Chapter 4
We don’t barge in. Not only is that bad manners, but ghosts are unpredictable, even on their best days. I stand with Tara on the porch while Malcolm does a circuit of the house. Gingerly, I test the door with a brush of fingertips.
The wood is warm, the brass handle gleams from sunlight, not frost. At least we don’t need to battle a full-on ghost infestation along with a possible possession.
“Things look normal from the outside,” Malcolm says as he rounds the corner of the house.
And no raised voices come from inside. That could be good, or it could be very bad. I reach out and ring the doorbell.
Other than a soft chime, nothing happens.
Tara regards me with the contempt only a preteen can muster. “It’s my house.” She rolls her eyes for good measure, opens the door, and wal
