Page 138 of Love at First Fright

Brad grunted from somewhere near me. “Good.”

That was it. Good. Like I’d just recovered from a minor stumble rather than nearly being murdered by a centuries-old vengeful spirit.

“We need to rebury her bones,” I said, still on my knees in the mud. My voice came out hoarse and shaky. “Now.”

For once, Brad actually agreed with me without argument. Though his method of reburying Margery’s remains was to kick the scattered bones into the grave hole like he was clearing leaves off a pavement. Hardly respectful, considering what we’d just witnessed, but I lacked the energy to protest.

My hands shook as I crawled through the mud, searching for my glasses. The golden wire frame had snapped clean in half, across the nose, one lens spider-webbed with cracks.

“They look fucked,” Brad observed helpfully.

I didn’t bring a spare pair. Never occurred to me I’d need them for a simple ghost investigation. Now I’d have to cope with everything being a blurry mess for however long we stayed here. Didn’t seem terribly sensible in a place where things were quite possibly out to kill you.

My legs trembled as I climbed to my feet. The world swam in and out of focus, shapes bleeding into indistinct smudges of colour.

Something long and pale dangled from Brad’s fingers.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” Brad’s fist snapped shut, shoving whatever it was into his pocket.

“Charlie,” Bat said sharply, floating closer. “He’s got one of her fingers.”

My stomach dropped. “Is that one of her bones?” I demanded. “What are you playing at? We don’t need a bloody souvenir from that experience.”

Brad sniffed, wiping some mud off his cheek with the back of his palm. “It’s an insurance policy.”

“Insurance—”

“So she doesn’t murder us in our sleep,” he said, words clipped. “Separating bones weakens the spirit. Basic containment protocol.”

I stared at him. The man had just kicked a centuries-old woman’s remains into a hole like rubbish, and now he wanted to keep bits of her as protection? After she’d specifically told us not to disturb her bones again?

“Put it back.”

“No.”

“Brad, I’m not asking—”

“And I’m not taking orders from a rookie with no field experience!” Brad’s voice rose. “You don’t know what she’s capable of. This gives us leverage.”

The pain in my ribs flared white-hot. My hands shook. The blurred world tilted sideways, and I had to lock my knees to stay upright.

“Put. It. Back.”

For a long moment, Brad held my gaze. Something passed across his blurry face—calculation, resentment, maybe a flicker of uncertainty.

“Fine!” He wheeled around, boots squelching in the mud as he marched back towards the grave. “Bloody fine!”

He crouched at the edge of the hole. His arm extended downward. After a moment, he straightened and turned back, brushing his hands off on his jumpsuit.

“Happy now?”

Not remotely. But at least the bone was back where it belonged.

Brad grabbed the shovel and began kicking dirt back into the grave with a lot more force than necessary. Each impact sent clods of earth tumbling into the darkness below.

“Right, listen, I need a break,” I said, voice hoarse. “I want to be alone for a bit.”