Ruth Biggs took an intimidating step forward. Ruth was a slender woman who tied her hair into a silvery bun but left a curtain of blonde bangs dangling over her forehead. She had more sense than most people and was a straight shooter.
“Alice,” she called, “you’ve got to turn the thing on and throw it.”
Alice’s body stiffened. “What? That’s too many things.”
“For goodness’ sake.” Ruth marched toward her. She flipped a switch. “First turn the stupid thing on and then toss it toward the ghost.”
Ruth threw the box like a professional pitcher. It was a work of art. The EMF generator skidded to a stop about five feet from the specter.
I raised my hand, palm facing the spirit. No, I didn’t have some sort of ghost-busting gun that spit rays at the ghost. All I had was my hand and clairvoyant powers that would hopefully help transition the testy ghost into the afterlife.
“Blissful Breneaux.” The spirit whispered the words, making them sound like a wind whistling through the house.
“Yes.” I didn’t bother to hide the annoyance in my voice. “Yes, you know my name. We’ve established that. I don’t know yours, which puts me at a disadvantage, but I don’t care. What I need is for you to leave the nice people of this house alone and go into the afterlife like a good little ghost.”
Smoke blazed from the ghost’s black eyes as if they were on fire. “I know about you, Blissful.”
I tapped my foot. Why me? Why did I always have to get the talky ones? Why couldn’t I, just once, get a ghost that said,Sure, I’ll go into the light. Just point me in the right direction?
But no. I always ended up with chatty spirits. The ones who wanted to dish about what evil had happened to them in their lives.
As if I was some sort of otherworldly therapist.
In case you had any questions—no, I was not a therapist and I didn’t give a rat’s tush about this guy’s problems. The only thing I cared about was the family he’d been terrorizing for the past two years.
Yeah, two years. These folks needed relief, and I was here to give it to them.
A jeering smile twisted onto the ghost’s face. “I know about you, Blissful Breneaux,” he repeated.
“Yeah, I heard you say that already. I’m not deaf. So what have you heard?” I shot him a sarcastic smile. “I’m hoping it’s all good. I really hate it when people talk trash about me. Or ghosts, not even people. I don’t like it when spirits gossip about me, either. It’s really not polite.”
Alice stood frozen. Her fingers wrapped around the push-button remote for the generator, just waiting for my signal.
But I needed this guy to calm down. The EMF generator contained ghosts better if they were calm. The wall of static the box created immobilized spirits so they were easier to deal with.
This nine-foot-tall hunk of anger was nowhere near ready to deal with. Energy oozed off him like melting butter. I needed him smaller, and the only way to do that was to get him on my side.
“Look, so you know some things about me. I know some things about you, too.”
The spirit quirked a brow. “Like what?”
“Like you’d be happier if you rested. If you went into the light.”
He swatted the air. “Bah. I don’t believe all that crap—that the light is good. I like it right where I am. This family likes me, too.”
“The heck they do. You scared the dad in the shower.The shower. What’s wrong with you? Why would you even think it’s okay to peep on a person in the shower?”
The spirit hung his head. “Maybe I went a little too far with that one.”
“Maybe? You think?”
Alice and Ruth stared at me, their eyes wide. They were waiting for the signal. I gave a slight shake of the head to indicate it wasn’t time yet.
The ghost slumped into a seated position even though there wasn’t a chair behind him. He covered his face with one hand and sobbed into it.
“I just want to be loved. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Oh boy. Ghost Counselor was not on my list of special skills. I sank onto one hip and watched, trying to decide if the tears were genuine.
