Chapter 6
We have the ghost. Or at least, I’m pretty sure we do. Despite the rain, the air has cleared. I no longer feel as if I’m gulping soggy breaths and treading water.
“Keep... building... the field.” Malcolm’s arms tremble, his chest anchoring the bowl to the floor. I shut my eyes and once again concentrate on the containment field the three of us have established around the bowl.
Rain drenches my back, runs down my spine, washes over my skin. The bowl rocks beneath us like a boat on rough seas. I taste salt again, but whether that’s from this ghost or my own sweat, I can’t tell.
“Why is it doing this?” I ask.
We’ve caught it, after all. It’s contained. Tentacles probe the seam where the bowl meets the carpet. Maybe that’s it. The seal isn’t tight enough, and some of its strengt
