Page 46 of The Devil and His Ghost

With our cart still stuck at the top, I got up and moved to her side. I sat in the vacant spot by Nightly, the bat plushie acting as a safety net between us. Catsper, most likely feeling the cart shift with my movements, poked his head inside from the roof to look down at us.

“We’ll make up for it all,” I vowed. I found myself meaning each word more than the last as I continued, “Everything you want to do, I’ll make sure you get to do it. Everything you missed out on, we’ll recreate together.”

Her brow furrowed in disbelief even as I saw hope flicker in her gaze. “You talk as if you’re sticking around for more than this one work trip.”

“Why can’t I?” I responded with a shrug.

I glanced down at her hand in her lap. I slid my own across Nightly to wrap my pinky around hers. She sucked in a hard breath but let me land our wound hands in the stuffed animal’s lap. The unspoken promise in the gesture deepened the truth of my words.

“We’re friends,” I continued. “Friends hang out. As long as I know where you are, I can pop over in a second.”

Only after I’d said the words did I realize how much I meant them. I knew other demons like Zagan or Dante had trouble slapping labels like “friends” on others, especially humans. But that wasn’t a problem for me. If I liked someone, I liked them. If I didn’t, I didn’t. And I liked Kendyll. A lot. Calling her my friend felt as natural as calling Perseus my best friend.

Though admittedly, something didn’t sit exactly right in my chest. It was a puzzle piece that almost fit, but I was also forcing it a little. Like maybe there was another piece, another word, in the sea of possibilities that fit even better.

Pink dotted her cheeks. She pushed her glasses up her nose with her free hand while averting her gaze. “If you say so.”

My grin widened, glad to see her fluster had replaced the somber edge that had been creeping in. I squeezed her pinky tighter. She’d already lost enough. I didn’t want her past to steal a second more of the freedom and fun of today.

“If you weren’t working for Bethelma, what would you be doing?” I asked, directing us to what I hoped would be a safer conversation for her.

“Easy,” she answered. “The same thing I’m doing now. Helping ghosts. Visiting them. I like spending time with those who everyone else ignores and learning about the spirits. I wouldn’t involve a TV production crew or even film it for the public. It would just be for me and the ghosts and those who called on me. Kind of like ghosts busters, only I wouldn’t be there to get rid of the ghosts per se. I’d talk to and try to understand the ghosts.”

“You’d be perfect at that.”

“I really do love what I do. Going to haunted locations. Finding spirits. Connecting with them and hearing their stories. It’s just all the production nonsense and lies and Bethelma that sucks.”

“How much longer do you have on your contract?”

She let out a long sigh and looked at our hands in Nightly’s lap. “Six years. Six more years until I’m finally free.”

The look of longing that filled her eyes made lead settle in my gut. She’d always been locked away or bound by circumstances. She’d never tasted freedom. I’d lived the complete opposite. Every day was a new chance at life, fun, and selfish desires. Nothing held me down. Nothing stopped me from going where I wanted or doing what I wanted.

Life was mine.

I wanted life to be hers, too.

Kendyll eventually suggested I release the ferris wheel before the fire department came to rescue all the occupants from the ride. Power hummed vigorously in my veins from all of the confusion, terror, anger, and panic I’d caused in stopping the ride. Begrudgingly, I let the wheel spin once more.

When Kendyll and I got off, Catsper leapt off the roof of our pod to land gracefully on the head of Kendyll’s bat plushie, which she held in one arm while I held her other hand.

“This way,” I told her, pulling her in the direction of a large building.

The crowd in this section of the park was sparse. This pathway only led to a lone building, and upon reaching the dark and quiet structure, I realized why no one was here.

“What is this place? Another ride?” Kendyll asked. “It looks like it’s closed.”

I stepped into the shadow of the building and tugged her flush against me. My lips hovered over her ear, and I whispered, “Maybe for humans.”

Shadows converged around us. When they cleared, we stood in an aisleway. The building was far too dark for Kendyll’s human eyes to make out the benches and tables that surrounded the large attraction in the center, separated from us by only a waist-high wall.

“Where …”

Smirking, I snapped my fingers. Dozens of orange balls of flames appeared with a whoosh of air, hovering around the wall we stood beside like floating candles. Kendyll squeezed her bat plushie with both arms as her bright gaze took in the sight before her.

“It’s an ice rink!” she exclaimed before fixing that gleaming attention on me.

“I figured ice skating was a nice way to end the day, and since it’s apparently closed, you have the whole rink to yourself. No one to watch you stumble about like a newborn giraffe.”