The command in his tone cuts through my panic. I force myself to think past the adrenaline screaming through my veins.
“My head,” I say. “I, uh, hit it on the floor when he slammed me down.”
He pulls a penlight out of his pocket, steadying me as he shines the light inward at each eye.
“Your pupils are responding,” he says. “We can give you a more thorough check at the house. Anything else?”
“Ectoplasm.” I cough again, more residue dripping from my mouth. I hate how weak I sound.
His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping in his cheek, but his voice stays level. “How much?”
“I don’t know. A lot?” I’m so tired of being scared. So tired of feeling like I can’t protect the people around me. “Would you stop interrogating me and go help Griffin? He’s the one who almost died!”
Nico’s eyes hold mine for one more second before he releases my chin and moves to Griffin.
He kneels beside Griffin’s crumpled form, feeling for his pulse. Griffin groans, and I’m so relieved that a laugh slips out.
“What happened?” Nico asks. He checks Griffin’s pupils, too.
“Morrow had him up on the ceiling,” I say, my words tumbling over each other. “I shot him with a salt round, which hit Griffin, and he fell. I caught his prosthetic. Did I get him anywhere else?”
Nico examines the torn fabric, pulling it aside to reveal the gleaming metal beneath. “Most of the shot hit metal. He’ll have some bruising where the leg connects, but nothing’s broken.”
My throat tightens. “It was—he was on the ceiling and the ghost was in front of him, and I didn’t have a choice?—”
“Stop.” Nico’s voice cuts through my spiral. “You did what you had to do.”
Not before I ran. If I’d just stayed, if I’d been faster or smarter or not completely useless, maybe Griffin wouldn’t be unconscious right now.
“I thought drinking salt water was supposed to protect us,” I say, hating how my voice cracks on the last word.
“It did,” Nico says, his hands moving over Griffin’s ribs. “Without it, we’d be scraping Griffin off the ceiling.”
What a comforting thought.
Mathis huddles in the corner, rocking back and forth with his arms wrapped around his knees. He’s been that way since he woke up, after Nico and Benji found us.
I crawl to him. He’s having full-body tremors.
“Hey,” I say, crouching in front of him.
Mathis’s eyes are fixed on one spot across the room. I try to see if he’s injured. He’s cradling one arm, but it’s not visibly broken. Tears cut shimmering tracks down his face. There’s an elliptical mark on his cheek, complete with individual tooth impressions from where I bit him. A drop of blood pools in one of the impressions. I feel horrible knowing I hurt Mathis, but is it bad that I’m a little proud I could bite that hard?
“I know that was scary,” I continue, keeping my voice low and steady the way Mom used to when I’d wake up from nightmares. “But it’s gone now. Can you tell me your name?”
His rocking slows. “Ed.”
“Hey, Ed. I’m Eden.” I lay a gentle hand on his arm. “We’re going to help you.”
Behind me, I hear Nico talking into his phone, coordinating with Donny and DJ. I focus on Ed. On the fact that his hands have unclenched just slightly from where they’re gripping his knees.
“What was that thing?” Ed asks. I rub my ear because I can still hear the scratching I heard coming from the sink, lingering like tinnitus.
I reach for something I read in the field guide, the thing on the edge of my memory about how to approach someone who just escaped possession. Donny wrote it’s best not to give them too much information up front, because the truth leads to more questions, and the most important thing to do for them at the beginning is to make them feel safe.
I don’t exactly know how to phrase this, so it takes me a couple of seconds to settle on: “Something evil that was controlling you, but it can’t hurt you anymore.”
Nico appears at my shoulder, his knee at the same level as my head.
