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I tuned them out and focused on the woman. As I drew near, I could hear her muted sobs. I sighed and leaned against the dining room doorway.
"Look," I said. "Whatever happened to you, I'm sure it was bad, but you have to move on. Go into the light or click your heels three times or whatever. Get thee to the other side, ghost."
The woman didn't even look up. Only thing worse than a stubborn spirit is a rude one. I'd seen her here at least a dozen times since the kids had moved in, and not once had she so much as acknowledged my presence. Never spoke. Never left that chair. Never stopped crying. And I thought I had a lousy afterlife.
I softened my tone. "You have to get over it. You're wasting your time--"
She faded, and was gone. Really. Some people.
"Where's that new stereo you got?" the boy asked through a mouthful of multigrain bread.
"In my room." Savannah hesitated. "You wanna go up and see it?"
The boy jumped to his feet so fast his chair tumbled over backward. Savannah laughed and helped him right it. Then she grabbed his hand and led him to the stairs.
I stayed at the bottom.
A moment later, music rocked the rafters. Nothing I recognized. Dead three years, and I was already a pop-culture has-been. No, wait. I did recognize the song. "(Don't Fear) the Reaper"...but with a techno beat. Who the hell was this? Not Blue Oyster Cult, that's for sure. What kind of crap--? Oh God, I was turning into my mother. I'd avoided it all my life and now--
A man walked through the wall. Two inches taller than me. A decade older. Broad shoulders. Thickening middle. Thinning blond hair. Gorgeous bright blue eyes, which followed my gaze to the stairs.
"And what does our daughter desperately need your help with today?" he asked.
Kristof Nast's contribution to "our daughter" had been purely biological, having not entered her life until just days before the end of his. My choice, not his. After I'd become pregnant, I'd skedaddled. Took him thirteen years and a mortal blow to the head, but he'd finally caught up with me.
He cocked his head, listened to the music, and pulled a face. "Well, at least she's out of the boy-band stage. And it could be worse. Bryce went through heavy metal, then rap, then hip-hop, and at each phase I swore the next one couldn't be any worse, but he always found something--" Kristof stopped and waved a hand in front of my eyes.
"Come on, Eve," he said. "Savannah's taste may be questionable, but she doesn't require musical supervision."
"Shhh. Can you hear anything?"
He arched his brows. "Besides a badly tuned bass guitar and vocals worthy of a castrated stray cat?"
"She has a boy up there."
Another frown, deeper this time. "What kind of boy?"
"Human."
"I meant what 'sort' of boy. This isn't the same one--" He closed his mouth with an audible click of his teeth, then launched into a voice I knew only too well, one I heard in my head when he wasn't around. "All right. Savannah has a boy in her room. She's fifteen. We both know they aren't up there on a study date. As for exactly what they're doing...is that really any of your business?"
"I'm not worried about sex, Kris. She's a smart girl. If she's ready--and I don't think she is--she'll take precautions. But what if he's ready? I barely know this guy. He could--"
"Force her to do something she doesn't want?" His laugh boomed through the foyer. "When's the last time anyone forced you to do something against your will? She's your daughter, Eve. First guy who puts a hand where she doesn't want it will be lucky if he doesn't lose it."
"I know, but--"
"What if they do turn that music down? Do you really want to hear what's going on?"
"Of course not. That's why I'm staying down here. I'm just making sure--"
"You can't make sure of anything. You're dead. That boy could pull a gun on her and there's not a damn thing you could do about it."
"I'm working on that!"
He sighed. "You've been working on it for three years. And you're no better off than when you started." He hesitated, then plowed forward. "You need to step back from it for a while. Take a break."
"And do what?"
