Page 212 of Love at First Fright

I couldn’t scream. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

Just convulsed on the floor as the PolterPulse’s dying circuits discharged directly into my nervous system.

Blue light flashed behind my eyelids. My heart stuttered in my chest—thud-thud-skip-thud-nothing.

“CHARLIE!”

Bat’s voice. Distant. Terrified.

My lungs burned for air that wouldn’t come. The electricity kept flowing, kept locking my muscles, kept stopping my heart from beating.

Thud.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

The basement faded. Sound disappeared. Even the pain receded, replaced by something vast and empty and cold.

My heart stopped.

thirty

Bat

“CHARLIE!”

Again, I tried to kick that goddamn weapon, and again, nothing. Sheer panic shredded my concentration, made me wispy, made me useless.

Focus. Fucking focus.

I threw everything I had into my foot and kicked at the gun. My boot connected with a satisfying crunch.

The PolterPulse flew across the basement, smashing against the far wall.

Yet Charlie’s body was limp.

Too limp.

“Charlie.”

His limbs jerked once, then stilled. Fingers uncurled against the stone. Head lolling to one side.

“Charlie!”

My voice broke.

A soft glow emanated from his chest—pale gold threading upward like smoke. It coalesced beside his body. Took shape.

Charlie stood there. My lovely Charlie. Whole. Confused. He looked down at himself—at his body sprawled on the stone—and his face crumpled.

“No.” I shook my head, backing away. “No, no, no!”

My gaze slid to my door. The door waiting for me. Could Charlie see it? Carved from light itself, edges shimmering like heat haze. I could feel it—ancient and patient and finite. Waiting.

Charlie’s ghost looked at me. His eyes held a terrible calm. “It’s okay, Bat.”