Page 21 of Hot Ghoul Summer

Toby is suddenly before me, still something out of a nightmare. He points his arm, one bony finger like a spear aimed at my heart, and I hiccup down tears.

“No!” I shout once as I fly backwards, expecting to feel my bones crack as he hurls me into the side of the house or the glass of a window.

But I don’t feel that. I feel a firm softness. A mattress slams under my body as I gasp for breath.

I’m back in my prison, and I know that I’m not going to get another chance to escape. Not after that stunt.

It’s too much.

My body finally falls, stress taking me into unconsciousness.

“THEY’RE NOT DEAD.” That means I’m not in any additional trouble. I didn’t even have to fill out paperwork.

“But they could have died. All four. That would make it five, Toby. Five souls that you took because you wanted to.”

“Needed to,” I correct without looking at her.

It’s late morning. Sera still sits with me on the front porch as we watch police direct the tow truck taking the bashed-in SUV away. From what I overhear, it’s headed to the police impound lot. The neighbors mill around, gawking, and filming with their phones. The police ask them what happened, but they never come our way. They can’t see us.

There were four men in the car. Three went to the hospital. One went straight into cuffs. I went into invisible mode and listened as the responding officers pulled a handful of outstanding warrants for each one.

“You need to go talk to her.” Sera is mad at me, but so what? I’m mad at her. She let Molly get out of the house and straight into danger. I’m not even going to mention the seven ghostly moths that are now making merry hell with their new tiny ghostly bodies, flitting in and out of the house through the walls and closed windows like glass and metal don’t exist.

“She’s out cold. Let her sleep. I’m not letting her go when she wakes up, either. Not until—”

“Until you kill Gary Garmin. Then Nicky Cross’ next in line? And his right-hand man? And then every thug in his gang? It has to end somewhere, Toby. It has to, because... because you’re my friend, and I care about you. Reaping is a hard and lonely game. I don’t want to do this without you around.” She reaches for my hand, and I relent. We squeeze fingers, and our hands fall.

I know what Sera is talking about. There are Rogue Reapers, the ones who began to like killing, or the ones who did what I’ve just done—taken a soul they chose for a reason of their own. It’s usually for a noble purpose at first. Save a life. Kill an evil man before he kills an innocent.

But it never stays that way. Then it’s killing the thugs picking on little old ladies, the bastards who were taking babies out of prams and selling them away from their grieving mothers... Oh, there are a million evil souls in this world who need to leave it.

“It’s not our job. That’s a different union. Different shift. You want to work the Hell side, Toby?”

I swallow. The souls of the damned are still collected with order, still on the rules and timelines of mortality. Rogue Reapers don’t respect those rules, either. “No.”

“You are a good man. A comforter. A helper. A guide.” Sera rises and looks at the lake. “I have to go soon. But I’m not going to be at peace unless you promise me you won’t kill Garmin. Promise me you’ll let Molly go.”

“I promise I’ll let Molly go as soon as she’s safe.”

“Toby.”

“By the end of my vacation. I promise.” I keep mum about the bastard ex-stepfather.

Sera doesn’t miss that, of course. She sighs heavily. “Once, in the heat of the moment, saving a life—it has happened to hundreds of Reapers. That’s why they have a form for it. But if you do it again—you’ll soon have a dark streak in your essence, and nothing will cure it. You’ll end up before the review board.”

I shrug. “She’s worth it.”

“Honey... She doesn’t even know you. She doesn’t even love you. She sure as hell doesn’t trust you.”

The words hurt. I say nothing.

“You’ve been alone for so, so long. Don’t you think... Do you think maybe you’re starting to let loneliness confuse you?”

What if she’s right?

“I gotta go.” Sera smooths her dress and looks at me. “Gladys Emmerhoff has to leave tomorrow night.”

“Gladys? What?” I shoot up, jaw slack. Gladys Emmerhoff has had three near-death experiences on my watch. She’s an incredibly ancient old lady with a dicky ticker who still lives alone at ninety-nine—mainly because she has no family to take care of her and insist she go into a home. She’s sharp as a tack, though. Doesn’t need looking after. What she ought to have is a valve replacement, but at ninety-nine, who would operate?

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