Delinquents Turned Fugitives - Ann Denton Page 0,94

The point isn’t for Casper to last long enough for that.”

Malcolm gently grated his teeth side to side as he thought. “We know that ghosts can possess people. We know that a ghost’s memories can be projected on a screen. We know that ghosts can be kicked out of a possession with shadows.”

“We know only Darklights can see them,” I recited, listing all the things we’d already put down, hoping some random inspiration would strike me.

Malcolm dug a tiny silver ball out of his pocket. He stared at it for a little while, and I wondered if he was just mulling over everything we’d talked about or if he was frustrated—like I was—with our lack of information. A second later, he flicked his wrist and launched the pellet into the trees. It gave a little ping, and I watched as the ball flipped open with a clatter, turning from a sphere into a metallic frisbee. Suddenly, all the trees around us were coated in snow, an entire inch lining the tree branches.

Birds squawked indignantly and took to the sky, abandoning their suddenly freezing perches.

“Um … mind explaining that?” I asked, with a soft laugh.

“Gray and I have been experimenting with an ice bomb. Pressurized cold.”

I glanced over at Malcolm and saw his nose was wrinkled. “Needs work.”

“Still, that’s really cool.”

“Only cool if it helps us incapacitate people. As a decoration, it’s kind of lame,” Malcolm replied as he waved his hand and sent heat toward the trees, melting the snow.

I watched peacefully for a few minutes. If nothing else, Malcolm’s failed experiment had improved my mood. My frustration level was lower, more of a simmer and less of a boil.

“You ever tried burning sage to get rid of a ghost?” Malcolm asked me eventually. “Some websites say that works.”

I shook my head and the long grass tickled the sides of my cheeks. “I never wanted to get rid of Dad.” Even saying his name was scratching at a raw wound.

Malcolm lay down in the grass next to me. “I read an old library book that talked about salt circles. But it was written by a norm. Why the hell is all the shit written about ghosts written by norms?”

I stretched my hands overhead as I said, “Maybe because norms are more prone to blame weird shit on magic than magicals are?”

He shook his head. “After all this shit, we should write a book, you and me.”

“You want to hunt ghosts with me?” I asked, my voice pitched high in amusement. I rolled over onto my side. “I thought you’d want me to join a march on the Pinnacle, or campaign for the end of the council or something.”

Malcolm shrugged. “Well, I want that too. But, gotta have a day job.”

“Producing serum won’t be enough?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But once it’s into manufacturing, it’ll be all rinse and repeat.”

I leaned down over him and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “I like that you think about your future with me in it.”

His eyebrows rose. “Oh, you’ll be in it,” his tone got husky. “You’d better believe it.”

I searched his eyes and the possessiveness in them made my chest clench in girlish glee. “I do.”

“Good. Now lay back down and stop distracting me with kisses. If we’re going to write the world’s preeminent authority on ghosts, we need to focus.”

My giggle got me shushed, so I lay back down onto my back and stared up at the tree branches with Malcolm.

“Some websites say you can banish ghosts by telling them to leave.”

I burst out laughing. “Yeah. I can picture that working.”

“Other sites say that you can banish a ghost by appeasing it. Giving it what it wants.”

“Well, that would probably be my head on a platter, so I’m gonna have to say no again.” I sighed and groaned. “Why don’t we know anyone who’s obsessed with ghosts.”

Suddenly, I sat straight up. “We do.”

Malcolm pushed up to a seated position beside me, cocking an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Lysa.”

31

Zavier came back as I was mid-phone call with Lysa, setting up a coffee date so I could meet her to ask about ghosts.

I glanced at the time on my phone before I said, “I could maybe meet in like an hour—”

“Nope! No meeting anyone in an hour. We have a date!” he declared.

“Is that your old lady?” Lysa’s amusement was obvious even through the phone.

Zavier put his mouth on my neck and gently ran his lips up and down over my pulse. “Move it to tomorrow,” he