Page 34 of Hot Ghost Summer

Keeping a respectful distance this time, I try a different approach. “So, what’s this field guide o’ yours for?”

His phone screen stays dark, but the files keep moving.

“Are you sulking?”

No response.

“Oh my god, you are! You’re sulking. And you called me a brat…” I shovel in another mouthful of rice and chicken.

Shut up, Theo.

“Rude,” I deadpan.

I’m working.

“Yeah, I can see that. What on?”

Why would I share my life’s work with my murderer?

“I said I was sorry about that.”

Sorry doesn’t fix it, does it?

“No, but I’m working on that. Earlier, at the big shop, I bought—”

It doesn’t matter what you bought; it won’t help. All you need to do is be quiet so I can concentrate.

I scoff. “Well, I beg your bloody pardon, Your Highness.”

My work is too important for me to be dead.

I glare at the screen. “Yeah, well, you are dead. And you’re stuck with me. So you’ll just have t’ get used t’ it.”

Leaving my dinner on the table, I grab my phone and storm off to my bedroom.

He’s so aggravating—stupid prince. I stick two fingers up at the closed door, then starfish onto my bed. Like his worth is so much better than mine just because he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

This isn’t the first time someone’s accused me of not amounting to much. It’s why I left Cumbria. I either moved to London and proved them all wrong by making something of myself, or did what everyone else up there does, and work the farms or join the military.

I could have joined the military. I’d already graduated top of the class from the cadets, and everyone expected that’d be the route I’d choose, but most likely I’d have had to squash myself back in the closet for that—at least for a few years—and the thought of it just tore at my soul.

So, I chose Option C—none of the above.

I chose myself. Decided I didn’t want to live life on anyone’s terms but my own.

I refuse to settle, and I’m done being called less-than for doing that. I won’t stand for it. Won’t sit around and be insulted—not by anyone. Especially not by some dead prince who’s stuck in his own phone.

twelve

Burning Sage and Drinking Tea

Theo

Groggily, I blink awake. It was hot as balls last night, and already I can feel the heat in the early morning rays that are trapped behind the thin curtains and my drying clothes.

I groan, shuffling and stretching. The sheets are half kicked off the bed, the pillows are in disarray, and when I reach for the last of the water in the glass at my bedside, it’s warm. Blergh.

Snatching it up, I stagger toward the kitchen to refill it. My bare feet stick to the laminate flooring in the hallway with a wet shuck-shuck, and I keep my eyes half shut to block out the harsh truth of daybreak. The dining table stands like a war monument, and I grip the water glass like a shield.