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“A
“Get her out of here!” she moans. I shove her hard to knock her back one more time. Then I grab Carmel and we dive through the door. We don’t turn until we’re down the porch steps and back on dirt and grass. The door has shut and I hear A
“My god, she’s awful,” Carmel whispers, burying her head in my shoulder. I squeeze her softly for a moment before pulling free and walking back up the porch steps.
“Cas! Get away from there,” Carmel shouts. I know what she thinks she saw, but what I saw was A
“A
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Carmel won’t stop chattering at me as we stomp quickly down the gravel of A
“What?” I snap.
“Do you want to tell me exactly what you were doing in there?”
“Not really.” I must’ve slept longer than I thought I did—either that or I was talking to A
“You followed me,” I say. “What’re you doing here?”
She shifts her weight around awkwardly. “I couldn’t sleep. And I wanted to see if it was true, so I went over to your house and saw you leaving.”
“You wanted to see if what was true?”
She looks at me from under her lashes, like she wants me to figure it out for myself so she doesn’t have to say it out loud, but I hate that game. After a few long seconds of my a
“I talked to Thomas. He says you…” She shakes her head like she feels stupid for believing it. I’m mostly feeling stupid for trusting Thomas. “He says you kill ghosts for a living. Like you’re a ghostbuster or something.”
“I’m not a ghostbuster.”
“Then what were you doing in there?”
“I was talking to A
“Talking to her? She killed Mike! She could’ve killed you!”
“No she couldn’t.” I glance up at the house. I feel strange, talking about her so close to her home. It doesn’t feel right.
“What were you talking to her about?” Carmel asks.
“Are you always so nosy?”
“What, like it was personal?” she snorts.
“Maybe it was,” I reply. I want to get out of here. I want to drop my mom’s car off and have Carmel take me to wake up Thomas. I think I’ll rip the mattress right out from under him. It’ll be fun to watch him bounce groggily on his box springs. “Listen, let’s just get away from here, okay? Follow me back to my place and we can take your car to Thomas’s. I’ll explain everything, I promise,” I add when she looks skeptical.
“Okay,” she says.
“And Carmel.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t ever call me a ghostbuster again, all right?” She smiles, and I smile back. “Just so we’re clear.”
She brushes past me to get into her car, but I grab her by the arm.
“You haven’t mentioned Thomas’s little blurt to anyone else, have you?”
She shakes her head.
“Not even Natalie or Katie?”
“I told Nat that I was meeting you so she’d cover for me if my parents called her. I told them I was staying at her place.”
“What did you tell her we were meeting for?” I ask. She gives me this resentful look. I suppose that Carmel Jones only meets boys secretly at night for romantic reasons. I run my hand roughly through my hair.
“So, what, I’m supposed to make something up at school? Like we made out?” I think I’m blinking too much. And my shoulders are stooped so I feel about half a foot shorter than she is. She stares at me, bemused.
“You’re not very good at this, are you?”
“Haven’t had a whole lot of practice, Carmel.”
She laughs. Damn, she really is pretty. No wonder Thomas spilled all my secrets. One bat of her eyelashes probably knocked him over.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ll make something up. I’ll tell everybody you’re a great kisser.”
“Don’t do me any favors. Listen, just follow me to my place, okay?”
She nods and ducks into her car. When I get into mine, I want to press my head into the steering wheel until the horn goes off. That way the horn will cover my screams. Why is this job so hard? Is it A
But it’s too late now. Thomas and Carmel are in on the game. And the game is a whole lot more dangerous this time around.
* * *
“Does Thomas live with his parents?”
“I don’t think so,” Carmel says. “His parents died in a car accident. A drunk driver crossed the line. Or at least that’s what people at school say.” She shrugs. “I think he just lives with his grandpa. That weird old guy.”
“Good.” I pound on the door. I don’t care if I wake up Morfran. The salty old buzzard can use the excitement. But after about thirteen very loud and rattling knocks, the door whips open and there’s Thomas, standing before us in a very unattractive green bathrobe.
“Cas?” he whispers with a frog in his throat. I can’t help but smile. It’s hard to be a
“Carmel followed me out to A
The whole place smells like Morfran’s herbal pipe. Then I see him, a hulking, stooped-over figure pouring coffee. He hands me a mug before I can even ask. Grumbling at us, he leaves the kitchen.
Thomas, meanwhile, has stopped shuffling around and is staring at Carmel.
“She tried to kill you,” he blurts, wide-eyed. “You can’t stop thinking about the way her fingers were hooked at your stomach.”
Carmel blinks. “How did you know that?”
“You shouldn’t do that,” I warn Thomas. “It makes people uncomfortable. Invasion of privacy, you know.”
“I know,” he says. “I can’t do it very often,” he adds to Carmel. “Usually only when people are having strong or violent thoughts, or keep thinking of the same thing over and over.” He smiles. “In your case, all three.”
“You can read minds?” she asks incredulously.
“Sit down, Carmel,” I say.
“I don’t feel like it,” she says. “I’m learning so many interesting things about Thunder Bay these days.” Her arms cross over her chest. “You can read minds, there’s something up there in that house killing my ex-boyfriends, and you—”