Page 48 of Hot Ghost Summer

“Protection,” I quip, the corner of my mouth curling up into a smile.

I should have been more specific. What do you intend to do with it?

“These are guaranteed t’ stop unwanted pregnancies and diseases. I want t’ find out if they also stop unwanted ghosts.”

That familiar and angry buzz of static electricity floods the plug sockets in my bedroom.

You’ve got to be kidding me. Vollkoffer. Absolutely not.

Ignoring him, I grip the phone between my knees and use both hands to stretch the latex rim wide enough to fit over the case. It’s tight, and the rolled edge almost cuts off the circulation in my fingers. “Why’s your case so big?”

I refuse to talk ballistic nylon with you while you’re stuffing me into a condom. Let’s talk about the consequences for this little act of insubordination instead.

Finally, the rim stretches enough for me to roll it over him without it splitting. “Yeah, because I hate being punished. Proper tragedy. But we’ll have t’ do it later. Places t’ go, people t’ see.”

He sends me another message, but it’s too blurred under the condom for me to read.

Chuckling to myself, I lace up my sneakers, grab a cap, and head out.

Theo: two. Hollis: nil.

sixteen

Malevolence

Theo

Despite being built from red brick, Vaughan House isn’t a house at all. The massive urban temple has three doors embedded under a towering stone arch that’s set above wide and palatial steps. The central door—four times taller than a human—is wedged permanently open in invitation, yet I’ve been loitering out in this sun-baked courtyard for a good ten minutes now.

The last priest I spoke to was adamant this is where I need to be. According to him, Father Byrne is the Catholic Church’s leading authority on all things exorcism. I really hope the Diocese of Westminster doesn’t offer spiritual deliverance like ExorSquad offers spiritual extraction.

Determined—and ready to be out of the afternoon heat—I take a final, noisy slurp of my iced-tea, and push off from where I’ve been resting against the trunk of the only tree anywhere in sight. Wiping the condensation from my fingers onto my tracksuit bottoms, I jog up the steps and through the large open door. The cooling relief offered by the exceptionally high ceilings is instant, and my shoulders slope away from my ears.

A deep-red rope creates a zig-zag cordon over the checkered, black-and-white floor where a handful of people queue before me. At the end, a priest in a black cassock enters people’s details into an electronic tablet before directing them further inside the building.

“Good afternoon, how may I assist you today?” he asks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a single finger.

A sudden and unexpected pang of loss hits me; Hollis used to do that in the exact same way.

“Um…” I start, removing my cap to scratch the back of my neck with the visor. “I have a specific problem, and was told I need t’ speak with Father Byrne.”

The priest in front of me falters. Appraising, he takes in my casual clothes and injured face, then puts back his professional mask to inform me that, “Father Byrne is in today. Consultations are free, but strictly limited to a single twenty-minute time slot. Services thereafter are cost-based. Can I take a name, please?”

“Um, yeah. Theo. Theo Irving.”

“Right, then, Mister Irving.” He holds out the tablet when he points to a closed door off to the right, and I can’t help but look at the screen for any evidence of… malfunction, but everything appears normal. “You’ll find Father Byrne through that door, second on your left. Go straight through.”

Nodding, I shove my hands deep in my pockets and hurry over. I left my phone at home and only brought my wallet and keys, but if Hollis really is my poltergeist, then maybe he can follow me regardless. And if that’s the case, then surely it’s only a matter of time until he makes his presence known?

Father Byrne’s door is already open, but still, I knock.

“Enter,” he calls in a commanding tone.

The kind that immediately makes me want to say, “Make me.” But when I step inside and find an elderly man with a slight hunch shuffling out from behind an overly large oak desk, that part of me shushes.

With a liver-spotted hand, Father Byrne points to a very upright chair. “Come, Mister Irving. Tell me, what brings you here today?”

The orange upholstery of the seat cushion is threadbare and nearly all the padding has worn away, exposing the bones of my arse to the hard wood beneath. There’ll be no problem sticking to that twenty-minute timeframe like this, that’s for sure. “Well, Father, I have a… problem with a former colleague.”