12
“That didn’t go well, did it?” Victoria inquired, materializing out of nowhere. At the sight of her, Alessandro wanted to curse — or possibly hurl one of the brass bowls on the side table next to him right through her vaguely transparent form. The ghost was just about the last person he wanted to see right then.
If you could even call her a person.
“Not now, Victoria,” he gritted, and stalked out of the living room and down the hallway to the kitchen. Once there, he opened the refrigerator and got out a bottle of Modelo.
Of course, she ignored his warning and drifted along after him, then positioned herself near the stove, arms crossed and a disapproving expression on her face. Maybe her objection was because of the beer he held, or simply because she disliked it when someone used s
