Chapter 6
I wake at three in the morning. The room around me is dark. The only light comes from the microwave clock and the sparkle of any number of ghosts. The ventilation system clicks, the refrigerator hums. Above that comes the soft sound of a dozen snoring sprites.
Again, ghosts don’t need to sleep. But the sprites are stacked—one on top of the other—in ethereal bunk beds that reach from floor to ceiling. It’s adorable, and the sight lets me pretend I don’t have a dozen different thoughts swirling in my head. I shift on the couch, carefully, so I don’t roll off, and pull up a ratty blanket someone—or several supernatural someones—placed over me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, although it’s ridiculous to do so. Other than the ghosts, I’m the only one here.
Everything is hushed, the ghosts
