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“Obviously.”

“Okay. You’re going outside.”

“Worth it!” The ghost was picked up mid-gloat. “Do you hear me? Worth it! I have powers beyond your — put me down — beyond your comprehension, and no corner can hold⁠—”

The front door opened and sun shone in their faces. Nate crossed the porch, set the seal down on the boards beside the top step, and straightened up.

“I’ll come get you when I’m done.”

“Lock your doors! Hide your brooms! Nothing in that house is safe from me!”

The door closed.

Then, pointedly, the lock.

The ghost sat on his own porch, in the sun, facing his own garden. Wobbling, he turned around to glare at the house. He gathered his fury, and pushed.

Nothing fell over.

He pushed again.

Nothing.

The porch was warm.

The ghost pretended he didn’t enjoy sitting on it.

The ghost had been on the porch for an hour or two when the fox came along.

It trotted out of the overgrowth by the fence, crossed the drive, and came up the steps the way it always did, like it owned the place and was merely tolerating everyone else’s opinion on the matter.

The ghost respected that about the fox.

“Wait ’til you hear what that medium did now!” the ghost said. “He locked me out of my own house.”

The fox stopped.

Its ears turned toward him.

Almost as if it could actually hear him for once.

“Can you hear me?”

The fox came closer. Its nose was working, quick little pulls of air, and its amber eyes were fixed on him.

Of course. The seal. The ghost had a body now—of sorts.

The ghost drew himself up as much as the seal allowed.

“Great,” he said. “You can see me!”

The fox sniffed him. The nose came in close, touched the felt of his head, huffed twice. The fox was greeting him! Greeting him!

And then it opened its mouth.

“What are you⁠—”

Teeth closed on the back of his neck.