Page 126 of Castings & Curses

Feeling edgy, she eyed the dark building. “Do you have a pocket knife?”

“Yes.”

“Can I have it?”

He angled his head. Even with the poor light, she saw suspicion etched on his face. “Why?”

“Safety.”

“Right. What are you really going to do?”

She held out her hand. “Good to know you can’t read minds.”

Miles reached into his pocket and withdrew the nickel-plated knife. “Will you please wait here?”

“I can’t promise anything.” Priya wriggled her gloved fingers in a give-me gesture.

With a heavy sigh, he laid the folded knife in her palm. “I’ll be right back.”

Ten seconds after he walked away, her teeth started to chatter. She waved to Miles when he looked back. A minute passed. Why was he walking so blasted slow? The cold leeched through her layers. She stomped her feet and rubbed her hands up and down her arms.

Waiting here was ridiculous. She had no desire to turn into a popsicle. She despaired over wasting time. She could cover the distance to the window in a few minutes. If she saw the bearded man—and wasn’t it a sad state of affairs that she actually hoped she would see him? Proving he hadn’t run away—roaming around she would retreat and wait for Miles. If the coast was clear, she could get a start jimmying open the window. Gripping the knife, she went in search of her ghost.

Thankfully, the wind diminished once she got alongside the building. Priya followed a sinuous path nearly free of snow carved between the high swirls of banked snow and the building. She reached the corner without slipping once. Her nerves jittered as she pressed her back against the brick. So close. All she had to do was stick her neck out and see if anyone was around the corner.

Her imagination brewed up an image of a slavering, deranged-eyed, machete-wielding Santa.

Her muscles seemed content to remain locked in position.

Maybe she should have waited where Miles left her.

Scaredy-cat. Just take a look. You’re wasting time.

Seconds ticked by. Priya finally gathered her wits and snuck a peek.

No Miles.

No Santa.

No ghost.

Her heart fell.

Remembering the translucent quality of the ghost’s appearance, Priya wondered again how long she had been a ghost. What if the girl was here but had used up whatever energy it took to manifest when she rushed to attack the Santa lookalike?

“Hello?” Priya whispered. She waited, hoping to catch a faint tingle or buzz of energy announcing the presence of a spirit.

Nothing.

The painted-over basement window beckoned her. Tucking the knife into her front pocket, Priya took out her phone, removed her glove, and swiped on the flashlight. She carefully walked to the window. The wind snapped at her with its winter-sharp teeth.

She played the light over the imprint of where she previously knelt in the snow. Not willing to waste another minute, she dropped to the ground and rested the phone against her leg, angling it to highlight the window. How much time did she have? Probably not enough. Santa or a passerby or, heaven help her, a cop might come by at any moment.

After a reassuring glance around, she tried to open the pocket knife. Twice she fumbled it, dropping it into the snow and wasting precious time retrieving it. Finally giving in, she pulled off both gloves. Even then, the knife proved difficult. She almost broke her thumbnail trying to pry the knife open.

Shivering from the cold, Priya wedged the blade between the window frame and casing. She used both hands to apply pressure and tried wedging the knife deeper into the narrow space by wiggling it.

Concentrating intently on her mission, she nearly jumped out of her skin at a man’s hearty laugh. She shrieked, jerking the blade out, and cutting herself in the process. The laughter abruptly was replaced by the sound of gagging. The flashlight knocked askew, highlighted Miles—doubled over with a hand covering his mouth.

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