Malachi approached, still smiling. “I understand your hesitation, but the ways of the dead are not—” He stopped abruptly, staring at me.
The color drained from his face, making his glasses stand out starkly. He attempted to keep his smile, but it wobbled and then fell away. “The ways of the dead are not our own,” he tried again in a croaky voice, his hands at the sides of his cloak.
Then he swallowed hard, forced out a barely audible “Excuse me,” and turned tail, stalking back through the door he'd just exited, his cloak flapping behind him.
I couldn't have been more surprised if he'd dropped to the ground and started clucking like a chicken.
Alona stared after him. “What the hell?” She looked to me, and I had no answer.
Except… he'd looked right at me and freaked. That had to mean
The thought took my breath away.
My dad and I had looked enough alike; it wasn't impossible that Malachi would come to the conclusion that we were related.
I scrambled to my feet and hurried after Malachi. At least, that was the plan — catch up to him, pin him down, and make him talk. But apparently the ghost of the girl dressed for spring break had the same idea. And we collided… hard.
We went sprawling in different directions.
I'm not sure whose gasps of surprise were louder — those of the living people, including Misty, who saw me bounce off seemingly nothing and hit the floor, or those of the dead, who saw exactly what happened and knew what it meant.
“Will!” Alona lurched to her feet.
Misty looked astonished.
“Will?” the ghost in the Abe Lincoln hat repeated, moving closer to stare down at me.
Spring Break Girl flipped her long auburn hair out of her face and got to her feet. “You're Will Killian? The one everyone's been talking about?” she asked, reaching through the neck of her Señor Frog's T-shirt to tug her bright pink bikini top back into place. She managed to sound surprised and disgusted at the same time.
“Another ghost-talker?” Severed Arm Dude asked, pointing the stump end of his arm at me.
The woman in the long white nightgown danced closer. She seemed, possibly, a little crazy.
I took a step back, unable to stop myself. Severed Arm Dude, Faux Lincoln, Spring Break Girl, and Nightgown Lady… four, no, five — I'd forgotten about the Al Capone— type who'd been disappointed by Malachi's interpretation of his message — against just me.
If I tried to run, they'd stop me without breaking a sweat… Well, you know what I mean. If it came down to a physical confrontation, each of them vying for attention, they'd probably tear me apart. Attacking me might drain them of some of their energy — being violent as a spirit takes away from the resources required to remain on this plane of existence — but how much and whether that would be enough… there was no way to know. Not until it was too late.
I swallowed hard, my heartbeat shaking my whole body.
Alona moved toward me, faster than I'd seen her move before, at least in this body. She stepped between the ghosts and then turned to block me from them, her bad leg dragging a little behind.
“If you know Will,” she said calmly, “then you know his spirit guide.” The ghosts stared at her, as if uncertain what to make of her. I wondered, for the first time, what she looked like to other spirits. Could they see she wasn't like the rest of us?
“What are you doing?” I whispered, alarmed. They hadn't even known there was anything different about her. She was putting herself at risk unnecessarily.
Alona ignored me and turned to face Severed Arm Dude. She lifted her chin, daring him to come closer. “You don't want to get on her bad side, do you?”
I prayed I was the only one who could tell she was a little off, her gaze on his neck instead of his face. Several of the breathers who'd been waiting for Malachi bolted for the door. I didn't blame them. I could only imagine what it must look like to them. Misty was still in her chair, staring at us.
“The one who they say disappeared weeks ago?” Severed Arm Dude scoffed. “No one has seen her.”
Spring Break Girl rolled her eyes as if the entire conversation were ridiculous.
I couldn't see much of Alona's expression at this angle, but from the sudden tension in her shoulders, I guessed she hadn't considered what the ghosts might be saying about her absence.
“Really?” Alona flipped her hair back, a classic attitude-filled move for her, and seemed startled when it didn't stay behind her shoulders. Lily's hair was shorter. But she recovered quickly enough. “I've seen her, and trust me, she is not happy.”
