Chapter 6
THE DOOR’S OAK paneling frosts over immediately. I know a ghost infestation when I see one. Even so, I touch the doorknob. I yank my hand back, fingers stinging with freezer burn.
I’m about to pound with my bare hand, but think better of it. I pull on a mitten and start hammering on the door.
“Malcolm! Are you okay? Did the ghost escape?”
“Did it ... what?” The door—and whatever else is between us—muffles his voice. “I have it right here.”
“Then what is this?”
The door is now hoary with frost, and crystalline patterns spread across the doorknob. Even through the mitten, the cold brass bites my skin. I try the knob several times, because none of this makes sense and I’m feeling more stubborn than smart.
“Katy, Katy, stop it. You’re not helping.”
He’s right. I give the knob
