The Ghost That Got Away

Chapter 1-1

Chapter 1

IT’S TWO WEEKS before Christmas, and I’m crouched in our storefront display. Morning sunlight shines through the gold lettering on the glass and casts the words K&M Ghost Eradication Specialists along my arms. The velvet beneath my shoes makes it tough to gain purchase. My thighs ache. My palms sweat. The scalding cup of coffee I’m holding threatens to spill.

Passersby stop and stare, mouths open. I catch sight of Police Chief Ramsey, but all he gives me is a smirk. He doesn’t believe in ghosts, not even when they’re right in front of him. If I had any sort of presence of mind, I would’ve thought to print out a sign, something along the lines of: Demonstration in progress.

But that would be a lie. This is no demonstration. The sprite careening around the display window really is agitated. I really need to catch it. I’m really not certain this single cup of coffee will do it. Not this time of year.

There’s something about December that brings out the worst in ghosts.

I’m about to admit defeat. The coffee’s cooling too rapidly to tempt this one much longer. The sprite shoots back and forth, whipping around the samovar and percolator we keep on display, nestled in the velvet. It slips inside the samovar. The whole thing shakes, then teeters off its perch.

I pitch forward to catch it. My fingertips skim the metal. The coffee in my other hand sloshes, soaks my sleeve, and splatters the window. I’m flat on my stomach in the middle of the display. The sprite does a victory lap around my head and I glance up into the perplexed gaze of my business partner.

He’s standing on the other side of the glass. His lips twitch. Malcolm Armand (the M in K&M Ghost Eradication Specialists) was once my rival and is now my partner—and sometimes there are benefits with that arrangement. He doesn’t move from his spot outside our window. In fact, he looks like he’s about to settle in for a show.

“Help?” I mouth.

I can’t hear his laugh, but I can see it, head thrown back, the way it lights his eyes. He vanishes from sight and a moment later, the chime over our door rings out.

“Katy, what on earth?”

“We have a sprite,” I say.

He sticks his head into the display area. “We have a sprite?” He glances about like he’s tasting the air. “Oh … we have a sprite. Any idea how that happened?”

“None.”

The sprite shoots past Malcolm and heads for the conference room.

“Damn,” he says. “Is Nigel in yet?”

“Not unless he came in the back way.”

Without another word, Malcolm sprints toward the conference room. I crawl from the display as quickly as soggy velvet will allow. Nigel, Malcolm’s brother, was once addicted to swallowing ghosts. Granted, there isn’t much to a sprite, but it’s better if he isn’t tempted.

I’m at the threshold to the conference room when Malcolm emerges.

“All clear.” He holds up a sealed Tupperware container. “Look what I got you for Christmas.”

“Seriously? You caught it that fast?”

He shrugs. “I’m just that good.”

He is, actually, but I’m in no mood to admit it. I cross my arms over my chest and stare hard, waiting for the rest of the explanation.

“And I think you wore it out,” he adds.

I study the sprite trapped inside the Tupperware. It floats lazily about, giving me a single thump against the side in agreement.

The chime above our door rings for a second time that morning. Nigel strolls in. His shock of white hair always takes me by surprise. Although he’s only a few years older than Malcolm, he wears the legacy of his addiction in his hair and in the lines around his eyes and mouth.

Today a grin brightens his face. He looks almost boyish. His steps are quick and light. I think he might break into a song or possibly execute some sort of dance step. Instead, he merely nods at the sprite as he passes by.

“Good work,” he says, and heads into the conference room where we keep the computer.

Malcolm and I stare after him. A tune reaches my ears, the melody off key but buoyant.

“Is he whistling?” I ask Malcolm.

“I think so.”

“Does he do that often?”

I’ve only known Nigel for about four months, Malcolm a touch longer. Both brothers still hold a great deal of mystery for me. I couldn’t tell you if Malcolm whistles.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him whistle before,” he says.

Malcolm creeps toward the conference room door and peers inside. Then he whirls, eyes wide, lips pursed as if he’s trying to hold in laughter. He crosses to the far side of the reception area, gesturing for me to follow. We bend our heads close together.

“Nigel went over to Sadie’s for dinner last night.”

I nod. This, I know. Sadie Lancaster is my neighbor. I swept her house for sprites about fifteen minutes before Nigel was due to arrive. It’s become an evening ritual.

“Well,” Malcolm says now. “He never made it back to the apartment.”

“Never made it …” I trail off, the obvious hitting me with enough force I almost gasp. “You mean they … that he … he stayed the night?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.” Malcolm grins and leans in even closer. “I think it explains his mood, don’t you?”

I clamp a hand over my mouth so I won’t giggle or do anything else juvenile. Sadie deserves some happiness. So does Nigel, for that matter. Still, Malcolm and I are responding with all the maturity of a couple of twelve-year-olds.

Maybe that’s because we haven’t taken that step. We’re not even close to that step. We are, by my calculation, at least five miles from that step. My gaze drifts from the conference room door to the display window. From here, I can make out the sodden velvet and the way the gold lettering makes it glow.

K&M Ghost Eradication Specialists

My eyes lock with Malcolm’s. His are a deep brown, close to black, like an excellent dark roast. We both know why we haven’t taken too many steps. What happens to K&M Ghost Eradication Specialists if K&M the couple doesn’t work out?

“Katy,” he begins. His voice is soft, devoid of that earlier glee. He sounds like he might say something quite serious.

Before he can, my phone buzzes in my back pocket. I tug it out, and Malcolm sighs. I can’t tell if I hear regret or relief in it, so I focus on the text instead.

Sadie: Katy, can you come over

I hold the phone so Malcolm can read the message. “I just cleared them last night.”

“Maybe it’s time we took them farther out.”

“Maybe.”

Sadie’s two sprites adore her. They are, I think, like the children she never had. But they’re not children; they’re sprites. Like the one thumping the Tupperware container Malcolm is holding, they cause trouble. Sprites love to play pranks, get a reaction, soak in attention.

“If Nigel …” He nods toward the conference room. “I mean, if this is getting … permanent, they can’t hang around.”

No, they can’t. Nigel’s addiction makes that impossible. But something about losing them for good makes my chest ache, just a little.

My phone buzzes again.

Sadie: Katy please

I tuck my phone back into my pocket and hold out my hands for the Tupperware.

“I might as well go. I have coffee at home, and I can lose this one and the other two while I’m at it.” I give my soggy sleeve a shake. “And change. I should probably change.”

My hands are on the container, so when he pulls it toward him, I come with it. We’re close now, with just a sprite and some plastic between us.

“I probably smell like the Coffee Depot,” I say, and my voice has gone all breathy.

“I’m not complaining.”

Between us, the sprite thumps the sides of the Tupperware, and my heart picks up its beat. If I smell like the brew of the day, then Malcolm spices the air with a strange mix of Ivory Soap and nutmeg—it’s warm and exotic all at once. Malcolm’s gaze is locked on my face. I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.

And I don’t want to.

My phone buzzes a third time.

Malcolm sighs again and then gives me a grin of resignation. We are K&M Ghost Eradication Specialists and this is how we pay the bills.

“I’d better.” I wave a hand toward the door.

“Yeah. You’d better.”

When I’m outside, with my truck rumbling to life beneath me, I can’t tell if it’s regret or relief that will follow me on this call.