Page 50 of Hot Ghost Summer

“In a manner of speaking, yes. It’s not quite as straightforward as that, and—”

“That’s great,” I interrupt, slapping the leaflet across my thigh as I stand. “Thank you again for your time, Father. But I think my twenty minutes are up.”

I need to take my poltergeist out of his condom.

Sitting on the bed beside Hollis’s sheathed phone, I bend to untie my laces while wondering just how mad about this whole thing he’s going to be.

It was really important that he didn’t follow me, though. And when I’ve done the séance, and I’ve learned how to help him move on, then I’m pretty sure he’ll be thanking me. What do Doms call it? Tough love.

A shudder rolls up my spine. Am I… becoming one of them? God, I hope not.

Gingerly, I pick Hollis up and roll the obscenely stretched condom off his phone case. The message he sent me before I left is still visible on the screen:

Choose wisely, or else.

I snort, and another message appears.

You disobeyed my order.

“Yeah,” I acknowledge, tugging my cap from my head to push my fingers through my hair. “I’m sure you’ll think o’ a suitable punishment.”

Hollis doesn’t respond, and I glance up at the lightbulb, then over to the plug sockets by the bedside, but nothing happens.

All through the Tube ride back from Westminster, I’d debated whether the risk of taking Hollis out of his protective barrier was worth it. The leaflet that Father Byrne gave me said to make sure that all phones are turned off during a séance to eliminate distractions, but the point of the whole thing is to communicate with him, and his phone is how I do that.

I carry him through to the living room and plug him back into the charging cable attached to his laptop. I don’t know if the séance might drain his battery more than usual. Maybe. Best to be safe.

Pulling out the chair, I sit with him. The leaflet also said to cleanse the area beforehand, and as luck would have it, I burned a whole bunch of sage the other day, which means I can get straight on with things.

Exhaling, I tap my fingers on the tabletop and look around the room. It’s all a bit lacklustre, isn’t it? No candles, no Ouija board, and no circle of people wearing stiff Victorian collars and holding hands. So, what exactly do I do?

The leaflet only said that the medium starts the séance by calling out to the spirit, but I know Hollis: if I talk to him first, he won’t respond. I also don’t want him to know I’ve figured out what he is—or how to help him. Not yet anyway.

What are you planning?

“What makes you think I’m planning something?”

The bridge of your nose wrinkles when you think too hard. Also, you’re a brat. Brats are always planning.

The corner of my lip curls upward, because fair. “Not planning,” I answer truthfully. I already did the planning. “I’m just sitting with my colleague and wondering about some stuff.”

What stuff?

“Why do only some people turn int’ ghosts after they’ve died? Why doesn’t everyone?”

I hold my breath while I wait, but Hollis doesn’t answer. So, no séance effect yet, then.

Sitting up, I clear my throat and call out, “Dear wee ghosties, I come in peace. Is there anyone here who can answer my very simple and reasonable question?”

Theo…

“Shhh, not you. I’d like t’ talk t’ a nicer ghost for a bit.”

Séances are for wayward teenagers, not actual ghost hunters.

“My mum always used t’ say that if you’ve got nothing nice t’ say, then say nothing at all.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Is that why you ignore me so much?”

That’s not the only reason.