Shrugging, I pushed open the heavy door. The overwhelming scent of lavender, sage, and cleaning supplies immediately made my eyes water. Prior to our lunch at the café, Thorne had left little satchels full of herbs and other mystical paraphernalia tucked around the building to “rejuvenate the aura.” The ghosts had immediately hated them, and so had I. But it’d seemed rude to remind Thorne that vampires and lavender were not, historically, a winning combination. It did something to our senses, fried our noses, and made our eyes burn. So, I hadn’t mentioned it.
Now I wish I had. The smell had…intensified in our absence.
Thorne hovered in the doorway, the stolen pie box still clutched in one hand. “You sure you don’t want me to stay? In case the toilet demon tries to murder you in your sleep?”
“Thanks, but I’ll manage,” I said. I needed to open some windows. Air this place out. Cuz yikes. “I survived last night, didn’t I? And I have your herb bundles to protect me should the need arise.”
“Don’t forget the rose quartz too,” she said. “It’s for love and emotional healing.”
I frowned. “Ghosts need emotional healing?”
She laughed, the sound easy and bright—but her expression sobered a beat later. “No, darling, they don’t. But you do.”
I gave her a look.
She tilted her head. “Don’t make that face. You’re allowed to need things too, you know.”
“Noted,” I said primly, though the corner of my mouth betrayed me with a slight twitch. “Goodnight, Thorne.”
“Call me if the toilet starts whispering again.”
“Call you?” I scoffed. “If that toilet so much as looks in my direction, you’ll hear me screaming all the way across town.”
Thorne grinned, saluted me with her stolen pie, and disappeared into the night.
I closed the door behind her—this time making sure to lock it—then turned and took in my domain. It looked better. But not by much.
I started for the stairs, dreaming of a shower. Not that I could have one, thanks to the possessed toilet. I’d have to discuss that with Thorne tomorrow. I needed a working bathroom for hygiene purposes, so it was time to evict my toilet demon.
I’d barely taken three steps when the air seemed to grow thicker, and I suddenly had the sense that I wasn’t alone anymore.
Had one of the ghosts solidified, like the one at the café?
I glanced behind me, but there wasn’t anyone else here.
Okay. All in my head then.
I moved to take the next step, and that was when something cold brushed my arm.
“All right,” I murmured. “Are we feeling dramatic tonight?” What new tricks would my resident ghosties show me this time?
The reply came not in words, but in sensation—a heavy, invisible hand pressed against my chest, firm enough to halt my progress. I tried again. It didn’t just resist this time—it pushed.
Hard.
I tumbled down the stairs, barely catching the banister before crashing to the floor.
“What the hell!” I muttered, regaining my balance.
The ghosts didn’t like me, that much was obvious. They’d made their displeasure at my presence known more than once. But this was going a tad too far. They’d never physically manhandled me before.
The violent clinking of the chandelier caught my attention. I glanced up to find it swaying, and not gently. It practically rocked the entire ceiling as it moved.
“Bernard?” I whispered.
I’d never seen him behave this way. He usually only moved the chandelier when I stood beneath it, as though warning me away from it. But right now, its chain creaked as it swung hard once, twice, then stopped entirely sideways. Completely defying gravity.
It hovered like that for a beat, then jerked—pointing.
