Page 79 of Hot Ghost Summer

“I need t’…” I blow out a long breath. “I need t’ go.”

Turning, I depress the handle.

“Theo, wait, I…” Hollis stretches out his hand, as if to close it over mine, then pauses. Curling his fingers into his palm, he pushes it deep into his pockets, burying whatever he was going to say along with it.

He stacks his spine and squares his shoulders. “Not to Plot Forty-Seven.”

I clench my jaw to stay my tongue. What would I even say? Something stupid, probably.

“I mean it; we need to research more.” Like he threw a switch, all trace of his earlier emotional vulnerability is gone.

My gaze strays to his laptop and both our phones. I’m done researching for today. Then my eyes land on the open holdall that crowds the table. Its ExorSquad logo—a happy little cartoon ghost—is scratched and faded with wear. I’m done with ghosts too.

Settling my cap into place, the snapback snug against my forehead, I leave without so much as a backward glance.

The overhead striplights flicker in the barren hallway. Is he watching me?

I keep my head down, footfalls loud on the polished concrete floor.

I’m going mad. It’s lack of sleep, it must be.

Or some kind of delayed trauma response from watching Hollis die. Or maybe from being haunted by a sadistic poltergeist with a discipline kink. Or worry about whether I’m getting fired from another minimum-wage job. Or far too much empathy for what happened to the Bowen’s Farm dairy herd.

All of it. It must be all these things.

Because if it’s not those things… I trip and miss a step.

Because if it’s not those things, then it means I’ve caught feelings for the world’s most ineligible bachelor. Not only is Hollis an Austrian prince—he’s dead.

I flick my eyes up to the security camera that covers the building’s entrance.

There’s no way that this can ever be anything more than what it is: a very, very temporary situation. A little shared ectosplooge between colleagues.

I rap my knuckles against my forehead. I’m an idiot.

The heavy fire door bangs shut behind me, and I step out into the cooling night air. This heatwave isn’t meant to last beyond the weekend, and if I do my job right—like Mr Pickett wants—then neither will Hollis. Everything will return to normal. The days will be dismal and grey, the lights won’t flicker, my appliances won’t blow up, and I’ll be alone again.

A double-decker bus borrows the cycle lane as it crawls by in the heavy evening traffic, narrowly missing tagging my arm, and ejecting a hot puff of diesel-scented air. It elicits a full-body shudder and triggers a rush of intrusive images.

The faint orange glow cast by the streetlights becomes the flames that consumed the pyre, and the darkening sky bears down as if filled with the weight of ash. Of death.

There’s been a lot of that lately.

Born into country life, I’ve always been surrounded by death, and I thought I’d accepted that. It’s why I didn’t think twice about working for ExorSquad. But this last week has taken its toll. Even now, walking down the street, I feel like an exposed nerve, so sensitive that even a slight breeze sets me off.

When I left, I didn’t have a destination in mind. I just needed to get out. But I realise now that my feet are already carrying me to the only destination I ever go to when I feel like this—Brigid’s. My emotional support cow.

The glass doors are unlocked when I arrive, but the lights inside the visitor’s centre are off and there’s no sign of Jayne. Her desk at the back has been tidied, though, because I distinctly remember leaving my cup of tea on that stack of paperwork before leading a grumpy Hollis outside earlier.

I check the clock on the wall—a little after seven—later than she usually leaves, given the early starts. Maybe she’s still out back?

Making my way through to see if I can lend a hand, I all but bump into her as she rushes through the open archway from the barn.

“Oh, Theo, thank god!” She drags the back of her tanned hand across her forehead. “I was just on my way to call you. Brigid’s gotten out again.”

“Got out?” I open and close my mouth like a fish. “But I just fixed her stall, and I checked the yard gate earlier. How?”

Jayne’s body slumps. “I wish I knew. This is happening too often.”