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“What can you expect from a pair of teenage smartasses?”

“In fairness, we of the TPS found you two young rascals equally amusing.”

We of the TPS.

Archie smiled faintly. In some ways John seemed as antiquated as his Victorian home. But in others, not in the least. He had accepted fifteen-year-old Archie’s statement of sexuality without a blink. That said, probably not every member of the Twinkleton Paranormal Society found Archie and Beau’s adolescent antics entertaining. Archie could remember Professor Azizi threatening to drown Beau in the koi pond.

“How is Beau these days?” Archie inquired without emotion.

“Beau?” John’s tone was equally off-hand. “I don’t see much of Beau. I believe he’s well. He looks to be thriving. He’s chief of police now, you know.”

“That was always in the cards.” Which was true, but there had been a time when he’d have bet money against that card ever being played. Add that to the list of all the other things he’d been wrong about.

Maybe not completely wrong. But wrong in not understanding that nothing stayed the same forever. Just because you weren’t cop material at fifteen, didn’t mean you couldn’t grow into those tactical boots. Or spend years trying to achieve a goal, reach it, and then decide maybe it wasn’t—well, realize that it wasn’t impossible that your priorities might change. At some point.

John patted his shoulder. “Come and say hello when you feel like it. If you feel like it.” He left the terrace and went through the tall French doors into the house.

Archie watched him vanish inside and then turned back to the garden.

You sure as hell could have handled that better.

He sighed, rubbed his forehead.

He didn’t mean to be ungracious. He just really wished his trip back to Twinkleton hadn’t coincided with spook season. It wasn’t only the ghost hunting nonsense. Correction. Ghost walking nonsense. It was hard to feel sociable when all he really wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and pop painkillers. In no particular order. How much of that was concussion and how much was the result of nearly being killed—and all the rest of it?

Hard to say. Harder to think about.

He’d have preferred to figure it out in solitude. At the same time, the last thing he wanted was having too much time to think. He always preferred action to dwelling on what could not be changed.

Anyway.

He was here and he’d have to do his best not to make John regret insisting he recuperate at “home.”

He frowned, watching as the last rays of the sun reached shadow fingers toward the flowering shrubs and ancient statues. The melancholy twilight dissolved and darkness swallowed the meticulously kept garden of the Victorian mansion. Long, quiet minutes ticked by and then the evening seemed to stop, to still. The birds fell silent, the approaching car engines faded, the breeze died.

A strange hush seemed to envelop the world.

Despite the summery warmth, a weird chill slid down Archie’s spine. He turned, stared toward the east and the old gazebo. He caught movement.

Movement or light? Both? He squinted, trying to focus on that single area. His vision still got wavery when he was tired—and he was always tired.

What the hell?

Something... Was that flickery light his eyes or was there actually something there?

An ethereal figure, nearly imperceptible in the encroaching dark, seemed to be moving— fluttering?—within the confines of the gazebo. He blinked hard a couple of times, peered more closely. Whatever that was, it was too big to be a bird. The filmy outline suggested—well, frankly, it suggested a sheeted form. A female form? He was too far away to be sure. The reflection of lanterns in the surrounding trees created the illusion that she, the figure, was...

Come on. Admit it. She’s glowing.

The spell broke. Archie snorted. Okay, that was ridiculous. He left the terrace, and started down the flagstone walk toward the gazebo. Whoever she was, she was trespassing. Unless John had hired her to add to the evening’s festivities—which was not impossible. John had a mischievous sense of humor.

But, yeah, the lady was definitely glowing.

He was a little amused and very curious.

Twinkly lights, woven through bushes, strung through the trees, guided him through the maze of short shrubs and round boxwood topiaries, up the flat stone steps to the second level where once again he had a clear line of sight to the gazebo.

Which was now empty.