Page 16 of Purrfectly Haunted

James turns to look at me, grinning. “Are you crying again, big guy?”

I flush. “He must have had a terrible life! It’s sad.”

He laughs and gets to his feet. “Probably. But now thanks to you, he’s free.” He offers me a hand and pulls me up effortlessly. “Come on, all is well. Stop crying.” He pats my cheeks, and I feel the urge to rub my face against his palms. Then he steps away and surveys the bathroom. “At least there isn’t much damage this time.” He peeks through the open door. “The carpets on the other side are dry. Bloody hell!” he suddenly says.

From the fear in his voice, I know what I’m going to see on the other side. Seven cats are spread over the stairs and the hallway, watching us, eyes glowing.

“They’re supervising the ghost hunt,” I say with a laugh.

James steps back into the bathroom. “They’re creepy. These cats are weird, I’m telling you.”

As if on cue, the cats all walk away and disappear in the dark.

Huh. He’s right, they’re a wee strange.

“Come on, let’s get back to our room and get changed,” James says. “Then I have a mind to go back to the staff kitchen. I noticed a bottle of whisky on top of the fridge this morning, behind the plant.”

I sigh. “I wouldn’t mind a stiff drink.”

Our wet shoes squish all the way to our room, and I cringe. Wet socks are the root of all evil.

I struggle to take my ExorSquad uniform off. It’s already too-tight—they didn’t have my size at the ExorSquad HQ—but soaked through, it’s a nightmare.

James laughs when he witnesses my struggle, then says, “You’d win a wet t-shirt contest right now.”

I look down and realise I 'm wearing a thin white t-shirt under it, and my nipples are quite visible. My face warms up. “Sorry.”

“Hey, don’t be. You’ve got a really nice body.” He turns his back to me to take off his pants.

I... what?

He thinks I have a nice body? I stare at him, cheeks burning, and the way his tattoos follow the curves and dips of his body. Shit shit shit, I take my wet clothes off before I can get a visible erection and jump into dry ones.

“I’m ready,” I mumble and wait by the door, like a child who’s been caught with his hand in the jar of candy.

Thankfully, James appears blind to my inner struggle. He puts on a black hoodie with a skull on it and torn jeans. His dark hair is already drying, while mine is a floppy mess on top of my head.

We don’t meet a soul, alive or dead, as we make our way through the quiet house. Mercifully, the remaining ghosts give us a break. I think we had enough adventure for the night. I’m tired and cold to the bone.

After the ghost hunt in the communal showers, the staff kitchen appears a welcoming space, full of everyday normalcy, such as leftover cake on the table, dirty mugs by the sink, and a too-bright light bulb above our heads.

James gets on his toes to grab the bottle of whisky on top of the fridge. “A-ha! It’s still here. Get us two glasses, will you?”

I open a few cupboards until I find what we’re looking for.

James pours us two generous shots. “It’ll warm us right up.” And he downs his drink. I follow suit, feeling a mistake coming. “Aaaah, that hits the spot,” he breathes out. He pours us another.

We both sit around the table and relax, at last.

“What a night...” I say.

He hums, twirling the amber liquor inside his glass. “We exorcised another ghost. Look at us, we’re real experts now.” He clinks his drink with mine.

I laugh. “I’m still not sure how we did that.”

He looks at me with a pensive expression. “About that. What’s up with you and ghosts?”

I feel like a deer caught in headlights. “What?”