Page 199 of Primal

But it’s real. It’s ours.

It’ll damn well stay—demons, scars, and all.

Epilogue

“…and then the little ghost said, ‘ Boo’—but only because he wanted a friend.”

A few kids squeal with that particular kindergarten bravado—the kind that only exists among construction paper bats and glitter.

I close the book and take in the sea of tiny faces.

The girl who showed me her ‘spooky’ dance earlier, now vibrating with barely-contained energy. The quiet boy who’s been methodically peeling glue off his fingers all morning, currently gnawing his Batman cape. The small figure in the back hugging her knees, watching everything with eyes too old for her sequined witch headband.

The classroom breathes around us—tempera paint, artificial grape scent, the ghost of Goldfish crackers. Someone’s juice box still glistens in the corner.

“Can we read the monster one again?” asks the glitter witch. Her voice has that particular whine perfected by five-year-olds who know exactly how to work a crowd.

Next to her, the dragon kid—who cried when his hood slipped during the parade—shoves the drooping eye out of his face. “Yeah! Where the monster eats all the …” He trails off, suddenly distracted by his own cape tie.

I glance over at the teacher by the cubbies—Miss Lorna. She’s got a clipboard in hand, pretending to check attendance but really just watching me. Not judging. More like … curiosity. Maybe even gratitude. The kind you offer someone who steps into a ghost-shaped hole.

Kristy’s old desk in the corner is now buried under construction paper pumpkins, a few framed photos, and a plastic cauldron of candy. Earlier, one of the kids showed me a crayon drawing of colorful stick figures and wobbly hearts surrounding a dark-haired woman in a midi dress labeled Miss K floating above a rainbow.

I probably looked away too fast.

“Don’t you ghouls have a hallway to haunt and a candy bucket to overfill?”

“Miss K always gave us two stories,” a tiny voice pipes up.

Miss Lorna clears her throat. “Okay, spooky squad, we’ve taken up enough of Miss Payton’s time. She’s got other important grown-up stuff to get to.”

A collective groan ripples through the group. One kid flops onto his back like his spirit has officially left his body.

“Can’t she stay for just one more story?” the dragon boy pleads.

“No fair!” says the glitter witch. “Miss K used to let us ask questions!”

Miss Lorna gives me a sidelong glance. I nod.

“Three questions,” she says, her tone mock-stern but fond. “Then we let Miss Payton escape before she’s buried in glitter and Goldfish crumbs.”

I hold up three fingers. “Three questions. Make ’em count.”

Little arms waving like antennae. A fairy princess practically levitating off her seat. Someone—probably the werewolf—lets out an excited howl.

I point to Cat Ears first. “Go for it.”

“What’s your favorite candy?”

“Twix,” I answer. “The left one. But only because it’s clearly the superior twin.”

Next is a boy with a crooked vampire cape. “Do you got a boyfriend?”

A few kids giggle. I arch a brow. “Why? You planning to ask me out?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. My mom says it’s never too early to be proactive.”

Even Miss Lorna laughs at that one.