Page 43 of Hot Ghost Summer

Theo shuts off the shower and reaches for the towel from the rack. Pressing it gingerly to his face, he mops up the water from around his cuts and grazes, then drags it roughly over his dark hair. Securing it around his narrow waist, he swipes the condensation from the mirror.

He stares at his reflection for a long time before he quietly states, “I know you’re there.” He holds his own gaze. “Where were you when I needed you?”

I could respond—his phone is still in the pocket of his filthy shorts, heaped in the corner by the door—but I don’t.

“Did you watch earlier too?” Theo’s chocolate-brown eyes harden when he glares up at the light.

Did I watch? A brittle compression snaps through the electrical circuits that surround us.

Like he did? The angry hum of static crackles through the steamy air, and I focus on his reflection as he works his jaw from side to side.

“How come you’ll blow my stuff up, but you won’t electrocute some arsehole vandals before they bash my face in?” He pushes off from the sink and whirls around as if to face me. “Do you hate me that much?”

His grip on the sink is so tight it thins the blood flow, cooling his knuckles to a pale shade of green as I watch him through my lens of electromagnetic radiation.

Hate you?

If I could, I’d use my couple of inches height advantage to physically press him back, wrap my fingers around his throat, and dig my thumb into that tattoo under his chin. Baby.

You have no idea.

A brilliant bolt of electricity splits the air around the shaving socket, and Theo’s pupils dilate. Fear?

That’s right. Fear.

“You didn’t just make me a technomancer, you made me a poltergeist and bound me to you. You took my life, and now you dare complain it hurts.” My words don’t come out as sound, but as an ionic wind that brushes the wet locks of Theo’s fringe across his forehead.

He bats an angry fist at the charged air. “Piss off, Hollis, you creep.” Pivoting, he storms out of the bathroom. “I can’t believe I actually felt sorry for you.”

Theo half turns when he’s in the darkened hallway and looks back over his shoulder. “I’m tired and I need sleep, but tomorrow… Just you wait and see what I do tomorrow.”

fifteen

Red Flags

Theo

Dawn’s light brightens the inside of my eyelids. The thin cotton curtains of my bedroom window offer no shade, and I can already tell it’s going to be another hot one. Pulling my fist out from underneath my pillow, I stifle a yawn that tugs painfully at my injured lip, and memories from yesterday come rushing back. The farm, Brigid, the vandals… Hollis.

Rolling onto my back, I stretch out long and throw my forearms over my eyes to create the illusion of privacy. He was there last night, in the bathroom while I showered. Watching.

My heart rate kicks up a notch.

There’d been a moment where I’d convinced myself that I could feel him. When his unvoiced words had ghosted over my skin as a cool touch. A sad chuckle slips between my swollen and cracked lips.

I thought he was there because he cared, but as I watch dust motes drift in the bright, cruel light, I know the truth. It’d been me who cared—who had wanted him to care—because I was vulnerable and hurting. My arms fall lax at my sides.

This morning is different.

I fix my gaze on the single pale beam that cuts across the carpet like a blade, then narrow my eyes and stare hard at the bulb that dangles from my ceiling. “You still ’ere?”

The cold filament remains dark inside the glass and the only sounds are those of the growing traffic from the street outside.

It’s almost twenty-four hours since he last spoke to me.

“Hollis?” Sitting up, I swing my feet out of bed. “I don’t know where you think you get off with your high and mighty attitude, but if it wasn’t for me, you’d still be trapped in that bloody building. Instead, I brought you home and offered t’ help you. And what do you do? Break my stuff and ignore me. Arsehole.”

No longer in the mood to tolerate his shit, I pull on a pair of perfectly fitting undies from my drawer. He doesn’t get to see the goods when this is how he’s behaving.