Page 17 of Ghostridden
“No, no,” Saul said around a deep chuckle. “We’re almost certain it was a manifestation. Not only psychokinetic force and possible vortex, but actual direct writing with a cogent message. No ectoplasm, but we can’t have everything.”
Professor DeHaven gave a noncommittal grunt and added three more pages to the stack.
Ricky reached out as though to grip my arm, but dropped his hand to his side.Damn it. “Are you okay?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure which is more alarming. That I slept through somebody breaking into my house or that said house might be haunted by a literary critic.”
Ricky turned to Saul. “What was the message?”
Saul fixed me with a gaze like a hopeful grade-schooler asking his parents for money for the ice cream truck. “May I show him? Or would you rather do it?”
I held up my palms. “Be my guest.”
Saul left Professor DeHaven collecting the deconstructed novel and bustled out of the library and through the family room, Ricky at his heels with Gil trotting behind, tail in the air. I trailed them like a cranky caboose.
“I never expected that our first manifestation would behere,” Saul tossed over his shoulder. “I always expected it to be at the Manor. It’s the place with the seance room, after all, and the building layout and construction materials are precisely configured to capture etheric energy.”
I leaned against the doorway, my arms crossed. “What’s etheric energy?”
Ricky’s lips quirked. He flicked a finger at my Star Wars T-shirt. “Kind of like the Force.”
I smiled back involuntarily. “Which side? Dark or light?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? Since nobody’s ever managed to define itorharness it.”
“Then how do you know the Manor is configured to capture it?” I asked Saul, intrigued despite myself. I mean, the Force was something I could understand, if only in a purely fictional way.
“He doesn’t,” Ricky said, while Saul was still searching for words. “Nobody does. But they never stop trying.”
“Never mind, never mind,” Saul said. “Justlook, Ricky.” He angled the typewriter paper toward Ricky with the tip of one finger.
Ricky’s expression changed from indulgent to sharp in an instant, his brows snapping together. “Where did this come from?”
I pointed toward the ceiling. “It was, um, on the typewriter in the attic.”
Ricky’s narrow-eyed gaze was almost accusatory. “The typewriter didn’t have any paper in it yesterday.”
“Iknow,” I snapped. “And the library didn’t look like the aftermath of a cyclone either, but here we are.” I ran my hands through my hair, no doubt making my curls stick out. “Now do you see why I need a drink?”
“Yeah.” Ricky’s expression cleared and he heaved a sigh. “I think we all do.”
“Excellent!” Saul clapped his hands together. “I’ll break out the champagne.”
Ricky and Taryn were right about one thing: The food at Taqueria Vargas was outstanding. I leaned back on the wooden banquette and rubbed my stomach. “That was the most incredible cochinita pibil I’ve ever tasted.”
“Told you,” Ricky said, topping up my margarita and Taryn’s from the pitcher in the middle of the table. “Best Mexican Restaurant in Ghost.”
Taryn took a sip of her drink. “It’s the only one in Ghost.”
Ricky shrugged and brandished his glass with a grin. “That means nobody can argue with me. I mean, if you make other claims—best in the state, best north of the border, best west of the Mississippi—there’ll always be somebody to argue with you.” He sniffed, putting on a snooty expression. “Even if they’reobviouslywrong.”
I traced the grain on the polished wood tabletop with a finger and sighed.
“Maz?” Taryn said. “You okay? Were the terms of the contractacceptable?”
I glanced up, my vision onlyslightlyimpaired by how many margaritas I’d consumed so far. “The contract’s great. Very generous.”
Taryn snorted. “You haven’t seen the chaos of Thaddeus’s papers. Once you do, you’ll probably demand double the rate.”
