Page 95 of Love at First Fright

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I’d had enough.

I slunk off Charlie’s lap, landing on the floor with a soft thud. Neither of them noticed. Too engrossed in Alan Cromwell’s absolute bollocks.

In the corridor, I released my hold on the cat. It shook itself, gave me a baleful look, then trotted off.

I counted to twenty. Slow. Deliberate. Letting my irritation settle into something I could control.

Then I materialised.

Just for Charlie.

I made sure Brad wouldn’t see me—a little trick I’d perfected over the years. Selective visibility. Energy draining as hell, but worth it.

Charlie’s eyes widened the second I appeared next to the doorframe.

“There’s no witch here,” I said flatly. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

Charlie opened his mouth. Closed it. Glanced at Brad, who remained oblivious, still reading with the dedication of someone who’d just discovered their life’s purpose.

“Um…” Charlie cleared his throat. “This is all very interesting, Brad, but maybe we need to keep an open mind?”

“Nah.” Brad didn’t even look up. “You’d be surprised how often it’s a witch. This makes perfect sense. Angry women make the most powerful ghosts.”

“Brad’s an idiot,” I said.

Charlie bit his lip, but I caught the grin he tried to hide.

“Especially when they’re burnt at the stake,” Brad continued, warming to his theme. “That makes them super pissy.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “The last witch execution in Britain was in seventeen twenty-seven.”

Charlie’s gaze flicked to me, then back to Brad. “Actually, the last witch execution in Britain was in seventeen twenty-seven.”

Brad’s head snapped up. “How do you know that?”

Charlie looked at me.

I shrugged. “History books?”

Charlie shrugged at Brad. “History books.”

For a moment, Brad just stared at him. Then he jumped to his feet, chair scraping against the floor. “Right. We need to go find this bitch.”

“You mean witch?”

Brad shook his head like Charlie had said something incomprehensible.

Charlie glanced at me, then back at Brad. “Well… my paid workday is technically over, so I think I’ll wash up, then go upstairs to get signal. I might read a bit more of the book. But you can obviously do whatever you want.”

Brad grunted. “Suit yourself.”

He stormed off, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Finally. Cheerio, Brad, you bellend.

“There’s no witch here,” I repeated.