The logic that had landed me here ran something like this:
The mafia may or may not be looking for me. But I had woken up to a lightning bolt of unspecified origin. It was better for everyone if I disappeared for a couple days. Going to a hotel or a friend’s house could be easily traced and/or put others in danger. The best place would be somewhere that had no immediately obvious ties to the D’Angelos.
Enter Jack’s new villa. Who even knew that Jack had purchased it? It came with built-in, twenty-four-hour ghost security, and free was a reasonable price.
The only drawback, of course, was its proximity to Jack and his too-seeing gaze.
I already felt raw, exposed and panicky from the events of the past couple days: the weird bird omens, the references to lightning, the Tempeste threat and unnerving appearance of the paper lightning bolt.
I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to handle Jack’s soul peering superpower without cracking.
So I had hummed and hawed, trying to wriggle out of it. But then Branwell threw in a bag ofbombolonifresh from the bakery around the corner.
Curse him for knowing my absolute weak spot.
My car was filled with the heavenly odor of fried pastry sitting on the seat beside me. Pity Jack couldn’t smell them.
“Tomayto. Tomahto. Google it. It’s a thing.”
Jack’s expression in the rearview mirror said he wasn’t sure. Granted, the fact that his knees were tucked practically to his ears probably contributed, too.
Whenever he traveled by car, Jack sat in the back seat, the tinted windows obscuring him from the casual observer. In a normal car, this was no big deal.
But I drove a MINI Cooper.
I adored my car. It was just like me. Small. Compact. Stylishly peppy with lots of attitude.
We were the perfect match.
Bonus. I could reach the gas pedal and see over the steering wheel at the same time.
Of course, MINI Coopers left much to be desired in the way of back seat leg room. Which meant Jack was a ghost pretzel—his calves drifted into the back of the passenger seat while his head came perilously close to poking out the roof.
He looked comical. I told myself not to smirk over it. Really, I did. But as has already been established, sometimes I have the maturity level of a twelve-year-old boy.
Jack stared me down in the rearview mirror.
His gaze said,I see what you are doing. You can try to make me less, but I still see you.
That shut me down.
Stop looking into my soul,I glared at him in return.It’s not polite.
Him:I can’t help it. You’re totally transparent.
Me:Says the ghost.
Him:Consider becoming an adult. Maturity would look good on you.
I wrenched my eyes away from his. For some reason, blood pounded in my ears. My face felt hot and my thoughts scattered. How he got that reaction from me with just a glance . . .
Silence for a few heartbeats.
“Why lightning bolts?” Jack asked. “Are they also a ‘thing’?”
He managed to air-quote the word through tone alone. Was that something he learned in Lord School?
“Nope. Not discussing that.”
