Page 166 of Love at First Fright

“Listen, Brad,” I said, quickly tucking my dick away, but then stopped short. Because I had absolutely no idea what to say. Sorry you caught me getting a blow job from a ghost in a cupboard didn’t seem like the right opener.

“I knew it!” Brad exploded, spittle flying from his lips. “I fucking knew something strange was going on with you! All those times you kept looking at thin air, the weird stuff you came out with, the talking coming from your bedroom—but I didn’t for one second think you were… you were…” His face twisted with absolute disgust. “Having sex with a ghost!”

The ranting continued, his voice getting higher and more hysterical with each word. He was practically foaming at the mouth, going on about how fucking sick I was, how unprofessional, how the handbook explicitly stated not to flirt with entities, let alone shag them.

I zipped up my uniform with exaggerated care. See. Total professional right here, everyone.

Brad’s cruel laughter cut through the air. “And just wait until Gerald finds out about your little emo ghost boyfriend!”

Bat beamed, glancing at me with those ridiculously hopeful brown eyes. “We’re boyfriends?!”

That did it. Brad’s hand flew to his belt, unholstering his PolterPulse with the speed of someone who’d been dying to use it. The weapon’s barrel pointed straight at Bat’s chest.

“I’ve had enough of this shit,” he snarled. “You’re all going down, starting with you right here, freak.”

The weapon whined as it powered up, that distinctive high-pitched whir that meant business.

I didn’t think. I just moved.

I threw myself between Brad and Bat just as the trigger clicked. Neon blue slammed into my chest. Everything went white. Pain ripped through me—fire and ice and electricity all at once. My lungs stopped. Just stopped. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Just pain. My knees hit the floor.

“Charlie!” Bat shrieked.

The world tilted sideways, the electrical fire racing through my veins like molten metal.

Brad fired again. Bat dematerialised with a cry, then popped up beside Brad like some vengeful jack-in-the-box. His hands slammed into Brad’s chest, sending him flying across the corridor. Brad’s body hit the opposite wall so hard that dust and plaster exploded in a white cloud around him.

“You!” Brad wheezed, struggling to his feet and pointing a shaking finger at Bat. “It was you who threw me across the attic!”

Bat glared at him, fury radiating from every line of his translucent form. “You bet I did. You were hurting Charlie.”

Brad raised the PolterPulse again, but Bat vanished just as the blue beam cut through empty air.

The temperature in the corridor plummeted.

Molly materialised behind Brad, her bloodstained face cloth fluttering, dark hair escaping her bun in wild tendrils. Her one visible eye fixed on Brad with murderous intent.

Brad spun around, saw her, and flinched so violently he nearly dropped his weapon.

“Excuse me, sir,” Molly said, her voice peppered with perfect politeness. “But I believe you’ve outstayed your welcome here.”

Brad spun towards her, weapon raised. The PolterPulse discharged with that horrible whining sound. Blue light slammed into Molly’s chest; she dissipated instantly.

“Molly!” Bat shouted, lunging forward.

My breath caught. I’d never taken Brad’s silly devices seriously before—they seemed like props from a budget sci-fi film. But the lingering fire in my chest told a different story. If the PolterPulse could do this to me, could it really “kill” the ghosts?

I forced myself to my feet, legs still shaky but functional.

Just in time to see Rosemary sink her teeth into Brad’s ankle.

“ARGGGG!!! WHAT THE FUCK!” Brad screamed, thrashing wildly. He kicked at the Victorian child clinging to his leg like a determined terrier, but she held fast, her little jaw locked around his Achilles tendon. The PolterPulse went flying from his grip, smashing directly into my abandoned coffee cup.

Ceramic exploded everywhere. Hot coffee splashed across the corridor tiles, mixing with broken pottery in a caffeinated disaster.

Henry materialised beside the fallen weapon, his cherubic face split by a wicked grin. He grabbed the PolterPulse with both hands, hefting it like it weighed nothing at all.

“New toy!” he announced cheerfully.