Page 78 of Love at First Fright

I grinned at him. Forced my feet to the floor and mimicked taking steps. The sensation felt strange. Foreign. Clumsy. I’d gotten so used to drifting that actual walking required conscious effort.

“The only silver lining to being dead.”

It came out flat, not the joke I’d intended, and Charlie’s gaze sharpened. Curiosity flickered across his face—the desperate, burning kind. He wanted to ask: how did you die? When? Why are you still here?

I would want to ask those things too, if I were him.

“Are the other ghosts like you?”

“Like me?”

“Able to show themselves. Possess people. Throw dickheads across attics.”

I grinned at him. “Nah. I’m definitely special. Lots of the ghosts here are wisps. They might manage the occasional door slam if they’re really worked up. Me?” I flexed my fingers, watching them solidify and fade. “I can do a lot more than that. But it’s not unlimited. Takes energy. The more I do—appearing, moving things, possessing assholes—the more drained I get. Need time to recharge between performances.”

“Recharge how?”

“Existing. Resting. Being quiet.” I pulled a face. “Not my strong suit.”

Charlie’s expression shifted—part fascination, part scientific curiosity. Like he wanted to pull out a notebook and start taking notes. “So you’re basically running on batteries.”

We entered the library.

Lady Grimthorne sat in her usual armchair beside the fireplace that hadn’t been lit in many, many years. She looked exactly as she always did: stern face, steel-grey hair pulled back severely, high-necked gown that rustled when she moved. Her dog-eared copy of Dracula lay open in her lap.

“Morning,” I said cheerfully.

Charlie looked at me funny. Then looked at the armchair. Looked back at me.

“Lady Grimthorne, would you be so kind as to introduce yourself to Charlie?”

She snapped the book shut. “Introduce myself?” The words came out shrill. Affronted. “To the Spirit Extraction Specialist?”

I rolled my eyes. “Calm down. It’s the least you could do after you scared him. He promises not to throw salt in your face, don’t you, Charlie?”

Charlie squinted adorably at the armchair as if he could force his eyes to see her through sheer willpower alone. “Umm… sure?” He patted his pocket where I knew Brad’s salt still resided. “As long as she doesn’t come too close.”

The lady of the manor made a noise. Indignant. Offended. “Can he possibly imagine I’d move from my chair?”

I snorted. Several other residents of the manor enjoyed sitting in the armchair during her absences just to wind her up. To be fair, her reactions were priceless.

“Well? Will you say hello?”

She scoffed. Then sighed. Then finally said, “Fine.”

She revealed herself to Charlie.

I watched his expression shift from confusion to shock to wonder. His lips parted. His eyes went even more enormous behind his glasses.

Lady Grimthorne materialised gradually. First a shimmer in the air. Then an outline. Then colours bleeding through until she sat there in full ghostly glory, translucent but unmistakably present.

“Lady Grimthorne,” she addressed him curtly. Chin lifted. Posture impeccable even in death. “My full title at all times, if you please.” I tried not to smirk. She got super pissy when we called her Lady G.

Charlie appeared too stunned to reply.

I nudged him with my elbow.

“Hello.” His voice came out strangled. “I’m… I’m Charlie. And you can call me… Charlie.”