone ledge with zero hesitation and landed cleanly on a garden wall.

  Parkour.

  Of course.

  I groaned, stretched a bit, and followed.

  I had some practice, thank you very much. I wasn’t just a scholar-slash-bodyguard-slash-reluctant hero. I’d trained. Mom had demanded it. That didn’t mean I enjoyed jumping between architectural features in formalwear, but here I was.

  Merrick flowed from ledge to awning to decorative archway like he was skating across gravity.

  I stumbled at least twice, cursed once, and nearly impaled myself on an artfully trimmed hedge. He never looked back to check if I was keeping up. I got the feeling that if I fell and broke my leg, he’d just throw me over his shoulder and keep going.

  Eventually, we reached a tiled roof near the outer edge of the estate. The moonlight bounced off the polished stone like something out of a drama holovid.

  Merrick perched himself at the highest point, one leg dangling casually, and gestured to a flatter portion beside him.

  I sat down, panting harder than I liked. My thighs were definitely going to hate me in the morning.

  “This better be important,” I said, catching my breath.

  “It is,” he replied, eyes scanning the dark horizon. “This roof has better reception.”

  I blinked. “Reception?”

  He smirked faintly. “Joking. Sit still. Listen. You feel that?”

  I closed my eyes. Focused. The wind, the faint hum of energy. The estate was surrounded by layered ESP barriers—wardings, cloaks, triggers. But something in the air felt… wrong. Faint. Distant. But wrong.

  “Something’s watching us,” I said quietly.

  “Good,” Merrick replied. “You’re not imagining it.”

  We sat in silence for a long moment, eyes trained on the shifting night.

  Something was out there.

  Something ghostly.

  And it didn’t rattle chains.

  We sat in silence for a while, just watching the night settle over the Enoch estate. The wind stirred the trees below, carrying with it faint music from the ballroom. Merrick hadn’t said anything yet, which was strange for him. Normally he couldn’t resist dropping some ominous philosophy or an observation laced with double meaning.

  Instead, he just sat there.

  Then, without looking at me, he asked, “Do you know your dad?”

  I blinked. That came out of nowhere. “No,” I said slowly. “He’s dead. My mom told me that when I was a kid.”

  “I see,” Merrick said quietly. “I’m asking because… I think you deserve to know.”

  And just like that, something shifted in the pit of my stomach. I looked at him sideways, the shadows of the rooftop cutting across his face in angles that made him seem older, sharper, almost unfamiliar.

  “You…” I swallowed. “Are you my dad?”

  Merrick finally turned to look at me.

  His face was unreadable. No smile, no smirk, no telling twitch in his eyes. I could feel my heartbeat in my ears.

  “No,” he said at last.

  I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “It’s fine,” I said, forcing a shrug. “I could tell you know my mom. She… had a picture of you.”

  That got his attention.

  “What? She did?” His voice lifted slightly—not shocked, but more like someone being told an old flame still kept their mixtape. A little flattered, a little confused.

  “She never talked about you. Just said the guy she dated in the Associationwas ‘arrogant and dangerously clever.’” I paused. “Which, well… checks out.”

  Merrick shook his head. “For the record, no—I’m not your father. That’s not some dramatic twist I’m building toward. You’re misunderstanding.”

  “Sure, sure,” I said, waving him off. “I get it. No way you’d admit to it. I mean, with the child support and my mom’s personality? Can’t blame a guy for running.”

  His lip twitched. A muscle in his jaw pulsed.

  “I mean,” I continued, warming up now, “when she told me my dad was dead, I honestly wondered if she killed him. Like, literally. Wouldn’t be out of character.”

  That did it. Merrick made a sound between a cough and a strangled laugh.

  “Ah,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Is it that kind of situation? You faked your death and now your days are numbered? You gonna leave me a cryptic letter and a magic sword or something?”

  He sighed like a man ten years older. “No,” he said firmly. “You are not my son. It’s a complete misunderstanding on your part.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “…And yes,” he added, finally, “your mother and I were romantically involved.”

  “Oh.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  “Still are,” he added with a cough. “Kind of.”

  I stared at him. “You poor bastard.” But… kind of?

  He laughed—genuinely, that time—and leaned back on his hands. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

  For a moment, the wind picked up and whistled around the edge of the roof. The two of us sat there, two weird men with complicated mothers and stranger lives, and I realized something:

  This night had gotten way weirder than any ball ever should.