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“You could have called more. We’ve all made choices.”

Jonah turned a laugh into a cough with middling success.

Instead of giving in to the urge to roll his eyes at his brother, Nate decided to focus on what mattered. “How do we get him out?”

“You don’t. I do. Soul-work through a ward isn’t something I’m teaching over the phone.” She paused as if considering something. “Bring him to dinner on Sunday. I’ll release him after we eat.”

The kitchen went very quiet.

“You’re forcing me to come to dinner?” Nate asked.

“Yes. I’ll make your favorite.”

“Mom. There is a ghost trapped in a toy on my counter.”

“Sunday is only two days away. It won’t hurt him to wait that long. Ask him.”

Everyone looked at the seal. Nate could feel Leo scrambling for a position on this.

“Two days will hurt me,” Leo said. “Two days will hurt me very much.”

“He says he will suffer very much,” Nate reported.

“So you’ve got a dramatic ghost on your hands. I can’t wait to meet him on Sunday.”

“But he can’t leave,” Nate argued, looking for a way to get out of this dinner obligation. “He’s bound to the house.”

“Right now he’s only bound to the ward,” Mom said. “Wherever the seal goes, he goes. He’ll travel fine.”

Nate tried to find another argument and failed.

“So that’s settled,” Mom said after a beat. “Sunday, six o’clock, both of you, and the spirit. I’ll set the table. Goodbye, Nathan. Goodbye, Jonah. Goodbye, spirit.”

She hung up, victorious.

Chapter

Seven

When he was bored that night, the ghost poured all his energy into learning how to move the seal. If he was just angry enough, he could move his flippers. No, not his flippers—the seal’s flippers. And the memory of Jonah saying ‘he’s so round,’ sparked enough anger in him that he could move his tail also. And when he pushed, the seal scooted forward half an inch.

That was progress.

Nate wasn’t gonna know what hit him when the ghost mastered control of his corporeal form—no matter how puny it was.

By dawn he could cross the counter in under ten minutes, and he had even mastered turning around.

Briefly, he considered letting himself fall off the counter, but he would never be able to get back up. He was not built for climbing. He was barely built for scooting.

For now, the counter was his kingdom.

He worked his way back to his original spot before sunrise and settled into position. Let the medium think he was dealing with an inert lump of felt.

Predictably, Nate came in at seven and started the coffee. He also unwrapped some sort of protein bar.

“Your breakfast smells like glue,” the ghost said.

Nate acknowledged this with nothing more than a nod. “Hope you had a good night.”