I’d be mortified if I didn’t need it so badly. I pull the bucket onto my lap and slump against the wall outside Griffin’s door. Bob sits in front of me, staring up at me with wide brown eyes that look deeply concerned.
For about ten minutes, I can sit up straight without wanting to die, but then another wave of nausea comes over me and I bend over the bucket again, throwing up more stringy globs of ectoplasm until my abs are screaming. I’m pretty sure I’ve vomited up every internal organ I own.
I can hear Nico talking to Benji downstairs. I can’t make out the words, but the rumble of his voice carrying up through the floorboards is calming.
I want him to sit with me. I want it so badly that tears spring into my eyes, because how pathetic is that? I want him to rub his hand over my back, want him close enough that his thigh presses against mine, want to close my eyes and hear him say I did well today again, but I get mad at myself for even thinking that because that’s creepy, and crazy, and he’s not going to come here. Me sitting outside Griffin’s door like some loyal dog waiting for scraps of attention is exactly the kind of emotional behavior Nico complained about. Even knowing that, I can’t bring myself to leave.
CHAPTER 28
Field teams operate in groups of three: two field agents enter the location, and one remains on communications. This rule is only broken when there are limited team members available for a mission, and I avoid it whenever possible.
—Methods of Modern Ghost Hunting: A Tactical Guide to Containing and Vanquishing the Deadby Donald Dellman
I don’t know how much time has passed when DJ slides down onto the floor next to me without a word, placing a mug in my hands.
“Black with sugar, right?” she asks.
The mug has Jeffrey Dahmer’s mugshot on it and the caption, ‘I eat guys like you for breakfast.’ I wish I had the energy to laugh.
“How did you know?” I say. Bob leans over to sniff DJ from where he’s lying curled up in my lap.
“A couple days ago, I noticed some sugar spilled on the counter when I was making coffee. Griffin takes it with cream and no sugar. Donny and Benji drink it black. Nico avoids it altogether, and Zoey’s strictly an energy drink girl, so I figured you must be the new sugar user.” DJ shrugs. “I gave you one spoon, but I can grab more. You might not be able to keep coffee down right now, so I also brought saltines.”
“You’re the best, and I want to have your babies.”
DJ shudders. “No babies. Please.”
I set the mug down but unwrap a pack of saltines, nibbling the edge of a cracker. “Who buys the mugs in this house?”
“Griff and I have this ongoing war of finding the silliest mugs for each other’s birthdays and holidays,” DJ says. “It’s gotten out of hand.”
Too many funny mugs could never be a problem.
“How’s Ed?” I ask. “Mathis.”
“Sedated at Mercy.” DJ drops her head back against the wall. “He’ll be okay. We barely got out of there before the cops showed up.”
The tension in my shoulders eases. “At least he’ll be okay.”
“Griffin will be okay, too,” DJ continues, and something in her voice makes me look up. “I know it’s ugly, but he’s just going to have a couple crappy days and then be fine.”
Right. Because having a ghost’s hands buried in your chest cavity and then getting shot with rock salt by your trainee is totally fine.
“How are you feeling?” DJ asks.
“Great.” The word barely makes it past my lips when I need to reach for the bucket. DJ gathers my hair as more slime comes up.
She’s so gentle, and the light touch on my neck coaxes a prickle at the corners of my eyes. Suddenly, I’m crying, my tears mixing with the slime and I can’t stop either of them.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out, wiping at my face with my sleeve. “I don’t know why I’m?—”
“Don’t apologize.” DJ’s voice is soft. “You’re going through it right now.”
“I don’t usually—” Another sob cuts me off, and I cover my mouth as if I can physically hold it in. “I swear I’m not this pathetic normally.”
“You’re not pathetic.” DJ keeps her hand on my shoulder. “The ectoplasm can mess with your emotions. Amplify them. It can be a real trip.”
I pull my head up, swiping at my eyes. “What?”
