Page 8 of Hot Ghoul Summer

“Creep!” I screech and lunge forward, pepper spray shooting in a targeted stream for his eyes and mouth. I want him blind and gasping on the floor.

Well. I’m just not getting anything I want tonight.

Mr. Pale blinks at me with an apologetic wince, spray sliding down his face like raindrops. Meanwhile, I’m over here gasping and choking just from the fumes.

“Molly, maybe I could just take you through to the kitchen and—” Pale guy reaches for my elbow, and I use my free hand to claw for his face.

And connect with nothing.

What? Does not compute. I can feel a solid hand on my arm, pushing me along, but my attempts to strike back only meet emptiness.

“Who are you? Do you—Did you do something to Gary? What do you want with me?” I’m struggling and using every move I know, and he just evades them like they’re nothing, forcing me into a large, dark kitchen.

“Shh, good girl, I’ll explain everything.”

“Do not shush me! I’m not a dog!” I growl between gags. The pepper spray didn’t hurt him, but it’s choking me.

Suddenly, my stomach is slammed against something hard and metal—a sink. He’s behind me, chest to my back, hands scrabbling over my arms to pin them to my sides.

“No!” It’s one word with a whole world of anger and regret.

How did I end up like this? How is Gary involved?

There’s a glint of silver in the corner of my watering eyes. Knives. Counter. Over the sink. His body is crushing mine even though he’s barely bigger than me. I guess I’m not getting away. I don’t even know why. “Please...”

Chapter Three:The Wrong Foot

Imean, honestly, I didn’t know how it would go, but I now realize if there is anything I could have done better in my entire several-century existence, it’s meeting Molly.

See, in my head, I figured I’d meet Molly at the door and—and she’d somehow know I was her soulmate. Like when I saw her picture and my heart woke up for the first time in hundreds of years. I know she’s not the Molly from my time, but I know enough to know that a girl with the same beauty, the same smile, and the same name is some sort of sign.

I’m Death. I know signs.

Right now, as I hold a sobbing, struggling girl over the sink, I give up reflecting on how utterly and fantastically badly this introduction is going and just turn on the water.

“Hold still.”

“Never! You might kill me in the end, but you're going to have to work for it!” she grinds out, teeth gritting in effort, her legs still alternating between kicking and deadweighting.

I sigh and force her head down, cupping one hand under the water so I can rinse the pepper spray residue off of her face, being extra gentle around her eyes.

The struggling and spluttering stops.

This would be a good time to start my abject apologizing.

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