On Friday afternoon, after a week of doing nothing, we settle on the reception desk. We’ve never had enough money—or business—to hire an actual receptionist. The couch is more comfortable, but from here, we can admire how the letters in the window glow and follow the sun’s patterns across the carpet.
“Hey,” Malcolm says. “Why don’t we do the rounds tomorrow?”
“The rounds?”
“Yeah, the whole town, all the usual haunts. I have an appointment at Springside Long-term Care. I’m hosting a...” He trails off and clears his throat. “A tea party.”
“A tea party?”
“Well, there aren’t any ghosts.”
Not that he ever did actual eradications at Springside Long-term Care. It was all taste tests and flirting.
“But I hate missing an appointment, so a tea party and maybe some magic tricks.”
And, of cour
