My fingers flew over the keyboard:
I know this sounds insane, but I think my ghost is cockblocking me and it's Halloween. Can you actually help?
Three dots appeared immediately. Then:
You're the cute barista from Fifth Street Coffee! Just finished a reading two blocks over in Hyde Park. Send address?
He knew who I was. He'd noticed me. And he was two blocks away.
I sent my address, then added:Fair warning - my ghost literally just scared off a vampire.
Good thing I'm not easily scared. Be there in 10. Also, your cortados are perfect. Whatever's helping you with those, I approve.
A book fell off my shelf. Then another. Then all of them, in a cascade that spelled out absolute ghostly disapproval.
“Yeah, well, you should have thought of that before you ruined my date,” I told the empty room. “Time to meet someone who can hear you.”
The lights flickered frantically. My ghost was throwing a full tantrum, and for the first time in years, I didn't care.
Help was on the way. Professional, hot, presumably willing-to-fuck-me-senseless help.
This Halloween was about to get a lot more interesting.
Chapter 2
Eli
I'd done plenty of late-night house calls. Usually they involved sage, crystals, and homeowners convinced their dead grandmother was rearranging furniture.
This was supposed to be different. Just a hookup with the cute barista who had an ass I'd been fantasizing about for months.
Hunter. Even his name made my dick twitch.
Then I walked through his door and nearly fell on my ass.
The energy hit like walking into someone else's wet dream. Not negative, not malicious—just overwhelmingly horny. My teeth ached. My skin prickled. My cock went from interested to rock hard in seconds.
“You okay?” Hunter asked, steadying me with a hand on my arm. Even through my jacket, his touch sparked. “You look—”
“Your ghost.” I had to catch my breath, center myself. Ground and shield, like my mentor taught me. Except grounding did nothing against this tsunami of dead guy desperation. “He's been here a while. And he's... fuck, he really needs to get laid.”
I'd felt hauntings before, hundreds of them over my nine years as a working medium. The angry ones felt like static electricity and tasted like copper. The sad ones were heavy, pressing down on your chest until breathing felt like work. The confused ones created cold spots and made you dizzy.
This? This was like being tea-bagged by Casper's horny older brother.
Hunter's ghost was basically paranormal Viagra. Every breath I took tasted like sex. My usual psychic senses, which normally gave me impressions like distant radio signals, were being blasted with phantom porn. I could feel the entity's thirst like invisible hands groping my consciousness.
“Three years, give or take.” Hunter's laugh had an edge. “You can sense him?”
Sense him? The ghost was practically dry-humping my psychic energy. I'd dealt with attachment hauntings before, spirits who fixated on the living, refused to move on. But those felt parasitic, draining. This felt... devoted. Obsessive as fuck, but with genuine care underneath that made my professional brain curious even as my cock strained against my jeans.
“He's...” I paused, trying to find words that wouldn't send Hunter running. “Intense. Very focused on you specifically. This isn't a residual haunting or random spirit. He chose this place because of you.”
I moved deeper into the apartment, tracking the energy. It was strongest near Hunter, no surprise. But I could feel traces everywhere. The kitchen, where everything was organized with OCD precision. The bathroom, where the air was thick enough to choke on. The bedroom...
“Jesus,” I breathed, stopping at the bedroom doorway. “He watches you in here. A lot.”
Hunter's face went red. “Yeah. I, uh. I've been aware of something for a while. Didn't want to admit I was being haunted by a pervy ghost.”
