A yelp escapes me, and I retreat on uneasy legs until my back hits the door with a loud thud, my heart pounding in my ears. The room feels suddenly colder, the shadows lengthening in the corners as if drawn to her presence.
I remain still for a moment, blinking profusely to make sure she’s really there.
The girl sighs, crossing her legs with a casualness that seems out of place. “He’s back,” she says, her voice a breezy echo. “But they’re arguing again.”
I place a hand over my heart, taking a deep breath. It’s Elijah’s sister. The dead one. The ghost. Her translucent figure shimmers slightly, her expression a mix of sadness and resignation. The sight of her sends a shiver down my spine, and I have to remind myself to breathe as I struggle to process her sudden appearance.
Yes.
There’s
