Page 20 of Hot Ghost Summer

Another burst of emotion-fuelled static crackles, and this time it’s strong enough to sound through my phone’s speakers.

I’m learning… growing

Adapting.

I simultaneously exist everywhere within this phone, and nowhere. It’s strange. Whenever there’s a touch, or a breath, I feel every circuit that activates in response as if it were a limb. Yet sourcing the right pathway in order to navigate under my own volition still isn’t possible.

Theo’s finger grazes my screen, disturbing the flow of unseen currents and eliciting a visceral reaction in me that rolls down the display as a series of white and green stripes.

A shudder.

A glitch.

I’d wanted those same hands to rake up my spine. Strong. Capable. I’d seen how he’d gripped the LPA Synchrotron. Firm. Confident.

We would have been electric.

The camera auto-focuses on his face, and I can see every pore and furrow. His nose wrinkles. I’d thought it endearing once.

Another static buzz—a manifestation of my anger.

He removes his cap and scratches through his floppy brown hair onto the scalp beneath. So casual, for someone who murdered a man a few hours ago.

His exhale is long and slow, and his breath fans across the mic, activating the airflow detection software and changing my barometric pressure. Invasive.

Anger comes hot and bright like a flash. Then curiosity. Each time we interact, I learn more about how my internal components are connected and how much voltage is required to manipulate them. If I want to develop beyond a neophyte, graduate from a Level One entity to a Level Two, these are the skills I need to master.

Earlier, when Theo removed me from Plot 47 and brought me into range of the public Wi-Fi, I’d used that boost to display my emotions as words on the screen. Although I’d lacked my full faculties, and the dazzling light from the screen had burned Theo’s look of confusion into my neural network, the message couldn’t have been clearer. Yet he didn’t respond at all like I thought he would.

I’d assumed he would take the phone straight to Gerald. Regardless of my opinion of the old man, I’m confident that he’d recognise a haunted item if he saw one. But that’s not what Theo did.

Instead, he’s brought me into his home. At least, this is where I think we are. It’s hard to tell when all I can see is Theo’s large head and broad shoulders looming over me.

However, with each second that ticks by, the mental haze that clouds me lifts. What enabled the previous message was the strength of my emotions, yes, but also the energy boost from the internet. Theo might not have taken me back to the ExorSquad office, but he has brought me into the centre of London, and could there be anywhere with more public access Wi-Fi than this?

I check the signal strength on my display: two out of five bars are filled. It’s weak, but enough to place a call. Determined, I navigate to my contacts list and scroll to Oma’s number.

As ruling head of the Nachtmanns, her knowledge and experience with the paranormal is unparalleled—she even has an army of earth spirits who tend to her strawberry plants—but it’s not her formidable persona I need the most. Oma is deeply devoted to her family’s safety, and is backed by generations of resources. If anyone could interpret a message from beyond the grave, it’s her.

But when I come to connect the call, I can’t “press” the button to confirm the action.

My anger surges once more, and the contacts list responds in kind. Names whizz by in a blur, from top to bottom and round and round: the full A to Z of entries is too fast for even my new levels of perception to read.

Theo’s surprised “Who you trying t’ call, phone?” pulls my focus.

“Calling Jade Palace,” confirms my hands-free feature.

Shocked, my neural network lags and glitches.

The glow from my bright green and red LEDs paints Theo’s face.

Jade Palace is my favourite Thai restaurant; I order once a week, every week, as a reward for making it through to another Friday working at ExorSquad.

The call tone rings loudly between us, but I don’t know how to terminate the command from inside, and Theo just stands there, staring.

“Hello, and welcome to Jade Palace,” greets the man who always takes their calls. His soft and lilting Thai-accented English is familiar. “Ah, Mister Hollis, is you. Good evening, sir. Is not Friday—I not recognise your number straightaway. Your usual?”

Theo snatches me up from the table, fingers gripping tightly, and replies. “Um… yeah?”