A ghosts CBS fanfic

A carload of weed and a carload of readable decisions

The mansion had never seen a night like this.
Even the walls—used to centuries of strange noises—seemed to vibrate with music, chatter, and a faint smell of...well, something herbal. Sam and Jay had gone all-in: flashing lights strung along the old banister, speakers thumping with a playlist that kept veering from disco to eighties pop to Hetty's occasional shriek of "WHAT IS A PITBULL AND WHY IS HE YELLING ABOUT THE FLOOR?"

Tonight wasn't about restraint. Jay's possible death had cast a shadow over the house for weeks, but this party was his and Sam's answer: If time might be short, live like it isn't.

Ghosts from all over were there—Pete had brought a boatload of ghosts who just like him could leave their property line. Among them was Reginald, Hetty's long-departed butler. Hetty spotted him across the room and gave a scandalized little gasp that was much too delighted to be genuine.

******************************************

Isaac tried to focus on the buffet table (the spread was entirely for show, of course, but Sam had thoughtfully placed a fan in front of it so the ghosts could feel the aroma).
But his attention kept snapping back to Nigel.

Nigel was dazzling.
because he'd apparently been in what the ghosts were calling it the weed car. A Revolutionary officer from Vermont was laughing far too hard at something Nigel said. A Hessian soldier stood perilously close, pretending not to ogle his profile.

Isaac's stomach twisted.

Before his mind caught up, he crossed the floor, grabbed Nigel lightly by the sleeve, and hissed,
"May I borrow you for a moment? Upstairs. Now."

Nigel arched a perfect brow. "Is this about strategy or jealousy?"

"Both!" Isaac snapped, then softened. "Please."

They slipped into an empty bedroom. The party throbbed faintly beneath their feet.

"You must stop," Isaac blurted. "The flirting—it's...unseemly."

Nigel's eyes sharpened despite the haze. "Unseemly? Isaac, you left me at the altar. You surrendered all rights to govern my social conduct."

"That's not—Nigel, I simply—"

"No." Nigel's voice cracked like a musket shot. "You cannot break my heart and then order me to keep it safe for you."

The words landed heavier than any cannonball.
Isaac flinched. "I was wrong. I am wrong. I—"

But Nigel's fury trembled into something fragile. He turned away, shoulders stiff.
"I can flirt with whomever I please."

And with that, he left, boots echoing down the hallway.

******************************************

Meanwhile, downstairs, Hetty and Reginald had discovered a shadowed alcove behind the grand staircase.

"My word," Reginald murmured, "you haven't aged a day."

"Nor have you," Hetty purred. "Death becomes you, Reggie."

Before long, the two were pressed scandalously close, exchanging kisses far more passionate than either would admit to in daylight.

Across the room, Trevor's jaw dropped
"Yo—are they making out?!"

Beside him, Elias Woodstone fumed. "That was supposed to be my scandalous hallway encounter!"

"Dude," Trevor muttered, "I think we just got out-jealoused."

******************************************

The shed was blissfully quiet compared to the mansion's chaos. Jenkins had retreated there to escape the thumping music—and, if he was honest, the sight of Nigel laughing with a particularly handsome drummer boy.