Spooky Business (The Spectral Files #3) - S.E. Harmon Page 0,26

lion, but I translated the sound as, “Bitch, I’m the king of everything, and you’re trying to ride me?”

Joseph’s eyes glowed brightly. “Isn’t this just the best date you’ve ever had?”

“Um, I’m more of a dinner and a movie type of guy, to be perfectly honest,” I managed. “Joey, maybe we should—”

“Let’s go,” he cried.

One of the majestic horses on the other side of me broke free of his restraints with a loud whinny and thundered off the ride. I glanced around at the chaos of animals and realized I had to make a quick choice. A.) I could hope I knew how to ride a lion who, quite frankly, seemed nothing like Simba. Or B.) I could jump off into the dirt and hope he didn’t maul me to death just because.

Huh, I was pretty sure there was supposed to be a good option in the either-or scenario. I squinted as I reviewed my choices again. Yeah, no, those really were the only fucking options.

I dived off his back, landing headfirst in the dirt. I only had a few seconds to rejoice in not breaking my damned neck before the lion leaped, too. He landed in the dirt gracefully with a heavy thud, puffs of dust rising around his giant paws.

I got to my feet gingerly, trying not to make any sudden movements, my gaze locked with his golden, glowing eyes. He reached out with his paw then, almost like he was messing with his prey, and I took a step backward. He turned his head to the side, looking as though he was considering my very existence.

I saw the decision in his eyes as he gave me the proverbial Nero’s thumbs-down.

I turned to run just as he reached out again; his claws caught in the back of my shirt, ripping the fabric like it was made of tissue paper. I stumbled as he roared, deprived of his prey. I ran like the hounds of hell were nipping at my heels. Actually, the hounds of hell would probably be an upgrade.

Don’t look back, I chanted, my gaze fixated on the car. I fumbled with the key fob in my pocket, hitting the unlock button at least twenty times. You know the rules, Christiansen. Don’t ever fucking look back.

When I reached the car, I had to do my “girl running in high heels in the woods” thing. I risked a glance over my shoulder and nearly tripped… only to find nothing behind me. No man-eating lion. No wild animals running about. I stumbled to a stop and turned completely. The carousel was dark and still, the faded and chipped animals frozen in suspended animation.

I’ve done it, I marveled. I’ve finally out-crazied myself.

My mouth opened and closed a few times involuntarily as I looked about. Maybe… maybe I’d imagined the whole damned thing. I knew the ghosts were real—there was no question about that. But I still didn’t fully understand all they could and could not do. Had the wild carousel ride been nothing more than a ghostly parlor trick?

A dull, throbbing pain caught my attention, and I frowned, reaching around awkwardly to touch my back. My questing fingers found rumpled and ripped fabric, and I stilled. I turned around in the mirrored surface of the car window and craned my neck to get a better look. My shirt was ripped beyond repair, giving me a perfect view of the three long, angry red scratches scored down my back.

Joseph’s wild laughter danced in the air. I told you I’d show you a good time.

Replace good with terrifying, and he hit it on the nose. There was a little resistance as I tried to open my car door. His voice drifted through my mind again. Stay, Alex. We haven’t even ridden the Ferris wheel yet.

Not bloody likely. I couldn’t even imagine what he had in store for an encore. Maybe me trapped on the Ferris wheel, rolling down the street like a human sprinkle on a giant metal donut.

I yanked on the door—hard—and it finally opened. I slid inside and slammed the door. I couldn’t start the car fast enough. I don’t think I took a deep breath until I reached the main road. I didn’t glance in the rearview even once, leaving the haunted fair behind.

Chapter 7

I made a quick pit stop at a gas station for a fill-up.

While the gas was pumping, I rooted around in Danny’s trunk for an extra shirt. I found one among enough tactical gear to