“We’re worried that you’ll attract too much attention,” Slate said. “This isn’t the world you knew. People carry phones that have cameras, and they can snap a picture and make it available for the entire world to see. That’s what we want to avoid.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” Gary drifted in a slow circle, his movements more subdued. “I tell everyone the party’s canceled and they need to go home?”
Meredith predicted they’d get an opening, and when it happened, they’d have to sell the deal. “No,” Slate said. “We have a different idea.”
Gary watched Slate with a wary expression. He hadn’t jumped to accept the offer, but he hadn’t pulled away either. “Which is?”
Slate exhaled to steady himself. “Blackwood Manor has a ballroom. It hasn’t been used on Halloween for decades. It’s large enough for a hundred ghosts, maybe more if you don’t mind being a little crowded. We’ll ward the house so that what happens inside stays inside. You can decorate it the way you want.”
“A private venue?” Gary tilted his head.
Slate held in a grin. They got him. “Yes. In exchange, we need you to keep the other ghosts in line. No more floating objects, odd sounds, or partially materializing around the living.”
“How do I do that?” Gary asked. “I’m not the ghost police.”
“Bribe them.” Dash sounded like his sister when they’d asked the same question. “Play up how amazing this will be, and no one wants to miss it. Then spread the word—this is invite-only. Anyone who acts up or breaks the rules not only doesn’t get a ticket, but they’ll be run out of town by those who want to party. If you sell it right, everyone will beg for a ticket.”
“And they’ll behave to make sure I let them in,” Gary said. After a few seconds, he smiled like he’d hung the moon. “A celebration just for us, in a historic ballroom that we can decorate, will be legendary.”
The way he talked, Gary had already agreed. “Exactly,” Slate said, trying not to sound too eager. “And when the party is over, everyone leaves town.”
“And if everyone has an amazing time, we can do it every year.” Gary got more animated as he spoke. “It’ll be a tradition. An annual ball for ghosts.”
That wasn’t part of the offer. This was supposed to be one and done. Behind Gary, Dash had on his ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ face. When their gazes met, Dash shrugged. “Fine,” Slate said. “Do we have an agreement?”
Chapter Nine
The ballroom looked nothing like it had a week ago. Gary had taken their offer and applied his usual exuberance to making the room his. Most of the ghosts who’d come to Oriskany Falls for the party leapt at the chance to decorate “their private party hall.”
Slate surveyed their efforts so far, and the results were… unique. In the spirit of free love and communal happiness, he let people decorate different sections according to their time period.
Colors shimmered in midair, hues that didn’t technically exist on the human spectrum—violet-gold, electric teal, something that might’ve been audible if you listened hard enough. Swirls of light traced lazy spirals across the ceiling, pulsing to a rhythm only the dead could hear. A haze of spectral fog rolled through the room, glittering like dust caught in a sunbeam, except the light source came frominsidethe mist itself.
Cain drifted near the stage, projecting tie-dyed patterns onto the walls with every gesture. “Dig this, man,” he said, spreading his hands. “Mood lighting without electricity.”
Gary beamed, his beads clacking together as he spun in place. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Peace, love, and perpetual luminescence. This joint’s finally got soul.”
Dash squinted at the swirling wall art. “Is it supposed to look like that?”
“Like what?” Gary asked, genuinely puzzled.
“Like the sixties threw up on a rainbow.”
Slate chuckled. It was accurate, but he’d have been more diplomatic. “You’ve gotta admit, it’s impressive. They’re decorating with emotion, not supplies.”
Across the ballroom, Thomas and Oliver worked on a small section dedicated to Oliver’s time. The fifties were close enough to the sixties, so they focused on the 1880s. Slate asked Liv if they even celebrated Halloween back then, and of course that earned him a dissertation on the traditions of that era.
The deep oranges, reds, and browns of their section provided a small island of calm in the psychedelic sea of colors. They worked alone at first until two other spirits from the late nineteenth century asked if they could help. The four of them had turned a small panel of the room into their own expression of the holiday. Thomas and Oliver spent most of the time smiling, laughing, working side by side. It was hard to watch them dance around each other because both were afraid to make the first move.
“Did you see that?” Dash asked, suddenly appearing at Slate’s side. “Oliver was blushing. Actual spectral blushing.”
He’d seen it with frustration because Thomas hadn’t followed up on whatever caused the color in Oliver’s cheeks. “Any ideas on how to nudge them along?”
“Me?” Dash pointed to himself. “If you hadn’t been the bold one, I’d still be alone in my one-bedroom apartment, afraid of commitment.”
“This is so groovy, right?” Gary said, spreading his arms in pride. “It’s way better than my original idea.”
“Telling everyone to ‘come party in Oriskany Falls’ was not a party idea,” Dash said. “It was an invitation to chaos.”
