“But listen, I See Dead People: if it turns out we’re wrong—if the only reason you’re being so friendly is because you’re trying to get your scoop—”
I giggled, but stopped when she scowled. “Sorry. You know it’s not 1957, right?”
“Shut up. If I find out you’re using him to get info on us, unbelievably terrible things will happen to you.” She topped off my smoothie. “But in the meantime.” She dropped a whole strawberry on top as a garnish: plop! “Tell me about your sources.”
So I did. I figured the more they knew about me, the more they’d relax and the longer I could stay. And I was showing off a little for Marc, who always looked away when I glanced at him, but whose gaze I felt when my attention was on one of the others.
I told them about having no idea that the many playmates of my childhood were dead until school started and none of the other kids could see them. I told them about the multiple visits with the school psychologist, about never knowing my mom, at ten losing my dad to cancer, and the devastation of never seeing their ghosts. I told them about using the money Dad had left me to try to find other people who were like me, and never succeeding. I talked and talked and they didn’t interrupt me once, or laugh, or even look skeptical.
At one point Betsy excused herself and came back about ten minutes later with a slim blonde (Minnesota could be a bit homogeneous) who had a ponytail and a cynical expression. Betsy didn’t refer to the woman in any way, and neither did the others, so I ignored her, too.
“And then Marc pushed me out of the way of a news van, even though he had every reason to stand back and watch me get clipped, and I snuck back in to thank him.”
“Thank you for explaining,” Tina said.
“You really— It wasn’t necessary,” Marc muttered. “It was no big deal.”
“Don’t say that,” I said. “It was a big deal to me.” I took a breath and forced it out. “I think you’re wonderful. I want to know all about you. I don’t care that you aren’t human.”
“Are you?” Betsy asked. She seemed honestly curious, and the suspicion seemed to be gone. She certainly didn’t have to worry about me hurting her—any of them. I was well aware that I was at their mercy; it wasn’t the other way around. “Human, I mean.”
“Sure. Being able to see ghosts doesn’t translate to, I don’t know, werewolf or something.” I forced a laugh, then stopped when I saw they weren’t even smiling. Oh, God. Were werewolves a thing, too? I made a mental note to ask my sources.
“If we aren’t going to drink his blood until he dies of shock,” Sinclair said, effortlessly terrifying me, “we do have business to attend to elsewhere.”
“Yep, yep.” Betsy got up off her stool and it looked like— Yes! They were going to leave me! With Marc! Who wasn’t moving off his stool! All the dangers and ear wrenching I’d endured were worth it. But . . .
“Aren’t you going to ask me about the ghost standing by the stove? About five foot five, blond ponytail, khakis, red sweater, scowling?”
“Ah,” Betsy said, sounding pleased. “You do see her, I was starting to wonder. What’s her name?”
“I don’t know, she hasn’t told me.”
“But you definitely see her?” Tina asked, looking at me with a lot more interest.
“Of course he sees me, you Southern belle boob,” the ghost said crossly. “And my name’s Cathie. Betsy, you dragged me out of Hell for this? To vet the latest addition to the mansion freak show? Father Markus is undermining you all over the place and I’ve got more new arrivals to assign buddies to.” To me: “Take my advice: run and never look back.”
“Nope.” I clutched my glass at the very thought. “I like it here. I like them.”
She let out an inelegant snort. “Hope you like constant chaos and spending way too much time drinking pulped fruit when the Big Bad isn’t trying to kill you and Betsy’s not bitching about missing a shoe sale. Because that’s what you’re in for.”
“Sounds great,” I said, which was nothing but the truth. “I’m Will Mason, by the way.”
“Oh, who cares?” she said and walked through the wall and disappeared.
“So.” I cleared my throat and found a smile. “Do I pass?”
“You bet,” Betsy said, and those were the magic words, because everyone else loosened up. “Welcome. Next time just knock and come in like my mom did. Don’t skulk in the mudroom.”