Page 116 of Hot Ghost Summer

“Nuh-uh, Baby. Eyes on me.” He holds both hands up between us, and I press my palms flat against his to thread our fingers.

Together, we set a gentle rhythm, and a hidden hum moves through the surrounding air. Our intimate pace speeds up my pulse, making the energy that snaps between us stronger and tighter.

Sweat trickles over my skin as I piston my hips faster. The shift builds a slow, burning resistance in the base of my spine that begs for release.

Bright sparks float at the edge of my vision, and in the centre of it all, is Hollis. I clench my jaw, trying to hang on just that little bit longer, but he glitches around me and his low-voltage current sparks through my nerves.

With a sudden rush, my body locks up as I convulse inside him in a tight, shivering wave.

“Hollis.” I crash my head against his torso, breathless.

My heart thunders inside my chest. That was everything I needed it to be.

He folds me inside his arms and kisses the top of my head. “I fear the tea might have grown cold.”

“S’okay,” I mumble. “I’ll make us a fresh one. I know the secret ingredient.”

His laugh vibrates through me like the gentle tumble of stones on a riverbed—a private sound meant only for me.

thirty-six

B-R-A-T

Hollis

Theo points the camera of his phone in through the pizza shop window, not that it can pick up much beyond the smeared grease that stains the glass.

“You ever eat anything from ’ere?” he asks.

Doughlicious Pizza, ExorSquad’s commercial neighbour, does a roaring late-night trade from the people who spend their days in the betting shop next door, and those who spend it in the pub around the corner. Both types of customer are invariably too distracted to notice the two-star food hygiene rating taped to the door.

“No, never had a death wish,” I deadpan.

Theo snorts a laugh. “So, you won’t eat pizza, but you’ll eat bottom-feeders? Your toff math’s not mathing.”

“Careful, Theo…” I warn.

He presses the doorbell for the ExorSquad office, lips curving into a slow, wicked grin. “You do know that warning me t’ behave just gives me a to-do list with a deadline. Are you sure you can handle that?”

“Handle you, Baby?” I fire a crackle of static electricity up his spine. “Do your absolute worst.”

Theo shudders and opens his mouth, no doubt with some smart retort already loaded, when Ted’s brash south London accent cuts through the damp morning air. “Welcome to ExorSquad, where all your hauntings go to die.”

“Not just hauntings…” Theo murmurs.

There’s an awkward silence, and then Ted asks, “How may I help you today?”

“Yeah, hi Ted. It’s Theo. Can I come in?”

I’m ready to blow the circuits and force our entry—memories of last time when they left him standing out in the street are still fresh. The door buzzes open with a grinding whine.

Theo pockets his phone and steps through into the dim hallway. He barely glances at the aged litter piled in every corner and crevice, ignores the tacky stick of the soles of his sneakers as he ascends the stairs, and with a steely determination he enters the ExorSquad office at the top.

Ted doesn’t look up from his desk that’s crowded with printouts and reports, but neither is he reading them. Head bowed, his right hand nervously twitches around a blue biro, and his leg bounces where he sits. “He’s, um… He’s expecting you, Mister Pickett. In his office.”

Theo doesn’t answer, not with words. Instead, he pulls out the only available chair, drops his shoulder, and lets the heavy ExorSquad workbag thud onto it. The pen in Ted’s hand stills and his gaze locks onto the holdall like it’s primed to explode. It might; I haven’t decided yet.

Theo doesn’t explain, just as they didn’t when they shoved a sagging cardboard box of my personal effects into his arms that day. He settles his cap’s visor against the back of his neck, then sidles past Ted and out into the narrow corridor beyond. At the far end, Gerald’s office door is closed, but the one to the kitchen—as always—is wedged open.