Page 268 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

"Oh!" She grabs the arm of the man walking beside her. "That's Wraith. From the Ghosts."

Her companion cranes his neck. "Holy shit. It is."

A kid in a hospital gown darts out from behind a wheelchair and skids to a stop in front of me, eyes the size of hockey pucks.

"Are you real?" he asks.

I squat down so I'm eye level with him and nod.

"Can I get a high five?"

I hold my scarred hand up.

He slaps it with everything he has.

"DUDE!" he shouts to someone behind him. "I JUST HIGH-FIVED WRAITH!"

Another kid appears. Then a third, this one in a wheelchair pushed by a grinning parent.

"Are the other Ghosts here too?"

I nod and point toward the cafeteria.

Another jumps and down. "Is Silver Ghost here?"

I nod again, and the kid lets out a shriek that could shatter glass.

"Can we walk with you?" the first kid asks, looking up at me.

I'm confused as fuck about why none of them seem to be afraid of me, but I nod.

By the time I reach the cafeteria, I'm traveling with an entourage. Three kids physically attached to me—one on each arm, one riding my back like a koala because I picked her up when her parent said it was okay, and she hasn't let go since—and a rolling convoy of wheelchairs, crutches, and IV poles.

Ivy is already waiting in the front of the cafeteria doors, arms folded and her face pinched with worry. She's talking to Valek, who seems to be reassuring her, and her eyes go wide as she takes in the parade behind me.

"What the⁠—"

The kid on my back tightens her grip on my collar and kicks her legs.

"Forward!" she commands.

I obey, because apparently I take orders from a six-year-old now.

The cafeteria doors swing open and my army charges through like a tiny, screaming invasion force.

The girl on my back releases her death grip on my collar and slides down my arm. I catch her before she hits the floor and set her on her feet, and she's gone before I can blink, sprinting toward the roped-off section where Whiskey is already striking a pose.

"SILVER GHOST!" three of them scream in unison.

Whiskey drops into a fighting stance, cape billowing behind him from the cafeteria's overhead vent. "Citizens! You've been rescued!"

"From what?" one kid asks.

"From boredom!"

A warm hand slips into mine.

Ivy.