Chapter 7
An hour later, I decide that unraveling ghosts must be the most tedious task ever. At least, I think it’s an hour later. There’s no clock in the cold storage unit, but when I ask Belinda about the time, a couple of ghosts form an impromptu clock.
It’s an ethereal two in the morning, assuming these ghosts know how to tell time. This I doubt. I do know we’ve been in here for a while. Fog shrouds the doorway. Carter’s shadow wavers, but whether he’s been there the whole time, I can’t say.
I tug and pull at the seams that hold these ghosts. Each stitch is like its own containment field. My fingertips are numb, my thoughts as hazy as the air around us. Despite the cold, sweat trickles down my spine.
I swipe a hand across my brow. “No wonder most necromancers cut through the seams.
