Chapter 8
Belinda and I collapse onto the hard tile floor. Ghosts fill the room. In fact, not a single one has escaped. They swirl above our heads, and although I’m not listening—at least, I’m trying not to—their chatter is nearly deafening.
“Shh.” Belinda holds a finger to her lips. It’s an admonishment most choose to ignore.
Her three sprites crowd around us. They’re unusually bold, shoving the other ghosts away and letting us catch our breath.
“Huh,” she says, and the corner of her mouth turns up into an almost-smile. “They’re worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yes. Of course you are.” She rolls her eyes, a move meant for her sprites, and then points at me. “Yeah, I know. She’s stubborn.”
From somewhere deep inside me, I manage a laugh. At the moment, it’s better than tears. Those
