“I doubt it. I’m working with a ghost at the Isabella Stewart Gardener Museum. You don’t like to leave the building. Neither do I, for that matter. But do you think you could make it to the Fenway?”
“Weather permitting.”
“I wouldn’t want you to talk to Reginald, anyway.”
“Why not? I get along fine with other ghosts. Harold across the street and I would never have been friends in life, but now that we have something in common, we talk all the time.”
“Really? I didn’t know you two were so chummy.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say we’re best buds. We’re more like two dudes in the same life raft.” He chuckled. “I guess life isn’t the right word, but we’re both adrift.”
“What’s his story?”
“He just died in his sleep. Borrring. Not like my cool story of murder and intrigue.”
Morgaine rolled her eyes.
“What?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you, why haven’t you gone into the light, now that your unfinished business is finished.”
“But it’s not.”
“Yes it is.”
“Look, all I know is—” Chad floated over her head toward the door. “Crap, the jig’s up. To be honest, I’d go if a beam of light appeared someday, but it hasn’t. I don’t think they want me on the other side.”
“Awww…I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to feel excluded.”
“I’ll bet you do. Just the way you present yourself would scare off most people. Are you trying to protect yourself? Were you traumatized at some point in your life?”
“What a crazy question! Of course I’m not trying to scare people, and I’ve never been t-traumatized.”
“You can’t fool me, Morgaine. How long have I known you? How many times have you left the apartment?”
“It’s the business. I have to be here to answer the phones.”
“Bullshit. You always send Gwyneth to do your shopping. I don’t think you’ve even left to see a dentist or a doctor.”
“I’m a witch. I can heal myself.”
“So you’re saying you’ve never thought about dating? That you can’t go out and meet real people, because you have to answer the phone if a horny dude calls?”
“No, I’m not saying that at all. I just…well, guys don’t find me attractive, that’s all.”
“Then give up the ’90s gothic look, already! Get a makeover. What are you, thirty?”
Morgaine crossed her arms and frowned. “You’re one to talk. You’re stuck in the ’60s! Complete with bell bottom pants and love beads.”
“I’m dead. What’s your excuse?”
Chad waited for her to speak, but she remained silent.
“Oh, don’t pout.”
“I wasn’t pouting. I was trying to think of a spell to shut you up.”
“The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
