Page 51 of Love at First Fright

I felt ridiculous.

Yet… safer.

Maybe I could sprinkle salt around my bed tonight. Create a protective circle or some shit. Like something out of a paranormal film.

The absurdity hit me sideways. Me, on my hands and knees, drawing salt circles like a paranoid occultist. A laugh barked out of my throat before I could stop it.

Brad side-eyed me. “What?”

“Nothing.”

He rummaged through his suitcase, tossing aside rugby shirts and protein bars, then whipped out—

A gun.

I jumped backwards, hands shooting up. “What the fuck!”

Brad laughed. Actually laughed, waving the thing about like it was a toy. “Relax. I’m not going to shoot you.” He studied it, tilting it in the light. “Well, unless you jump in the way.”

“Why have you brought a gun here?” The words came out strangled. I stared at the weapon—sleek black metal, compact barrel. I’d never seen a gun before. Not outside of crime dramas anyway.

Brad grinned. He raised it, mimed shooting me.

I flinched.

His grin widened. “Jumpy.”

Asshole.

I gritted my teeth, forced myself to lower my hands. “Answer the bloody question.”

“It’s not a gun, you muppet. It’s a PolterPulse V2.1.” He held it up proudly. “Laser plasma accelerator. Gerald’s latest kit from that guy I was saying about. It can banish spirits for a short time—doesn’t kill them permanently, just disrupts their manifestation. Sends them packing for a bit. Gives you breathing room.”

“Can I have one?”

“No.” Brad’s smile turned nasty. “They only issued one, and I’m keeping it. You haven’t done the advanced training, so you’d probably fry your own brains with it or something. You’ll just have to stick close to me.”

I stared at him.

No thanks. I’d rather die.

“Right,” Brad announced, tucking the PolterPulse back into his belt. “Can’t get into the crypt yet, so next on our list is the basement.”

A prickle ran across the back of my neck. Cold. Like someone had blown gently against my skin.

I spun around.

Nothing.

The room was empty except for Brad’s scattered belongings. Yet the sensation lingered—a ghost of breath against my nape, raising goosebumps along my arms.

“Um… do we have to?”

Every horror film I’d ever watched flashed through my mind. Basements had a terrible reputation. Dark. Confined. Full of things that wanted to murder you. The smart characters never went into basements. The smart characters survived.

Brad smirked. “What, scared?”

“No.” Yes. Absolutely terrified.