Page 12 of Ghost

He did have that shiki-whatever.

I wondered if it had a name. What would you even name a spirit companion? Polly was too basic. Was it a spirit? I wasn’t certain.

If so, then how could Damen seeitand not everything else?

Perhaps it was a demon that had taken the form of a bird. It might be leeching onto Damen’s life force in order to remain in the human realm to do his bidding.

I shook my head sharply—I had more important things to address at the moment. I’d just have to ask Damen later. Because I still had to figure out how celibacy came to play in all of this.

Focus. Ghost now, questions later.

“Wait,” my mind raced, trying to consider diplomatic, pleasant discussions. “It’s not what you think. I’m not trespassing. Please, listen to me.”

The man paused, hovering slightly off the ground as he turned to face me again. He was annoyed. But what was more obvious was the visibility of the house through his form. The way that the inside lights shone through the windows, passing through the shadowy outline of his body.

Any lingering doubts vanished. He was definitely a spirit.

He grunted, clearly waiting for me to speak.

I desperately tried to recall his name. If I had anylegitreason for being here, I probably should know who he was. I cursed myself for not paying more attention to Norman. Yes, he had been condescending. But how was I supposed to know that he was saying something useful?

“Well, I—” I tapped my chin, trying to recallanyname that might be helpful.

It was a gamble, but we were close to the school. If I recalled, didn’t only professors or retired professors live in this neighborhood? If that were the case, then all the professors knew each other.

“I’m searching for a runaway cat!” I blurted out. “I am so very worried. Cécile is delicate, and probably frightened. I’m so sorry. I came into your yard because I thought she might be here. Plus, I was scared my professor might fail me.”

“Cécile?” The man grew pale at my words, even for a ghost. He stared at me with a mixture of shock and horror on his face. “That horrible beast of a creature is on myproperty?” He spun and began to move toward the door with even more urgency than before. “I told that crazy woman that I would kill it the next time it came near me. And by God, I’ll do it else my name isn’t Caleb Weaver. Where’s my rifle?”

I scrambled to my feet, rushing after him in a panic. My brilliant plan had backfired—he was in more of a frenzy than before.

“Mr. Weaver!” I was thankful to know his name, at least. “Please wait!”

I was beside him in seconds. My fear he would float through the door, or something equally dramatic, urged my body forward.

And it was because of that reason I didn’t stop to think before I reached for his arm.

At that moment I did something I never actually tried to do before—touch a ghost.

It was different than being grabbed by one, such as the spirit in the bathroom a few days prior. And the ghost had also touched my leg and hair as well.

But this was different. This was more willing, intentional, onmypart. With the other incidents, I had assumed they must be especially powerful spirits.

I never once thought it wasme.

Once the cold, but very solid, limb was in my grasp, I could no longer move. Goosebumps broke over my skin, and the hair on my arm stood straight.

I was touching a ghost.

I rarely touchedlivingpeople, the boys quickly becoming my sole exception to that rule. Touch being something that held negative connotations for me.

And besides that, surely this was an abnormal skill, even for a medium? The mediums I saw on television didn’t physically interact with spirits. They mostly relayed messages and solved problems.

Well, except for the woman who claimed she was having an affair with the ghost who haunted her bedroom. But I was sure she was delusional.

“Good God girl, what is wrong with you?” Mr. Weaver’s sharp voice did nothing to distract me from the panic bubbling in my chest. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

I couldn’t stop my disbelieving snort.