Page 9 of Hot Ghoul Summer

“Look, Molly. We got off on the wrongest foot possible,” I murmur. People don’t like when you yell. My voice is normally soft and soothing. “I’m sorry I scared you. I promise I’m not going to hurt you. Never, ever hurt you. Although—you may not like me at the moment once I explain a few things.” Like that I’m not letting her leave.

“Let go of me, then.”

“Gladly—but I need you not to run. I need you to listen.”

“For a guy who doesn’t intend to hurt me, you sure sound like a creepy kidnapper. Just saying.”

“Ah. Well. Kidnapping is such a strong word. I prefer the term enforced vacationing.”

I said I was soothing. I didn’t say I was all that funny.

My joke falls flat.

“What?” Molly screeches and turns, face puffy and blotchy (and still beautiful to me).

“Would you like tea? Tea is so calming. It’s worked for my people for centuries.”

“Your people? Kidnappers? Criminals?”

I blink. “No. Brits.” My head rocks back and forth, considering. “All right, I suppose technically I’ve done time. I was a criminal.” Debtor’s prison. And killing people, sort of. I think I’ll leave that bit out for now.

“I don’t want tea. That’s how you drug people.”

“I don’t drug people! Look, I’ll have a cup. You have one if you want.” I flick on the lights and switch on the electric kettle. My hand is never more than eight inches from Molly’s wrist. If she tries to bolt—

Shit.

I reach out and snag her arm as she makes a sudden dash for the window. “Would you stop that? I cannot let you leave.”

“Why?” Molly hisses.

Her nails bite into the back of my hand. I let myself stay solid this time. I think going noncorporeal earlier frightened her.

“If you stop fighting for thirty seconds, I’ll tell you! Bloody hell, I don’t know why I was so worried. Nicky Cross wouldn’t have stood a chance against you.”

“Huh? Who?”

I pull two mugs out of the cupboard. One says “Life’s a beach and then you die”. The other says “My other car is a hearse.” (Reaper humor. I don’t think Molly likes it. Her eyes widen at the sight of the cups, going back and forth between my face and the mugs.)

“I’ll tell you, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Then at least you’ll be consistent,” she spits, arm going limp in my grasp.

“Last night, your stepfather was getting the shit beat out of him on the pier.”

“Pier?” Molly’s head turns sharply. “He told me he was in a car accident.”

“No, not a car accident, I’m afraid. You see, he owed someone money. Nicky Cross was the name of the other fellow. Nicky Cross was about to kill your stepdad—”

“Ex-stepdad.” Molly’s face is going paler by the minute. Maybe she’s going to faint.

I pull a chair over to the counter and sit her in it.

“You going to tie me to this?” she asks, chin lifted in defiance.

“Not if you promise to sit still. I was going to get some biscuits out of the tin, too, but not the way you’re carrying on.” I shake my head in despair.

“Forget the food. What about Gary and this Nicky guy?”

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