Dash put a hand on Slate’s cheek. “We are doing something, and we won’t lose anything.”
Slate remembered the previous year when Dash needed reassuring. “I know, but I’d gotten into the mindset that we’d have a calm holiday this year. I wanted to relax and enjoy it with you.”
“And we will,” Dash said. “We just have to deal with this one problem first.”
Despite how casually Dash spoke about the problem, he knew it wasn’t simple. There was really only one way to deal with ghosts who harassed the living—banishment. Slate didn’t want to resort to that, not with these spirits. They were kids just enjoying the life stolen from them too soon. But if they continued to create problems, what choice did he have?
He covered Dash’s hand with his. “Thanks.”
Dash’s free hand touched his neck a second before Thomas and Oliver reappeared. There was no tension in either of them, which meant at a minimum they agreed on their decision.
“We’re in,” Thomas said. “Where do we start?”
The quick agreement surprised Slate. He’d expected they’d agree—eventually. Slate assumed they’d want to see what they were dealing with first. “Well, I guess we should sit down and come up with a plan.”
“Oh, Lord.” Dash covered his eyes with his hand. “We’ve had weekly planning meetings since the first of the year. Renovations, landscaping, more renovations, the haunted house, and now this.”
“You forgot the portal schedule,” Oliver added.
“I might have tried to forget that,” Dash said.
“Fortunately for you, Oliver has outstanding organizational skills,” Thomas said.
“Me?” Oliver looked as if he’d been slapped.
“Yes, you,” Thomas said. “You’ve tried to reorganize my entire existence. Twice.”
“That was organizational assistance,” Oliver said, waving his hand casually. “Completely different.”
The way they teased each other left Slate satisfied. All they needed was a little push. “Can we move this to the kitchen?” Slate asked. “We should have lunch. Knowing my mother, she’ll call as soon as she gets home to make sure we’ve eaten.”
“I’m doomed,” Dash said, pulling his hood over his head. “If she has her way, I’m going to die from overeating.”
Thomas shook his head, but Oliver looked shocked, as if Dash was really going to die. “Run a few extra miles and you’ll…” Slate paused mid-sentence when he detected a new presence. From the way Dash reacted, he felt it too.
The temperature dropped, something Slate hadn’t experienced since his great-grandmother had died. He’d need to ask his father about why some had that effect and others didn’t.
Before he could speak, a new ghost materialized in the room. He appeared to be in his early twenties, and with his long hair, scruffy beard, and bell-bottom jeans, he had that late-sixties hippie vibe.
“Far out, man,” he said, looking around the room. “This place has such a mellow aura. It’s like a welcome beacon for lost souls.”
“If you’re trying to cross over, this is the right place,” Thomas said, glancing at Slate. “Otherwise, you really are lost.”
“Cool. More ghosts.” He drifted closer to Thomas. “Love the letterman jacket, bro. Very retro-cool.”
“Thank you.” Thomas took a step forward, putting himself between Oliver and the new ghost. “Did you need something?”
“Nah, I was just checking out the weird mood this house gives off,” he said. “It’s the only place in town that feels ghost friendly.”
“That’s because it is,” Oliver said. “Spirits are welcome at Blackwood Manor.”
“Oh, hey, little history dude.” He looked Oliver up and down. “That’s a sweet Victorian outfit you’re rocking. Have you been dead that long?”
“That’s rather personal, don’t you think?” Oliver asked. “I don’t even know your name. Why should I tell you anything personal about myself?”
“Cain Suncar.” He took a foppish bow, pretending to sweep an imaginary hat from his head. “I grew up in Pittsford. Got drafted and died in ‘Nam in ‘68. Followed my casket home, met some other gnarly dudes, changed my look, and have been having fun ever since. Wanna see what Private First Class Cain Suncar looked like before he got all shot up for nothing?”
Before anyone could answer, Cain’s image shifted. A young, clean-shaven man in army fatigues and a crew cut stood before them. He snapped to attention and saluted them before devolving into laughter.
