 
The Ghost Host

Episode 1
Also by DelSheree Gladden

Escaping Fate Series

Escaping Fate

Soul Stone

Oracle Lost

(Coming 2017)

Eliza Carlisle Mystery Series

Trouble Magnet

The Catalyst (novella)

The Handbook Series

The Crazy Girl's Handbook

The Oblivious Girl's Handbook

The Arcane Wielders Series

Life & Being (coming Dec 2016)

Twin Souls Saga

Twin Souls

Shaxoa's Gift

Qaletaqa

The Destroyer Trilogy

Inquest

Secret of Betrayal

Darkening Chaos

Someone Wicked This Way Comes Series

Wicked Hunger

Wicked Power

Wicked Glory

Wicked Revenge

The Aerling Series

Invisible

Intangible

Invincible

The Date Shark Series

Date Shark

Shark Out Of Water

The Only Shark In The Sea

Shark In Troubled Waters
The Ghost Host

Episode 1

Book One of

The Ghost Host Series

DelSheree Gladden

Smashwords Edition
The Ghost Host: Episode 1

Book One of

The Ghost Host Series

Written by DelSheree Gladden

Copyright © DelSheree Gladden 2015

Cover Design DelSheree Gladden

Model Photography by Kassondra Sturtevant with Mystereah Photography

Cover Model Kate Bordeaux

Published by DelSheree Gladden

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher and/or author.

Printed in the U.S.A.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For Abbey

Who loves scary stories even though she's always too scared to go to sleep after hearing one.
Acknowledgements

When I started writing this book last year, I intended it to be funny. Echo had other plans and this book is not funny. However, when I sent the beta copy to the always fabulous Apryl Baker, there were still vestiges of humor in the first few chapters and she said it felt too YA because it reminded her of iCarly! I had a good laugh about that because it was my kids' love of iCarly before it ended and my love of Apryl's books that got me interested in ghosts and introduced me to Echo Simmons, The Ghost Host.

I also owe Apryl a big thanks for pointing out several majors and minor flaws with the original version of this story and helping me work out how to fix them. You know you have a great friend when they're willing to be that honest and then stick around to patch up the problems.

I need to thank my other early reader, Sneha Mohite, who started reading when I only had half the book written and then stuck with me for months on end to get the ending and give me her thoughts.

My other beta readers on this project were invaluable as well and helped me with a particularly sticky issue so I could get it just right. Thank you, Melissa Bendt, Mylissa Demeyere, Michelle Zeplin, Rhonda Sermon, Monique Bogan, Deanne Gladden, and Nikki Jeffrey.

Final thanks goes to Kassondra Sturtevant (my awesome sister), aka Mystereah Photography, for taking the cover model pics for the front cover after I whined that there were no good stock photos of redheads, and to the gorgeous Kate Bordeaux for posing for her.
Contents

1: Baffled

2. Trouble Is

3. Crazies

4. Ghosts and All

5. Madness and Meatloaf

6. Anything But

7. The Only Ones

8. Experiences

9. Long Distance Comfort

10. Fair Trade

11. Together?

12. Boyfriend Material

13. The Old Estate

14. Worse

15. Glare of Death

16. Suffocate

17. Fear

18. Vengeful

19. Simple Touch

20. Adjustment

21. Invasion

22. Enough

23. Doubts

24. Clouded

25. Zombie

26. Pieces

27. Tether

28. The Last Thought

29. Ordinary

30. The One

31. Connection

32. The Choice to Stay

33. Cryptic

34. Power and Purpose

35. Instincts

36. Gone

37. Tune In

Other Books by DelSheree

About the Author
1: Baffled

(Echo)

I'm not scared of cameras, just the rogue ghost trying to force his way onto my webshow. My two best friends, Holden and Zara, rush around the set trying to work out all the last minute details and camera setup. I am considerably less helpful as I stare at the cameras, twisting my hands nervously.

This is usually the best part of my week. That was before the rogue ghost showed up last month and started stalking me. The black fear and raging anger he carries around instantly put me on edge. I've been doing my best to avoid him, but the attacks are getting worse every day.

Noticing my reticence, Zara stops next to me and squeezes my arm. "Hey, it's gonna be fine. Holden has the whole area circled in salt. He'll close it as soon as your guest steps inside the circle. No one else will get in."

I nod, but not even the knowledge that my friends have my back and the presence of the salt reassures me. I have a feeling that ordinary precautions won't cut it against the rogue.

"Two minutes, people!" Holden shouts as he races across the room to lock the door against unexpected interruptions. Tonight, I'd actually welcome someone barging in over something else's appearance.

Zara moves away from me and grabs an eraser to get rid of the show notes from earlier this week. She sprints back to one of the cameras a second later, missing as she tries to toss the eraser back onto the tray. The blackboard is still smudged with chalk dust, but I set the eraser back on the tray and face the desk and chair waiting for me. Taking a deep breath, I walk over to it and take my seat by the time Zara starts the countdown. I'm semi-composed as her last finger drops and she signals that we're live.

"Welcome back to The Ghost Host," I say with a smile that's not quite as genuine as usual. "I'm Echo Simmons and we've got an extra special show tonight. We're going back in time to talk to a ghost who hasn't seen the inside of a high school in at least half a century.

"As always, everything you see tonight is real. We use old school chalk and blackboards so you know we're not interfering digitally, and we stream live so there's no time for special effects. The responses you see will be straight from our guest, communicated through me by automatic writing. You're welcome to believe me or not. It's up to you."

Having gotten through my memorized spiel, I smile again, feeling a bit more confident that this will go well. Saying that we stream live is a small fib since Holden delays the broadcast by about thirty seconds just in case one of the ghost guests try to break the rules, but we've learned it's essential from past experiences. Better safe than sorry.

I glance toward the blackboard. My mom really couldn't understand why I wanted one last year when every other born and bred California girl I went to school with was asking for shopping trips or surf boards. She was unwilling to refuse me for fear of things going bad again, and presented it to me on my seventeenth birthday with a shake of her head. Dad gave up trying to figure me out a while ago. He's supportive so long as things keep going well.

Turning toward the blackboard, I nod to the elderly woman waiting just outside the salt circle and ignore the usual crowd of ghosts hanging around in the periphery. She showed up about a month ago, but stayed in the background, almost as though she were trying to figure out whether or not I was legit. It wasn't until earlier this week that she attempted contact and made it clear she had a message to pass on.

Since I've been burned in the past by ghosts not being on the up and up, rule one for the Ghost Host show is that guests have to give me a preview of their message before coming on the show so I can make sure it's not going to cause trouble for anyone still living. This lady's thoughtful approach and clear respect paired up with her innocuous message made it easy to say yes.

Holden breaks the circle when I give him the signal to let my guest in, then closes it immediately behind her when I nod that she's through safely. The crowd of ghosts waiting outside the circle all want a turn, but they all know the rules by now and won't risk crossing me. Any ghost who doesn't obey the rules of the show will never be allowed on to share their message. No second chances.

"Now, we have a guest ready and waiting," I say when I turn back to the camera, "but we need to go over the rules first." I stand and walk over to the blackboard. The woman's gaze follows me. Holden, standing behind the larger camera and tripod now, adjusts it slightly on Zara's command.

The woman is already nodding her agreement to my conditions, but since I'm the only one who can see her, it's not quite good enough. "I'll write the rules—so you can see my bad handwriting—and after I do, our guest will take control and sign her name with the chalk in her own handwriting, agreeing to the terms."

The woman nods and I start talking. "Rule one. You are not allowed to physically interact with any of the crew, me included. Rule two. You must answer three of my questions before being able to deliver your message. Rule three. Your message may be of a personal nature, but I won't put up with any hateful or disparaging comments you can't prove. Any accusations have to be fact checked before the show and approved beforehand. Are we agreed?"

Instead of nodding again, the woman closes her eyes. I don't exactly lose control, but I instantly feel an outside source nudging my subconscious, urging me to move the chalk. I'm only vaguely aware of my hand moving as I begin signing her name in a perfect, but shaky script. It's the kind of handwriting that hasn't been properly valued in ages. Zara and Holden start grinning when they see it. It's the first indication they have that tonight will be successful. When we first started the show, we had no idea what would happen once we let the ghosts get involved for real.

From an outside perspective, the show simply passes on messages to help ghosts reconnect with family and friends in a way they can't on their own. I am glad I can help them find peace, but even more than that, I do this for my own sanity. Allowing the ghosts this outlet is the only way to control their presence in my life. Not giving over the reins completely reminds them that even though they're the reason for the show, I'm still in charge. Which is where the three questions come in.

The curly script on the chalkboard takes me a minute to decipher once the woman pulls her influence away and I can concentrate on the words. "All right, Madeline Crew, here's your first question. What is one unique event that happened during your lifetime?"

The feel of her influence creeps into me again, even more strongly than before. I feel my hand wobbling against the chalkboard as I imagine hers would. To me, it actually feels as if my hand has turned knobby and old, trying to scrawl out an answer. To everyone watching, it looks like I've got a serious caffeine buzz. The shaky script slowly spells out her answer. I shake off her influence again and read what she had to say.

I was 40 years old when Kennedy was assassinated.

I'm not all that surprised by her response given her apparel choices. Her housecoat over a loose floral print nightdress looks like something not even my own grandma would have worn before she passed away. Its dated pattern looks like something that would have been popular some time ago.

"Thank you, Madeline. Question two is...what was the best gift you ever received and who gave it to you?"

Madeline's expression scrunches just a bit as she thinks. It doesn't take long before she has me writing again.

A train ticket to Tennessee, given to me by Tommy Sharp.

I smile at the cryptic answer. The coy look I get in response makes me chuckle. "I'm sure there's much more to that story than a simple train ticket." Madeline's watery eyes sparkle, but she doesn't offer any more. I nod, respectful of her desire to keep a few secrets, even in death.

"Maybe you'll tell us more another time," I say. "For now, let's get to the last question. What is the bravest thing you did during your life?"

For some reason, Madeline's face looks like it would have gone completely pale had she any actual flesh and blood. The haunted expression only lasts a moment before she pushes over her influence and has me hastily scratch out her response.

Stealing classified information from the Nazis.

"Whoa," I say once I get my head back, and the sentiment is echoed by Holden and Zara. "Now I really want to have you back again."

Madeline's expression says she's not keen on the idea at all, but I am definitely going to be looking her up after the show. This lady has some crazy interesting stories tucked away somewhere. She doesn't want to put them out there, but that won't stop me from digging around.

"All right, Madeline. You've held up your end of the deal, so now it's your turn to share your message."

Her head bobs eagerly and I feel my hand start twitching again.

"Well, the board is now yours. Feel free to pass on your message, so long as you stick to the rules."

Thank you, Echo, she has me write first. Then, she urges me to pick up the eraser and wipe the board clean. I realize then just how strong she is. Usually ghosts have to really focus just to get their thoughts over to my subconscious along with the nudge to write. Everyone in the room who's actually alive, including me, tenses in anticipation. Madeline must have a lot to say, and I think we all know it's going to be interesting.

This message is for my great grandson, Malachi Fields.

Do not let your father sell the old estate before you visit again.

Go to the closet where I kept the metal trucks and army men.

I left something for you there, in your favorite hiding place.

It is only for you.

Madeline relinquishes her influence over my subconscious and glances at me hopefully. I know what she's asking. It's the same question every ghost who comes on the show wants answered after they relay their message to me. Will I make sure the message gets to the intended person? In response to her question, I nod.

"We'll do our best to make sure we track down Malachi and pass your message along, Madeline. Thank you for coming tonight."

She sighs in relief and bows her head. Holden steps away from the camera and breaks the salt circle so she can leave. She steps out and vanishes a moment later. I don't know where she goes after that, but she seems happy. There isn't much I can do with this talent, or whatever people want to call it, but I can give a few restless spirits a little bit of peace. It doesn't hurt that it's made me wildly popular online, if not here at home. Everyone at school thinks I'm a big fake and a major freak, but that's not because of the show.

"Well, that wraps up our show for tonight. We'll have it up on YouTube later this evening for anyone who couldn't catch it live, so feel free to tell your friends and send them to our channel." I pause, ready to signal for Zara to wrap it up. All three of us jump when the temperature plummets.

I stare at the spot Madeline just vacated, and my body goes ice cold at the sight of the salt circle not completely closed. My eyes travel up haltingly, almost closing against what I know will be there. The twitching, hazy ghost glowers at me as he reaches toward my trembling body. "No, no, no, no," I whimper as I scramble away from it.

Ice crystalizes along the edges of my bedroom windows and the air is suddenly charged with electricity. I can hear Zara and Holden freaking out somewhere in the distance, but my eyes and terror are wholly focused on the rogue ghost that has been tormenting me. I stare in amazement and fear as he actually manages to pick up a piece of chalk, something only a massive amount of energy will allow. I don't know what he wants, but I know it won't be good.

Before I can do anything, he rounds on me, lunges...and I freeze, pure terror gripping me relentlessly. Both of his hands clamp down around my head and set off my panic button like never before. A surge of energy rips through my mind, tearing a scream from me as pain stabs through my head.

Crashing, yelling, all around chaos breaks out. As the pain sears through me, salt rains down on my body. It's only seconds later that the agony begins to vanish. Even still, I'm too shaken to even think about standing. I can barely process the fact that someone, probably my dad, is banging on my bedroom door. The only thing that really gets through is Zara and Holden dropping to the floor next to me, doing everything they can to reassure me that the ghost is gone and I'm safe again.

It must only take a few minutes, because my dad is still banging on the door with only a little worry in his voice as he calls out. It feels like a lot longer, but I stumble back up to my feet and rush to my door before the banging stops. My dad's panicked face confronts me as I yank the door open. He takes in my flushed appearance and sweat-beaded skin and his worry doubles. "Echo, what on earth is going on in there?"

"Sorry, Dad. Spider. Crawled right up my leg while I was sitting at the desk. Nearly knocked over the whole set trying to get it off me."

My dad shakes his head. "Everyone okay?"

"Yeah. Holden squashed the spider. We're good now."

He sighs and shakes his head one more time. He mumbles something about spraying for bugs as he walks away. Completely shaken by what just happened, I do my best to pretend I'm fine and am about to suggest we get the heck out of here when I turn back to my friends and stop.

Scrawled across the blackboard in huge, angry letters are the words, LET ME GO! All I can do is stare in shock. This psycho ghost has been stalking me for almost a month, but he's never attempted to communicate before. I feel lost and scared as I try to understand his message.

"Uh," Holden says, "any clue what that's about?"

The rogue's three words send a chill down my spine, but I'm completely baffled.
2: Trouble Is

(Malachi)

Tired after a late night at work, I unlock the door to the apartment I share with my best friend Kyran, glad to be out of the humid Georgia air.

"Malachi!" Kyran yells as soon as he hears the apartment door open.

I'm not really in the mood to try and keep him alive on whatever video game he's playing. "I'm not helping you," I call back.

I toss my keys in the dish on top of the entertainment center and head for the kitchen. For the millionth time I wonder why we hooked up both our PS4s in my room and the XBOX to the main TV. We both know Kyran spends most of his time on the PS4 getting massacred by other players. He's been my best friend my whole life, but I'd really like to just go crash in my room without him in there yelling at the TV.

I'm reaching for a glass before I realize Kyran isn't in my room. He's planted at the kitchen table, eyes glued to his laptop screen. "You've gotta watch this! Hurry up and get over here," he demands.

This new plea doesn't make me any more inclined to do what he wants. "Kyran, I'm going to bed. I'll watch it in the morning."

I don't know how he manages to get any schoolwork done between video games and YouTube. Shaking my head, I fill my glass with water from the tap and drink it down. You wouldn't think playing the piano at a swanky restaurant all night would be thirsty work, but I'm not allowed to have drinks at the piano, not even water. It makes for a long night sometimes.

"Do I really have to drag you over here?" Kyran snaps. "Come watch this. Now."

Rolling my eyes, I give in. I'm too tired to argue, so I drop into the seat next to him. I wish I hadn't as soon as I see the title of the video. "The Ghost Host?" I start to get back up, but Kyran grabs my arm.

"Come on, man," I complain, "you know I'm not into that stuff. Call Cerise and nerd out with her."

"Sit down and watch this," Kyran demands again. "It's about Grandma Maddie."

That gets my attention. Kyran's always been fascinated with the supernatural. Southerners tend to hold onto superstitions, and Georgia's no different in that regard, but I don't have the patience for it. However, the mention of my great grandma Madeline will stop me in my tracks no matter what the context. Kyran hits play, and for once, I'm glued to the video he's trying to show me.

I'll admit, even after being spooked by hearing the name of Grandma Maddie, my first thought when the video starts is how hot the host is. Her hair is practically orange, but not an obnoxious orange. It's more of a burnt orange, dark, rich, and nearly as captivating as her smile. I forget why I'm watching this as I simply stare at her.

Honestly, I don't even know what it is about her that's caught my attention so much. Just a pull, something begging me to pay attention. When I come out of my fog, I notice her tense posture and the way her eyes keep darting around the set. What is she afraid of? Is it just an act?

I perk up when she says she has a guest ready to play her question and answer game. Her handwriting is nothing like my sisters', whose pride in being cultured Southern girls insists that they have handwriting which could be framed if someone actually cared to do such a thing. This girl, Echo I think she said her name was, scribbles out her rules as if she couldn't care less if anyone can actually read it.

When she finishes, something weird happens. I assume it's just part of the act when her posture changes and her eyes seem to lose focus, but the second she starts writing again, my blood goes cold. It's been eight years since Grandma Maddie died, but I still have letters she wrote to me during the school year. I know her handwriting. I have no clue how to react to seeing it scrawled out across Echo's chalkboard.

Madeline Crew.

I reach for the necklace tucked under my shirt, and notice Kyran has done the same. Gifts from Grandma Maddie, she gave them to us the first year we were old enough to spend the summer at her estate. At five years old, we both thought necklaces were for girls, but she insisted we wear them every day, no matter what, to protect us. From what, we had no clue at that age. I still don't. Grandma Maddie said to wear them, so we did. Kyran's told me since then that the Celtic shield symbol really is used for protection, but it's always just been a reminder of her for me. Nothing more.

Keeping a hold on the necklace, I'm drawn back to the show when Echo's voice relates her first question. The next twenty minutes leave me completely unhinged as I read the responses to Echo's questions. Who is Tommy Sharp and what does my great grandma have to do with Nazi secrets? I thought she was a secretary during the war. The only answer I don't have a problem with is the JFK comment. The rest...I don't know what to think.

The handwriting is hers, but where are these answers coming from? I can't even tear myself away from the video to ask Kyran what's going on. Is this show just a big hoax? Do Echo and her friends dig up information about people who've passed on and try to trick people into believing they're actually talking to real ghosts, or is there more to it? I'm still hung up on the handwriting when Echo says the supposed ghost of my great grandma has a message.

Ignoring Kyran's protest, I pull the laptop right in front of me. I don't think I could have looked away if our apartment spontaneously caught fire. Until my name shows up. Jumping back in my chair at the sight of, "This message is for my great grandson, Malachi Fields," sends a shiver down my spine.

Turning to look at Kyran, I ask, "Dude, what is going on?"

Kyran points back to the screen. "Keep watching! Don't miss it!"

It doesn't matter that I can always play back the video if I miss something. I snap my attention to the screen, fixated on what's about to happen. The message continues, talking about the old estate—which amps up my freaked-out status even more—to the old die cast trucks and army men Kyran and I used to play with every time we went to Grandma Maddie's house, to something she left for me, something she wants me to risk going back there to get.

As soon as the message ends, Echo seems to shake off the presence...act...whatever, and go right into closing up the show. Leaning back against the chair, a million thoughts run through my mind, but before I can consider any of them, I jump forward again, my fingers clenched around the laptop screen.

I have no clue what's going on when Echo's face drains of color and she starts chanting "no, no, no," but I know it isn't good. The panic rising in my chest doesn't make any sense, because I'm almost positive this is all a huge prank, but I can't help feeling like I need to do something to protect her. I'm almost too fixated on her to notice the single piece of chalk, moving on its own, scraping out an angry message.

Let me go!

A burst of white flashes across the screen before everything cuts out and the video ends. A collage of other videos I might want to watch pops up, and I lean back against the dining chair feeling completely spent. What just happened?

I turn to Kyran for answers, thinking he'll be just as on edge as I am, but his eyes are burning with curiosity as well as an intense fear. "Well?" he asks.

"Well?" I just stare at him. Is he nuts? "The old estate?" That's the only thing I can say in response.

That sobers Kyran up. "Yeah, that's uh, I don't know. Goin' back there?" He shakes his head, not to say he won't go with me, but to try to get rid of the skin-crawling feeling that thought inspires.

"How did they even know about that? It wasn't in the papers. That superstitious lot down there was too scared to even mention what happened."

Kyran only shrugs. "What about that other stuff?"

"No idea." I push the laptop away, even though I'm dying to watch the video again. "Stuff they made up, most likely."

I'm caught off guard when Kyran bristles. "They don't make stuff up. You'd know that if you ever watched the show."

Rolling my eyes, I don't dignify that with a response. Ghosts? I have a few superstitions like any other Southerner, but this isn't one of them. Something's going on here, though. Half of what they said, they shouldn't have known. Even if they did, no one in their right mind would be making a joke of it.

Knowing this is going to keep digging at me until I figure it out, I search the page for some way to contact this Echo girl. I come up empty on the YouTube page, but Kyran realizes what I'm looking for and sends me to their website. There's nothing listed for Echo, but some guy named Holden says he takes care of any correspondence.

She doesn't answer her own fan mail? I'd almost think she was a bit high on herself, but I suspect there's a deeper reason for that. Something having to do with whatever happened at the end of the video. Who is this girl? Part of me wants to pass the whole thing off as plumb crazy and be done with it, but something won't let me. Trouble is, I can't figure out whether it's the girl, the message, or what happened at the end of the video. Unable to decide, and incapable of putting it to rest and walking away, I start typing.
3: Crazies

(Echo)

"Echo!" my mom calls out, stopping me before I can reach the door. She hurries up to me with a hopeful smile. "This came for you in the mail."

The envelope in her hand makes my stomach twist. The university logo on the top left corner is what does it to me. Every other college and university I've applied to has rejected me. One year of stability and mostly good grades doesn't come close to wiping out three years of abysmal academics. This is my last chance outside of our local community college. Instead of opening it, I snatch it out of my mom's hand with a quick thanks and escape to my car.

I don't forget about the letter. It stays purposely buried in my backpack until lunch when I sit down at my usual table in the corner where Zara and Holden are waiting. As usual, the cousins are arguing about something or other. The chatter dies down as soon as I drop the envelope on the table and plop into my chair. Holden is the first to pick it up.

"Want me to open it?" he asks.

Hesitating, I finally nod when I realize it has to be opened at some point. "Go for it." The news isn't going to change just because I wait longer to find out. Even still, I close my eyes when I hear Holden tear open the paper. I can't help holding my breath as I wait for his response. When he sighs, my last hope shatters.

"Sorry, Echo."

Zara reaches over and pats my arm. "Hey, there's nothing wrong with community college. That's where I'll be, too. You know, if I go to college at all. Right now I'm leaning toward taking a year off. Roaming around or whatever. My parents are totally all for it."

Her parents would be, I think to myself. Sometimes I wonder if her mom and Holden's dad are really related. Holden's dad is a lawyer, and fully expects his son to jump into his precisely plotted five year plan the day after graduation. Zara's mom is all about letting her kids explore the world and discover themselves when they're young, before the soul-stealing world of adult life sucks out all their joy. My parents, they're so focused on making sure I don't implode, they tippy-toe around every decision, carefully mapping out my future in the safest route possible. I appreciate that they care, but sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating.

"Taking a year off," I say quietly. "What do you think it would take to convince my parents to let me do the same thing?"

Holden frowns, his overprotective side spawning a heavy dose of concern. Zara only shrugs. "It's not like you actually need permission, Echo. You're eighteen."

Shaking his head, Holden says, "It's not about permission, Zara, it's about being careful. Running off on her own might not be the best thing for Echo. Think about your friend instead of just having fun and playing around."

Zara glares at him, but I look away. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Holden. I don't say it out loud, but keeping quiet doesn't do anything to stop the sting of his words. They've both known me since kindergarten, before things got bad, but not before the ghosts. The ghosts have always been there. Even now, there's at least six of them standing around the table, hoping I'll acknowledge them. I don't.

Somehow, I always knew the people I saw hovering around looking aimless were ghosts, and it never really bothered me. Sometimes I talked to them when I was little. They never talked back. Sometimes they would play with me, though. My mom used to tell people what a good baby I was, how I never cried or fussed. She thought she had just lucked out with an easy first kid. Really, I always had someone standing over my crib smiling at me or making silly faces. Ghosts really seem to like being around babies for some reason.

It wasn't until I got a little older that I realized some of my ghostly friends were hanging around for a reason. A few of them were just lonely and either weren't ready to move on or didn't know how. I haven't got a clue about how to send them on their way, so I figure the least I can do is keep them company.

Others, they had messages they wanted to pass on. At first, I didn't know how to do that without getting into trouble. My mom refused to make phone calls or send my letters to random strangers. I found ways to get the letters in the mail without her knowing, but it wasn't easy and they occasionally got sent back to us when the address proved inaccurate. Mom wasn't happy when she found one and realized what I'd been doing.

Holden was the one who came up with the idea for the webshow. It made things a lot easier since my parents think it's just a hoax we like to pull for attention, and it gives us a hobby and keeps me out of trouble, for the most part. That's the biggest reason they let me do it. As I got older and more capable, more able to help the ghosts, they became more insistent. That's when things got really bad.

Up until that point, I didn't know the ghosts could affect my dreams, and not in a good way. The nightmares got progressively worse, morphing into full on screaming and thrashing fits I couldn't wake up from. The migraines followed, though I'm still not sure if the ghosts were trying to talk to me, or just doing whatever they could to get my attention. Sometimes, their presence would become so oppressive as they tried to communicate I would completely zone out...which sent my grades into the toilet and my behavior into the realm of unmanageable. The worst, by far, is when they try to touch me.

I shiver as I take a bite of my salad, thoughts of yesterday's incident way too fresh in my mind. That ghost...I have no idea what his message meant, or what he wants from me, but I felt his agony when he touched me. Saying I was freaked out would be putting it lightly. I've got to find a way to get rid of him before things get worse.

Yanking me out of my thoughts, Holden slides his phone across the table to me. Curious, not to mention glad for the distraction, I grab the phone. The screen has gone dark already, so I bring it back to life with a quick tap. I'm greeted by a rather confusing email.

So, I'm not really sure if I'm even sending this to the right place, but a friend of mine had me watch your show last night on YouTube after he saw the live show and heard my name mentioned. I thought he was just punking me until I watched it.

I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Malachi Fields and my great grandma was Madeline Crew. That stuff on the board about the estate and the metal trucks and army men...it's all true. How did ya'll know about that stuff? And how did ya'll know about my great grandma? The things said about the Nazis, is that true?

Sorry, this is all just freaking me out a little. What am I supposed to get from the estate? I mean, was that all a joke, or am I really supposed to look? I've never seen the show before last night. I'm really not sure what it's about or whether ya'll are just playing games to be funny or whatever. I don't know.

I guess, I just need to know what really happened last night.

Malachi

I set the phone back on the table for just a minute. Getting a response from someone who's watched our show isn't all that unusual. Holden is in charge of answering any messages we receive. He's also the one who tries to track down whoever the ghost left their message for. Having the person drop us a line in less than twenty-four hours, that's a new one. And this poor guy seems pretty torn up about it.

I glance up at Holden to find him arguing with Zara about finding herself versus college. Normally, I'd hand this off to Holden and let him deal with it. I'm not allowed direct contact with viewers. For good reason. Something about this message gets to me. I do something completely out of character and hit reply before I can reconsider. Tapping quickly, I do something Holden will no doubt gripe at me for later.

Call me and I'll do what I can to explain and answer your questions. I'm free after school.

Echo

I top off the message by adding my phone number and hit send before Holden quits arguing with his cousin and tries to stop me. Sliding the phone back across the table to him, I pretend to be absorbed in my lunch. The grunt I hear from him a few minutes later when the argument fizzles is what alerts me to the fact that he checked my response.

Me having personal contact with someone associated with the show is a big no-no in his book. It opens me up to a whole host of issues, least of which is clingy family members looking for more contact with relatives. I know that. For some reason, I just felt like I needed to talk to this guy. Something in Madeline's message to him is important...maybe even dangerous...and I can't just walk away from that.

"Echo, what is this message about?" he demands.

After the day I've had, it's hard not to snap at him. I know he's only worried about me after the last time I got too involved with a ghost's problems. The worry in his eyes melts away much of my bad mood. Even still, I don't really have an answer for him.

"I don't know, Holden. I just...I think this is important."

He sighs, but doesn't argue. Along with my ghostly talents, I seem to have better-than-the-average-bear instincts like my mom. She can judge a person's character with one glance and is never wrong. I'm not quite as good as her, but my instincts are nothing to sneeze at. Holden knows this. Relenting, he says, "Why couldn't you let me handle this? Whatever's behind the message, I don't want you getting involved."

"It won't be like last time."

"How do you know that?" Holden's glare shows just how ticked off he really is.

Reaching across the table, I pat his arm reassuringly. He stays stiff in his annoyance. "I just do, okay? He seemed...freaked out, scared almost. I think we need to help him."

"This is my job, Echo," he argues. "I handle the fans and any requests. I keep them from getting close enough to hurt you. It's not a game. If last night wasn't reminder enough, how about the day at the ball park when that ghost came after you while we were all sitting on the top row of bleachers? If Zara and I hadn't been there to catch you when you fainted..."

"I know. Trust me, I know how dangerous ghosts and their families can be. This is different. I can't explain it, but it is. When Malachi calls, I'm going to answer."

Holden's eyes narrow, but worry bunches his shoulders. "Who says he's even going to call?"

"He'll call," I say. When Holden pops his mouth open to argue, I beat him to it. "Madeline's message spooked him. He wants to know if it was real. You read the message. Did he sound like one of those crazies begging to speak with their dead aunt or whatever?"

"No," he says with a huff, "but that doesn't mean you need to be talking to him."

He seems so petulant, I can't help laughing. "Holden, you're starting to sound like you're jealous or something."

His only response is to roll his eyes. That only makes me laugh even more, which is actually a huge relief. Holden and I have never been anything more than friends, siblings practically. People have often mistaken our relationship for something more, but we've never even had the inclination to try anything other than friends. I only tease him about it when his big brother instincts get to be a little too much.

"Seriously," I say, "you're making a big deal out of this."

"You kinda are," Zara agrees dutifully.

I grab my backpack and pick up my tray as the lunch bells rings. "We're both going to be late for class if you don't drop it. Chill out. I'm going to go drill some holes in something."

I give them both a quick wave and head for my next class, wood shop. Zara and Holden both gave me weird looks when I told them I signed up for wood shop at the beginning of the year. In general, I'm not a crafty person. Sewing, painting, pipe cleaners, glue, it all becomes a mess in my hands. I can build a pretty mean box, though.

The serving tray I'm working on is a little more elegant, but trickier as well. As I'm fishing the measurements and notes I took last class out of my backpack, I feel my phone buzz against my binder. Squatting down, I take it out and pull up a text from a number I don't recognize.

Not sure what time zone you're in to guess at school hours. Text me when you can talk. Have a million questions for you. Just to warn you. Malachi.

I let my phone fall back into my bag and sit down with my notes. Clearly, Holden was wrong about this guy not calling, but was he right about this being a mistake?
4: Ghosts and All

(Malachi)

"Dude, what is your problem today?" Kyran demands. He leans to the right, trying to see around me and guide his game avatar across the screen. "If you freakin' walk in front of the TV one more time while I'm playing and make me get shot again, I swear I will duct tape you to a chair!"

Chucking a pillow at his head, I take my pacing behind the couch to appease him. I look at my phone again. 7:15. Why hasn't she called yet? Telling myself she could easily be on the West coast, which would put her three hours behind me, doesn't help curb my edginess. Ever since I watched that video last night, I haven't been able to get it off my mind. Where did she get all that stuff about my great grandma? Sure, some of it seemed completely made up...but not all of it.

I've never really considered the existence or nonexistence of ghosts before last night. Why would I? The bit about that Echo girl "talking" to my great grandma was spooky enough. Those last few seconds before the video cut off...I shake my head. I don't even know what that was. Either she's the best actress I've ever seen, or she was honestly terrified. I literally felt a chill when I watched it.

Kyran and I watched the video together, but it clearly didn't affect him in quite the same way. I get it. Mention of the old estate got to him, but he's too absorbed in getting killed right now to think about it much. Still, I want to chuck another pillow at his head for being such a tool.

He must sense my irritation building behind him, because he looks over his shoulder and says, "Admit it, you're mainly stuck on the ghost show because Echo is hot. You don't even believe in ghosts."

"Shut it, Kyran," I growl.

He laughs at me when I go back to my pacing, ignoring him. Not that I'll admit it, but he's not exactly wrong. I'm freaked out by the whole thing, but part of my preoccupation certainly does have something to do with Echo.

I've seen plenty of girls with red hair, but not like hers. It reminded me of those books my older sisters used to love, the one with the orphan girl in Canada who got called Carrots because her hair was so red. Anne of something? Green Gables, that's it. I haven't thought about that book in years. There were even a couple movies they made me watch with them about a dozen times. Echo's hair is like that, and her freckled skin and bright blue eyes are...intriguing.

Shaking the thought away, I remind myself that she's a high school student. Not to mention, she lives in another state. As much as she caught my attention, this is about the message. Kyran may have been able to shrug it off after a while, but there's something about it that won't let me dismiss it so easily.

"I'm goin' outside for some air," I tell Kyran as I head to the door of the apartment. "If I'm not back before we need to head out to meet Cerise, come find me."

He mumbles something incoherent and I escape to the hall. I'm halfway out of the building when my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. I'm in such a hurry to yank it out I nearly drop it.

"Hello?"

Silence.

"Um, is this Malachi?"

"Yeah, sorry. Should've said that when I answered." I rush the last few steps out of the building and head for the parking lot. "Is this Echo?"

I swear she hesitates. I can't really explain why, but my chest constricts. Is she going to come clean and tell me it was all a hoax?

"Yes," she says slowly. "You said you have questions?"

Leaning against the front grill of my Jeep, I take a deep breath. "About a million of them."

She's quiet again for a few seconds. When she finally speaks, it's not at all what I'm expecting. "I'm going to answer your questions, but first, you have to answer mine. Okay?"

"Huh? Like on your show?" Was it a mistake to contact her? It seems like a weird request, like she's just playing with me for her own entertainment, but at the same time, she seems nervous about even talking to me. I shake my head. "Why do you want me to answer questions?"

I can almost picture her twisting her red hair, or biting her lip. It's an oddly distracting thought. Her voice banishes my wondering. "It's for my own...protection."

"Protection from what?" I don't even know where she is or how to contact her other than by phone. The email wasn't even to her.

"Normally, I don't get involved with people who get messages. My friend, Holden, he's the one who deals with all of this stuff. For good reason." She pauses. "I've had bad experiences in the past with people who can't let go of loved ones. By extension, they sort of, well, attach themselves to me, hoping for more than what I can give them."

Oh. Part of me doesn't want to believe any of this is real. It's hard to deny the honesty and fear in her voice. Maybe she is just an incredible actress. I realize I'm willing to take the risk. "Echo, look, I adored my great grandma, but I didn't call you to reach out to her again. I just need to know whether all of this is real, whether her message really meant something."

"You're willing to answer my questions then?" Echo asks.

I scrub my free hand through my hair and shrug. "I guess so. Fire away."

"Okay," Echo says slowly. "We'll take turns. I'll ask you something so I can get to know you a little better and figure out whether or not you're a wacko. Then you get to ask a question. Sound good?"

She still seems hesitant, but I laugh. "I guess me telling you I'm not a wacko won't hold an awful lot of water."

"Wackos can be tricksy."

"Is that a Lord of the Rings reference?" I ask with a laugh.

Echo chuckles, a small amount of anxiety disappearing from her voice. "Ghost Host, nerd, who would have guessed those two would go together, right?"

"Being a Tolkien fan hardly makes you a nerd."

"I'm also into chemistry, and by association, math. And I'm a huge gamer. It's like the trifecta of weird nerd girl membership."

I still have my reservations about this whole thing, but I have to admit I am really starting to enjoy this girl. "Are you kidding me? An intelligent, exotic female who knows the difference between RPG and FPS games? Not to mention, you've got the whole redhead thing going for you. You're like every guy's dream girl, Carrots."

Full-belly laughter erupts from the phone. "You've got to be kidding me!" Echo gasps between bouts of laughter. "Did you seriously just call me Carrots? An Anne of Green Gables reference? Really? How do you even know about that? I've never met a guy who's actually read those books."

"I haven't, not cover to cover anyway," I admit, "but my sisters loved them when they were younger. Made me listen to them read and watch the movies with them about a hundred times."

Still chuckling a little, Echo says, "Malachi, you just made my day. Really. I needed that."

"My pleasure." Strangely, it makes me happy to think I made her day a little better, but I'm still hung up on the reason behind this conversation. "So, did you have a question for me?"

"Where are you from?" Echo asks. "I love your accent."

Laughing, I say, "I hate to tell you, but you're the one with the accent." Echo giggles at that, which is nice to hear. "I'm from Georgia. You?"

"California."

"That's why it took you so long to call me."

A small, nervous sigh slips across the line, but it's miles more relaxed than when she first called. "Okay, next question." She pauses. "What's your favorite video game? I assume you play after your comment about role playing games and first person shooters."

I can't help grinning at her question. She really did know what I was talking about. Plenty of girls pretend to be gamers just because they play Candy Crush on their phones. "I like a good role playing game like Diablo or Elder Scrolls, but I get sucked into first person shooters more often, mainly when I'm playing online or with my roommate."

"Roommate?" Echo asks.

I'm tempted to tell her it's my turn to ask something, but I kinda don't mind putting off getting answers to my questions suddenly. "Yeah, Kyran. We share an apartment near the campus."

"So, you're in college? Which one?"

"I'm a freshman at Georgia State."

"Cool," Echo says. "Well, I guess it's your turn to ask a question."

I'm not sure I can really explain it, but I know whatever she tells me is going to be the truth. That's slightly terrifying. "Well, I guess my first question is, can you really talk to ghosts?"

"I don't talk to them. I see them, but they never speak. The writing you saw me do on the video, that's how they communicate with me."

"What about what happened at the end. That was something else." That more than anything convinced me to try and get in contact with Echo.

Sighing, she seems reluctant to discuss it, but she promised she would answer my questions, and she does. "That certainly wasn't planned. I don't know who that was, but very few ghosts can physically influence objects, and to do it takes a lot of energy, and usually a lot of anger. That's what killed the feed. Our camera closest to the rogue ghost is toast."

I don't question what she said about anger. It was pretty obvious from her reaction that whatever wrote the last message was not friendly.

"My turn again?" Echo questions. She pauses a moment for me to agree, then powers on with her next question. "How many siblings do you have?"

"Three older sisters."

Echo laughs. "So you're the baby? No wonder your sisters were able to make you watch Anne of Green Gables. What are their names?"

She has no idea. I won't admit it out loud, but my sisters had me playing Barbies, acting as their mannequin for dress up, and on more than one occasion my dad came home to find me with painted nails and covered in makeup from their practice sessions. Shaking my head, I answer her question. "Hannah Louise, Katie Lynn, and Angelica May, in order from oldest to youngest. Don't let Angel May's name fool ya, she's the toughest and bossiest of the bunch."

"Sounds like my little sisters," Echo grumbles.

"Are you the oldest, then?"

Sighing, Echo says, "Yep. Twin, eight-year-old little sisters, Mable and Azalea. I love them, but they drive me insane most days."

"I can imagine." Figuring it's time for me to get another answer, I swallow my lingering apprehension and ask. "So, the message from my great grandmother...it's real? She really wants me to go back to the old estate and look in the toy closet? Why?"

Echo is quiet for a long time. I almost speak up and ask if she's still there, but fear holds me back. Finally, I hear her take in a deep breath. "The message is real, Malachi. I know I can't prove that, but she wanted you to do what she asked. I don't know why, and I can't tell you any more than what she wrote. All I can say is that it felt important. It also felt...dangerous."

She says that last word like maybe it will shock me or surprise me. It doesn't. Going back to the estate, there's no question in my mind it would be dangerous, if not physically, in other ways. There's a reason I haven't been back there since I was young enough to play with old die cast trucks and plastic army men. If the bizarre nature of the show last night and the mention of my great grandma hadn't been enough to spook me on their own, the simple mention of the estate and me going back practically turned my blood to ice.

"Are you going to do what she asked?" Echo asks quietly.

Running my free hand through my hair, I can only shake my head. "I don't know. I can't do it right now because of finals, even if I believed all of this and wanted to act on the message."

The line goes quiet again. It stays quiet. I can't even hear the whisper of Echo's breathing like I could before. I worry she hung up, but a quick check of my phone says the call is still active. Beginning to wonder what I said to make her go silent, it doesn't take more than a few seconds to figure it out.

"Echo, I'm sorry. I didn't mean I don't believe you..."

"You don't, though, and that's okay," she says quickly. "I don't expect you to just take my word on all of this. And I can't prove it. Why would you believe me? I could be a total wackadoo for all you know."

"Wackadoo?" I say with a chuckle. "Is that even a real word?"

"Sure it is," Echo argues, "as real as Forerunners, anyway."

I have to pull the phone away from my face so she doesn't hear me laughing at her Halo reference. Whether she communicates with ghosts or not, she is by far the coolest girl I've ever met. Bringing the phone up to my ear, I force myself to revert back to a more serious demeanor. "Look, I don't know if I can say I completely believe everything you've told me, but there's too much in that message you should never have known about for me to just pass it off as nothing."

Echo doesn't say anything for a long time. I worry I've offended her until she eventually speaks up. "Look, Malachi, I have to get going. My sisters have soccer practice, but if you want to talk about this more, or ask me questions, you're welcome to call any time. All I can tell you is that whatever is in that closet, your great grandmother thought it was important you had it. Maybe it's just a trinket, maybe it's something more. I don't know. Just promise..."

She cuts off abruptly, piquing my interest. "Promise what?"

Sighing, it takes her a minute to answer. "Promise me that if you decide to go back to the estate, you'll tell me first."

"Why?"

If we were in the same room, I'm positive she'd be shrugging her shoulders, looking annoyed at being questioned. Her response pretty much confirms it. "Because I want you to, okay? Maybe I could get in touch with Madeline again, get more details or something. Maybe just so I know whether or not you're running off into something dangerous. I don't know, Malachi, but this whole thing feels...scary."

Surprised she honestly seems concerned, I decide not to tell her how right she is. Instead, all I say is, "I promise I'll tell you if I decide to go."

She starts to say something else, but two shrieking voices break in, yelling about cleats and soccer and water bottles. Echo growls into the phone before muffling it and yelling at her sisters to be quiet and get ready to leave. I have to bite back a laugh, thinking of how much they sound like my own sisters. It makes me want to call one of them...kinda.

"Sorry, I've got to go help Mable find her cleats or we're going to be late."

Knowing she's about to say goodbye, I take a risk and cut her off. "Echo, before you go, would you mind if I called you...not about ghosts or anything, but, uh, just to call you?"

It's only then that I notice Kyran has abandoned the game he was playing and is now standing next to me, grinning like an idiot. It must be time to get going and he came down while I was too distracted to notice his approach. I shake my head at his reaction and focus on Echo, waiting for a response.

"Holden is gonna kill me for this, but yeah. I'd like that," she says.

Not breaking out in a grin is only possible because Kyran is shaking his head at me, gloating. "Thanks, Echo. I'll talk to you later. Have fun at soccer practice."

"Not likely," she grumbles. "Bye, Malachi."

The line goes silent right after a high pitched voice screams her name impatiently. I shake my head, almost laughing before I remember Kyran. When I force myself to face him, he's still got that stupid look on his face. "What?"

"Calling her had nothing to do with the fact that's she hot. Yeah. Right."

The desire to punch him in the arm as hard as I can is almost too much to resist. I almost do it, before thinking of something better. Standing, I shove my phone in my back pocket and fold my arms across my chest. "Not only is she hot, she's smart, and she's a gamer. Even knew what a Forerunner was, though she prefers role playing games."

"Seriously?" Kyran asks, his eyes filling with excitement.

Now I do punch him. "You're too late, man. The sexy gamer chick is all mine."

"Ghosts and all?" Kyran asks.

Shrugging, I say, "Would it stop you?"

"Are you kiddin' me?" Kyran scoffs. "Ghosts are more than welcome if she can help me beat that a-hole who keeps killin' me online. Please tell me she lives close by."

I want to laugh at his eagerness, but I settle for dashing his hopes instead. Consoling Kyran after I tell him Echo is from California takes some effort, but as we get into the car and head out to meet a few friends, I realize it's a good thing there's some distance between us. Something about her draws me in. If she were here, resisting the urge to be near her would be awful difficult.
5: Madness and Meatloaf

(Echo)

My mom owes me big time. I pull into the driveway as I listen to my two little sisters screech at each other about whose fault it was they got their soccer balls taken away during practice and had to sit out for twenty minutes. I love my sisters. I love my sisters. I keep repeating that to myself as I shift into park, which unlocks the doors automatically. The little banshees burst out of the car and race toward the house. No doubt they're each trying to beat the other one to my mom so they can blame each other for the trouble they caused.

I shake my head, knowing it won't do any good. Their coach promised to call my parents to set things straight at my insistence. I learned a long time ago not to get stuck in the middle of my sisters and my parents. Any time I tried to explain what really happened, I ended up with both my sisters making my life hell for weeks on end. You'd think just one of them would get mad but, inevitably, the one who actually got in trouble would be ticked because I didn't lie for her and the other one would be mad on her twin's behalf. Those two have an unending bag of tricks when it comes to making a person miserable. Lesson learned.

My approach to the house is much slower. I drag my feet getting there, but rush past the kitchen where a monstrous fight is brewing. I make it to the living room unscathed. So did my dad, apparently. I flop down next to him and smile when he puts his arm around my shoulders and gives me a hug.

"Avoiding the mayhem, too?" I ask.

He shakes his head wearily. "When will those two learn?"

"My guess, when they're twenty-five."

My dad looks appropriately horrified, though I know he's only joking. He laughs a second later and shakes his head. "I swear, I don't know why we let them sign up for things like this. It's a nightmare every year. They always find a way to cause trouble."

"Did Coach Vince already call?"

He laughs. "Called the second practice ended." Leaning his head back against the couch, he asks, "Did they really start intentionally kicking their balls at all the other girls and yelling out how many points they gave each other for a hit?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

We both know that's fairly mild for the twins. Really, the worst thing was how they came up with the point system. The slowest girls were worth the least amount of points. The, uh, bigger targets, didn't get much points either. Highest points went to the wiry little speed demons who started kicking balls back at them after a while.

"I suppose you tried to stop them," my dad says.

"Tried," I say, "but you know them. They ran around me, screeching at the top of their lungs about points and whose turn it was to take a shot. I was mortified, Dad. Seriously, there's no way I'm taking them to practice anymore."

I say that, but we both know there isn't any other option. Both my parents work full time. The twins' soccer practice starts at four-thirty, so I'm the one stuck babysitting and chauffeuring. I'd almost rather get an afterschool job. My parents probably wouldn't let me even if I really pressed them. I know they need me here looking after the twins, but that's not the biggest reason they would say no. I don't know what they'll do when I'm not here. If I ever leave. Right now, my prospects for escaping aren't looking so good.

Neither of my parents has pressed me about post high school choices, but mainly because they see it as their decision to make, not mine. I know they're both planning for me to stay close by and take a few classes at the community college. Only as many as I can handle, though, like I'm so fragile I might collapse under the pressure of a few essays.

The local community college is a good place to start, and in-state tuition makes it cheaper than many of my other dream options, but the cost isn't really a problem thanks to the money I've made off The Ghost Host show. I've always just accepted the fact that I'll be staying here in California for college so I can be close to family and have them nearby as a support system in case things get bad again, but all through the twins' practice—well, up until the chaos started—I couldn't help thinking about what it would be like to actually leave...to be on my own.

The sudden buzzing in my back pocket makes me jump, startling my dad. He looks away from the basketball game he's watching to glance down at me as I extract the phone. "Zara or Holden?" he asks.

It's kind of sad he knows those are really my only two friends. I'm expecting to give him one of those two answers, but neither of their names comes up. I start to smile before I think better of it and tuck away my delight.

"Who's Malachi?" my dad asks.

Silently, I curse myself for programming his name and number into my contacts. If I had left it alone, it would have just come up with a number and I could have claimed I didn't know. Instead, my dad is waiting patiently for an answer with a very curious expression. "Uh, just a friend."

"A friend from school?"

I don't like lying to my parents because it only causes more trouble, but if I tell him Malachi's a college guy I met through The Ghost Host show, a.k.a. online, he'll flip. On the other hand, if I say yes, he'll wonder why he's never met him or he doesn't come over. "He's from one of the colleges I thought about applying to, you know after a few semesters here where I can get my grades up. I had a few questions and he was trying to answer them."

"You gave some random person at a college your cell phone number and they're texting you at night?"

"No," I say quickly. "It's a friend's cousin or something. He goes to the college and was just telling me about what it's really like there, you know? All the college reps make their colleges sound like four-star hotels."

"Even still..."

"Dad, seriously, it's not a big deal. I doubt they'd even take me anyway." I hold my breath, hoping he'll just go along with this. I mean, it's not exactly a lie. I have been thinking about what it might be like at Georgia State...you know, for the last couple hours.

"What does he want?" The way his eyes narrow doesn't look promising.

"I just asked him about the town, how safe it is. Stuff like that."

My dad looks far from convinced. He hasn't thought to ask what school Malachi is from, and before he does, I take the chance to run. Standing up, I shove my phone back into my pocket without reading the text and excuse myself with the reason of needing to do a little homework before dinner. Dad grumbles a bit, but doesn't stop me from going. Not making a mad dash for my room—ala twins' style—is difficult. The second I make it to my safe haven. I shut the door and whip my phone out.

Hey, Carrots. Have time to talk?

Instead of answering, I tap his name and the phone starts dialing. He picks up on the second ring. Before he can even say hello, I break in with, "Are you going to call me Carrots all the time now?"

He laughs, making me smile uncontrollably. Which is stupid, I know, but I can't help it. "I am indeed," he says. "You have a problem with that?"

"That depends. Can I call you Gil?" I tease.

"I look nothing like Gilbert Blythe."

I start laughing, getting a kick out of the fact that he knows the story well enough to know Gil's full name and what he looks like. "No? What do you look like then? I'm somewhat disappointed you aren't tall, dark, and handsome."

"First off, Gil was not all that handsome. He was pale. Everyone was pale on Prince Edward Island." He must move or shift, because I hear muffled noises through the phone. After it settles, he says, "I am tall, though, but my hair is more of a medium brown, not black like his, and kinda long."

"Hmm, no claims to being handsome, though. I think I may have to google you to see if you're lying."

"Google all you want," he taunts. "In fact, you can find me on Facebook."

"How will I know it's you? I'm sure there are a billion Malachi Fields on Facebook."

"I already sent you a friend request."

"You did?" I squeak.

I nearly fall off my bed trying to get to my computer. The screen lights up a few seconds after I lift the lid and I scramble to bring up my account. Sure enough, waiting in my notifications is a friend request from a Malachi Fields. I hesitate clicking on the icon. What if he really is a weirdo? I'm not talking about looks. What if I accept the request and then find out he's a perv or some creepy guy who stalks social media hitting on girls. I can almost hear Holden barking at me to ignore it, to back off and not get involved.

He's gonna be so mad at me tomorrow, I think as I hit "accept" and click to see his profile. It takes a second to load, but when it does, I sit back against my chair and stare helplessly at the sweetest, most yummy looking guy I have ever seen. He and some other guy—his roommate, maybe—are sitting in some kind of Jeep as they lean toward each other to take a selfie. The other guy is dark-complected with curly, jet black hair, so Malachi must be the tanned, longish-haired guy with the smile that makes it impossible not to stare. Yikes.

"You know, these long silent moments really leave me hangin' sometimes," Malachi says.

The sound of his voice not only makes me jump, it sends blood rushing to my cheeks. I'm at a total loss for words. What do I say aside from how absolutely delicious he is? I have to say something, though! I've already been sitting here like a mute for way too long. Scrambling, I say the first thing that pops into my head that doesn't have to do with how gorgeous he is.

"Is that your roommate in the picture with you?" I breathe a sigh of relief as the words slip past my lips. That sounded halfway intelligent, right?

"Uh, yeah," Malachi says. The odd tone in his voice makes me think maybe I didn't sound as casual as I thought I did. "Yeah, that's Kyran. We took a road trip to the beach a few months ago over spring break before spending the rest of the week with our families."

"Looks like you guys had fun." I bite my lip, wondering if I somehow offended him when I asked about Kyran. My thoughts race as I try to change the subject. "I love the beach, though I'm pretty terrible at surfing. Holden has tried to teach me a million times, but I can't stay on the board for more than a few minutes."

"Do you live near the beach, then?" Malachi asks.

I start nodding before I remember he can't see me. A random thought makes me wonder if next time maybe we could Skype each other, although me being able to see him while we talk might really send my brain on vacation. It would at least confirm this isn't a fake picture or some forty year old creep. I'll have to suggest it later.

"Yeah," I say, "I live in a little town outside of Santa Barbara, not far from the UCSB campus."

"No surfing, though."

"Nope. Body boarding, swimming, hanging out. Holden's big into marine biology, so we look for tide pools with critters. I'm pretty sure he thinks he's going to find a beached whale someday and become famous for rescuing it. Zara teases him about it all the time."

I almost laugh at the memory of Holden sprinting down the beach one day because he thought he saw a seal. It was just a really hairy guy out sunbathing. Zara and I nearly died laughing. Holden can be a stick in the mud at times, but he sure makes things interesting.

"So," Malachi says almost hesitantly, "this Holden guy, is he your boyfriend?"

"What? No." I shake my head. I mean, I love Holden, and he'll always be one of my best friends, but kissing him would be like kissing my brother. It'd just be...weird. "Holden's just a friend. A really bossy, overprotective friend. I'm gonna get it from him tomorrow."

"Why? For talking to me?"

I swear he sounds like he's smiling about that, though I can't imagine why. "Yes, for talking to you."

"What's so bad about talking to me?" Malachi asks.

No doubt he's thinking it has something to do with him being in college, or a stranger, or just being a guy. That'd be my dad's reason. It isn't any of those things. "Because of the show. When Holden agreed to help with the show, he made the rules about how much contact I could have with anyone connected to the show. I'm breaking more than one of those."

"You let this guy dictate what you can and can't do?" Malachi asks. He doesn't say it like an accusation, but more out of confusion. There's no way he could understand, not without knowing what led to the rules.

For some reason, I want him to understand. So I decide to break just one more rule for tonight. "When I was ten, this ghost started hanging around all the time. I knew it wanted to send a message, but we hadn't started doing the show yet, and I was having a lot of problems, so my parents had me on a pretty tight leash. Delivering any messages wasn't easy, so I'd been trying to ignore the ghosts as much as possible. This one...it got tired of being ignored.

"At first, it was just a bad dream here and there. Then it got worse. I could barely sleep. As soon as I closed my eyes, I started seeing what had happened to this guy. It wasn't pretty. He wasn't trying to hurt me, but he wanted me to understand how suddenly he had been ripped away from his wife and how much he needed to tell her he loved her before he could move on."

"That was all he wanted?" Malachi asks, his voice subdued. "To tell his wife he loved her?"

Sighing, I stare at Malachi's picture, the bizarre desire to be near him making my mood dip even further because of the impossibility. "That's what he wanted me to believe...and I did." Propping my chin up on my hand, I shake my head, wishing I could take it all back. "I finally gave in and told him I'd help him get a message to his wife. I started writing, but it was more than just telling her goodbye. He told her she needed to avenge him."

"What did you do?" Malachi asks.

"I freaked out," I admit. "I tried to back out, tell him I couldn't send the message, but he made sure I knew the nightmares wouldn't stop if I didn't help him. Plus, he convinced me that his wife could help get him justice. She'd go to the police and point them in the right direction. He just wanted the guy to be stopped, right?"

Malachi's voice is hesitant as he speaks, as if he knows what's coming next won't be pleasant. "Yeah, I guess."

Tears well in my eyes as I look up at the ceiling, trying to control my emotions. This time, Malachi doesn't pressure me to fill the silence. "I really thought it would be okay. I had no idea his wife would go to her husband's best friend's house and unload a whole clip."

"His best friend killed him?" Malachi asks.

"Yeah," I say, "but I found out later it was just an accident. A car wreck. Bad weather or something. He made it sound like this guy had murdered him in cold blood and I believed him." I press my hand to my forehead, feeling the guilt and anger all over again. It takes me a few seconds to continue.

"The friend was okay, but the ghost, Martin Coulter, he'd been on the side that hit the ground first when it went through the guardrail and off the road. His friend was unconscious, but this guy was stuck there for hours, in horrible pain, slowly bleeding out, dying. He blamed his friend, and when he asked his wife to set things right, she did. I thought he was asking her to go to the police, or something, not kill some poor guy who'd never done anything wrong."

Sniffing, wiping away tears, shame, and embarrassment, not only for my past mistakes, but for losing it in front of Malachi, all tear at me. I wanted him to understand, but now I just feel empty all over again. I should have just listened to my instincts in the first place, but the nightmares...I couldn't take any more of them. My parents were already at the end of their rope with me by that point and on the verge of hospitalizing me. I was desperate for some relief, so I took it. I escaped the nightmares, but it cost a man his life.

"Echo, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you relive that."

I shake my head at his words. "No, I just wanted you to understand. I know you don't believe me about all of this, but there are reasons I'm not supposed to get involved with the ghosts or the people they want to contact. We only pass on harmless messages now, how much the ghost loves or misses someone. Where they hid some money or jewelry. Stuff like that. The ghosts have to tell me what the message is about before the show or I won't let them come on."

"So, you knew what my great grandma was going to tell me before the show?"

"Not exactly," I tell him, "but I knew she wanted to tell you there was something she left for you at her house. I suspected there was a good reason she wanted you to have whatever it was, but I didn't get that weird scary vibe until the show. If I had, I might not have let her be a guest."

"Because you think it's dangerous?" Malachi asks.

Breathing out slowly, I say, "Yeah."

"Look, don't think I'm trying to blow this off, but do you want to talk about something else?" Malachi asks. "It's not about believing or not believing. I just hate hearing you sound so sad and upset."

The corner of my mouth tugs up at his words. "Sure. Pick a topic."

"College."

"College?" I ask. I'm somewhat startled after the way my thoughts have been going all evening. It gives me a little bit of a chill even though I know it's just a topic he probably thinks about all the time, given that he's in college.

"Yeah, you're planning on going, right?"

"In the fall, I guess. Maybe."

"You're a senior, then?" Malachi asks. "Are you seventeen or eighteen?"

The grin is back, I can tell just by the tone of his voice. He's excited about something. "Eighteen. My birthday was back in October. Why?"

"Just wondering how difficult it would be to convince your parents to let you get away for the summer." He cuts off there, maybe even holding his breath. The line is completely silent. I want to grin, dance around at the very idea, scream like my sisters when they finally get what they want.

It's completely ridiculous and will never happen for more than one reason, but for a moment I can enjoy the fantasy. "Do you have a suggestion on how I'm supposed to convince my dad, especially, to let me go across the country for the summer to meet a guy I met online, who may or may not be a stalker or completely crazy?"

"I'm risking your crazy by inviting you, so it's only fair you risk me being crazy, too."

Laughing outright, I don't even try to hide my delight. It's all just in fun, though, so I play along. "Okay, maybe that's fair, but we still have the Dad problem."

"Easy," Malachi says happily, "tell him you're checking out colleges."

"Colleges clear across the country when I have dozens right here in my home state?"

Malachi pauses, and when he speaks again, there's hesitation backing his words. "Are you planning on going to school in California?"

"Yeah, well, I mean, I was. If I can even get into one...other than the local community college, anyway."

"Were you misleading me earlier with your talk about chemistry and math? Why wouldn't you get into college?" Malachi asks. His words are teasing, but there is something more serious underlying them.

I hesitate automatically, but I've already told him plenty. Why not a little more? "I've had a rough time the last few years, because of the ghosts. Since I started doing the show, it's gotten better, but before that...well, my grades speak for themselves. I've been rejected by every college I've applied to so far."

"So, take a year off, or do online classes through your community college to prove you can handle things. Either way, do it in Georgia. You'd love it here."

The excitement in his voice is contagious. So contagious I realize he's not joking and my mouth goes dry. "Wait, are you serious?" I sit back in my chair and try to remember how to breathe. "No offense, Malachi, but I do not want to be the next Dateline story. Moving out to Georgia? You seem like a really great guy, but I don't actually know you. That would be nuts. Right?"

Several long, quiet moments pass, giving me time to think about his crazy offer and my even crazier desire to say yes and just forget playing it safe for once. Taking that leap is terrifying, though. For good reason. A lot of good reasons. I wonder if the same thoughts are going through his mind when Malachi is the first to speak.

"Look, Carrots, I know this is totally out of the blue, and completely insane. I'm not suggesting it because I'm a creep and want to lure you out here for some nefarious purpose. Maybe if you could convince Holden and Zara to come too it wouldn't seem so nuts. There's just...I want to get to know you. I want to understand this ghost thing and Grandma Maddie's message and all of it. I feel like it's important even though I'm not sure what to believe and it freaks me out to even consider going back to the estate."

He sighs, long and heavy. Then the sound of his voice changes as he says, "Plus, Kyran is dying to meet you and see if you can help him take down this guy who's been kicking the crap out of him online in Call of Duty for the past few weeks."

I laugh despite my all too real fears, thinking of his friend ranting at the TV like I've seen Zara do many times. She's by far the most excitable gamer in our group. Going so far from home purely for Malachi would be crazy. What he said about the rest of his reasoning...a small part of me wonders if Madeline's message could do more than give Malachi answers. I'm not even sure why I think this, but for some reason I feel like maybe it could be the key to unlocking a few things for myself as well.

"I'll have to think about it, Malachi. I doubt I could convince my parents, but I'll talk to Holden and Zara and see what they think. I'm sure Zara would be all for it, but Holden will freak. It's a lot to consider."

Now it's Malachi's turn for a long awkward pause. "Did I totally just freak you out?" Malachi asks.

Smiling, I say, "Caught me off guard might be a better way to put it." I'd love to just take off and have a crazy adventure, but it honestly scares me a lot. "You don't seem like a creeper, Malachi, but I've spent my whole life trying to be careful and protect myself."

"I'm not going to do anything to put you in danger, Carrots. Promise."

That nickname. I run my hand through my hair, surprised and somewhat amazed he likes my hair so much. Even more, though, I'm startled to realize I don't doubt his claims. "I believe you, Malachi."

He sighs, like he was waiting for me to say that all night. "Thanks, and for the record, I believe you, too." Rustling carries across the line, and Malachi shouts something away from the phone. "Hey, Kyran's waiting on me. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure. Have fun trying to keep Kyran alive in whatever game he's playing."

Malachi chuckles. "You already know us so well. Bye, Carrots."

I end the call, but stay seated at my computer. Part of me was so worried about accepting his friend request, but as I scroll through his posts and pics, Malachi honestly seems like a decent guy. One picture in particular catches my eye and I click on it. Squished between three girls that look way too much like him to be anyone other than his sisters, Malachi looks like he's laughing. I click the "like" button on the picture, but the best part is all the comments from his sisters below the picture, teasing him, telling him they love him and miss him. There's no question he's the baby of the family, but it makes me smile.

What doesn't make me smile is when I notice a message from Holden blinking at me from the corner of the screen. I want to kick myself for liking Malachi's picture. It must have popped up in my news feed where Holden could see it. I scan the short message, demanding to know what I'm doing making friends with Malachi, but I flip down the lid of my laptop without responding. I'll deal with Holden later.

"Hey, Echo, dinner's ready," my dad says after pushing my bedroom door open.

"Thanks, Dad. I'm coming."

I make it to the door, but my dad doesn't move. "Get any homework done?" He eyes me as though he knows I didn't crack a single book or file. "Sounded like a lot of talking and not so much reading or typing."

"I...may have gotten distracted," I admit.

"By?"

Biting my lip, I debate my answer. "The future," I finally say. I can't quite puzzle out his expression, but I decide to test him. "Dad, would you and Mom flip if I decided not to go to school in state, maybe take some online classes and just go somewhere new for a while?"

My dad frowns, his eyes drifting to the hall, where sounds of the twins causing a ruckus are filtering through the air. "Echo, if this is because of tonight..."

"It's not, Dad. It's something I've been thinking about for a while." A short while, but still. "I just think it might be good for me to experience something outside Cali. Maybe make a fresh start where people don't know my history. Things have been going really well lately..."

As much as I know it would kill him to have me far away, he also understands how hard being at school and living in our little community has been for me the last few years. Staying here for school won't be a real escape. Especially not when everyone else is going on to their top choices of colleges and I'm stuck trying to rebuild my life. Sad, but understanding, my dad puts an arm around my shoulders and says, "I don't know if that's a good idea, but we can talk about it with your mom if you're seriously considering it."

"Thanks, Dad."

We head for the kitchen, into the fray of twin-wrought madness and meatloaf. It's a far cry from getting permission to jet off to the other side of the country, but as we settle in for a chaotic evening meal, I realize what I told my dad is truer than I expected. It's not just Malachi that makes leaving town so enticing. I can never escape the ghosts, but maybe I could at least get away from the staring and whispering, the hateful looks and nasty nicknames. The ghosts might not seem so bad without all of that.
6: Anything But

(Malachi)

I'm going to kill Holden before the end of the day.

I have to stop myself from chuckling at the text, thanks to being in the middle of my communication class. Somehow, I'm pretty sure Echo can hold her own against her friend. Still, I feel just a little bit bad for being the source of the contention between them, even if not for getting involved with Echo.

Want me to talk to him? I text back.

I expect her to tell me that she can handle it, but her answering text surprises me. If you don't, you might have to come bail me out.

The guy sitting next to me glances in my direction when I snicker at her response. I ignore his annoyed glare and tap out a reply. Give him my number. I'll be done with classes for the day in half an hour.

Will do, she responds. Be prepared, he's pissed.

Thanks for the warning. I'll be fine.

That's the last I hear from her for the rest of class. I half expect my phone to start ringing the second I step out into the hall, but I suppose Holden is still trapped in one of his high school classes until lunch. It's eleven in the morning here, but only about eight in California. Most likely, Holden won't have a chance to call until he gets a break at lunch. Realizing that, I head for the parking lot where I find Kyran waiting for me on the hood of my Jeep.

"You're awfully chipper after staying up late talking to your redhead." Kyran yawns, his own excuse for staying up until two in the morning having more to do with video games than girls. "So, she coming up for the summer, or what? You crashed before giving me an answer."

"I don't know," I say. "Convincing her parents won't be easy. We know we're decent guys, but she doesn't, you know? It wouldn't be a little thing for her to come out here. If she does come, it'll likely be with her friends, the ones from the ghost show."

Kyran nods as he takes in that information. "Not a bad deal. Zara, the chick who started throwing salt at the end, she's pretty hot, too. And Holden's a good guy."

Rolling my eyes, I shove him off the hood of the Jeep and head for the driver's door. If Holden is freaking out over me talking to Echo, I can only imagine his reaction to Kyran trying to pick up his cousin. It'd be fun to watch, though, which is why I choose not to warn my friend off. Thinking of Holden, my earlier confidence flags. I get being overprotective. After what Echo told me last night, I don't blame him. I can't help wondering if there's more to it than that.

Echo was pretty quick to reassure me that there's nothing between her and Holden, but what if that's only her perception? Shaking my head, I push thoughts of Echo, Holden, and even summer out of my mind. The ghosts, though, that stays. When I turn away from campus and our apartment, Kyran starts paying attention.

"Did you forget where we live? I was banking on getting a nap before my class later today."

"Too bad, I need to stop by my parents' house."

Kyran socks me in the arm. "You couldn't drop me off first? It'd take two minutes! I'm fried."

"Stop staying up so late then."

Ranting about how I was up nearly as late as him, and how neither of us get to bed before midnight most nights, Kyran carries on all the way across town to my childhood home. By the time we pull into the driveway, he's sporting a face that promises retribution, but Mama bursting out of the house with a big smile on her face brightens his expression right away.

Having lost his own mother as a kid, he adopted mine as a surrogate and absolutely adores her. He is the first one out of the car, wrapping her up in a hug before I can even get around to saying hello. Mama is the only one who can gush over a grown man and not embarrass him. Kyran is grinning when he finally pulls back from her embrace. It's a testament to how amazing she is that I'm smiling before she ever reaches me. "Hello, Mama. Thought we'd stop by for a visit."

"Aren't you sweet? What a nice surprise! Why didn't you tell me you were comin' over? I would've had lunch ready."

"Captain Distracted, here, was too busy thinking about his redhead to bother letting anyone know we were coming," Kyran grumbles.

Mama's eyes light up. "Redhead? Are you dating someone, Malachi? Will you bring her over soon?"

"I'm not dating anyone," I say, throwing a punch at Kyran, which he dodges.

The disappointment in her eyes almost makes me laugh. She's been having party planning withdrawals ever since Angel May's wedding last summer. She's not trying to rush me, exactly, just itching for a new event to obsess over. Before more discussion can break out, I herd everyone into the house, hoping lunch will distract her from the topic of redheads. No such luck.

"So, tell me about this young lady you're not dating."

I hesitate a moment too long, and Kyran jumps in. "Her name is Echo and she sees ghosts."

Mama pauses in the middle of pulling items out of the fridge. Clearly, she's trying to figure out whether or not Kyran is joking. I, on the other hand, kick my friend in the shin under the table. He moans, but shuts up.

"She does an online show about ghosts. Kyran and I saw the show..." I trail off, not really sure how to follow that up without explaining my great grandma's message. That's not really something I want to get into right now.

Putting her lunch supplies on the counter, Mama shrugs and shakes her head. "Well, it's certainly an interesting way to meet someone. Will we get to meet her?"

"I don't know. She's from California. She might come out for the summer, but it's not for sure yet." Far from it, actually, but I hate bursting her bubble.

I think Mama is convinced something's been wrong with me lately. I dated a normal amount in high school, hung out with friends, but I just haven't been in the mood since starting college. It's nothing dramatic like I'm sure she's thinking. Kyran and I have just been busy with classes and figuring out the whole adult thing. None of the girl's I've met have really appealed to me.

Until Echo.

"He calls her Carrots," Kyran announces, snorting at me. The look I give him promises payback, but he only laughs. When I look up and find Mama trying not to do the same thing, I feel my ears start to burn.

As she sets plates down in front of us, she looks over at me with one eyebrow crooked. "Carrots, huh?"

"She has red hair," I defend.

Mama smiles, saying, "Well aren't you just the sweetest thing," as she walks back to the counter.

Ignoring them both, I take a bite of my sandwich. A few minutes later, Mama joins us at the table with her own lunch. Thankfully, everyone is more focused on their food than me. I get a few minutes of peace before Mama breaks the silence again.

"So, what brought my two favorite boys over for lunch today? I assume you're not just here for ham and Swiss."

Kyran shrugs, having no clue why I dragged him here. I'm the only one with the answer, but I hesitate actually saying anything. Talking to Mama about this will be better than bringing it up with Daddy, but it still promises to be unpleasant. There's no escaping it, though. I need to know if there's anything behind my great grandma's message.

"Mama, is Daddy planning to sell the old estate?"

At my question, Kyran perks up, knowing exactly why I'm asking. Mama just seems confused. "How did you know about that? Your daddy said he didn't want to get any of you involved."

"I...happened to overhear something about it." It's not precisely true, but close enough.

Mama swallows and sets her sandwich down on her plate. "Yes, your daddy's planning to sell the estate."

"When?"

Shrugging, she says, "It'll just depend on how long it takes to find a buyer. It won't be an easy sale."

No, it won't be. "Has he already listed it?"

She shakes her head. "It needs to be cleaned up and made presentable before it's listed. Your daddy's looking for a company willing to do it."

That will be quite the chore. Everyone in that area knows what happened there. That lot is pretty superstitious to begin with. He's going to have to find an out of town company to do it, most likely. Maybe that will be a good thing, though. It'll give me time to get down there, anyway.

"What's got you so interested in the old estate?" Mama asks. "None of you kids have been back there since..."

"I know," I say, not wanting to discuss it. "I've just been thinking about the grounds lately. We made a lot of good memories there, too."

Reaching across the table, she puts her hand on mine. "I know. I wish those were the only memories you made there."

"Yeah, me too."

We're both quiet for a few seconds. I want to just leave it at that, but something compels me to risk asking. "Mama, will you let me know when Daddy finds someone to clear out the estate?"

"Why?"

"I'd like to...go back, uh, before everything's gone."

The way her expression pales makes my stomach twist. "Why?"

Clearly, the idea of me going back there terrifies her. It shouldn't. I mean, it's not like what happened had anything to do with me. When Echo mentioned it being dangerous, I agreed, but it's more of an emotional danger than anything physical. Out on the fringes of the swamp, in that big house with all of us upstairs asleep except my great grandma, there was nothing anyone could do to help her when she was attacked. The police determined it was just a botched home invasion, and I've never had any reason to doubt that. Even now, the message Echo passed on was just for me to go get something, not a plea to find some hidden truth or get revenge. There's something in that house she wants me to have. That's it.

"It's not a big deal, Mama. I just want to go back, confront it, I guess. Move on and say goodbye to Grandma Maddie. I'm ready to do that."

Looking no more pleased with the situation than before, Mama shakes her head. "I don't like the idea of you going back there, Malachi, but if you really think this is what you need to do, I'll let you know. There's a company your daddy thinks might be able to do it, but it won't be until sometime later this summer."

"Thanks, Mama." It's a relief to know nothing will happen before then, but I feel sick as Mama's expression pales just thinking about me actually going back there. Rushing down the stairs to find our great grandma lying on the floor, beaten and bleeding, that's not something you ever forget. Everything that happened after that...I shake off the memory quickly.

Mama has no idea of the real reason behind my strange request, but when I look up and lock gazes with Kyran, he nods. We may not be blood brothers, but I know he'll always have my back. The only problem now, is that the only opportunity I'll have to make the trip back to the estate is during the summer, exactly when I invited Echo to visit. I promised I wouldn't put her in danger, but something tells me taking her to the estate will be anything but safe.
7: The Only Ones

(Malachi)

I swear when my phone starts buzzing, it's channeling Holden's irritation. It doesn't sound any different than usual, but the zzz, zzz seems unusually ominous. It's with a sigh that I reach over to the coffee table and snatch up the phone. Kyran nods and takes his biology notes to his bedroom.

The number comes up as unknown, but I answer it saying, "Hey, Holden."

"How'd you know who it was?" he demands.

"Been waitin' for your call, man."

He grumbles something incoherent, probably annoyed I'm taking this so calmly. It's not that I don't find his concern for Echo a bit much. Actually, I'm glad she has someone looking out for her, since her parents don't really seem to be aware of how serious this ghost thing is. The only thing getting under my skin about this guy is that I can't figure out whether or not he's into Echo as more than just a friend.

"Look, Malachi," Holden begins. The snarl backing the way he says my name makes me shake my head. "I don't know what your deal is with stalking Echo, but it needs to stop. She has been through too much to have some..."

"Whoa," I say, breaking in. "Who says I'm stalking her? Not Echo, right? I'm pretty sure she would have just told me to back off if I was bothering her. I may not know her as well as you, but it didn't take much to figure out she's a pretty tough girl."

More grumbling. "No, Echo didn't say you're stalking her, but what do you call it?"

"Uh, havin' a couple phone conversations and a handful of texts."

"What about friending her on Facebook! Her page is private. I made sure of it. Only friends can see what she posts," he argues.

"Sure, but her profile still comes up in a search, and it's kinda hard to forget her hair. I didn't have to see any of her posts to know I had the right Echo Simmons. It's not that common of a name, anyway." I'm trying really hard not to get annoyed with this kid, but my patience is waning fast. "Look, Holden, I get that you're tryin' to protect your friend, and I respect that, especially after what happened with that Martin Coulter guy."

For a long moment, Holden doesn't say anything. I think I must have surprised him with what I said. His next words confirm it. "She told you about that?"

"Yeah, she did."

The huff I hear over the phone is hard to interpret. I'm not sure if he's annoyed that she told me, or just shocked. "What do you want with her?" he finally asks.

I think about my answer very carefully. "I just want to get to know her."

"What about asking her to go to Georgia for the summer?" he demands, his frustration rekindling. "You're a stranger. You could be anyone! Does trying to talk her into leaving her family to come meet you really seem like a normal thing to do? Does that sound safe?"

Grimacing, I admit that doesn't sound like something a bring-home-to-meet-the-folks kind of guy would do. "Look, I know that seems kind of crazy, but I honestly just wanted to meet her and get to know each other better, learn about the ghost stuff and everything. I told her she should bring you and Zara, too. Check out the area, the college, just get away for a while."

"Why would she want to check out the college? Echo won't be able to get in and she knows that."

"I don't know," I say with exasperation. "Haven't you ever just wanted to take off and do something totally out of character?"

Holden growls under his breath. "Why does it have to be her? Echo can't afford those kinds of risks. She had no reason to trust you and neither do I," he snaps. "How about you take a risk and come here, where she's safe."

"I have no problem doing that!" I take a deep breath when Kyran pops his head out of his room with a concerned expression. Scaling back my annoyance, I say to Holden. "Look, if that's what Echo wants, my roommate and I will head to Cali to meet ya'll. I'd be more than happy to come meet her where she feels safer about it, meet her parents and sisters, too. I only brought up her comin' here because...there was just something in her voice that made me think she might want to get away from her life there for a while. Like she needed a break from whatever's going on at home."

I don't really know why, but that shuts Holden up. He sighs the kind of sigh that says he's admitted defeat. I can only assume that means what I said about Echo having a rough time lately is pretty accurate. It still doesn't explain everything, but I'm glad she trusted me enough to share that with me.

"Holden, can I ask you something?" I say, risking pissing him off again.

"I guess." He doesn't sound particularly happy about it.

Before he can change his mind, I just say it. "Do you...I mean, me talking to Echo, are you only upset because you're worried about her safety, or do you, you know, have a thing for her or something? I mean, I understand if you do and I don't want to be the guy steppin' in and..."

"Stop, just stop," Holden says. "The answer is no. I do not now, nor have I ever had a crush, or whatever you want to call it, on Echo. Dude, she's like my sister. Even more than my actual sisters, because I can't even stand being around them most of the time. They're like drama wrapped up in a jack-in-the-box that explodes in your face when you dare even look at it."

Chuckling, I have to lower the phone for a minute to keep from laughing right in Holden's ear. When I recover, I say, "That's just sisters in general, man. It's not just yours, trust me."

"I'm glad it's not just me," he says, actually sounding relieved. "Zara and Echo are weird, so low maintenance compared to every other girl I know. I don't know what's wrong with them."

Laughing again, I actually feel kinda bad for the guy. "Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot, Holden. Even with the message from my great grandma, my interest in Echo is purely because I like talking to her and she's generally pretty awesome. That's it."

Holden huffs, which seems to be a habit of his. "Just...be careful. Echo is strong and tough, but she's been through a lot, especially over the last few years. She's been doing really well this past year, but there are still cracks she's trying to glue back together."

"I won't do anything to hurt her."

"I hope you mean that." At first I think he's referring to what he might do to me if I cause her pain, but what he says next sends chills down my spine. "The ghosts, they don't like it when someone hurts Echo. Some of them really seem to care about her, but the others, they just don't want to risk losing their connection to the physical world. Hurting Echo won't turn out well for you, got it?"

"Yeah," I say slowly, "got it."

The background noise suddenly gets louder and Holden has to nearly yell to talk over it. "I've gotta grab some lunch before class starts."

"Go eat, and tell Echo hi for me."

Holden snorts at the request before ending the call, but I get the impression much of his earlier hostility toward me has mellowed. I can't help wondering if I should expect a call from Zara, too, or possibly Echo's dad. That one's going to take a lot more convincing. I can't help wonder how she'll explain this trip out here when and if she ever gets around to actually asking her parents. Hey, can I go meet this college guy I've been talking to for two days, who lives in Georgia, and who ya'll have never met? Yeah, that's not going to go over well. What was I thinking even asking? Of course it sounds dangerous and insane. I just...I have the strongest impression this is where she needs to be right now.

Kyran appears at my door a moment later looking expectant. "So, you calm down Kujo Boy?"

"Yeah," I say, laughing at his nickname. "As much as I could anyway. He's at least convinced I'm not trying to lure Echo up here so I can kill her or something."

Flopping down on the bed, Kyran seems to find that supremely funny. "Oh yeah, you're gonna kill her, right after you faint at the thought of all the blood you'd have to face. Remember the time I crashed coming down that halfpipe and had blood running down my forearm? I thought you were gonna puke before we got to the car!"

"Shut up," I say, whacking him in the face with a pillow, hard.

Kyran yanks the pillow away from me and tosses it aside. "So, you really think Echo can talk to ghosts?"

Frowning, I consider his question. Last night, I told Echo I believed her. I meant it...at least, I believe that everything she's experienced is real in some way. Do I really believe in ghosts, messages, and an afterlife of some kind? I can only shrug. "I don't know, man, but she's not lying to me about this stuff. She believes it. Her friends believe it. It's ghosts, though, you know? How do I really say I believe ghosts are stalking this girl?"

Kyran only half shrugs in response, but I can tell there's something behind the indifferent motion.

"What?"

For a few seconds, Kyran doesn't respond. It's almost like he's nervous to say what he thinks, which isn't like him at all. Finally, he sighs and says, "I've always believed in ghosts. Growing up with born and bred mystics, it's hard not to. It's not just taking my family's word for it, though."

"What do you mean?" I ask warily.

Looking down at the bed, he avoids my gaze. A chill creeps up my spine the longer he doesn't say anything. I nearly jump when he finally speaks. "That night, at the estate, something wasn't right. Not just what we experienced. Those guys who killed Grandma Maddie and grabbed us when we ran downstairs, I don't think they were the only ones in the room with us."

I'd almost think he's trying to play a really horrible joke on me if not for the way his fingers are nearly strangling themselves. The cold creeps further up my spine as I try to form some kind of response. "What do you mean someone else was there?"

Kyran looks up at me, his expression tortured. "I didn't see any point in saying much before now. Before Echo, you'd never have believed me anyway. You wouldn't even watch her show." He pauses, pressing his palms to the top of his head as he takes a deep breath. "My family was into some pretty weird stuff for a while. I never saw any ghosts or whatever it was they were looking for, but I definitely felt some awful bizarre things back then. It felt the same way that night."

A thousand thoughts scramble through my mind in the next few minutes. Kyran waits patiently for me to shake them all into some kind of coherent thought. The only thing I can think of, though, is Echo's warning. "She said going back might be dangerous. Echo, I mean."

Nodding, Kyran says, "I don't think going back will be as simple as walking in and grabbing whatever Grandma Maddie left you."

"Should I just not go?" I ask, feeling lost.

His expression says I should leave it all alone, but he shakes his head and shrugs. "I don't know, man. If Grandma Maddie asked you to do this, it might be worse if you don't. I have no idea, but if you decide to go back, I'll be right there with you."

"I never doubted," I say with a wry smile.

The topic of ghosts and estates and things we'd rather not remember dies away and we get back to our homework. Echo and her warning, however, is much harder to shake.
8: Experiences

(Echo)

Grateful it's not a soccer practice night, I toss away my last bit of homework for the evening and stretch my back. As I debate how to spend the rest of my night, a ping from my computer distracts me. I'm not exactly popular on Facebook, but I recognize the sound of a notification popping up. Normally, I wouldn't even have it open since no one ever tries to contact me through the site, but I found myself opening it earlier, hoping to see something new from Malachi.

When I click over to the right tab, I notice I have a new friend request. That's more than a little unusual. Deciding to take a chance, I click on it and find the same dark complected guy from Malachi's profile picture looking back at me. Kyran. For a minute, I sit there staring at it, not sure if it's weird that he wants to friend me or not. Eventually I decide it's probably a fairly normal thing to do on his part, and accept his request. A message pops up not a second later, startling me.

Hey, Echo. Please tell me you're not busy right now.

This is Kyran, Malachi's roommate btw.

A bit confused, but rather entertained by this guy, I type a response back.

I kinda figured that's who you were or I would have ignored your request.

And no, I'm not busy. Why?

A response pops up right away. I'm getting my trash kicked online. Please tell me you play Destiny!

I can't help laughing. Malachi was serious when he said his roomie wanted to meet me so I could help him with some game.

Do I play Destiny? What kind of question is that?

His response is immediate once again. Sweet! What system?

PS4. You?

I half hope he's an XBOX guy, just because I'm not totally sure about this. The other half of me is strangely excited about the prospect of playing with someone other than Holden or Zara.

Kyran's response cracks me up. I think I'm in love with you. PS4 for me too. Get online pronto. I'm dying here!

Ditching my computer, I hurry over to the den and kick my sisters off the TV. They've more than exceeded their screen time for the day, and the pretzels scattered all over the coffee table would have put an end to it even if they hadn't. While they clean up, I Facebook message Kyran my screen name from my phone and get my game going. I'm barely logged in before a friend request and invitation to join him pops up. I shake my head and accept.

A few seconds later, a voice starts pouring through my headset. "Okay, so these guys have some kind of ridiculous guns that take me out in one hit. I can't beat them and the morons I keep getting paired up with are useless. Not to mention I'm stuck using this crap gun until I get ten more headshots."

Laughing, I feel for him, I really do. "I was stuck on that bounty for a while, too."

The session loads a few seconds later and the banter cuts off abruptly. Kyran is all business as we stalk through the futuristic landscape taking down other online players, racing the clock to get more kills than the other team before time runs out. It's like playing with Zara, only worse, and with a lot more swearing. Still, I can't help laughing every time he gets blown away and loving every minute of it.

"Behind you!" I try to warn him. Half a second later his lifeless avatar goes flying into a wall.

"A little sooner next time, will ya?" he demands.

"Sorry," I say with a laugh.

The session ends a minute later and Kyran groans as he sees his name at the bottom of the rankings list. A few choice words slip out of his mouth when he sees my name at the top. "Why do I suck at this game so bad?"

It's so hard not to laugh at him. "I'm gonna take a wild guess and say you're a big Halo fan, right?"

"How'd you guess?"

Biting my lip, I try to hold back, but I just can't. "Uh, all the crazy jumping around gave you away. You can't play Destiny like you do Halo. The hang time when you jump is deadly."

Kyran starts grumbling under his breath about how I only said that because Malachi must have told me to. Holding back a laugh, I just shake my head. "Wanna go again?" I ask. "I'll try to hold some of them off so you can get a few more headshots at least. That crap gun isn't helping you out any."

"Sure," Kyran grumbles, "I..." His voice cuts off suddenly, making me worry for some reason, until he yells right in my ear. "In your room!"

"Geez, Kyran! Trying to make me deaf?" I complain.

"What? Oh, sorry, Echo. Didn't mean to yell at you."

I start to say it's okay, but Kyran starts talking again. Not to me, though.

"Yeah, I said Echo," he says hotly. "She's helping me take care of business. What's your problem?"

I don't hear the response, which I can only assume is coming from Malachi. That thought makes me grin, just a little.

"Facebook. Friend request. Stop acting like a girl. You're not the only one who's allowed to talk to her, dude."

It's totally pathetic to admit, but even though I'm pretty enough, no guy has ever gotten jealous over me. Like never ever. Superfans of the show don't count. They're more interested in my freaky abilities than me, which really says something about me, I suppose. The fact that Malachi is annoyed at Kyran for asking me to play a game with him is really satisfying. Completely stupid, but satisfying all the same.

"Echo?" Malachi says through the game. "You there?"

"Yep. You joining us?" I ask.

He grumbles something I can't exactly hear, then says, "Yeah. It's gonna take more than just you to keep Kyran alive long enough to get the rest of the headshots he needs."

Kyran objects rather fiercely, even though he knows it's true. A few seconds later, any irritation between the two friends is gone and we're all shouting at the game, trying to warn Kyran and keep him alive, and laughing at our mistakes. As much as I love playing with Holden and Zara, I can't think of a time when I've had more fun, when I didn't feel like I was constantly being watched for signs of something terrible about to happen.

"Echo," my dad says, cutting off the command to go left I was about to shout at Kyran.

I glance over at him quickly, wincing as I see Kyran get blown away out of the corner of my eye. "Yeah?"

"I need you to come into the living room with me."

I pull my attention away from the game, suddenly noticing how stiff he seems. Worry has his features tight. One of the guys groans as I'm hit with a killing shot. "Dad, is everything okay?"

He frowns, his fingers tightening where they're gripping the doorframe. "Any idea why the FBI would be at our house?"

"What?"

Shaking his head, he says, "Turn the game off and come to the living room, please."

"Sure, of course. I'll be right there."

He turns and walks away, leaving me to shut everything down. It takes me a minute to process what he said and start to panic. "Uh, guys," I say, breaking into their conversation, "I have to go."

"What? No!" Kyran says. "You can't abandon me yet."

"Sorry, but, uh, the FBI is in my living room."

Dead silence.

"Did you just say FBI?" Malachi asks.

"Yep."

"Whoa. You got some hobbies you haven't mentioned yet?" Kyran asks. He yelps when the sound of Malachi smacking him carries over the line.

"Echo, call me when you can, okay?" Malachi says. "So I know you're okay."

"I will. Better get going, though."

After a hasty goodbye to both guys, I shut down the game and stand. Suddenly, my hands feel cold. Breathing is difficult. My thoughts seem jumbled. I'm not even sure how I manage to put one foot in front of the other, but I end up in the living room doorway a minute later. As soon as I appear, two suit-clad people stand. One is a woman with long, straight hair. The other is an older man with silver at his temples.

"Echo, please take a seat," the woman says.

The fact that they know me by sight really freaks me out. The numbing cold spreads from my fingertips up my arms. I sit down in an armchair next to the loveseat my parents are parked on. I look over at them, not heartened by the fearful expressions on their faces. My stomach turns as I force myself to face the FBI agents.

"What's this about?" I ask quietly.

The older guy looks at me. His expression isn't kind or unkind. It's firm, but not in an intimidating way. "One of our agents saw your show this week, and we have a few questions."

"The FBI watched my show?" I squeak. Even my parents look pretty taken aback by this news.

The woman smiles. "Not the FBI as a whole, but Agent Hollis happens to be a fan."

I turn back to the guy. Is he Hollis? Doesn't really seem like the type. As if sensing my question, he says, "I'm sorry, we didn't introduce ourselves to you as we did your parents. I'm Special Agent Morton and this is Agent Ellington. We were assigned your case."

"My case?" I feel sick. I can't be an FBI case. Surely no college will ever take me if I'm on some kind of FBI watch list, right?

"It's more of an inquiry," Agent Ellington says. "Just a few questions."

"About what?" my dad asks. I nod, echoing his question.

The two agents look at each other. Some agreement passes between them and it's Ellington who takes the lead. "We just need to ask you about some of the information you mentioned on your last show. The stolen secrets, specifically."

"The what?" my dad demands. He looks over to me, like I have all the answers. My mom is staring at me, too. I can see it on both their faces, the panic that this last good year is about to fall apart. It kills me to see the panic in their eyes as they wonder if I'm going to slip back into what I used to be, to the nightmares and failing grades and constant fear. I have to look away from them to escape it all.

Facing the FBI agents, I say the only thing I can. "I don't really know anything about it. I know you guys probably think my show is just a big joke, but...it's not."

I hear my dad groan, barely audible, but it cuts me to the core. Tears pool in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I don't blame them for not believing me, but it doesn't stop me from wishing it were different.

"Are you claiming that Madeline Crew actually contacted you in some way, that she gave you the information you wrote on the board during your show?" Agent Ellington asks. I nod slowly and she frowns. "It wasn't information you found online somewhere?"

Shaking my head, I try really hard to hold onto my composure. "No. I mean, I tried to look it up later, to see if I could validate it, but I couldn't find anything about the Nazi secrets. That sort of thing shouldn't be on the web, right?"

"That's exactly the problem," Agent Morton says. "The fact that Madeline Crew served as an undercover agent during World War Two is not information that has ever been released to the public. Our techs found no mention of it on the internet anywhere...which made us quite interested in how you came to know such a sensitive piece of information."

My head starts shaking back and forth. I certainly wasn't trying to cause any trouble when I asked Madeline that question. It's the same question I ask most of my guests. She just happened to have a better answer than most. "She shared it with me," I say quietly, knowing they don't believe a word of what I'm saying.

"You've been in contact with Madeline's great grandson, correct?" Agent Ellington asks. "Malachi Fields?"

The room goes absolutely silent. I can practically feel my dad's breathing pick up in anger even though he's a few feet away. I don't have to ask to know he remembers Malachi's name from the text he saw the other night. He's going to kill me. And ground me. I'm so dead.

"Echo?" Agent Morton asks.

"Yes," I whisper. "He emailed my friend Holden after the show. He saw the show and heard his great grandma's name mentioned. He just wanted to know if it was a joke. I told him it wasn't."

"Then Malachi didn't tell you about his great grandmother's service during the war?" Agent Ellington asks.

Suddenly angry at them, I fold my arms across my chest and glare at the both of them. "If you know I've been talking to Malachi, then surely you know I'd never even met him before the show. I had no idea who he was, who his grandmother was, or what she did during the war."

"Then how do you explain the information about the Nazi secrets?" Agent Morton asks.

"I already told you!" I shout. My parents both look mortified, and really freaked out, but I don't care. "You don't believe me? Fine. You said yourself that there's no way I could have known that stuff without access to whatever secret files you guys have. Even if I did, why would I steal information like that and then blab about it on the internet?"

Agent Ellington is keeping her cool better than I might expect, but she obviously thinks I'm lying, or just plain crazy. "You honestly expect us to believe the ghost of Madeline Crew told you she stole Nazi secrets."

"You can believe whatever you want. I don't have any other answers for you. Make me take a polygraph if you want. I don't even know why this matters! It was decades ago."

"It matters because you have information you shouldn't," Agent Morton says calmly.

Scared, angry, and ready to bolt, it takes everything I have not to run away. "Well, in the future, I'll make sure to politely ask the ghosts who follow me around all day not to share any state secrets with me, okay?"

Agent Ellington looks to my parents like they can do something to help. I want to laugh at her for thinking such a stupid thing. I love my parents. They're good parents overall and they've tried to understand me and help me over the years, but they don't believe me any more than Agent Ellington does. In fact, I can already see my mom pulling up my therapist's number in her mind, ready to book a few more sessions.

When the agents finally look back to me, they seem to realize this discussion is going nowhere fast. I know the matter isn't closed, but they seem to be done harassing me for tonight at least. Slowly, they stand. Agent Ellington is the first to speak.

"Thank you for allowing us into your home," she says to my parents, who nod mutely. "We have no further questions at this time, but we may need to revisit this matter in the future." My dad flinches at her words, but shakes their hands stiffly all the same.

Agent Morton is the one to stop in front of me after they start walking toward the door. His eyes narrow, though I can't tell if it's in anger or if he's just trying to figure me out. "We will be keeping an eye on you for the time being."

"Have fun with that," I snap. "I lead a pretty boring life overall."

The corner of his mouth quirks up, like maybe he doesn't think I'm a total nutcase. "I spent several years working in Georgia," he says, surprising me. "I enjoyed my time there."

Agent Ellington cocks her head to one side, clearly as caught off guard by his comment as I am. I struggle to respond. "What...I..."

"I just thought you might like a second opinion, if you're seriously considering Georgia State in the future." Agent Morton gives me that same knowing smile. "You are considering it, aren't you?"

I'm really, really dead. "Maybe," I manage to croak.

Agent Morton nods. He starts to turn away, but then looks back at me. "I'm sure it's no surprise that we checked into your history quite thoroughly," he says, making me grimace. No doubt my many years of therapy and less than stellar school record aren't helping out my claims of ghosts. Agent Morton doesn't seem to be particularly bothered by that, though. Instead of addressing it, he says, "We checked into Malachi's as well."

Gulping, I mentally cross my fingers. "And?"

"No red flags, but it's always wise to be careful."

"I'm always careful," I say quietly. It's practically all I know.

Agent Morton takes a card from his breast pocket and hands it to me. "I don't think a polygraph will be necessary, but that's not all we're good for. If you're ever interested, we have agents who would be very interested in talking to you about your experiences. You're also welcome to call if you need more information about Georgia or its residents. "

I'm pretty sure my mouth falls open at both offers. I'm not sure if anyone else heard what he said, but he turns away from me and back to my parents, thanking them again for their time and excusing himself and his partner. I stand there with the card in my hand until I hear the front door click closed. There are a few precious moments of silence before utter chaos breaks loose.
9: Long Distance Comfort

(Echo)

It honestly takes me a few minutes to realize my parents are both yelling at me. The idea that the FBI, well Special Agent Morton at least, might actually believe me is too impossible to really grasp. Is there really anything they could do to help me? It's all so overwhelming, it takes my dad grabbing my arm and shaking me to get my attention.

"Echo, what on earth was that all about?"

"How could you tell them you're seeing ghosts?" my mom wails.

Her expression is tortured, as if she really believed when I stopped talking about ghosts it was because I didn't "think" I was seeing them anymore. Part of me feels bad that her world seems to be falling apart. The rest of me...I just stare at her, angry she never believed me, furious I've spent the last year hiding a huge chunk of who I am because she simply can't handle dealing with it.

Instantly, I feel guilty for thinking that. She's done a lot for me. Tried so hard. The only approach she couldn't bring herself to take when it came to helping me was believing what I told her. Can I really blame her for that?

"Echo, you need to start talking, right now," my dad says tightly.

I look up at him and shrug. I'm so tired of having this same fight. "What do you want me to say, Dad?"

"Why did you tell the FBI all those things?" my mom asks tearfully. I honestly can't tell in that moment if she's so upset because she thinks I'm losing it, or because she's embarrassed I'm still clinging to what she calls my childhood fantasies.

"I said them because they're true."

"They are not true," she says, her head shaking back and forth so quickly it looks like she's twitching.

All I can do in response is shrug. I won't stand here all night defending myself to them. It hasn't worked in eighteen years. Why would it start working now? I turn to leave, but my dad grabs my arm. When I look up at him, I'm shocked by the anger I see.

"The ghost show, it's over." The way he says it sounds so final. He's reached his limit, drawn a proverbial line in the sand.

I suppose it should scare me, make me panic, but it doesn't. Maybe it's the emotional upheaval of the last half hour. Maybe I've just reached my own limit. Maybe knowing there is at least one person in this world outside of Holden and Zara who actually believes me gives me the strength I've been trying to find for years. I don't know what it is, but my dad's threat doesn't have the effect he's expecting.

Sighing, I look up at him with a strange sense of calm. "Dad, I know you're just trying to protect me...or protect the rest of the family from me. I'm not really sure anymore, but I do know you can't stop me from doing the show."

My mom and dad seem more shaken by my calm response than my earlier freaking out and yelling. Dad recovers first and barrels on. "You are living in our house, and under our rules. This show, it was all just a game at first, but now we have the FBI showing up at our house! You're not doing even one more episode, and if you think we can't enforce that, you're sorely mistaken, young lady."

"If you try," I say quietly, "I'll leave."

The sound of my mom bursting into tears kills me, but I can't let myself feel it right now. I shove away any hint of emotion, knowing I desperately need to get through this conversation in one piece if I have any chance of keeping my life from falling apart again. It takes every ounce of courage I have left in my trembling body to face my dad head on. When our gazes lock, I see how drained, how scared he looks, and it hits me squarely in the chest.

I don't cry or yell, or even get upset. I just say what I've needed to say for the past year. For my entire life. "Dad, I know you don't believe me about the ghosts, but it doesn't matter. Believe whatever you want. The fact is, the show is the best way I know of to keep things under control. If you take that away from me, all those years of nightmares and pain and helplessness, it will all come back. It will be worse than before, and I don't know if I can handle that."

Shaking my head, I look at him. "No, I know I can't handle that again. I refuse to go back to how things were before. If you try to take the show away from me, I will leave, not because I don't love you, but because I won't have any other choice. I need to you both to understand that, whether you ever believe me or not."

"Where would you go?" my mom cries.

"Georgia?" my dad demands. "To that Malachi character, whoever he is?"

"I don't know," I say honestly, "but I can't stay here like this for much longer."

I don't wait for them to respond, to yell or fight with me about all of this. I'm too drained to even think about it anymore. It hurts too much to think about losing everything I've worked for, leaving my family, facing an unknown future without their support. Neither of them follows me. When I reach my bedroom, I lock the door and collapse on my bed. I feel as if I'm on autopilot as I grab my phone and call Malachi.

"Echo, I'm freakin' out here. What's going on? Why's the FBI at your house?" he demands before I can get out a single word.

The words I mean to say get stuck somewhere and what comes tumbling out surprises us both. "If I just showed up at your apartment one day, would you let me stay? For a little while, at least?"

Malachi breathes out slowly. "I'd let you stay as long as you wanted, Carrots."

I needed to hear that so badly, I break down in tears as soon as the last word leaves his mouth. For the longest time, he just lets me cry. I know it must kill him not to break in and ask questions. He's as patient as a saint, though, and waits until my sobbing calms before saying anything.

"It's torture not being there with you right now," Malachi says softly.

"I'm half tempted to hop on a plane and fly to Georgia tonight." My breathing hitches, desire to be in his arms gripping me so fiercely it's frightening. I want to run away from all this, but I know it won't solve anything. The only thing it would accomplish is possibly damaging my relationship with my parents beyond what I would know how to fix.

"I certainly wouldn't say no to that," Malachi says, "but I think your parents might have a small problem with you disappearing suddenly."

My earlier words come back into my mind, tempting me despite the danger. "I'm eighteen. They couldn't really stop me."

Groaning, I hear Malachi flop back against his bed. "Carrots, you're killing me. Don't push me or the next thing out of my mouth will be to ask you what time I should pick you up at the airport."

"You would, wouldn't you," I say. The hint of a smile begins pulling at the corner of my mouth.

"Pick you up at the airport? Of course." He says it like it should be a given.

"No," I say, "drop everything...for me."

I swear I can almost hear him smile. "If I learned nothing from sitting though Anne and Gil's ridiculous relationship a million times, it's to not let my redheaded dream girl slip away from me because I was too stupid see how amazing she was from the start."

Suddenly, I know what it feels like to have words melt me from head to toe. I can barely control my quivering bottom lip enough to speak. "Just for the record, Gil always knew how great Anne was. It was Anne who was foolish enough to let Gil slip away so many times. And their relationship was not ridiculous."

"Of course it was. Why didn't she just admit she was in love with him from the start?"

"Because she had all these romantic ideals about how grand and dramatic life and love were supposed to be. She didn't understand that love didn't have to be big sweeping gestures. It could be small and meaningful, something as seemingly insignificant as picking someone up from the airport when they feel like all they are to the people around them is a big fat problem." I press my lips together to keep them from trembling.

"I guess she had to experience life outside her bubble of self-imposed expectations before she could see herself the way other people saw her," Malachi says in a quiet, soothing voice that wraps itself around me in a way that's impossible to describe.

Pressing the phone to my ear, I curl into a ball, dragging my blankets over my body as I hide from everything but his voice. "See, their relationship wasn't ridiculous."

"No, I guess not." Malachi takes a breath and blows it out slowly. "You know I meant what I said, right? If you need to escape, you're welcome here any time. We've got video games, pizza, beaches not too far away, everything you need, right?"

I laugh, thanking Madeline for showing up and bringing Malachi into my life. She brought the FBI too, but I'm not so sure that's a bad thing either. "Thanks, Malachi. I may take you up on that offer."

I pause, biting my bottom lip as I consider my dad's anger and threats. My heart breaks all over again because I think I might have finally lost his tenuous support for real. The scariness of what that might mean pushes me to react, to make a choice before I lose everything I've worked so hard for over the last year.

"In fact, I...I think I will. I'm going to come for the summer."

"You are?" he asks. "Did you talk to your parents about it already?"

"Not exactly, but like I said earlier, I'm eighteen. I don't really need their permission."

Malachi is quiet for a moment. "Echo, not that I don't want you to come, but maybe this isn't the best time to decide. I know parents can be hard to deal with..."

"This isn't about them. It's about me. I love my parents, but I can't stay here. I can't spend the next four years with them hovering over me, doubting my sanity, waiting for me to fall apart. I can't live like that anymore. I just can't." I suck in a sharp breath, trying to hold off more tears.

"Hey," Malachi says softly, "it's okay. If this is what you really want, I'll be there. I can't wait to see you in person. I'm just worried about you."

The sincerity in his voice is like a balm. "Thank you." Malachi yawns instead of responding. Feeling guilty, I ask, "What time is it there?"

"I don't know. It doesn't matter," he says. "I want to hear about why the FBI was at your house. Spill, Carrots."

Chuckling at his boyish interest, I settle into my bed and tell him everything. He's pretty surprised to learn that his great grandmother really was a spy during World War Two. I try to picture one of my grandparents working as a spy and it honestly makes me want to laugh. I just can't imagine it.

When I explain my parents' reactions to the ordeal, their demands about the show, Malachi's frustration is pretty evident. I know he's still working on believing in the ghosts and my ability to talk to them, but he's keeping an open mind and not judging me. It makes me think of Agent Morton and what he said tonight. When I tell Malachi everything, his first reaction makes me laugh.

"Wait, so the FBI was poking around in my life, too?"

"Apparently."

"Whoa, that's kinda freaky."

"No kidding." I smile, a teasing expression spreading across my lips. "Agent Morton had some interesting things to say about you."

"Oh really?" Malachi asks. The smile in his voice is impossible not to hear. Clearly, he's not all that worried.

"Mm-hmm. He said there weren't any red flags, but I should still be careful."

"Sounds like pretty good advice," he says with false seriousness. "I am the great grandson of a super spy. Who knows what I might really be doing in my spare time."

I laugh at his response. "Somehow, I don't think marathons of Anne of Green Gables qualifies as something to watch out for."

Malachi accepts the jab with a laugh. "You really know how to keep a guy's ego in check."

As much as I enjoy bantering with Malachi, thoughts of Agent Morton's parting words pull me into silence. I mull over what he said, wondering, thinking. Malachi waits for me to find my words. "The FBI guy, before he left, he said something about some of his colleagues being interested in talking to me about my experiences."

"With the ghosts?" Malachi asks.

"Either that or with being crazy."

"You're not crazy, Carrots."

Smiling, I pull my comforter around me more tightly. "Do you think they'd...maybe..." I pause, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, holding it, biting just hard enough to ache. "Do you think they'd just want to study me like some kind of freak, or do you think they might be able to help me control the ghosts better?"

It takes a minute or two for Malachi to answer. "I don't know."

"It scares me to think about."

"Being studied?"

I shake my head. "No, controlling the ghosts."

"Why would that scare you?" Malachi asks.

"They're part of me," I say quietly. "I don't know who I'd be without them."

Malachi sighs, sounding relieved. "I do. You'd be exactly who you are now, a devilishly smart, alien disintegrating, witty, sexy redhead who has the uncanny ability to completely monopolize a guy's thoughts. You'd just be a hell of a lot less stressed out and scared all the time."

"I seriously doubt I monopolize your thoughts, and you might be the only guy on the planet who thinks I'm sexy. Certainly none of the guys at my school do," I grumble.

I'm eighteen and I've never kissed a guy or even been asked out on a date. Kind of hard to manage when you fall asleep at school out of sheer exhaustion and wake up screaming from a nightmare. Not a real turn on, trust me.

"I think about you constantly, and any guy who doesn't think you're sexy is an idiot," Malachi says seriously.

"No, they just know me better than you," I grouch.

Laughing, Malachi shifts, the rustle of his movements carrying over the phone. "That seems like some kind of challenge, Carrots."

"Oh yeah?" I laugh.

"Summer. A whole two months to get to know you."

"And?"

"Well, you seem to think that if I get to know you, I won't want to hang out with you anymore because of all the ghost stuff. You're wrong."

Chuckling at his silliness, I say, "Was there a challenge in there somewhere?"

"The challenge is, if I win and haven't bailed by the end of summer, you stay here."

My breathing doesn't just stutter, it stops completely. "What?" I whisper. "Seriously?"

"Absolutely."

"What if I win?"

"You won't."

"But what if I do?" I demand.

Malachi sighs exasperatedly. "You won't win because I'm not running away. There's no point in discussing it."

For him, that's the end of the argument, but in the back of my mind I can't help thinking that if I'm right, there would be no reward. Malachi would be gone and that would be it. It's almost enough to make me change my mind about going. Almost. Holding onto my fragile hope, I ask, "Is Georgia nice in the summer?"

"It's hot and sticky," Malachi says with a laugh, "but you get used to it."

Silence falls and I realize for the first time how dark my room is. I should get up and brush my teeth, put my pajamas on, but that would require hanging up with Malachi and possibly facing my parents again. A silly, childish request forms on my lips, and I'm not strong enough to resist asking. "Will you stay on the phone with me until I fall asleep?"

"Of course," he says.

I snuggle down into my blankets, ignoring how uncomfortable it is to sleep in my jeans, and hold the phone against my ear. "Thank you."

"Any time," Malachi says, "including when I can stay with you in person."

The way my breath catches surely gives away how much I would give to have that right now, but Malachi doesn't say anything else about it. Neither do I. I fall asleep, wrapped in the long distance comfort of a guy I don't understand but find myself clinging to with everything I have.
10: Fair Trade

(Echo)

"Echo, you have an appointment at four today. Don't be late," my mom says. The edge to her voice says this isn't negotiable, but I'm not in the mood for demands today.

"And what am I supposed to do with the twins?" My mom glares at me for my snippy tone, but I don't back down. "I can't leave them here by themselves. You know they'll end up burning the house down or something."

Her shoulders and eyebrows bunch up in irritation at my resistance, and because she knows I'm right. "Why don't you ask Zara to watch them?"

"She can't," I snap. I actually have no idea whether Zara could watch them or not, but I'm not about to ask. "I didn't ask you to schedule an appointment for me. I'm not going, Mom, so drop it."

"Yes, you are going, young lady."

She looks exhausted. She looks freaked out and upset and scared. Yesterday, that would have forced me to give in. Yesterday feels like a million years ago. It's not easy to keep my voice even when I speak. "Mom, graduation is next Saturday. Unless you want me to spend the next week at Zara's instead of here, I suggest you quit trying to force me into going to any more appointments. It won't help."

"But it has been helping," she argues. "Just look at how great you've been doing lately."

"That has nothing to do with seeing a stupid therapist!" I throw my hands up, at the end of my rope with her. "I've been doing better because of the Ghost Host show, because the ghosts can get their messages out there. They don't harass me as much. It has nothing to do with you or Dad. I has to do with me taking control of my own life. It's the only thing that's worked so far, and I'm not going back to letting you guys dictate my whole life. If you bring up therapy again, I will leave."

Unable to take any more of this conversation, I spin on my heel and blast out of the house. Looking for escape, I head for my car, but my feet root to the sidewalk when I spot my dad leaning against the driver side door. I am so not in the mood for this. The high school's not that far away...

Running away like a child won't do much to convince him to stop treating me like one, so I stalk up to him and fold my arms. "Is this about therapy, too? I already told Mom..."

"It's about Malachi," he snaps, "and the utter stupidity of you even considering going out to Georgia to meet some guy you met on the internet! Have you even stopped to consider how incredibly dangerous that could be? You don't know him. You have no idea what he might be capable of!"

Furious at him for attacking me, it's almost impossible to keep my voice level. "Yes, Dad, I have thought about it. A lot. It scares me half to death to think of leaving home all by myself. I'm not an idiot. I know meeting Malachi could be dangerous. He could be the next Ted Bundy for all I know! I get it, okay?"

I throw my hands up, so sick of him treating me like I'm stupid and fragile, too broken to make a decision on my own. "I know it's crazy, and risky, but you know what? Maybe I don't care anymore. Maybe I'm sick of playing it safe and feeling like I'm already in a straitjacket. Maybe if something bad does happen to me...maybe it would be preferable to this."

His face falls and the shock that registers on his face is like a punch in the gut. "Echo, you don't mean that," he says, his voice pleading.

Tears pool in my eyes, but I don't know if it's for the pain I'm causing him or the pain I know is in store for me if I stay here and continue to let them rule my life and look at me like I'm insane. He's too stunned to stop me from opening the car door and shoving him out of the way.

"I can't do this right now, Dad." I shake my head and toss my backpack into the car. "I can't do any of this anymore."

My car door slams after I get in and I leave him standing there in the driveway looking like I just ripped out his heart. I know I'm breaking at least a few traffic laws as I speed toward school, but I just had to get away from both of them before I lost it. Nobody talks to me once I reach the school. Even the superfans leave me alone, which is a small miracle.

I make it through first hour without any further mood-killing incidents, but my already lousy luck bottoms out halfway through second hour when my English teacher shivers. Normally, that might not cause any heads to turn, but I feel the cold a second later and am instantly spooked. The guy next to me zips up his hoodie a little higher and the girl in the tank top on my other side starts rubbing her arms.

My hand shoots up immediately. "Mr. Whitmore, can I be excused to the restroom?"

He shrugs and goes back to his lesson. I get more than one weird look as I jump up from my seat and hurry out of the room. The cold follows me. I was hoping it would. Well, I was hoping it'd just go away, but I'd rather not add any more speculation of my sanity by trying to fend off a vengeful ghost in the middle of an English lecture.

Racing toward the women's restroom, my hand grabs the handle and I freeze. My heart is pounding and my breathing is up at marathon runner levels, but what really freaks me out is way my breaths are misting up. No, no, no, no, no. I yank on the door and dart inside the thankfully empty bathroom. I know it won't do any good, but I lock myself in a stall and pull my feet up, burying my head against my knees. The only sounds in the room are my labored breaths and the drip of a faucet someone forgot to turn off all the way.

It's too cold. A normal ghost won't turn everything into a deep freeze. My shivering has nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with what I know is coming. Frost begins creeping up the sides of the stall. I want to run, but where? Go tearing through the halls of school screaming about a ghost that's trying to kill me? It won't go over well. Trust me, I've tried. The stall door starts shaking and I curl up into a ball and rock back, humming to block out the noise.

I don't have a pen. He can't make me write anything. The rattling door bangs against the stall walls and I slap my hands over my ears. Go away! Just go away, please! My begging does nothing to stop him. I shut myself down to outside influences as best I can, but his creeping, freaky cold inches its way under my skin, through my body and into my mind. There's nothing I can do to stop from lifting my finger to the wall of the frost-covered stall.

Not wanting to look, I keep my eyes squeezed shut as tightly as I can. His influence becomes more forceful, dragging my fingers across the wall, demanding I acknowledge him. I fight as hard as I can, but I can't regain control. Panic seizes me as I try to wrench my hand away from him, but it's impossible. Blood runs down the inside of the cheek I'm biting to keep myself from screaming.

"No," I finally whisper. "Stop it, please. Leave me alone!"

A roar builds in my mind, not a scream, not words, just deafening white noise that slams into my mind over and over again. I'm crying, my tears freezing as they roll down my cheeks, but nothing I do has any effect. He smashes my palm against the wall, the force so frightening I look up on instinct. His hazy, horrible form hovers over me, carrying with it unspeakable agony. One indistinct hand is pressed against the wall, forcing me to look at his message.

Let me go!

Let me go!

Let me go!

"I don't know what you mean," I plead. I'm not a reaper. I can't send him home. I can't do anything but write his messages. That's all I'm good for. I can't help him. He's got to understand that!

I can't hold back my scream when he dives at me. My head hits something as I fall, but all I care about is the white hot fury rushing through my body as he grabs my head. Half a dozen images flash through my mind as I scream and cry, but I'm too terrified to make any sense of them. His presence pushes harder, squashing me under its intensity until it finally becomes too much and I black out.

***

My head is killing me when I finally come to. I'm not sure how long I've been lying on the bathroom floor, wedged in next to the toilet. I try not to think about what nasty germs are squirming all over me right now after all that. Reaching up, I feel the expected lump on the back of my skull from where I hit the ground after that psycho attacked me.

It takes me a few minutes to collect myself before I risk opening the stall door. When I see the bathroom is empty and no one's called any adults to come help me, or haul me off to a hospital, I realize second hour must still be going on. This bathroom is fairly secluded, which is why I ran to it, but if classes had changed already someone would have found me.

Thankful I had that one small bit of luck stored away, I try to make myself look less...crazy. My hair has some weird waves going on now thanks to the frost demonstration ruining all the work I did with my straightener this morning, but oh well. Not the worst I've ever looked at school. I almost head out of the restroom to get on with things like I usually do after something like this, but a buzz from my phone stops me. When I pull it out, I see it's just a random junk email, but having my phone in my hand brings last night back to mind.

I didn't really have any intention of calling Agent Morton in the near future when I programmed his number into my phone last night. It was more an act of desperation, maybe. Or possibly defiance. Now, I bring the number up and hit send.

"Special Agent Morton," a voice says after a few rings.

"Uh, this is Echo...Simmons. You were at my house last night."

"Yes, Echo. How are you doing? No more state secrets to reveal, I trust?" he says in his same even tone of voice.

It's oddly reassuring to hear him sounding so casual about it. "Uh, no, but I did have a few questions. You know, about what you said last night. Talking to some agents or whatever."

"Yes, I was hoping you'd call. We'd be very interested in speaking with you about your experiences with the ghosts."

"So," I say hesitantly, "you actually believe me?"

Agent Morton seems to settle in. "There are cases now and again that don't have rational explanations. There is a team of agents that investigates these types of cases, and I'm one of them."

"The FBI investigates ghosts?"

Laughing, he says, "Not just ghosts, Echo. Anything out of the ordinary that can't be explained scientifically. And sometimes it's less grandiose. There are many times we simply work as liaisons between psychics or other individuals who seem to have some kind of unexplained ability. There are many times these persons are very helpful in finding missing persons, evidence, etc."

"I don't know what the FBI would want with me. I just pass on messages. Most of them are just harmless reminders of where someone left their will or whatever."

"Not all of the messages you receive are harmless, though, are they?" Agent Morton asks. "Martin Coulter would be a perfect example of that, yes?"

My heart stops and my hands start shaking. I can barely keep control of my voice well enough to ask, "You know about him?"

"We do," he says. "The police found the letter you sent during the original investigation. A handwriting expert swore it was from Martin's own hand, but that it couldn't have been written before his death. It wouldn't have made sense even if it had been, given that his death was an unfortunate accident. The letter was sent to us for further investigation, but short of questioning you, all it did was put you on our radar."

"Why didn't you question me?" I ask.

"Because you were only ten years old at the time, Echo."

The compassion in his voice sinks deep into my soul. If they had showed up at my house asking questions during that time, not only would I have probably lost it, I'm sure my parents would have hospitalized me. "Thank you," I whisper tearfully.

"Aside from your age at the time," he says, "we also weren't completely convinced it was from you. The return address had your name on it, but you were so young to have such a strong ability. We thought it would be best to wait and see how things went."

"So, you waited until I wasn't such a basket case," I say with a small laugh. Wise choice.

"Actually," Agent Morton says, "we waited until you were eighteen, so your parents couldn't stop you from talking to us."

That actually hits me hard, right in the center of my chest. It certainly causes me to wonder just how closely the FBI has been watching me for the last eight years, but it also makes me realize Agent Morton understands my parents. He gets that they think I'm nuts, that they won't support me in this. I almost start crying again right there. I can't even express how much weight it takes off my shoulders to know this guy honestly believes me and wants to help.

"If I come in, what would that be like? What does the FBI want from me? Would I be studied?"

Agent Morton chuckles. "Echo, we're not interested in turning you into a lab rat, if that's what you're worried about. We'd definitely have a lot of questions and we'd like to run some tests, but it would all be on your terms."

"What kind of tests?"

"Any medical procedures would be non-invasive, like a CAT scan to see how your brain works in comparison to someone without your abilities. Most of the tests would just be to determine your sensitivity to supernatural phenomenon. Everything would be fully explained and only done with your permission," he says.

It sounds scary, but I find myself believing him about the whole not doing anything without my permission part of the deal. "What does the FBI get out of this?"

"Better understanding of abilities like yours, and possibly a new consultant." He says it casually, but I nearly choke on his words.

"You don't mean me, right? I'm sure I'd be no help at all."

Agent Morton laughs again. "Yes, I do mean you. If the tests go well and you're interested, I'll offer you a job. You already have an established relationship with the spirit community..."

He says that like it's a totally rational, sane thing to say.

"And that could be very valuable to us."

A million thoughts start buzzing around in my mind. "I have finals and graduation..."

"There's no rush, Echo. We wouldn't want to disrupt your schooling. We could start after you've graduated, once things have calmed down for you," he says reassuringly, assuming things ever calm down.

I know I might be crazy for even considering this, but honestly, how much more messed up could my life get at this point? There's only one thing holding me back. "Could I...would it be possible to do all of this...somewhere else?"

The line is quiet for a moment before Agent Morton speaks again. "Have you decided to leave then?"

"Yes, right after graduation. I love my parents, but I can't stay here anymore."

"I think a fresh start somewhere new could be a very good thing for you, Echo." He sounds like he really means it. "Are you considering Georgia, or just talking about leaving in general?"

Biting my lip, I struggle to come up with an answer. "I don't know," I finally say. "Last night, I told Malachi I was coming down for the summer, but I was angry at my parents and upset. Now...I'm scared to go through with it, but I don't know where else to go. I've never even left California before. I can't even imagine how many police reports you've read that start out, 'I met him online...' and I don't want to become the next one, but..."

"But you feel a connection with Malachi. You trust him even though you don't know why. Right?"

"Yes," I whisper, relieved he seems to understand and maybe doesn't think I'm completely insane.

Agent Morton is silent for several seconds before continuing. "It's not uncommon for people with unusual abilities to find kindred spirits. I can't say whether that's true about Malachi, but I wouldn't be surprised if the connection you feel toward him was more than just hormones."

It's hard to deny there seems to be something pushing me toward Malachi, working hard to convince me there's a reason we were put in touch with each other, but it doesn't completely allay my fears. "I'm still scared."

"You'd be a fool not to be," Agent Morton says, "but if it helps, I have done thorough background checks on Malachi, his roommate, and both their families and haven't found any reason to be concerned."

Creepy, but... "That's reassuring," I say quietly.

"Echo, I don't want you to do something you're uncomfortable with, but I think Georgia could be a good place for you to find some answers about yourself and your abilities. Starting over somewhere new could be a good thing for you if it's done right."

I know I don't know this guy from Adam, but he seems to really get what I've been going through, and the idea of doing all these tests or whatever while venturing out on my own really kind of freaks me out when I think about letting anyone but him dig into my life and abilities.

"In Georgia, if I go, who...this may sound weird but, I'm not sure about doing this with anyone else. We don't know each other really, but at least I've met you and I feel like you actually care whether or not I go crazy from all this stuff."

"As I said at your house last night, Echo, I've been assigned to your case. We're stuck together for now. If you really decide to go to Georgia, I'll be there with you. I'll even set up housing for you in a safe area that can be easily monitored for threats by myself and the other agents we'll be working with. There are apartments kept under contract for occasions like this."

"Really?" I'm blown away by how much he's already thought this through, like he knew I'd call and want to get away from my parents. "You'd really go to Georgia with me and make sure I'm okay?"

"Really," he says, "and not just because I have to. I asked for this case. I think you have a very important ability and you need help understanding and controlling it."

"And you can do that?" I ask skeptically.

Agent Morton laughs. "I do have a bit of experience with this sort of thing." He chuckles again and says, "I believe you, so how about you try to believe me too. Fair trade?"

What have I got to lose? "Sounds fair to me."

"Great," he says. "I know you should be in class right now, but I'll be in touch soon to start working out the details, okay?"

"Okay."

That one simple word lets me finally take a deep breath. Maybe the FBI really just wants to poke and prod to figure out what's wrong with me. I don't really care anymore. If there's any chance of getting some help with these ghosts and being protected while I do it, I have to go for it.

Moving away from home and meeting Malachi is scary enough, but what just happened creeps back in and chills me to my core. Georgia and Malachi aren't my biggest problems. Whoever this rogue ghost used to be, he's attached himself to me and isn't going anywhere until I figure out what he wants. Facing something like that, I need all the help I can get.
11: Together?

(Malachi)

Entering the restaurant through the employee entrance, I breathe in the delicious scents. It isn't any one dish in particular that makes me relax, but all the different spices, sauces, and sizzling meats combined. The familiarity of this place eases much of the tension I've been carrying around lately. Ever since meeting Echo it's been a strange and intoxicating adventure.

Shrugging off my messenger bag, I grab my sheet music out and stow the bag in my locker. I say hello to various members of the kitchen staff as I make my way out to the dining room, only being held up by the sous chef, Henry, when he asks me what I want him to set aside for me for after my shift. As usual, I tell him to pick for me. Everything they make is amazing.

Before I step out into the dining room, I adjust my tie and button the middle button on my blazer. I really would prefer not to wear it at all, but the restaurant owner, Francesco, insists. If the dinner guests are required to wear jackets, so am I. I troop though the dining room to the exquisite grand piano situated on a raised platform near a huge picture window that faces the street.

None of the diners pay me any attention until I take my seat at the piano. Only then do several of the closest guests turn in anticipation. I only work three nights a week, but those who dine here regularly know exactly which days those are and plan their dining schedule accordingly. The other pianist who covers the rest of the week is very talented, but he refuses to play requests, and because of that has earned himself the ire of more than one regular.

Setting my sheet music up on the music rack, I take a calming breath and begin to play. Chopin's Sonata No. 2 in B flat major drifts through the air of the restaurant, mingling with the quiet hum of chatter, clinking silverware, and other ambient noises. Those diners closest to the piano pause in their dining to watch and listen. Their attention doesn't bother me—I've been playing in front of crowds long enough to be used to it—but my own attention isn't on the music or the listeners.

Remembering my conversation with Echo last night makes me anxious. I take my last final in the morning, but she still has another week until graduation. Echo's parents picked up their crusade against her leaving first thing this morning. When Echo confided in me earlier today that she's been seeing a therapist weekly since she was six, I wasn't surprised. Her mother pushing her to take the appointments up to three times a week really made me realize what she's going through at home right now.

Knowing it's largely my fault she's in this position is tough to swallow. Echo doesn't seem to blame me at all, but my crashing into her life has only served to disturb the tenuous balance she'd finally achieved. She's planning to continue the ghost show against her father's wishes, but she's nervous for next week's episode for more than one reason. The rogue ghost who attacked her is causing as much, if not more stress than her dad.

An hour later when I step down to take a break and get a drink of water, one of the servers and friend of mine, Cerise, pauses beside me. "Hey, you doing okay?"

"Yeah," I say with a shrug. "Why?"

"Don't know. You just seem kind of off tonight. Your playing sounds different, more serious." Cerise shrugs. "You want to grab a coffee after work tonight and talk?"

I almost say yes out of habit, but Echo slips into my mind and I'm not sure what to do. "Uh, I don't know. I'm not sure I should."

Raising one eyebrow at me, Cerise puts her hand on her hip. "Not sure you should? What's that supposed to mean? Has he been saying crap about me again?"

The red rising in her cheeks at the mention of her recently dropped boyfriend is a swift reminder of how nasty their breakup was. I'm quick to explain. "No, I mean, I don't know. I don't really talk to Evan. I didn't like him when you two were dating and I like him even less now."

Cerise's shoulders relax a bit and she blows out a breath. "What then?" The bite to her words demands a quick response.

"It's nothing to do with you," I say. "I'm sorta...uh, seeing someone, and I'm not sure hanging out with you after work is okay anymore." I shrug, feeling stupid for both bringing it up and not having a more concrete answer. It's been a while since I've really dated anyone, and that was high school. Things probably work differently in college, right?

Eyeing me with a mixture of teasing and surprise, Cerise says, "Sort of seeing someone? Your computer didn't become sentient and ask to be your girlfriend like that weird movie you made me watch, did it?"

"Her?" I say with a laugh. "That was a great show. How could you not like that idea?"

"Uh, because I'm not a huge nerd guy who'd rather have a relationship with a computer than Amy Adams who only lived like a few floors above him." Cerise shakes her head, making me laugh. When she looks at me again, she's more serious than before. "Seriously, though, what do you mean? Are you seeing someone or not?"

Feeling more than a little uncomfortable, my eyes drop. "I haven't actually met her, but we've been talking on the phone, texting, emails, that sort of thing."

Cerise just stares at me for a minute. "You met her online? Where? You don't seem like the eHarmony type."

"YouTube," I say, immediately regretting it.

"You can meet people on YouTube?" Cerise asks.

"She does a show...about ghosts," I say, hesitant to tell her who it actually is. She'll pry it out of me eventually, I think with a sigh. "Kyran got me to watch it, and I messaged her, Echo, asking a few questions about the show, and we just kept talking."

Cerise's response doesn't exactly surprise me when she breaks into a huge grin and grabs my shoulders. "Echo Simmons? The Ghost Host? Seriously?"

"You know her?" I ask in mock surprise. Cerise is a good friend, but looks like more of a Project Runway fan than anything paranormal to those who don't know her well. Even to me, I'm not sure why she latched onto the show when none of her other interests are even close.

Still beaming with excitement, Cerise says, "You know I love her show! I've been watching since she started it. How could you not tell me about this immediately! The questions she asks, and the answers she gets sometimes, it's just amazing what she does! This is awesome!" Grabbing my arm, she looks at me seriously. "We're definitely going for coffee after work. I want to hear everything."

"Fine," I say with a shrug. I guess Echo wouldn't mind. It's not like Cerise is interested in me, or me in her. She's a senior, for one, and treats me like her little brother most of the time. She thinks I'm a big nerd, too.

When she's pulled away to deliver another order, I head back to the piano where I'm greeted by several slips of paper bearing requests from the diners. As I work my way through them, I can't help thinking about Echo and the deal we made. I want her to come for the summer, but it scares me to think about having her here for that long. I get that she's been through some really rough stuff. She barely seems to know what it's like not to be harassed by either family or ghosts.

Ghosts. That's what freaks me out the most. I want to believe her. Part of me thinks there must be some other explanation for all of this, something...scientific. What if there's not? What if she comes here and something happens to make it impossible for me not to believe her? I have no idea what to do with that.

It feels like days later before I finally step down from the piano for the last time. Carrying my sheet music back to my locker, I don't notice Cerise until she's right beside me. Tired, but excited, she loops her arm through mine. She looks like she's about to say something, but it gets cut off when she's suddenly yanked away.

"What are you doing?" Evan demands angrily. His fingers are gripping her arm so tightly his fingertips are white.

Cerise tries to squirm out of his grip, but the redness of her flesh and pain in her eyes makes it obvious she can't get away. Evan is a good four inches taller than me, and older, and more built. I play piano while he does CrossFit. That doesn't stop me from stepping up behind Cerise and glaring at him.

"What's your problem, Evan?"

"My problem is with my girlfriend, not you, piano boy," he growls. Several other members of the kitchen and wait staff are hovering around us.

"Ex-girlfriend," Cerise snaps. She tries to yank her arm out of his grip again, but yelps when the motion only hurts her.

Evan crowds his face in next to hers. "You think you can just walk out on me and move on like nothing happened?" She tries to turn her face away from him, but he yanks her back. "You think he's better than me?"

"Just about every guy in this building is better than you," Cerise snaps.

He moves too fast for anyone to stop him. I'm reaching in, halfway to getting a grip on him, when his open palm slaps against her face. A second later, my elbow cracks against his jaw, stunning him enough that his grip loosens. Cerise wastes no time scurrying away from him, leaving Evan and I to square off.

Growing up with three older sisters, there shouldn't have been a lot of wrestling or roughhousing in my home. Having Kyran as a best friend, though, I know my way around a street fight. I grimace inwardly at the thought of having to punch this idiot. Breaking one of my hands would cause a lot of trouble for me.

"What the hell is going on here?" Francesco shouts. His red face glares at everyone huddled between the kitchen and dining room. Nobody says anything at first. They're all still too stunned. Finally, Cerise is the one to speak up.

"Evan grabbed me," she says, showing Francesco her red arm, "and then he slapped me when I tried to get away. Malachi was only protecting me."

Francesco is a very emotionally charged man. Even so, I've never seen him as pissed as he looks right now. "Evan," he bellows, "clear out your locker! Amy will mail you your last check, and if I ever see you near my restaurant again, the police will escort you away!"

Everyone holds their breath. I think we're all waiting for Evan to lose it. Red-faced, he yanks his apron off his waist and tosses it to the ground. "Clearly I'm too good for this place anyway," Evan snarls, "if you're keeping around trash like that." The parting glare he throws at Cerise makes her bristle, but she doesn't say anything.

As soon as the back door slams closed, everyone lets out the breath they were holding. Francesco rubs his hands across his face before looking over at Cerise. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

Francesco shakes his head. "If you need to have it checked out by a doctor, go, and then bring me the bill. I'm going to call the police and report this. You okay sticking around to give a statement?"

Cerise nods, but looks smaller than I have ever seen her before. Evan was always a douche bag, but I've never seen him get physical with anyone before. I think Cerise was as caught off guard as the rest of us, even though she knew him better than anyone else. Her hands are shaking as she wraps her arms around her body.

Pulling her under my arm, I say, "I'll wait with you and drive you back to my place, okay?"

"Malachi, you don't have to do that. I'll be fine at Susie's."

When she moved out of Evan's place two days ago, I knew she was crashing at a friend's house, but I didn't know it was Susie's place. One of the other servers, Susie isn't working tonight, but Evan knows where she lives. "We'll pick Susie up on the way. There's no way you two should be alone at her apartment tonight, just in case Evan decides to try to find you. You can both crash at our place until you're sure Evan won't cause a problem."

She looks unsure, but eventually nods. Cerise is tough, and I know she can hold her own in most situations. Hiding her fear right now just isn't happening. She puts on a good face when the police show up and take her statement. When one of the officers suggests she files a restraining order against Evan in addition to pressing charges, she goes completely pale and more than one person reaches out to steady her.

By the time the police are wrapping things up, Susie is waiting at the empty bar. Someone must have called her to tell her what happened. When I see the two overnight bags sitting at her feet, I realize Cerise must have texted her about the plan for tonight.

"Ready?" Susie asks when Cerise and I walk over to her.

Cerise nods, looking completely exhausted. She smiles, though, when Susie throws her arms around her and starts dragging her out of the restaurant. I follow behind quietly. A buzz from my phone reminds me of its presence. I pull it out and groan when I realize I missed a call from Echo and have texts from both her and Kyran. I open Kyran's first and quickly reply to his wondering about whether or not I'm ever coming home.

Echo's, I open next. Must have called too late. Sorry I missed you. Talk tomorrow.

You didn't call too late, I reply. Got stuck at work. You still up? I can call when I get home.

The response is almost immediate. Still up. Call when you can.

I slip my phone back into my pocket as I leave the restaurant. The girls pile into Susie's car at once and I follow them in mine. It isn't long before we're all pulling into the parking lot of our apartment complex to find Kyran waiting on the sidewalk.

"Hey, roomies," Kyran says with a grin. He grabs both girls' bags and starts joking and laughing with them. Trust Kyran to be able to take everyone's minds off an assault with stories about getting massacred online. Susie and Cerise are laughing and shaking their heads at him as they slip into the building.

Being that it's after midnight and the last few hours were pretty draining, both girls are quickly tucked away in my room while Kyran and I flop down on the couch. "So," Kyran says, "Evan, huh?" When I nod, he shakes his head. "I always hated that guy. Couldn't figure out what Cerise saw in him."

"Me neither, but the police will be keeping an eye on him tonight."

Kyran yawns then nudges me with his elbow. "Well, I guess we're bunking together tonight. Can't think of the last time that happened. Fourth grade, maybe?"

Laughing, I remember the days of our sleepovers. It was a rare thing for us to make it through one without getting into some pretty major trouble. "Actually, I'll be a few minutes. Missed a call from Echo earlier."

The mocking laughter that precedes Kyran standing makes me throw a weak jab at him. He just shakes his head. "Dude, you've yet to meet her in person and you're already whipped."

Instead of being annoyed, it makes me think about Cerise's earlier invitation to go for coffee. Noticing my serious expression, Kyran pauses. I feel fried, but I ask him anyway. "Cerise asked me to get coffee with her after work."

"Yeah? You guys grab coffee all the time." He shrugs, not sure why I'm telling him this.

"Do you think...I mean, with Echo. Is it weird if I go out with Cerise like that?"

Kyran scrubs a hand through his hair before shrugging. "I don't know, man. I know you and Cerise aren't a thing, but Echo...she might think it's weird if she, you know, thinks you two are a thing. I guess." He shrugs again. "Are you and Echo like together?"

Now it's my turn to shrug. "I don't know. I guess we haven't really talked about it."

"Ask her then. I'm going to bed. Gotta be up at four a.m. Early flight."

Nodding, I wave him off to bed and stare at my phone.
12: Boyfriend Material

(Echo)

I've almost given up hope of hearing from Malachi by the time my phone finally buzzes. It's not that late here, just after nine at night, but I know it's much later for him. I feel bad that he's calling me instead of going to bed, but I answer anyway. I really need to hear his voice after the day I've had.

"Hey," I say simply.

"Hey, Carrots." He sounds worn out, worried even.

Biting my lip, I ask, "You okay?"

"Long night." He starts to say something else, but another voice cuts in...and it's not Kyran's.

"Malachi, sorry to bug you," a woman's voice says. "I just needed some water. Where are your cups?"

Suddenly, everything inside me twists. The ghost attack, my parents hounding me about therapy and Georgia, leaving home with no clear plan, the fear of joining up with the FBI...none of it hurts as bad as hearing her voice.

"Sorry, Cerise, I should have asked if you needed anything. The cups are above the sink. Get whatever you need," Malachi says.

Her voice is faint as she responds, but even that much brings tears to my eyes. Burying my face in my pillow, I try to tell myself it doesn't matter. Malachi is just a friend. I have no claim on him and he's made me no promises, but I can't. Even if I hadn't had one of the worst days in years, I still wouldn't be able to brush this off. I know I've only known him for a little while but, I just...I thought....

"Echo?"

Gasping in a breath, I desperately try to calm myself back down. I can't let him hear me so upset.

"Echo? You still there?"

I try again, borrowing one of the few useful things my therapist taught me, breathing in and out to calm back down, but it doesn't work very well.

"Carrots?" Malachi tries again. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I finally manage to squeak. I only sound halfway strangled, which is about the best I can do. "I'm fine."

Silence. "You don't sound fine. You sound pretty upset. What happened?"

Pressing my face into the pillow, I feel like screaming. He doesn't even know? Talking to me for days and not mentioning he has a girlfriend who spends the night? Did he really think that wouldn't bother me?

"Echo, look, I'm really sorry I missed your call earlier. I wasn't ignoring you or anything. This thing happened after work with Cerise and I..."

"You don't have to explain," I say quickly. Please, please don't tell me what happened with your girlfriend after work that led to her being at your apartment tonight. Please don't tell me that.

Malachi sighs. "No, I do need to explain. It's been a weird night and I just want to sit and talk to you, but I've obviously pissed you off, so please let me explain."

I don't say anything. I can't. If I do, I'll cry.

He must take my silence as permission to go on, because he starts talking, tempting me to cover my ears or end the call. "Cerise's ex, he's always been a prick, but she finally realized it a couple days ago and broke up with him and moved out. He wasn't happy about it."

She just broke up with her boyfriend and she's already staying the night at Malachi's? I don't know whether to feel better about this news or not. Maybe he hadn't neglected to tell me about his girlfriend in the beginning, but... my stomach turns as a thought sinks in. Maybe that's what he needs to explain. He's with her now. Talking to me all the time, this summer...is it all over?

"Anyway," Malachi continues, completely oblivious to my impending break down, "we all work together, and Cerise and I were going to grab some coffee, well, maybe. I don't know. I need to talk to you about that in a minute."

Huh?

"Before we could leave, Evan, that's Cerise's ex, he grabbed her and slapped her. I was pretty freaked, I thought I was going to have to fight with him to get him to back off, but luckily our boss showed up and scared him off." Malachi sighs, sounding exhausted. "We had to stick around to give statements to the police and all that. You must have called in the middle of everything and I just didn't hear it. Sorry."

Breathe. Think. Form words. "It's fine," I whisper. "It was just one call." I take another deep breath and my brain starts working marginally better. "Is everyone okay?"

"Yeah. Cerise will probably have a bruise tomorrow, but she said she's fine. She and her roommate are crashing here tonight because I was afraid Evan would go after her at Susie's place. They're both pretty freaked out."

Something in those sentences makes me pause, but I'm too muddled to pick out what. "That does sound scary," is the best I can come up with.

Malachi yawns. It reminds me of how tired he must be, which inevitably makes me wonder where he'll sleep tonight. Will it be with Cerise?

"Anyway, back to coffee with Cerise."

Oh no, please. I don't want to hear about it. I just don't, even if that makes me a coward.

"Cerise and I have only ever been friends. She's like a replacement sister since all of mine are moved out and off doing their own thing. We get coffee after work once in a while." He hedges, suddenly sounding anxious. My own breathing stops completely. "When she asked me tonight, though, I didn't know what to say. I mean, I know we haven't really...I mean, I guess I don't totally know where we stand with each other."

I'm so confused. "What?"

Frustrated, Malachi grumbles something under his breath. I can't really hear him, but I swear I hear the word mistake. "I get that we haven't actually met," he says, "but I really like you, Echo. I mean, I'm sure you get that. You do, right? I love talking to you. You know I think you're sexy as hell. I just...I sound like an idiot. My brain's kinda fried right now, so at the risk of sounding like a sixth grader...do you want to be my girlfriend? I mean, is it okay if I tell people you're my girlfriend?"

His voice drops off and I think he groans at himself for babbling so much. I'm not really sure. Too stunned to say anything right away, I simply try to process everything. It takes a while. "So, you and Cerise, you're not...she's not your...girlfriend...who sleeps over?"

"What? No. She's just..." Malachi mumbles something about being an idiot. "Echo, I'm so tired right now, I can barely think. I realize now that I probably should have opened up with the fact that Cerise and I are in no way involved. She's a friend who needed a place to crash. I'm either sleeping on the couch or in Kyran's room tonight."

Holding my breath, I wait for him to tell me he's kidding, or tack on something at the end that will rip my heart out. When nothing comes, I force myself to take a deep breath. "You really want me to be your girlfriend?"

"Of course," he says like he can't figure out why I'm so surprised.

"Are you sure?"

Suddenly, Malachi laughs. "Am I just really tired, or are you actually shocked by this?" He chuckles again. "How many times do I have to tell you how awesome I think you are, or how beautiful you are, or how much I enjoy talking to you?"

"I've...never had a boyfriend before, Malachi. Never been kissed. Never been on a date. None of that. Holden and the nerd squad are the only guys I talk to on a regular basis."

"The nerd squad?" he says with a laugh.

"Self-appointed title," I say. "I'm not making fun of them."

"Are you part of the nerd squad?" Malachi asks.

His mocking tone makes me smile. I'm pretty sure it's the first time that's happened today. "No," I say, "they're too cool for me."

"I seriously doubt that."

"You shouldn't," I say. "They all watch my show and ask me a billion questions any time they see me at school, but not a single one of them would ever sit with me at lunch or invite me to one of their gamer parties. Not that I'd really want to go...probably. They can get a little weird."

Malachi is silent for several seconds before I hear him sigh. "Echo, what are you doing next weekend?"

A bit surprised by the change of topics, I say, "Graduating from high school."

"Yeah," Malachi says with a laugh, "I meant aside from that. Do you have a bunch of plans for the weekend to celebrate with your friends or something?"

"The twins have a soccer game Saturday afternoon, but other than that, nothing much."

"I'm coming to see you then, okay?"

"Wait, what?" I ask. "How?"

Malachi's voice sounds lighter when he speaks this time. "I can't remember if I've ever mentioned to you that Kyran is a part-time flight attendant, but he is, and he gets buddy passes every now and again for flights. He has a couple saved up and I'm going to use one. To meet you in person and to meet your parents so they aren't so freaked out about you coming here for the summer."

"You don't have to do that," I say quietly. My voice is only a whisper, though, because I want him to come. I want him here so badly it hurts.

"I do," Malachi says.

"Why?"

Sighing, he shifts, likely settling into the couch he said he'll probably be sleeping on tonight. "Because as crappy as my night ended, I can tell your day was even worse."

"You can? How?"

"Your voice sounds like it did the first time we talked, scared and upset." He pauses, maybe thinking of his next words. "What happened today, Carrots?"

I've always had Holden and Zara to talk to about my ghost-induced problems. It's not that they aren't supportive, because they are, but they've been dealing with all of this so long, they're able to shrug most of it off. Desensitized, I suppose. For some strange reason, I need to hear Malachi's reaction to today's events.

"I woke up to a whole horde of ghosts standing around my bed this morning. Couldn't figure out why at first. I mean, when things get bad with my parents the ghosts usually start hanging around more, but I didn't think that was it." Scrubbing my hand through my hair, I lean back against the wall. "When that crazy ghost from the show with your great grandma showed up, that's when it started to make sense."

"What?" Malachi demands. "That same lunatic came after you again? What happened?"

A huge chunk of...something, rolls off my shoulders at his words. Maybe he doesn't completely believe in the ghosts, but his immediate reaction is fear, not skepticism or a shake of his head. "He made me write the same message over and over again, but when I tried to ask him what it meant, he just attacked me," I say. "I can't figure out whether he's trying to injure me or just make me understand, but it's not working. It just hurts."

"Where were you?" Malachi asks quietly.

"I felt him coming during English, so I ran to the bathroom. Nobody saw what happened, thankfully. That would make my last few days at school a living hell for sure. Other people are always quick on that kind of stuff when it comes to me." I say it like I normally would, trying to brush it off as nothing by tossing it out there like it doesn't matter. Malachi sees through me pretty easily.

"Other people suck."

Half laughing, half crying, I cover my face with my hands. "Yeah, they do."

"What else happened?" Malachi asks.

I don't know how he can tell I need to keep talking, but everything else comes spilling out. "I called the FBI guy that came to my house. I told him I'd answer questions and let them do some tests and maybe work for them later if I prove I'm not crazy."

"Are you sure about doing all of that, Echo? It sounds awful intimidating, to be perfectly honest." The concern lacing his words is comforting.

"I'm plenty freaked out, but I need help, Malachi. I don't know where else to turn anymore."

"I can understand that," he says. The line is quiet for a while as I rein back in my composure and Malachi thinks. I almost fear he's fallen asleep before he speaks again. "I'm coming next Friday, if you don't mind picking me up from the airport, that is."

"Of course I don't mind, but you really don't have to fly all the way here just to check on me."

"It's not just to check on you," he says. "It's to understand you, what you've been going through at school and at home. I keep asking you to come here, and I want you here, but I feel like I'm just pushing you to run away from everything without really understanding what that means."

Answering him isn't easy. I nearly bite a hole clean through my lip trying to force myself to answer. Even when I do, my words are shaky. "I want to run away, Malachi, from all of it."

"You can't run from the ghosts."

"I know, believe me, but I can run away from who I've become here. Who everyone else sees me as. I want that. I need that. I'm desperate to start over where people don't know me, with you."

Sighing, Malachi says, "I know, and that scares me."

"Why?" I whisper.

His answer comes slowly. "Because I don't understand everything the ghosts have done to you. I have no problem with you wanting to get away from people at school who treat you like crap, or even escaping your parents for a while. The ghost stuff, though, what if I don't know how to protect you from that? What if I don't understand what it's already cost you and I don't take it seriously enough to keep it from happening again?"

I thought my heart was going to break when this conversation first began. Now, I feel it stitching itself back together, more whole than it's been in a long time. "You're willing to do that even though you don't really believe in the whole ghost thing?"

"I want you here with me, but I have to know I can protect you, too."

My bottom lip is trembling as I say, "You just erased every awful thing that happened today, Malachi. Thank you."

"Does that mean I get to tell everyone you're my girlfriend," he says with a grin I can hear, if not see.

"You're willing to defend me from ghosts and fly clear across the country for me? I think that definitely makes you boyfriend material."

Malachi chuckles. "I like the sound of that."

"Hey, Malachi," I say hesitantly, "when you fly out here, would you mind driving back to Georgia...with me?"

Malachi doesn't respond right away. "Are you sure?" he finally says. "You're really going to move out here?"

"I already told my parents. They're pissed, but it's not their choice," I say. "Zara is coming. Holden is still trying to convince his dad to let him come for a while. Agent Morton is setting things up and will meet me out there. I'd be a whole lot less scared about this if you were with us on the drive, though. If you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind," Malachi says. He yawns again, then, and I finally force myself to say goodbye and let him get some sleep. We're both reluctant to hang up, but when I finally lay down in bed, the kind of happiness I haven't know since I was a toddler wraps itself around me and lulls me to sleep for the first time in ages.
13: The Old Estate

(Malachi)

When this semester started, Kyran and I made plans to bail on the city for some surfing and camping as soon as our last finals were turned in. I think both of us would still rather be heading to the coast to have some fun as the surfboards in the back suggest. My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I wait for Kyran to climb in. His body drops into the passenger seat a few seconds later, his expression worried as he looks over at me.

"Did you tell your parents?"

Shaking my head, I say, "Mama would just be upset and try to talk me out of it."

"How're we planning to get in then?"

"Grabbed a spare key from my parents' house last week when we went over for dinner. Daddy still keeps them on the hooks by the front door."

Kyran looks equally impressed and concerned. "What do you think Echo meant about this being a dangerous thing to do?"

"Honestly, I don't know." Taking my hands off the steering wheel, I sit back against my seat. "I hate the idea of settin' foot on the old estate grounds again, but there's no reason to be afraid of it, right? Just bad memories is all."

The half-nod, half-grimace Kyran offers up in response doesn't give me much confidence.

"What?" My voice sounds strained, even to me. I really wish we were going surfing instead.

Kyran shrugs. "It's nothin', man. It's just an old, empty house, right?"

Except for what he said about the night Grandma Maddie died. "You think there will be something there we can't handle?" I can't keep the skepticism from my voice and Kyran hears it.

Bristling, he looks straight out the windshield. "I told you what I felt that night. Take it for what you will."

"Kyran, look..."

He cuts me off before I can finish. "I get that you didn't grow up like I did. There are plenty weird things about my family I poke fun at, but this ain't one of them. I didn't start watching Echo's show just because it's interesting. She's trying to help the ghosts and their families. I respect that. Maybe you should too if you expect to keep seein' her."

Floored that he just laid into me like that, I don't know how to respond. We've both laughed at some of the crazy things his family has said or done. Staying over at his house was always an adventure. I suspected some of what they were about he agreed with, but he never discussed it seriously. I'm not sure what bothers me more, the fact that there's a whole side to my friend I had no idea about or the idea that my struggle to believe in the ghosts could make me lose Echo.

Trapped inside my swirling thoughts, I put the Jeep in gear and pull out of my parking space. The cab stays unbearably quiet. We both watch the town slip away and melt into the highway without speaking a word. After an hour, I begin to fear the rest of the trip will go the same way.

"I'm sorry," Kyran says, his voice still a bit clipped. "I shouldn't have said what I did."

I'm not sure whether he means his comment about his family or about Echo. I don't ask. "Hey, it's fine. I didn't mean to belittle what you believe in. This whole thing is just freaking me out."

Kyran shakes his head slowly. "Me too."

That's about the end of it. Kyran and I fight as much as blood brothers, but we've always gotten over our arguments pretty easily. We've both said what we needed to, but it makes me uncomfortable to feel the tension still remaining. I wish I knew what the source was. Is it just nerves about facing the place of our worst memories? I know that's some of it, but not all. Part of it has to do with Echo and the ghosts, but I'm not sure which part.

After a while, we fall back into regular conversation, talking about the semester ending and how we thought we did on our finals. We stop for lunch a while later and the topic turns to my impending trip to California.

"I'd go if I could," Kyran says. He honestly seems bummed about not being able to make the trip.

"You've gotta work. Echo understands," I say.

He only shrugs. "You and Holden still gettin' along?" he asks, changing topics slightly.

"Far as I can tell." I take a bite of my burger and hope that won't change when I actually meet him.

"He's a good guy. He'll like you once he gets to know you better." He says it casually, but his words stump me.

"How do you know that? You've never met the guy." I almost add that watching The Ghost Host doesn't count as knowing someone, but I keep that tidbit to myself for fear of ticking him off again.

Kyran shoves a few fries in his mouth. I swear he's purposely putting off his answer. My instincts prove right when he says, "I've never met him in person, but I know him well enough." My raised eyebrow spurs him to continue. He rolls his eyes and marches on. "I emailed the show after I started watching. Nothing special, just said I enjoyed the show and thought it was great Echo was tryin' to help the ghosts and all."

"And?"

"He emailed me back."

My brow scrunches together. "And?"

"And we've been emailing back and forth ever since." Kyran shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "He knows a lot about ghosts and all that from being friends with Echo and trying to keep her safe. Echo's not really...it's tough just dealing with the ghosts. Researching stuff and trying to figure things out, I guess she just kinda left that to Holden. He takes it pretty serious. It's interesting to talk to him about it. Most of the stuff my family talks about is really out there. Holden's all about the science behind ghosts and such."

How many more secret sides of my best friend are going to pop up? "So, you guys are friends? Why didn't you mention that before?"

Kyran grabs his burger again, but before taking another bite, he says, "Never asked."

"And you couldn't offer up that kind of information?" I'm actually kinda pissed he didn't tell me. Holden was ready to tear me apart in the beginning.

"I figured you'd just think it was stupid I'd emailed the show in the first place. Besides, you needed to convince Holden that you weren't a creep on your own. He'd always worry if I tried to get him to back off," Kyran says seriously.

I'm so confused and annoyed by this whole conversation I don't even know what to say. Sitting here in silence as I try to work it all out seems likely until another thought smacks into me. "Have you been talking to Echo this whole time, too?"

Kyran scoffs. "Really? Of course not. Holden doesn't let anyone talk to her. I'm still kinda shocked you actually got in touch with her." That last bit comes out as a grumble and I'm caught off guard to realize some of the bite in his voice sounds a lot like jealousy.

"Yeah, weird," I say. Part of me feels bad that I swooped in on my best friend's internet hero and actually got to make personal contact before he did. Another part of me wonders if the jealousy I just heard in his voice comes purely from hero worship, or something else. More than happy not to discuss that subject, I gather up my wrappers and suggest we head out. Kyran follows dutifully.

It's another few hours before we make it to the outskirts of the little town of Albert that Grandma Maddie called home most of her life. She wasn't born here, but she'd been around this town longer than most of the native residents. Everyone called her Grandma Maddie, and everyone loved her almost as much as I did.

Every summer Mama and Daddy would drive my sisters, Kyran, and I down to the estate to get us set up for our annual two week visit. It was the highlight of the summer for us, and Grandma Maddie's favorite event of the entire year.

Pulling up next to the long drive that leads to the house I haven't set foot in for eight years, my shoulders droop. We made so many good memories here. Grandma Maddie is the one who taught me my first songs on the piano. She's the one who taught Kyran to cook, which is a good thing since I'm a disaster in the kitchen. She was also just about the only person capable of curbing my sisters' squabbling and constant drama.

Knowing her made all of us better people. She didn't deserve what happened to her. Maybe that thought would inspire some kind of vengeance, but I just feel sad as I think about the way her life ended. Such a kind and caring person shouldn't have been taken out by violence, especially senseless violence. Fingering the necklace she gave me, I struggle not to be overtaken by how much I miss her.

When I look over at Kyran, the same emotions I'm struggling with are plastered across his face. Reaching over, I grip his shoulder tightly. I'm not surprised when I see him brush at his eyes. Neither of us says anything. There's no need. Putting the Jeep back into drive, we head for the house we loved as children but fear as adults.

Gravel crunches under the tires as we roll to a stop in front of the plantation style house. It isn't as grand as some of the houses you'll see on the Pebble Hill and Callaway Plantations, but it will still make you stop and stare. Kyran and I both step out to gaze at the house, unable to take the first steps that will take us toward what we came here for.

About that same time, two large vans roll in and park in front of the house. Kyran and I both spin around in surprise, not sure what to make of the pest control logos on the side. Some guy steps out of the nearest truck and glares at us menacingly.

"This is private property," he says curtly.

"Yeah," I say, "my family's private property. Who're you?"

"Your family's property, huh?" His scowl says he clearly doesn't believe a lick of what I'm saying.

"My name's Malachi Fields. This property belongs to my daddy, Arthur Fields. It was my Grandma Maddie's house."

The names make the guy falter. Someone from the other truck comes to stand beside him, deferring to the first guy to take the lead. The boss man turns back to face us with his eyes narrowed. "Mr. Fields hired us to tent the house this weekend. Termites. No one's allowed inside until we've finished."

"I just need to grab something from the house. Something my great grandma left for me," I argue.

Boss Man crosses his arms over his chest. "Our instructions were to check the house for any vagrants or animals, tent it, then lock it up and make sure people stay out. That's what we intend to do. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you give your daddy a call and take it up with him."

Sharing a glance, Kyran and I both come to a conclusion. Discussing this with Daddy's not option. Taking on Boss Man's not likely either. Reining in my frustration, I hold my hands up in defeat. "It's fine. We'll come back another time. Just happened to be on our way to Tybee Island for the day and thought I'd drop by. Didn't realize anything was happening out here."

Boss Man squints at me for a minute before deciding to take my explanation at face value...for the most part. He doesn't let it go with just that, though. "This ain't the kind of place two boys should be messin' around, anyway."

"Why not?" Kyran asks. It's not a challenge, but an honest question.

Boss Man shakes his head. "This place ain't right. Hasn't been since Miss Maddie passed on in the way she did. Folks don't come round this house anymore, and neither should either of you."

Not wanting to get into a discussion about why people think this house ain't right, I shove Kyran back toward the Jeep. "Thanks for the warning," I say. "We'll get outta your way."

The curt nod Boss Man gives me settles the matter. He still waits until I get the Jeep started up and begin pulling out before he goes back to his business. It takes until we reach the main road again before Kyran and I breathe out slowly.

"I know you wanted to settle this before Echo came down," Kyran says, "but that guy was right about the house. Everything about it felt off. Maybe having Echo with us wouldn't be such a bad thing."

I reject that idea instantly, but I have to admit the whole experience gave me the creeps. People in Albert stay away from the old estate because Grandma Maddie's murder was the first in at least half a century. Things like that just don't happen there. Believing her house is now haunted, or whatever people are thinking, is just plain ridiculous, right?

"So, Tybee Island?" Kyran asks.

Shrugging, I say, "Sure, why not. We're not getting in that house for a while anyway."

Glad we'd thought to pack for the beach just in case the plan to investigate the house didn't pan out, I still can't stop thinking about Kyran's comment. Echo had asked me to tell her if I decided to go to the old estate, but I figured she had enough on her plate right now and decided not to mention it. I don't want her anywhere near something that might prove dangerous. How do I get back to the house before Daddy finds a buyer without her knowing? Is that really the best option anyway? Ghosts at the old estate sounds like nonsense, but what if Kyran's right?
14: Worse

(Echo)

"Are you ready for this?" Holden asks nervously as we prep for the show. Zara is running between the cameras. The replacement for the one that was fried last week isn't connecting quite right. Holden is more focused on me and my anxiety than his cousin's scrambling. "We can cancel if you're worried. I'd rather not risk it if you think that rogue ghost might come back."

My head shakes slowly even though I really do want to cancel the show. It won't help. He'll come regardless. At least during the show I'll be protected. "Just double check the salt circle after you let the guest out, okay?"

Holden blanches. I don't mean to blame him. It was an accident that the circle wasn't closed completely last time. He still feels guilty for what happened. "I'll triple check it."

I offer as confident of a smile as I can and head for the desk. Zara shouts that she's almost ready, though she's still tapping frantically on her computer. I'm not sure what the problem is, but she gets it taken care of before the show is set to start. When her last finger falls, we're ready to go live.

Even to myself I sound a little wooden as I run through my memorized opening, explaining the basics of the show and how things will work. How we're all hoping things will work. We've got lots of extra salt on hand this time and Holden's leaving the second camera stationary so he can monitor the surroundings and temperature in the room. His eyes are flitting around the room as I talk, even though he won't be able to see the rogue coming. I appreciate his vigilance.

"As always, everything you see tonight is real," I say, my voice faltering a bit on that statement. "We use old school chalk and blackboards so you know we're not interfering digitally, and we stream live so there's no time for special effects. The responses you see will be straight from our guest, communicated through me by automatic writing. You're welcome to believe me or not. It's up to you."

I look toward Holden, who's waiting just outside the salt circle. He can't see the guy standing next to him, but I can. Usually the shows are more serious, aiming at communicating with those the ghosts left behind. Maybe it's cowardly, but I just wasn't up for anything that might get me in trouble or end up killing me. Going with something innocuous was exactly what I was looking for when I spotted this guy.

The man's forties-era tuxedo and waist coat caught my attention earlier this week and I knew he'd be the perfect guest. I've been watching and "chatting" with him on and off the last few days to make sure he won't cause me any problems. Hopefully I'm right that he'll just be an entertaining guest and give me a break from the usual drama.

"Now, we have a guest waiting, and as this is our last show before graduation, I wanted to pick someone who'd really be unique and maybe have some fun instead of being so serious. So let's get started." I nod to Holden and he briefly opens up the salt circle. My tuxedo clad friend steps in, doing a step-ball-change on his way over to me. Yeah, I think this guy was a good choice.

After running through the rules and having him sign his name in agreement, I dive right into my questions. "Question number one. Why are you wearing a tuxedo with spats and tap shoes right now?"

My guest, Charlie Devereaux, grins before extending his influence to me. I feel vaguely detached from my surroundings as he writes. Only once he pulls back do I see his answer.

I died during a dress rehearsal. A suspended light fixture came lose and dropped right on my head. Supposedly it was an accident, but I have my doubts.

Raising one eyebrow at Charlie, I decide on my next question. "Why would anyone want to kill such a dapper looking guy like you?"

Charlie takes control again and writes, I honestly can't imagine, Doll. Although, there's a slim chance it had to do with the fact that I was in cahoots with the director's dame. Or it might have been because of the broad who did the makeup. Her husband was an old fuddy duddy, but boy oh did she have some nice gams. Don't know why she didn't become a dancer. I suppose there were a few people who mighta been eager to bump me off.

When I regain full control and see his message, I can't help chuckle. I mean, it sucks that this guy's philandering got him killed, but he certainly doesn't seem to regret having done as he pleased when he was alive. I can't even imagine living like that.

"All right, last question then, Charlie," I say. I really don't want to see him go, but the show only lasts half an hour, so I better wrap things up so he has time to give us his message. "What's the craziest thing you ever did while you were alive? Nothing the FBI might want to know about, though, if you don't mind."

Curious stipulation, Charlie writes before continuing. The craziest thing I ever did was in 1939 when I was working as a lowly extra dancer on The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle. I locked Fred Astaire in his dressing room so I could steal a dance with Ginger Rogers. Got tackled to the ground before I got within ten feet of her. I fell asleep every night dreaming of Ginger, though. She sure was a Sheba.

I find myself laughing again as I read his answer. I can imagine him sprinting through the movie set trying to reach Ginger Rogers, fully expecting her to melt in the face of his oozing charm. I doubt even getting tackled dulled his enthusiasm of getting even that close to her. I shake my head and say, "Well, it's your turn, now, Charlie. You have the board. You're welcome to share your message so long as it follows all the rules."

Oh, I don't have a message, he writes. Everyone I might have wanted to talk to is long gone. I just thought your show sounded like it would be a hoot. A chance to be on the silver screen again. So to speak. Plus, you remind me of Ginger, before she started dying her hair blonde. It was almost the same color as yours, my dear girl. I suppose I've rambled on for long enough. Thank you for allowing me a few minutes to relive my former glory.

"Thank you for sharing with us," I tell Charlie. "If you want to come back and tell us more about your capers, you're welcome any time."

Charlie gives me his best smile and bows before turning to where Holden is ready to let him out of the salt circle. As soon as he steps out and the circle is closed, he vanishes with a smile on his face. I breathe out a deep sigh of relief. Almost over. Just wrap things up and cross my fingers I don't have any other visitors tonight.

"That's it for tonight," I say to the camera. "Just a reminder that we'll be taking a few weeks off on account of graduation and the fact that we're all making a bit of a move. We should be settled before too long, so be sure to check back soon for a new episode of The Ghost Host. Thanks for watching."

The smile that blossoms on my lips at the thought of being done fades as soon as Holden's eyes bug out of his head. He starts waving at me frantically to get to my desk where there's a second salt circle. Zara signals that she's shut off both cameras and is running for our salt stash just in case. I'm planted in my desk chair a second later, hands over my head, eyes closed. That's when the cold hits me.

My eyes snap open to see frost crystals creeping up the inside of the glass of water on my desk and moving toward me. Holden and Zara are both saying something, but I shut everything else out and squeeze my eyes shut as tightly as I can. Infuriated by the fact that I'm ignoring him, the crazy static hum starts building in the room. I have no idea if the others can hear it, but I want to scream as it bashes against my mind.

I don't know how long I sit there scared out of my mind that the salt won't hold him back, but when a hand touches my shoulder, I scream, jumping away from it in terror. "Echo, it's just me," Holden says breathlessly. It's gone. You're okay."

Holden has to pry my head up. As soon as he succeeds, Zara clobbers me and starts wiping away my tears. "It's all right. He took off. You were safe inside the salt circle the whole time. He didn't even try to cross it," she says.

My eyes dart up and flick around the edges of the circle, fully expecting to see one of the lines broken and the rogue ghost lying in wait for me. All I see are the two unbroken lines protecting me...until I look up. Suddenly, I can't catch my breath when I see huge, slashing letters written across my wall in permanent marker.

LET ME GO REPEAT!

Oddly, the first coherent thought I have is that my mom is going to freak if she sees permanent marker on the wall. The second is even more strangely rational. Why did he write repeat this time? Does it mean he's coming back? Or he just didn't want to duplicate the message? I'm caught off guard by both the marker and the change in the message that my fear inches down a notch, enough to let me think properly.

"Zara, there's a big bottle of hairspray in my bathroom. Can you go get it?"

Zara and Holden both give me funny looks, but Zara shakes it off and dashes to my bathroom. When I feel steady enough to stand, I squeeze Holden's hand before stepping away to approach the wall. He follows me cautiously. I'm not sure if that's because he thinks there's something wrong with me right now or he's afraid the ghost might come back.

"He changed the message this time," I say.

"Any idea what repeat means?" Holden asks. His voice is calm, but his eyes are taking in everything, including my demeanor and reactions.

I almost say that I have no idea, but I hesitate. "I don't know why, but something about this seems familiar."

"You mean other than the fact that he's sent this message before?" Zara asks as she bounds up next to us and hands me the hairspray.

"Repeat," I say more to myself than anyone else. It's all I can think about as I start spraying the message with hairspray and wiping away as much as I can. Neither Holden nor Zara say anything as I work. They just wait, giving me time to think. By the time I get most of the permanent marker off my walls, I'm still no closer to figuring out why that word strikes a chord with me.

"It must mean something," I say.

Holden frowns. "It could just mean he's going to be back."

"He wouldn't need to say that," I argue. "I already know he'll come back. He won't stop coming until I figure out what he wants and help him."

"Maybe," Zara says slowly, "what we need to figure out is who he is. If we can do that, figuring out what he wants might be a little easier."

"How do you suggest we do that?" Holden demands. "Echo's already said he's too distorted to really see clearly."

Zara gnaws on her bottom lip for a few seconds. Clearly nervous to make a suggestion, it takes her a minute to put it out there. "We could ask the other ghosts. They might know who he is, or used to be or whatever."

"No," Holden snaps as I cringe away from the suggestion. "We've got a system that works. If we go screwing around with it now, it'll put Echo at risk. They'll all start thinking they can ask for favors whenever they want. We can't risk it."

I'm totally with Holden on this one. If I ask the ghosts for help, they'll expect me to return the favor. They won't let it go, either. Going to the ghosts is a last, last resort. I do have another idea, though.

"What about the FBI? Do you think they could help me figure out who this ghost is? If I pass whatever tests they have planned and all that? Agent Morton said they have experience with this kind of stuff. Maybe they can teach me something that will help get rid of this guy."

Neither of my friends seem to know what to say to that. Finally, Zara is the one to shrug. "Hey, it's worth a shot. Can't make things any worse, right?

"Don't say that," I complain. "Things can always get worse."
15: Glare of Death

(Malachi)

I've flown many times, but I've never been so anxious about getting off a plane before. Echo warned me her whole family insisted on accompanying her to the airport to pick me up. Her dad probably wanted to make sure I wasn't going to kidnap her or something.

Meeting a girl's parents is never easy. Meeting them knowing they blame you for their daughter's recent problems and the FBI visit and for her deciding to move clear across the country? I take a deep breath and get out of my seat, knowing this is likely not going to be a comfortable weekend.

It takes me a few minutes to get my bag and exit the plane. Even longer to shuffle along behind the other passengers to where Echo and her family are waiting. I spot them before they see me and stop for a moment. Echo has her back to me, but I recognize her all the same. Hard to miss my Carrots. The two bouncing, chattering midgets yanking on her arms are more strawberry blonde than redheaded, but it would be impossible not to see the relation. Neither of Echo's parents look pleased to be here. Taking a deep breath, I start moving again, determined to change their minds about me.

One of the twins sees me first and starts yelling, "There he is! There he is!"

I'm a little surprised they know what I look like, but as soon as they see me, they stop pulling on Echo and run straight for me. I'm not prepared for them to crash into me and they nearly bowl me over. I manage to keep my feet under me, but just barely. Their slew of questions that follows the impact just about finishes me off.

"Are you nice?"

"Are you crazy?"

"Do you love our sister?"

"Are you going to take her to Georgia?"

"Are you going to marry Echo?"

"Are you going to kiss her?"

"Can we come to Georgia, too?"

Echo and her parents seem to be startled as well, and it takes them a moment to react and drag the twins away from me. The twins are immediately scolded by their mother, and Mr. Simmons looks fairly embarrassed, but Echo just laughs as she approaches me.

"I did warn you about them," she says with a timid smile.

"Yes, you did."

I know her parents are watching us carefully, but being in Echo's presence shuts everything else out. My mouth splits into a grin at finally seeing her in person. I've seen her plenty of times online and when we Skype, but this is so much better. When she reaches for me, I envelope her in a massive hug.

"I'm so glad you're here," Echo whispers.

"Me too."

A none-too-subtle cough from her father pulls us apart. Echo faces her parents reluctantly while I swallow hard. "Mom, Dad, this is Malachi Fields. Malachi, these are my parents and the two wild little monkeys we found by the side of the road."

A chorus of "hey!" and "nuh uh!" rises from the twins, but no one pays them much mind. I'm too focused on the way Mr. Simmons is glaring at me. Holding my breath, I extend my hand to him. "Mr. Simmons, it's nice to meet you, sir." He shakes my hand stiffly and I turn to Echo's mom. "It's nice to meet you as well, Mrs. Simmons." She hesitates before taking my hand, but offers a small smile when she finally does.

Hoping for distraction, I then turn my attention bn to the two little girls holding each other's hands while they stare at me with rapt attention. "Mable, Azalea, I've heard lots about you both. I'm excited to see you two play soccer tomorrow after the graduation ceremony. I hear it's pretty exciting."

Eyes glittering with adoration, they both grab one of my hands and shake furiously. "Echo said you were gonna watch us, but we didn't believe her," says one. I'm not sure which one since they're identical. The other one says, "You're prettier than your picture."

Echo laughs behind me, but her mother looks mortified. "He's more handsome than his picture," she says. Her face goes scarlet as soon as the words leave her mouth. "I mean, I wasn't commenting, just, uh, correcting her." Her eyes zero in on the twin who spoke. "We don't call boys pretty. We say handsome."

The twins giggle behind their hands. One dares to say, "Your face is all red." They both start giggling even harder.

Trying to shake off her embarrassment, Mrs. Simmons says, "Are we ready to go? We have dinner reservations at eight."

Everyone nods, thankfully, and we head for the exit. I breathe a sigh of relief when both Echo's parents turn their attention away from me and back toward containing the twins. Even more of my tension disappears when Echo's arm slips through mine. "You deserve a reward for putting up with all of this," she whispers.

"It's no problem," I say, but Echo rolls her eyes. Okay, it's a little unnerving that her parents basically refuse to let us go anywhere alone. I'm even staying at their house for the weekend because her dad was just sure we'd end up in my hotel room doing things he'd rather not think about. I'll be spending the weekend going to the twins' soccer game, graduation, and hanging out at their house trying to prove I'm not a psycho stalker or serial killer.

"Now," Echo says, "Just a warning about dinner..."

I listen attentively as she explains what going out to dinner with Mable and Azalea often entails. It doesn't take long before I realize how right she is. When Mable—I think—screams at the top of her lungs after a fly lands on her plate, it's tough not to laugh. When Azalea goes chasing a rogue crayon under an occupied table, startling our dinner neighbors, I really start to understand the pained looks on everyone's faces.

Ice cream covered spoons being stuck to their noses puts an end to dinner, but Echo's mom does seem to appreciate it when I distract the twins from making any further messes by clobbering them with napkins while tickling them. It's nice to get a pleasant reaction from Mrs. Simmons, but I mainly did it to make sure Echo knew I wasn't put off by her wild little sisters. Honestly, there were plenty of dinners with my sisters that were just as bad.

By the time we make it back to Echo's house, everyone is exhausted. After finals last week, the trip to the estate, the flight, and the stress of meeting Echo's family, as much as I would have liked to have stayed up with Echo, I crash five minutes after lying down in the guest room. I feel like I've just barely closed my eyes when someone's hand is on my shoulder.

"Malachi," Echo whispers.

"Hmm?" I mumble as I try to force my eyes open. Her fingers slide up to my face and suddenly I have no problem waking up. Smiling up at her sleepily, I ask, "What time is it?"

Echo grimaces. "Sorry. I know it's early, but I have to be at the school by nine and I thought you might want to help me make breakfast for everyone."

It takes me a moment to understand that Echo is trying to help me impress her parents. Even at seven in the morning on a Saturday, I'm all for it. "Of course. Just give me a minute to wake up."

"Okay," Echo says, grinning, "but I'm gonna wait for you in the kitchen. If my dad sees me in here he'll freak."

She scampers off a second later and leaves me to gather my thoughts. The sun is slowly making its way up as well as I stretch and toss back my blankets. I never put much time into making my bed at home, but I certainly don't skip it this morning. A few minutes later, I'm shuffling into the kitchen in search of Echo. In the dim, early morning haze, I didn't take much notice of what Echo was wearing when she came in. I'm still half asleep, but I'm awake enough to appreciate her low slung cotton pajama pants and snug tank top. Having her this close, it's nearly impossible not to slip my arms around her waist.

"So, what're we making?" I ask, needing a distraction.

Echo jumps, spinning around to face me with a laugh. "Man, you're quiet!" She shakes her head and smiles, but I can hear the tremor in her voice. She pretends nothing's wrong as she continues. "We're making omelets."

"Hey," I say as I step closer to her, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing." She shakes her head, but the corner of her mouth starts twitching.

"Carrots, please. Don't pretend with me. I can tell something's wrong." I risk having her dad walk in to see me with my hands on his daughter and reach for her. She hesitates a moment before folding into my embrace. "What's going on, Echo?"

She breathes in shakily. "I've been having nightmares again."

I don't respond right away. It takes me a minute to process what she's saying. Echo has given me bits and pieces of what she's been through, but she doesn't like to talk about her past. The nightmares, though, every time she even says the word, I hear the fear in her voice. Those were just memories of what once was. Now, fear doesn't quite touch it.

"The rogue ghost?" I ask quietly. Echo nods, but doesn't say anything. "What does he want?"

"I don't know," she whispers. "The nightmares, they're just horrible feelings, a few random images that make no sense. I run, but I can never escape. I feel like I'm drowning, like someone is holding me under water or something. I know it's him. I never see him, but I recognize his presence. It's like he's screaming at me to do what he wants, but I have no idea what that is."

Echo presses her face into my chest, trembling and teary. "Hey, it's okay. You're safe now. We'll figure something out. Maybe Kyran's family knows something about protecting dreams. His aunt is really into all this mystic stuff."

"Really?" Echo asks when she lifts her head from my chest.

Nodding, I say, "He sleeps with a hex bag under his mattress."

"A what?"

Honestly, I'm not totally sure what's in a hex bag, so I just say, "Kyran can explain it better. Why don't we call him later and see what he thinks?" She starts breathing a little easier and nods. I smile down at her even though the mention of nightmares has me pretty concerned. "Now, how about we make some omelets, before your dad wakes up and tries to skin me alive for touching you?"

"That sounds like a good idea," Echo says. She pulls away reluctantly and we begin whisking eggs and dicing vegetables. By the time her family makes their way to the kitchen, they're all more concerned with finding all the soccer gear and snacks they'll need after the graduation ceremony than my proximity to Echo. I feel like I'm back in my childhood days as everyone wolfs down their food and scrambles to get ready.

The rest of the family doesn't need to be at the school for the graduation until eleven, so as soon as Echo is ready to go, she grabs my hand, shouts that we're leaving, and bolts before anyone can say otherwise. I feel as though we've just escaped prison once we're safely in Echo's car and driving toward the school.

Echo must feel the same, because she lets out a held breath. "This weekend is going to last forever at this rate." She sighs and stares out at the road. "Sorry they're so claustrophobic."

"It's fine. Just focus on getting through the ceremony."

Smiling at me, Echo says, "I'm not even nervous about graduation. I just want it to be over. I would have skipped it entirely if I could have. At least you'll get to meet Holden and Zara without my crazy parents hovering over us."

That reminds me I've got two other people to impress. Zara I'm not too worried about. Holden was okay with me being Echo's long distance friend, but I'm not so sure what his reaction will be to me now. I don't have to wait much longer to find out, though. Before long, we're pulling up to Echo's high school and joining the crowd of seniors making their way toward the auditorium. Holden and Zara are waiting near the double doors leading into the crowded room, spotting us as soon as we come into view.

Zara squeals and runs to Echo, wrapping her up in an excited hug. Holden rolls his eyes at her and approaches me instead. "Malachi, it's nice to finally meet you."

"You too, Holden."

His eyes narrow for a few seconds before relaxing. "So, you ready for a road trip with these two?"

"Are you coming?" Echo never said for sure whether Holden was joining us or not.

"I'm not staying for the whole summer," he says, "but I'll be driving up with you guys and I'll stay a few weeks to help get these two settled. I have to be back for an internship by June fifteenth."

I nod, glad to know he's coming, which is kind of surprising. I can't wait to have Echo nearby all the time, but I was worried about them staying in an apartment by themselves when they don't know the area at all. Having Holden there will deter any curious neighbors, especially given that he's actually quite a bit more intimidating in size than I would have guessed from his online profile picture.

Someone calls the seniors to order and starts getting them organized a few minutes later. It leaves me standing off to the side watching, but I don't mind. Watching Echo with her friends lets me see a different side of her. She said in the car that she would have skipped graduation if she could have, but as she and Zara talk excitedly in their seats, she actually seems glad to be here. Maybe it's just the prospect of getting out of here that has her smiling.

I remember my own graduation, feeling excited and a little sad to be leaving it behind. I had friends and clubs and sports I was walking away from, though. Echo has Holden and Zara. There's nothing here she'll regret leaving behind. It's a sad thought, but hopefully she'll be moving on to something better. The FBI thing still has me nervous. It creeps me out to think that they've basically been stalking her for the past eight years and this Agent Morton guy has set up her stay in Georgia. If they can really help her, though, I guess it'll be worth it.

Once all the seniors are seated, I find a spot near the front and save seats for Echo's family. It's tempting to just get lost in the crowd, but when I spot them come in I wave them over. Thankfully, the twins claim the seats on either side of me and start chattering nonstop until the ceremony starts. They don't stop talking even then, but they do switch to whispering until they see Echo walk up on stage. At that point, they jump up on their chairs and start cheering wildly for their sister. Echo's face turns as red as her hair, but she blows a kiss to each of her sisters before rolling her eyes at them.

Echo complains about her crazy sisters all the time, but leaving them isn't going to be easy for her. The twins seem to realize that as well. As soon as she disappears and goes back to her seat, they both start sobbing. I'm not sure how I end up with my arms around both of them as they cry all over my shirt, but I find I don't mind being the one to comfort them. I'm the one taking Echo away, after all. It's the least I can do.

***

Hours later, when we make it to the soccer field and the twins are sprinting toward their coach, Mrs. Simmons comes up beside me and actually smiles. "I didn't get a chance to say thank you for helping Echo with breakfast or handling the girls during the graduation earlier. It was very nice of you."

"It was no problem. I know all about crying sisters. I'm not great in the kitchen, but I can at least follow Echo's directions."

"You don't cook?"

"Side effect of having three older sisters who wanted to follow in my mama's footsteps and become award winning cooks. They pretty much ran me out of the kitchen the second I stepped foot in their domain. Plus, my roommate had an unconventional family life, so he pretty much had to learn to cook if he wanted regular meals, and does all the cooking now."

She smiles and glances over at Echo, who has her arm through mine again. When Mrs. Simmons looks back to me, her smile is less careful. "Well, you probably think we're a little unconventional, too, after the chaos this morning. The twins, they're..."

"Great," I say with a laugh. It earns me a crinkled expression from Echo, but I just chuckle. "Really, my sisters were just as much of a handful. They still are. Growing up with them was like living in a circus half the time, between the drama and yelling and the dance, volleyball, theater, horseback riding.... It's a wonder we all made it to adulthood."

Mrs. Simmons shakes her head, chuckling to herself as she heads toward where one of the twins is calling for her. Echo squeezes my arm and points toward where her dad is setting up folding chairs off to the side of the field. Echo's mom seems to be warming up to me, but her dad is glaring holes through me at the sight of Echo's arm through mine. Part of me wants to slip out of her grasp, but it's a pretty small part. I do, however, risk putting myself in the line of fire by sitting down next to her dad. I'd rather Echo didn't have to sit next to him the whole game if he's just going to be pissed off that I'm here.

By the time Mrs. Simmons joins us, the game is getting started. She plops down next to her husband, but leans around him to say. "I told the twins that if they didn't misbehave during the game they would get to watch a movie with you and Echo tonight."

Echo and her dad both turn to stare at her. Echo looks hopeful, saying, "Are we going to the movies tonight?"

Her dad is not thrilled, only saying, "When did we discuss this?"

To her credit, Mrs. Simmons just waves off her husband's concerns. "Trust me," she says, "this will work. Wouldn't it be nice to sit through a game without one of the twins getting sent out for fighting?"

Mr. Simmons doesn't comment, but he does look rather hopeful. I'm dying to ask what's happened at previous games, but I don't push my luck. Turning my attention to the game, I watch as the twins dart back and forth across the field. They're certainly the most aggressive girls on either team, but they seem to be trying very hard not to step over the line. Once, Mable—I think—winds up both arms to shove a girl who accidentally stepped on her hand when they all went down in a big pile, but before she does, she looks over at me and grins before tucking her hands away and going after the ball.

At half time, the coach pulls out a container of sliced oranges, but the twins race off the field, barely stopping in time to avoid plowing into me.

"Did you see us?"

"I made a goal!"

"We stayed in the whole first half and didn't get in trouble once!"

"That stupid girl stepped on me, but I didn't even get mad!"

"You're going to watch the rest of the game, right?"

"Are we doing good?"

Holding back my laughter, I say, "You two are doing awesome! I'm especially glad you're playing fair. Wouldn't want any yellow cards, right? I'm looking forward to taking you both to the movies."

"We don't have yellow cards in this league."

"Or red cards. Not yet, anyway."

Surprised by that, I say, "Oh, well that's probably a good thing. Gives you time to practice learning all the rules."

"It's a really good thing," Echo mumbles next to me. "They'd never play if they had cards at this age."

Biting back another laugh, I start to say something, but one of the twins interrupts me. "Do you know about soccer? Do you know how to play?"

"It's been a while," I say, "but I used to play in high school."

Suddenly, Mable—or Azalea—sprints back to her coach yelling, "Malachi knows soccer!"

Everyone else seems a bit stunned by her running and yelling, including me, but the remaining twin starts trying to yank me up from my seat for some reason. I don't have a clue why until their coach comes trotting over to us. He looks at me skeptically and asks, "You're familiar with soccer?"

"Uh, yeah, why?"

The coach sighs in relief. "The ref on the twins' field has to leave. Her kid just threw up behind the goal. I need someone to take her place. Do you mind?"

The twins have their hands clasped in front of their bodies, silently begging. "Sure," I say, laughing at them.

Echo is standing next to me a moment later, shaking her head. "Malachi, you don't have to. I can do it. I know enough to ref. I've done it before."

"It's fine, really. It'll be fun."

She stares at me like I'm crazy. The twins start dragging me away immediately, and a few seconds later, I find myself with a whistle in my hand and eight little girls squaring off. Before blowing the whistle, I say, "All right, remember to play nice, okay?"

It's meant more for the twins than everyone else, but all eight heads bob excitedly and I blow the whistle. Slightly organized chaos breaks lose at the sound and the little bodies go racing back and forth across the field. The twins make two more goals in the half and don't push down or yell at single person. They do miss a few passes thanks to trying to get my attention, though. I get that this isn't usually how their games go but, by the end of the game, I am absolutely taken with these two little wild girls.

As soon as the game ends, the twins yank me over to their coach. He offers his hand immediately. "Thanks a lot, Malachi. I really appreciate your help."

"I had a good time."

"Any chance you're available to help coach during the week? I've never seen the twins play so well. They're usually out of the game before the second half for fighting or name calling."

I can't help laughing at the hopeful expression on his face. "Sorry, I'm just here for the weekend or I would love to."

The poor guy looks a little devastated at the news. "Well, whatever you did to make them behave today, keep doing it."

"I'll try," I say.

Echo finds me a moment later and wraps me up in a hug. The feel of having her in my arms is something I could definitely get used to. Her dad's hand clamping down on my shoulder, not so much. I turn to face him and am surprised to see him without his glare of death. He doesn't say anything, but I get the message anyway. We'll be having a talk later on.
16: Suffocate

(Malachi)

"How did they behave?" Mrs. Simmons asks when we get back from the movie with the twins. The anxiety written on her expression is probably a common look for her when it comes to her two youngest daughters.

"Surprisingly well," Echo says with a shrug. "I only had to stop them from throwing popcorn on the people in front of us once."

Sighing, Mrs. Simmons looks over at me. "Are you sure you don't want to come here for school? We could use your skills as a twin wrangler. I'd even be willing to put you up in the guest bedroom and pay you with free meals and my undying gratitude."

I know she's joking, mostly, but the offer is tempting. "If I weren't on scholarship at Georgia State, I'd definitely take you up on the offer."

"Scholarship?" Mr. Simmons asks as he walks into the room looking as intimidating as ever.

"Uh, yeah, for music," I say. When his nose scrunches like music hardly seems to be something that would ever support anyone, let alone his daughter, I hurriedly continue. "I'm a pianist, but I know it's hard to make a living doing that, so I'm working on a double major. Studying music and accounting."

Mr. Simmons nods and turns back to his wife. "I think Malachi and I are going to have a chat on the back porch, unless you need help getting the twins to bed."

Echo's mom waves him off, and tows a reluctant Echo down the hallway. I don't think I've ever been more nervous in my life than when I face Echo's dad in that moment. He doesn't say anything, only gestures for me to follow him. The house seems strangely quiet as we walk toward the back door. I have to shove my hands in my pockets to keep from twisting them together.

When Mr. Simmons points toward a couple of deck chairs, I take my seat right away. He's considerably more casual as he sits and crosses one leg over the other. It feels like I'm sitting in front of a judge without a clue about what I'm on trial for. A million thoughts run through my head in that moment, trying to anticipate what he's going to say and come up with intelligent answers. When he finally speaks, I'm completely caught off guard.

"Do you believe my daughter sees ghosts?"

My brain freezes. I desperately want to impress this man. I care about Echo a lot, and as much as I want her to spend the summer and the next four years in Georgia with me, I don't want to be the reason for any bad blood between her and her parents. I suspect he wants to hear I think Echo is just trying to get attention. It's tempting to just tell him what he wants to hear so he stops antagonizing Echo about our relationship.

When my brain stops having a meltdown, I say the only thing I can. The truth.

"To be honest, Mr. Simmons. I'm still trying to understand the whole ghost thing. I know Echo isn't lying, so I guess I should say that I do believe she sees ghosts, but it's a tough thing to really wrap my head around." I scratch the side of my head, trying to find a way to say what I mean more clearly. "I guess what I mean is, I believe Echo does see ghosts, but I don't fully understand what that means."

Mr. Simmons gives away nothing in his expression. "Why would you believe such an outlandish claim?"

"Why?" I ask. "Because I trust Echo." Shaking my head, it's hard not to get frustrated. "I haven't seen all her shows, but the one where she talked to my great grandmother was pretty hard to brush off. Not only did she know things about my great grandmother I didn't even know, when that rogue ghost came after her, there's no way she was faking that."

"Rogue ghost?" he asks. He seems confused, and maybe just a little bit concerned.

"Yeah, the one that tried to jump the line during the show last week. She was terrified. Didn't you see it?"

Mr. Simmons looks away, answering the question. There's a hint of shame in his expression, but I can also tell he's incredibly frustrated. I guess I should have known her parents don't watch her show. They think it's just a hoax she and her friends pull for attention. They tell themselves it's just a more grownup version of the nightmares and screaming.

Shaking my head, my heart breaks for Echo. I completely understand that taking someone's word that they see ghosts is tough. I'm still working out all my thoughts and feelings on that topic myself. I also understand that I've only known Echo for a few weeks. I haven't been through the really tough times with her like her parents have. Understanding what they've been through is hard. Maybe I'll never get it, but I do understand something they don't seem to grasp.

"Mr. Simmons, the stuff I've seen on the show is pretty hard to explain, but that's not why I believe Echo," I say. I'm surprised by how calm I sound. The edgy, anxious tenor of my voice from a few seconds ago is gone. Echo's dad seems to notice as well and looks at me more seriously.

"Why, then?" he asks.

Taking a second to make sure I say this right, I breathe out slowly. "I believe Echo because she's not a liar. She's not an attention seeking maniac. She doesn't want people to make fun of her. In fact, it kills her to know everyone in her life thinks there's something wrong with her." I pause, holding my breath for a minute, hoping I can make my case. "If Echo could get rid of all the ghosts and the trouble they cause, she would. The idea of making the ghosts go away terrifies her, but she would do it in a heartbeat because it would mean you and your wife wouldn't have to worry about her, that you wouldn't think she was messed up or crazy."

"Why would getting rid of the ghosts, or whatever this is, scare Echo?"

I hesitate, not knowing if Echo will be upset with me for sharing something so personal. It's a risk, but I really want to make her dad understand. "The ghosts are part of her identity. She's either been watched over by them or stuck fighting them her entire life. She sees herself as being defined by either their existence in her life, or the problems they cause for her. Echo doesn't know who she would be without them, and that really freaks her out."

Mr. Simmons doesn't immediately respond. I honestly don't have a lot of hope anything I say will change his view of his daughter or my presence in her life, but I have to try. It's a long while later before he finally comes back to the conversation. "Why does Echo want to go to Georgia?"

It seems pretty obvious why, but I assume he's not looking for easy answers right now. I have the answer he's looking for, but I don't know if he really wants to hear it. If he doesn't, it could be bad for Echo and me. I figure I can't make him like me any less, so I say what needs to be said.

"Look, Mr. Simmons, Echo loves you guys, a lot. Goin' to Georgia isn't about running away. Not in the way you might think. Yeah, she wants a fresh start where people don't know about everything she's been through. That's not all of it, though."

"Then what is?"Mr. Simmons asks with an edge to his voice.

Sighing, I just say it. "She wants to leave before her relationship with you and your wife is ruined to the point that she never wants to come back."

The stunned silence only lasts a moment before Mr. Simmons' expression turns hard, making me scrunch back into my chair just a bit. "What? She's leaving to get away from us?"

"No," I say quickly, "that's not what I said and you know it. She's not running away from you because she doesn't want to be close to you guys. It's the opposite."

"I don't understand," he growls.

"Echo wants to be close to her family, but she can't do that living under your roof feeling like an outsider and the family problem," I snap. "She knows you love her, but you don't believe her, and probably never will. She accepts that, but how would you feel living with people who were constantly watching you, waitin' for you to ruin things, wondering when you'll go completely crazy? Staying here will break her, Mr. Simmons. Things are tough enough for her as it is. There's only so much a person can take."

The blank expression on Mr. Simmons face makes me wary. I'm not sure if he's plotting how kill me without Echo finding out, or just too shocked to respond. I don't move a muscle...just in case it's the first one. After a few seconds, he looks up at me, eyebrows knitted together. "What do you mean that things are already tough enough for her? She's been doing really well lately."

"Yeah," I say, "before a rogue ghost started harassing her about a month and a half ago and her nightmares started back up again."

Mr. Simmons rubs a hand across his face. "Why didn't she tell us? About the nightmares, I mean." He shakes his head, ignoring the rogue ghost entirely. "If we knew about the nightmares we could have talked to Dr. Pell, discussed medication."

"That's exactly why she didn't tell you," I say, frustrated that he just doesn't get it. "She doesn't want medication. It makes her feel awful and it doesn't stop the nightmares. It just stops her from waking up from them in the middle of the night. Instead, she's trapped inside them all night, unable to escape."

Blanching at my words, Echo's dad suddenly looks weary. "What else are we supposed to do?"

Standing, even though he hasn't given me permission, I look down at him seriously. "Why don't you start by watching her show? Instead of telling her she's making it all up, why don't you actually try listening to her for once? She's not the same scared little girl she once was who didn't know how to explain what was happening to her. If you're not willing to listen, you're going to lose her, and that has nothing to do with me."

I start to turn away, but Mr. Simmons' voice stops me. "I know you're just trying to help Echo, but you have no idea what it's like to be responsible for protecting her. If you did, you wouldn't be so eager to take on that responsibility."

"Maybe I don't understand, but Echo is worth the risk."

He doesn't stop me when I turn and walk back into the house. As soon as the door closes, Echo comes rushing into the hall. She wants to know everything, demands to know what was said and how it went. Instead of answering, I pull her into my arms and press my lips to her forehead. I was glad Echo's coming with me to Georgia before talking to her dad, but now I'm absolutely set on making sure she stays for more than just the summer. Her parents are good people, but staying here will suffocate the life right out of her. I refuse to let that happen.
17: Fear

(Echo)

I don't know what Malachi said to my dad last night, but he's been acting weird all day. An hour ago, he walked in and said he and Mom were going to dinner and that we could order pizza for us and the twins. I was so shocked, I lost all focus on the game Malachi and I were playing and my avatar got hacked to death by a goblin before I snapped out of it.

I'm leaving tomorrow. Moving across the country. With a nineteen-year-old guy. And they went out to dinner? What does that mean?

Setting the pizza that was just delivered down on the kitchen table, I yell for the twins. Two seconds later they come crashing out of their bedroom with Malachi following at a more normal pace. I bust up laughing as soon as I see him. The half dozen necklaces around his neck match the clip-on earrings he's wearing beautifully. The way his hair is sticking up says they got into my mousse again and did their best to make a mess.

"What did you two do to Malachi?" I ask through another round of laughter.

"We made him pretty," Azalea says with a smirk.

I turn back to Malachi when he comes over, enjoying the way his arms wrap around my middle. "And you let them?" I ask him.

Chuckling, he pulls me in closer. "You have no idea how many times my sisters made me their guinea pig growing up. I'm used to it."

"You should take a picture!" Mable says.

I'm half tempted to do it, but Malachi snatches my phone off the counter before I can even complete the thought. He sticks it in his back pocket and gives me a look that dares me to come and get it. I have no doubt my face is as red as my hair after that.

I was completely smitten with Malachi over the phone and Skype. Meeting him in person? I adore him. That doesn't mean I'm prepared to go fishing around in his pockets. Tempting, but no. I'm eighteen years old and completely at a loss for how to be in an actual relationship. Malachi seems to find reasons to touch me—like lingering with his hand on mine—but he's yet to make any kind of move that might be considered an indication of things getting more serious. Holding me, hugging me, that's been about it so far, and honestly, I'm okay with that.

"All right, monkeys," I say, "what should we do after dinner? You two get to choose, so long as it won't get anyone grounded." I meet each of their gazes, fully expecting to see glints of wicked plans for mischief. Instead, my little sisters' eyes are big and sad.

"Can we all watch a movie together in the den?" Azalea asks quietly.

A little confused by this sudden change in the twins' demeanor, I don't hesitate to answer. "Of course. You want to take our pizza in there now and watch one?" Both girls nod their heads eagerly.

Malachi helps get the twins' soda cans and carries them into the den. He sets them on the table, but doesn't go back for his own food until asking if anyone needs anything. The twins aren't paying any attention to him at all, which is pretty weird since they've been gushing over him since he got here. I can only assume they're finally starting to worry about tomorrow. I want to tell them I'm right there with them, but I put on a smile and grab my plate before heading for the couch.

Mable surprises me when she slides away from Azalea so I can sit between them. That never happens. Never ever. My heart pinches a little as I sit down. I'm holding back tears as my sisters instantly cuddle around me. We've always been close, even though they make me crazy, but they've always been closer to each other. There were times I truly envied them for having a built in friend, another person so connected to you there wasn't really room for anyone else.

Tonight, they're giving me a gift and I accept it wholeheartedly. I plop a kiss on each of their heads. For once, they don't squirm or whine about it. Mable even smiles up at me while Azalea leans her head on my shoulder.

"You know we believe you, right?" Mable says.

"About seeing ghosts," Azalea clarifies. They both look up at me with honest, pizza sauce-covered faces.

It takes me a second to respond. "You do?"

They both nod.

"How come?"

"You talk to them in your sleep," Mable answers.

"And even though you make us do our chores and stuff, you love us and we love you. You don't lie about things like Mom and Dad think."

There was a lot packed into those words and I struggle to comprehend it all. Tackling the first one first, I say, "I talk to the ghosts in my sleep? What do you mean?"

Mable brought it up, but Azalea answers. "I think they must be whispering stuff to you or something, because you tell them things like if you can help them or not, if they should leave you alone, that you can't let them go...that sort of thing."

Her last addition makes my breathing hitch. "Can't let who go?"

This time it's Azalea who shrugs. "Dunno. You never said his name. You talk to him the most, though."

Suddenly, swallowing feels like being tortured. "How do you know it's a boy?"

Mable scrunches her face. "It just sounds like you're talking to a boy."

"What do I say?" I ask slowly, not totally sure I want to hear the answer. The freaky cold creeping up my spine has nothing to do with ghost energy and everything to do with my fear. How long have I been talking to ghosts in my sleep?

"You say all kinds of stuff, you know, to different ghosts," Azalea says.

"But," Mable continues, "what you usually say to the boy is that he can't leave you here by yourself. You even say please."

There's no way I can pretend my nightly conversations with a ghost boy isn't connected to my rogue stalker. What is going on here? Is that the only way I know him, through talking to him in my sleep? Repeat, it struck a chord with me, like I've got a memory tucked away somewhere that contains it, but I can't pull it back up no matter how hard I try. If it came from the rogue, I would have had to write it down at some point, right? I don't hear them.

Except when I'm asleep, apparently. I want to bang my head against a wall right now. Sighing, I lean back against the sofa and add one more oddity to the list of things I'm hoping Agent Morton can help me figure out. Maybe they could do like a sleep study, or something...see if I'm really talking to ghosts in my sleep or just babbling nonsense.

"What are you three talking about, huh?" Malachi asks as he plops down onto the couch and takes a bite of his pizza.

Mable moves away from me just enough to stare happily up at Malachi. "Echo didn't know she talks to ghosts in her sleep." Laughing, Mable shakes her head and goes back to her own pizza.

Malachi's express turns to one of uncertainty. He cocks his head to one side and looks at me. "You do?"

Shrugging, all I can say is, "Apparently."

"For how long?" Malachi asks.

Azalea leans around me to look at him with a big goofy grin, pleased as punch she knows the answer. "For always."

Nobody says anything for a while, and eventually everyone's attention goes back to the movie we're watching. I'm not even sure what it is. One of those Barbie wannabe type shows where the characters' eyes are way too big for their heads and the story revolves around something fairly pointless. I'm not really paying attention.

As soon as I set down my empty plate and abandon my soda can, my sisters crowd in around me. Mable loops an arm around my middle while Azalea curls both of her arms around mine and leans her head against my shoulder. Their cuddling nearly brings me to tears. The twins have always been affectionate, but in flyby mode only. Since the time they've been able to move around on their own, they've never sat with me like this to watch a show. They've never even sat still this long before. Suddenly, it's not so easy to breathe.

"I'm sorry Mom and Dad don't believe you," Mable says.

"We know that's why you're leaving." Azalea sniffs and scrubs at her eyes.

Mable's arm scrunches around me even tighter. "We don't want you to leave, Echo. We'll miss you so much."

"But we understand," Azalea says, sounding light years older than her eight years can justify. "Will you call us every day? Please?"

My throat aches as I hold back a sob. The burning at the back of my eyes blurs the TV screen. "Of course," I whisper. Both my arms are wrapped around my sisters, so when a tear slips past my control, I just let it fall. I almost jump when Malachi's fingers brush against my skin and wipe it away. Desperate, I turn to him. He leans over Mable and presses his forehead to mine.

"Maybe once Echo is settled, you two could come out and visit us," Malachi says without pulling away from me.

The twins' heads pop up immediately. The pure excitement in their eyes would almost make me laugh if I wasn't completely stunned by the invitation. The twins don't seem to have the same problem. "Can we? Can we? Can we?" they start chanting.

I hear them, but when I finally manage to speak, it's to Malachi. "Us?"

One corner of his mouth turns up. "You did agree to being my girlfriend, remember?"

"I...I know, but...you just...it sounded like you meant they'd come visit us," I babble. When Malachi's expression turns confused, I say, "Like us, at the same place, like..."

Now Malachi really smiles. "Like we're living together?" Faced with his grin and the laughter in his voice, red shoots up my neck to pool in my cheeks, which only makes Malachi laugh. "I just meant that I'd be there to help you with the twins if they come down, but if you're thinking about moving in with me..."

I seriously want to die right now. "No," I blurt out, "I mean, not that I haven't considered it, I mean, I haven't, not really. It's just...we don't know each other that well, you know?"

Malachi starts laughing in earnest. "Do you have any idea how much I love it when you blush, Carrots?" He laughs again and shakes his head. "No we don't know each other that well, so I wasn't suggesting we move in together...not right now anyway. Although, Kyran would be all for it, I'm sure. So long as you agree to play video games with him."

His teasing lessens some of my embarrassment enough that I can form a complete sentence. "I'm always up for video games. You should know that by now."

"Well, then," Malachi says, his voice teasing and sultry at the same time, "how about we start with video games, work our way up to possibly staying the night, and then go from there? Sound fair?"

I can't swallow. I can't breathe. I can barely form a complete thought. My head bobs once, slowly. I'm not even sure I meant to do that. Did he just ask me to spend the night...at some point? Did I just say yes? I haven't even kissed him yet! What am I thinking? Am I thinking? Seems doubtful at this point.

Malachi leans in and presses his forehead to mine again, so I have no choice but to focus on his beautiful eyes. "Breathe, Carrots."

As if I just needed to be reminded, I gasp in a breath, but I don't stop staring at him. I can't.

"Are you gonna ki-iss?" Azalea asks, drawing out her last word teasingly.

Malachi grins devilishly, and for a split second, I think he's going to do it. "Nah," he says as he screws up his face, "Echo doesn't like kissin' boys."

Mable and Azalea burst into a round of giggles. "Nuh-uh!" Mable says between giggles.

"Yes she does!" Azalea bellows.

"Nope, I don't think she likes kissin' boys." Malachi grabs Mable next to him and starts tickling her relentlessly, refusing to let her go until she's gasping for every breath, grinning like a lunatic.

Azalea is giggling like mad as she watches her twin get attacked, but when Mable finally rolls off the couch to freedom, Azalea turns back to me. Squinting her eyes at me, she seems to consider something before speaking. "Do you really not like kissing boys? Is it gross?"

I should probably just tell her it is, spare my parents a little longer. Instead, I shrug. "I wouldn't know. I've never kissed a boy before."

"Never?" Mable asks as she props her chin up on one of my knees.

The twins looks at each other, considering. "Becky's big sister Jeanie kisses boys all the time. And Lacey's big sister, too. Even Candace's big brother. He has a list of all the girls he's kissed," Mable says.

Azalea turns to Malachi and asks, "Do you have a list?"

Choking back a laugh, Malachi shakes his head. "No, I don't keep a list."

"But you've kissed girls before, right?" Mable asks.

"I bet lots of girls wanted to kiss you," Azalea says dreamily. I have to cover my mouth with my hand to keep from laughing at that.

"How many girls have you kissed?" Mable demands of Malachi.

He turns to me for help, but I'm not about to give it. Grinning, I cross my arms and stare him down. "Yeah, Malachi, how many girls have you kissed?"

The panic that springs onto his face instantly makes me feel guilty. We were all just teasing, but that's clearly not a question he wants to answer, not in front of my sisters, at least. Feeling responsible for this, I effectively distract the twins when I ask if they want popcorn to eat while we watch the end of the movie. Both girls squeal in delight and beg for homemade popcorn with real butter instead of the microwave variety. Given that it'll take longer, I'm quick to agree.

"All right, you two be good. I'll be back with the popcorn in a few." I wiggle my way out from between them and start for the kitchen. Making it only as far as the hallway, I'm pulled to a stop when Malachi grabs my hand. When I turn to look at him, the panic in his eyes has softened, but it's still there, mixed with something else now.

"Echo, I..."

Pulling him away from the den, I say, "Come help me with the popcorn."

Whatever he has to say, I'm not sure I want the twins to hear it. A sinking feeling hits me as I wonder why asking about girls he's kissed sent him off the rails. Do I want to know? My hands start to shake as I grab out the big soup pot and pour oil into the bottom. Malachi stands back, and from the corner of my eye I see him drag his hands down his face. My stomach drops into my toes.

How many girls has he kissed...or is it more than that? He knows I've never kissed a guy, never had a boyfriend, never even been on a real date. Being a third wheel doesn't count. Surely Malachi's made the connection that I've never had sex either. I never really stopped to consider whether he has or not, or with how many people. Pressing my hand to my stomach, I try to keep it from churning.

Is that what freaked him out? Has he slept with someone before? Has he slept with a lot of women? It's not my place to judge. It's really none of my business. We don't even know each other that well yet. But if...would I want to become just another notch on someone's bedpost? If that's how Malachi is, I don't want to think I'd be stupid enough to fall for that, but aren't I already moving across the country to be closer to him while I figure things out with the ghosts and the FBI?

"Echo," Malachi begs, "the silence is killin' me. Please say something."

"You don't have to tell me," I say, though it comes out more as a squeak than actual words.

When he reaches out for me, I can't stop myself from flinching. It's barely a twitch, but Malachi sees it and his hand falls away. His head drops, which scares me even more. What is he going to say?

"The kissin' thing, it was stupid. Kyran's idea, but I went along with it." Malachi sighs so deeply I'm sure he must feel it in his bones. "Our senior year, Kyran bet me he could kiss more girls that year than I could. Winner got to pick the apartment we'd live in at college. It was stupid. Kyran only did it because..."

I'm dying to ask, but I don't. Fear overpowers my curiosity and I drop a single kernel into the oil and stare at it, waiting for it to pop and tell me the oil is hot enough. Malachi waits, one hand tangled in his hair. I think he's waiting for me to ask him to continue, but I can't do it.

Finally, Malachi offers up the rest whether I want to hear it or not. "Summer before senior year, my girlfriend broke up with me. We'd been together for two years. We were planning to go to different colleges after graduation, and she didn't want to spend her senior year tied down to someone she was only going to leave behind anyway. I thought I meant more to her than that, but that's how it was." Malachi sighs and drops his hand. "The bet was just to take my mind off Amelia Kay, but..."

"How many girls did you kiss?" I ask quietly.

"I don't know," Malachi admits. "It was...a lot."

"Who won the bet?"

The hint of a smile twitches across his lips. "I did."

He clearly didn't want to admit it, but he's not completely repentant about his last year of high school. For some reason, that makes me feel a little better. Maybe because it was all just in good fun. I doubt any of the girls he kissed objected to his attention. Why would they? He's sweet and caring and not too bad to look at. A smile starts to curve my lips, but another thought stops them.

"When you were with your girlfriend...did you..." My throat closes up and I can't force the words out.

"Sleep with her?" Malachi finishes, head down. He takes in a long, shaky breath. "Yes. Near the end, before we broke up. She's the only one I've ever had sex with, though. I know the kissing thing was stupid, but I take relationships seriously, Echo. I don't want you to think I'm cavalier with women, because I'm not."

The kernel in the oil pops, flying up out of the pot and scaring me half to death. I don't feel so bad when I realize it caught Malachi off guard, too. Picking up the singular piece of popcorn off the floor, I toss it in the trash and measure out the rest of the kernels and dump them into the pan. When I set the jar of kernels back down, I feel considerably steadier than I did when I walked into the kitchen.

When I look up at Malachi, his expression is tortured. "Please tell me what you're thinking?" he begs.

"Malachi, I'm not judging you at all. I'm just scared."

"Scared of what?" he asks as he steps closer.

My chest tightens as fear claims me, but I can't repay his honesty with a dodge. "Scared that I'll be a disappointment."

Malachi's face screws up in confusion. "Why would you be a disappointment to me? You're amazing."

"I just...I don't know anything about relationships, or kissing, or sex." My own words hit my ears and my whole face flames scarlet. "I mean, I know the, uh, basics. That stuff, you know? But actually kissing someone, or going further? I tend to screw things up on a regular basis. I just don't want you to think you're getting one thing and then I turn out to be completely useless."

"Well," Malachi says, struggling to keep a straight face, "you'd never be completely useless. There's always your mad skills with a game controller if nothing else."

Rolling my eyes, I turn away and put a lid on the pot where the popcorn is getting ready to explode. When Malachi slides his arms around my waist from behind, I want to lean into him, but real fear holds me back.

"Please don't be scared," Malachi whispers. "There's nothing to kissing. All you need is a little practice, and I'm more than happy to help with that." He brushes his lips against my neck, making my heart stop. He doesn't take it any further, for which I am infinitely grateful, but he has more to say.

"Anything more than that, I'm certainly not expecting you to jump into bed with me. Having sex a few times with Amelia Kay hardly makes me an expert. We'll figure that out together...when we're both ready. I'm not in a rush. I knew where you stood with all of this before I ever flew out here. I didn't come to get you into bed. I came because I care about you, because I want to see you happy and safe. Please don't be afraid to tell me what you want or don't want.

Kernels start popping like mad, startling us both. Laughing, I lean into Malachi's chest and let him hold me. "I'm scared of moving too fast and screwing everything up," I finally admit. "Moving to Georgia, the FBI, living on my own, the ghosts, you...I'm worried I can't handle it all on my own."

"You don't have to," Malachi says.

Part of me believes him wholeheartedly. The other part is more practical. As much as I love being around Malachi, getting the ghosts sorted out is my number one priority right now. We're leaving for Georgia in the morning, and I start the FBI's tests the day after we arrive. The situation with the rogue ghost isn't getting any better. It will continue to get worse until I figure out what he wants. The only time I seem to be able to talk to him is when I'm asleep, but I have no memory of it when I wake up. And that word...repeat...I can't get it out of my head and I can't remember why it seems so familiar. Even bigger than my fear of falling short of Malachi's expectations is the fear that I'll be the reason he gets hurt...or worse.
18: Vengeful

(Echo)

"Are you sure you have everything you need?" Dad asks. He's torn up with anxiety, but he's handling it the best he can. "If you forget something, it's a long way..." Choked up with emotion and worry, he pauses and runs a hand through his hair.

"Dad, it's not like I'll never be back," I say softly.

He gives me this look that says he's not sure if he believes me. Shaking it off, he says, "It'll be a while, though. You don't want to forget anything important."

Feeling like a monster for putting him through this, I wrap my arms around him and say, "I have what I need, Dad, and I'll be back to visit soon."

About then, Zara and Holden pull up in Zara's car. They both get out, though Zara's bouncing step is considerably more enthusiastic than Holden's. He's mostly over his objections about Malachi, but his naturally cautious nature still has him on edge a little. I see him walk to where Malachi is trying to shove the last of my boxes into my car. I start toward them both, but my mom comes bustling out of the house with another box, even though I swear we'd already gotten everything.

"What's this, Mom?" I ask as I take it from her.

"Oh, just a few things to keep you from missing us too much." She says it lightly, but there are tears in her eyes. "Pictures, mementos, your old blanket, things like that."

"Thanks, Mom." I can't offer a hug with the box in my arms, but I lean my head against her shoulder a moment and smile. We walk over to the car together and I shove the box in the only place I can still fit anything. My poor car is so loaded down I hope we don't have to brave any speed bumps.

"Call us when you stop, okay? Let us know how you're doing," my mom says as she nods repeatedly.

"I will, Mom." She yanks me into a hug, and the endless round of goodbyes begin.

I hear my dad tell Malachi to take care of me, which he also says to Holden. The four of us receive so many hugs, it almost makes my shoulders ache. The twins bounce around laughing and hugging everyone in sight as many times as they can—especially Malachi—but when they get to me, both burst into tears and fall into my arms sobbing. That gets my mom going. Even my dad has a hard time keeping the tears from his eyes.

Pulling away from them feels like tearing out a piece of my heart. Azalea and Mable peering at me through the window with tear-streaked little faces just about does me in. Even though things have been rough between me and my parents the last few weeks, it breaks my heart to leave them standing there. Thankfully, Malachi offered to drive because I wouldn't have been able to see well enough to manage. A few minutes later, once I've calmed down, Malachi reaches over and takes my hand without a word.

For a long time, we drive like that, until Zara breaks in on the walkie talkies she insisted we bring and starts chattering about anything and everything. Her excitement for this move slowly seeps into everyone else and the mood shifts from guilt ridden and depressed to ready for anything. It's hours later before we pull off at a safe looking chain hotel. I step out of the car feeling drained, but excited. Malachi takes my hand as soon as he comes around the car and we head for the lobby.

"Echo Simmons," I tell the clerk when he asks what name our reservation is under. I don't bother pulling out my purse since my dad insisted on reserving all our hotel stays for the trip so he knew we were somewhere safe, and likely so he knew whether or not we checked in.

"Here it is. I have a single room with two queen beds reserved. Does that sound right?" the clerk asks.

Startled, I have to think about it for a minute. I don't think my dad ever gave me the specifics of the reservations, but I had just assumed he would book two rooms. One for the guys and one for the girls. I'm really not sure whether this is a mistake or my dad is suddenly being more trusting than I would have ever imagined. Or scared, I realize. Something Malachi said to him made a difference. Maybe keeping us all together sounded like a better plan despite the risks.

"Uh, yeah," I say finally, "sounds great."

The guy nods and hands over four keycards while giving us directions to our room. We only make it to the elevator before Holden feels the need to say, "You and Zara are sharing a bed."

Rolling my eyes, I elbow him in the side. "Thanks, Dad." He gives me a stern look I'm sure his future children will quickly learn to despise, but I just ignore him.

"Do we have plans for dinner?" Malachi asks.

"Order in!" Zara begs. "I'm beat!"

Everyone else seems to agree as we pile into the elevator. A few minutes later, we're dumping our bags on the floor of our room. Holden starts looking for places that will deliver and Zara flops down on the bed, spread eagle, taking up the entire surface. I was actually planning to do the same thing. Bed hog.

Hands grip my hips from behind and pull. I almost yelp until I realize it's Malachi pulling me into his lap. Then I don't mind so much. Once I'm snuggled up against him, he asks, "How are you doing?"

Shrugging, I say, "Okay, I guess."

"It'll get easier," he promises. "I only moved across town when I moved out, but it was still hard. I like being on my own, but I miss having my family around all the time."

"I feel like a jerk leaving the twins behind." I lean my head against his chest, really needing comfort.

"You had to do it eventually, Carrots." He brushes my hair back, letting his hand linger on my face. "What are we going to do about tonight?"

Caught off guard by his change in topics, I'm more than a little confused. "Holden already claimed you as a sleepover buddy. Didn't you hear him at the elevator?"

Malachi chuckles. "I meant the whole talking to ghosts in your sleep thing, but good to know where your mind goes to first."

My blushing only makes Malachi laugh even more. I'm quick to move on. "I don't know what I can do about the talking. I had no idea I was even doing it until last night."

"Have you told Holden and Zara?" he asks.

When I shake my head, he nods. It's not like I don't want to tell them. I just haven't had time. "I will, though. At least they'll know what's going on if nothing else."

"Do you want me to stay awake and...listen?" Malachi asks. He seems a little uncertain of his offer, but I think it's more because he's not sure I'll want him listening in than his willingness to do it.

Since I really can't imagine what I'd say that would seem incriminating, I nod. "Yeah, I guess so. If you don't mind. It'd be nice to know what I'm saying. The twins were a little vague."

Malachi nods in agreement. Later, when we tell Holden and Zara about the talking as we eat, Holden seems particularly intrigued and offers to stay up with Malachi. Zara is the one to suggest one of them record whatever I say on their phone. By the time we're settling down and getting ready for bed, I'm too anxious to sleep.

"Scoot over," Malachi says after half an hour. Holden immediately goes into big brother mode, but holds off commenting. Zara is already out beside me, so I can only give him so much room. Unfortunately, it's not enough.

Malachi pushes me forward and slips in behind me, pulling me back so my head is leaning against his chest. His fingers start running though my hair slowly. It makes me smile that he loves my hair so much. The feel of his fingers moving through my hair, brushing against my neck at times, is bliss. When he starts humming a song I don't recognize, I can honestly say I have never felt so safe in my entire life. I'm not sure how long I last before my eyes close and my mind leaves the world of the living.

***

"Is she asleep?" Holden asks.

I nod, keeping an eye on him out of the corner of his eye. "She just needed to feel safe," I say in my defense. "I'm not planning to stay here all night."

Holden doesn't say anything for a while. It's plain on his face that he's struggling with this whole situation. I believe him when he says he doesn't have romantic feelings for Echo, but I know what it feels like as a brother to watch a sister walk into something dangerous. Even growing up as the baby of the family, protecting my sisters from stupid decisions and bad guys was as natural as breathing. If I'd had a sister as vulnerable and potentially fragile as Echo is, I'd be just as on edge as Holden is right now.

"All of this...it's so unlike her," Holden says after several minutes of silence.

"Taking risks?"

Holden frowns and shakes his head. "Making decisions."

Curious, I look over at him. "What do you mean? I'm sure she makes decisions all the time."

"Not really," Holden says. "She's always let someone else be in charge of her life, I guess because she felt she needed it. He parents have kept her on a tight leash. They decide who she hangs out with, where she goes, whether or not she works, what extracurricular activities she's allowed to take part in. It was in their hands, always."

"She didn't get a say in it?" I ask.

Holden shrugs. "She didn't want one for a long time. Maybe she was just used to it because it's been like that for so long, but I think handling the ghosts was just all she could deal with for a long time. Having someone else step in and direct her life was a relief. Until she got older."

"Is that when she started fighting back, or takin' charge or whatever?"

Lying back against the headboard, Holden shakes his head. "No, that's when she started resenting the restrictions everyone put on her and the people doing it...including me."

"She knows you're just trying to protect her," I offer.

Holden sighs. "Yeah, but she still resents it in some ways. Her parents were just trying to protect her, too. I, at least, believed her about the ghosts, which I think kept her from hating me. I should have backed off at some point, but I've been her wall of protection at school and with friends for so long, it isn't easy to stop."

I can't say I would have done anything different if I were in Holden's place. He cares about her a great deal. Having something happen to her when he could have stopped it would kill him.

"When did things start to change with Echo?" I ask quietly.

Glancing over at me, Holden gives me a look that says I should already know the answer. When I don't respond, he shakes his head. "The minute she read your email. That's when things changed."

My expression easily shows my confusion. Thankfully, Holden explains. "Echo is not allowed to interact with anyone having to do with the show. My rule. One I strictly enforced. She'd never even attempted to break it until I showed her your email. Suddenly, it was like a switch got flipped. She trusted her instincts about you and broke every rule surrounding the show. I was pissed, but I was kind of proud of her, too."

Thinking back to our first few conversations, I get it now why she sounded so scared on the phone, why she worried so much about what Holden would think. I understand, too, why he was so mad about the situation. I probably would have freaked out, too.

"I can't pretend to understand why, but Echo trusts you, a lot. More than she's trusted anyone else in a long time," Holden says. "I'm glad, but it scares me, too."

"Why?" I ask.

Holden sighs and locks his hands behind his head. "Because I don't know if she's capable of handling everything on her own. Trying to tame the ghosts while she was at home, yeah, it's tough because her parents wouldn't help, but doing it out here on her own? And doing this stuff with the FBI? Not to mention trying to start a new relationship, which she has absolutely no experience at...it's scary, man."

"She won't be on her own," I say.

"No offense, Malachi, but you're pretty new to the rodeo. I'm not saying you can't handle it all, but you're in for a ride, one with a pretty steep learning curve. I want to stay, make sure she's okay, but my dad..."

I feel for him. He's obviously under a lot of pressure from his parents, but it's tearing him apart to abandon Echo without knowing she'll be okay. "Zara will be here..."

Holden scoffs right away. "I love my cousin, but she isn't terribly reliable. She's there for Echo, all right, but researching stuff or digging up information that might be important, she'll get distracted and find something more entertaining to do."

That's not exactly what I was hoping to hear, but I suck it up and deal. I was planning to put my full focus into helping and protecting Echo anyway. "What do you...?"

My words cut off as Echo's whispery voice catches my attention. Reaching for my phone, I wake it up and bring up a recorder. I don't start it yet, but Holden—who's kneeling next to the bed now—listens intently.

"Not my...no...sorry, I can't....it...you...." She continues mumbling incoherent strings of words for several minutes before I put the phone back down. I have no idea whether she's just talking in her sleep or communicating with a ghost right now. When I look to Holden for answers, he shrugs.

A few more minutes pass with nothing more than muttering. Holden starts to get up so he can lay back down, but he pauses halfway through the motion, his eyes widening. "Do you feel that?"

"Feel wha..." My voice trails off as the cold air slithers up my arms. "What's going on?"

"Ghosts," Holden says. "One particularly bothersome ghost, most likely."

Needing no further explanation, my hold tightens on Echo as my eyes dart around the room. In my head, I know I won't be able to see anything, but I can't help looking for the source of the cold. Holden has a canister of salt in his hand. I'm not sure where he got it from, but I'm glad he has it on hand.

"No," Echo says more forcefully. "No, please...don't go...I can't...please, Archer...stay with me...please."

The pleading in her voice is haunting. Whoever this messed up ghost is, she knows him. She has a history with him. That becomes even clearer when a small spot of frost blooms on Echo's cheek, trailing down her jawline like a lover's touch. The cold and the frost vanish a moment later, allowing Holden and I to breathe again.

"Holy shit," Holden says. I nod, echoing his sentiment exactly. I can see just from the look on his face that my thoughts from a few seconds ago match his exactly.

"That's what the message means," I say. "He wants to leave, but she's keeping him here. When she's asleep, he can talk to her rationally, but when she wakes up, she doesn't seem to remember him or understand what he wants and he gets angry."

"Archer," Holden mumbles as he begins pacing. "Who the hell is Archer?" Fisting his hair, he's on edge. "She doesn't know anyone named Archer."

"How can you be sure?"

Holden throws his hands up. "Because we've always been together. If she met him, it would have had to be either at school or before kindergarten when we met, and what are the chances of her falling in love with someone as a toddler?"

"Whoa," I snap. "In love?"

"Whoever this Archer guy is, or used to be, he's certainly in love with her. Did you see that frost? It wasn't something a friend would do," Holden argues. "She met this guy somewhere. He must have died, and somehow attached himself to her, only now he wants free and can't get away because she's keeping him here."

Whatever I thought I knew about this situation, it all just flew out the window. "Why would she keep him here?" My voice sounds strange, not like myself. Flat, scared. "He terrifies her when he tries to talk during the day."

"She doesn't remember him when she's awake, but whatever happened between them, it must have really affected her. Subconsciously, she's preventing him from moving on." Holden drops to the bed looking exhausted.

I'm so confused and freaked out right now, there's no way I'm sleeping for hours and hours. "If he's, you know, in love with her or whatever...why does he want to leave her?"

Holden shrugs. "I don't know, man. Ghost aren't meant to stick around. The ones that do, they have a purpose, a message to pass on. It keeps them focused, keeps them from turning vengeful. If this guy wants to go home and can't, that's plenty of reason to get agitated. Add in the person keeping him here has no clue what he wants when he tries to communicate with her...yeah, he'd get pretty pissed off after a while."

"This just got an awful lot more complicated," I say with a sigh. Holden shakes his head, and I can tell a war of indecision is raging inside his head. No doubt it's centered around the internship he's supposed to begin in two weeks and Echo's fate.

Sitting back up, Holden stares at nothing. "We have to tell her."

My first thought is that of course we have to tell her, but then I realize why Holden seems sickened by the idea. When Echo learns she's the one tormenting this spirit, it's definitely going to affect her.

"We'll never figure out who he is without telling her," I agree, but I'm not happy about it.

Holden looks even more beat than before, and for the first time, I realize this is what he's been doing most of his life. Watching out for Echo, making decisions, directing her, protecting her from everything he can. It's not just the trip that has him exhausted. It's the responsibility. Setting my phone down and moving so I can lie Echo down on her pillow, I approach the other bed. I sit down and look over at Holden seriously.

"You don't have to do this on your own anymore."

I know he's had his doubts about me, but the sigh of relief that pulses out of him is genuine. He reaches over and grips my offered hand tightly. "Thanks, Malachi."

I nod and we both lie down and stare at the ceiling for a while. Holden drops off before I do. I can't turn off my thoughts long enough to fall asleep. Echo's dad was right that I didn't fully understand what it means to be responsible for protecting Echo. I still don't. What I do know is that I'm willing to do it, no matter what that means.

It's only as I finally begin drifting off that I remember Grandma Maddie's message. Along with getting rid of Echo's vengeful ex-whatever, I still need to face my own demons and go back to the old estate to get whatever she left for me there. Suddenly, exhaustion pulls me under, blocking out everything I'm not ready to think about.
19: Simple Touch

(Echo)

I should be more excited. I'm walking around my first apartment, listening to the manager tell us all the details of the space and complex. Zara is drinking it all in with a grin. All I can think about is...Archer. Who is he? Why is he so attached to me? How do I know him? Did I know him when he was alive, or did we become friends as he is now? Could that really happen? Befriend someone in your sleep without even knowing it? The line between what can and can't happen has always been a fuzzy one for me.

Malachi comes up next to me and takes my hand. I seem to start breathing again at his touch. He's the only thing keeping me grounded right now. He squeezes my hand and asks, "What do you think?"

It takes me a second to realize he's talking about the apartment. Glancing around, I try to take it all in quickly. The beige walls are nothing special, but the layout seems nice and not too cramped. Two bedrooms are off to the side, the doors open so I can see a small corner of each room. The kitchen is nicer than I expected, really just an extension of the living room, but it'll do the job.

"It's great," I say. I sure hope someone else was listening to whatever it is the manager just said. Zara didn't, I'm sure of that, but no doubt Holden took notes.

"Want to know what the best part about this place is?" Malachi asks as he pulls me under his arm.

"What?" Does it have a pool? I can't even remember.

Malachi stops and engulfs me in a massive hug. "It's only five minutes from my place."

"Mmm, that is a nice perk," I say, smiling for the first time today.

Grinning down at me, Malachi says, "I doubt that had anything to do with Agent Morton choosing this place, but I'll take it."

"He didn't exactly chose it," I say. "The FBI keeps several apartments here for agents on loan or whatever. I think he's actually staying somewhere in the complex, too."

Malachi looks a little put off by that, but I'm actually pretty relieved to know he's close by. Meeting Malachi in person has allayed a lot of my fears about this move going horribly wrong. It's reassuring to have a grown adult I trust to protect me—unlike my parents—only a few minutes away. Still, being nearby Malachi isn't exactly a downside.

I pull in a little closer, soaking up the comfort he always seems to give me. I want to stay there all day, but the manager reappears and leads us down to the office to sign a bunch of paperwork.

My dad already paid the deposit and first month's rent at his insistence, but made it very clear that if I want to be out on my own, I had to do it on my own. Get a job, pay bills, be a grown up. He has no idea about me getting involved with the FBI, and I want to keep it that way, so I didn't object to his obvious strategy.

I think he thought laying down an ultimatum would either make me change my mind about going, or send me packing up and heading home at the end of the summer. I almost told him how wrong he was, but I kept it to myself that money isn't exactly a problem right now.

I was underage when I started doing the Ghost Host show. It gathered a following pretty fast, and when the opportunity to make money off our online videos of the show came up, I jumped at it.

In the beginning, it required asking my parents to set up an advertising account so I could get paid. They set it up and forgot about it, clearly not expecting it to do much. With each of our episodes getting at least a million views within the first few weeks of posting them...my parents were wrong.

As soon as I turned eighteen, I set up a new account and transferred everything into my name. Everything we make is split between Zara, Holden, and I, but they both insisted I get a bigger share. Even so, we're all more than set for a while. It's going to take a lot more than not giving me rent money to send me running home to my parents.

After signing our names a million times, Zara and I finally have the keys to our new apartment. I've been fairly out of it all morning, but holding the key to my first place in my hand finally clears away the cobwebs. "I have my own apartment," I say quietly.

Malachi is the only one close enough to hear me, but he grins and leans in next to my ear. "Yes you do." His mouth moves closer to my ear and he pulls me against his chest. "I think we should celebrate. How about Kyran and I christen ya'll as Southerners by cooking up some of our favorites for dinner. You can't live in Georgia without loving sweet tea, fried okra, or pulled pork sandwiches, not to mention peach and pecan pie."

"You want to cook dinner for us?"

"Actually," Malachi says, "my parents are doing the cooking. They've been at it all day, with Kyran and Cerise helping out. They were fixin' to bring everything over here this evening, but I wasn't sure if you'd want everyone at your place tonight."

Biting at my bottom lip, I try to think. Malachi's already met my parents, and I'm not exactly afraid of meeting his, but I balk at the idea of spending the evening with them at their house. Having them here where I don't even have any furniture, aside from a few video game chairs and Zara's bean bag, won't make the best impression.

"Um, how about we eat over there. We don't really have anywhere to sit right now."

Malachi presses his lips together. "Yeah, I thought Agent Morton said the apartment would be furnished. What happened?"

"I asked him to switch it. I figured furnished apartments were for people who'll be running home at the end of the month. I'd rather hit some thrift stores and pick out things I like since I plan on staying for a while," I say with a nervous smile. Was that a stupid thing to do? I didn't really think about it leaving me with no furniture at all for a while.

"You just made my day," Malachi says as he wraps me up in a hug that leaves my feet dangling. "You'll make my mama's day too if you ask her to go with ya'll. She loves thrift store shopping and knows all the best places."

When he finally sets me back down, I look up at him, full of anxiety. "How about we see how it goes tonight. There's no guarantee your parents are going to like me."

"They're gonna love ya." Turning away from me, Malachi hollers at the others. "Zara, Holden, you two ready to start unloading boxes? We've got a barbeque to attend tonight, so let's get a move on."

Zara pokes her head out from one of the bedrooms while Holden emerges from the bathroom where he seems to have been inspecting it for cleanliness. They join us and we all head down the stairs to start unloading what's left of my life in California.

An hour later, both the vehicles are unloaded. The giant pile of stuff in the living room looks daunting as I stare at it, but in no time at all it's divvied up into the appropriate rooms and I realize how little we actually brought. The kitchen is positively bare. Our bedrooms aren't much better, since all we have right now are two inflatable mattresses, our suitcases, and a pile of personal items. The living room at least has a TV. Holden and Malachi are hard at work getting the gaming systems set up and Zara is lounging in one of the gaming chairs.

"Glad to see we all have our priorities straight," I say with a laugh as I drop into the other gaming chair. Zara already has a controller in her hand, eager to play something after being on the road so long. Seeing my chance, I drag myself back up from the chair and announce I'm going to go take a shower before we head to Malachi's parents' house. I don't think anyone even hears me.

As I rinse off the sticky feeling I've been struggling with since arriving, and the sweat from hauling boxes, a heavy dose of butterflies assaults me. I'm meeting Malachi's parents in an hour. I have to make a good impression, but when have I ever done that? I step out of the shower and start toweling off my hair. It almost looks brown when it's wet, which makes me smile.

I have no issues with being a redhead, but I could certainly sympathize with Anne Shirley when she got made fun of for her hair color. Her indignation at being "twitted" about her hair and looks caused her to make more than one less than stellar first impression. That and jumping on old ladies in the middle of the night or breaking slates over boys' heads. Chuckling to myself, I abandon the bathroom, head back to my room, and set to searching for something that doesn't look wrinkled.

"Echo?" Malachi calls out just as I'm about to drop my towel and start dressing.

I nearly still drop it out of fright, but manage to keep a grip on it as I say, "Yeah?" The thought flashes through my mind as I see the door knob turning that I probably should have mentioned I'm changing. Malachi pops his head in before my brain cells start firing.

"I was wondering..." His voice trails off as he sees me standing in the middle of the room clutching the towel around my body. There seems to be a battle going on between grinning and looking sufficiently apologetic. "Thought you were unpacking."

"Changing," I say, not daring to move my hands.

"Gotcha." He doesn't move, though, or stop looking at me. "Uh, we need to leave in about half an hour. So...I should probably..."

The corner of my mouth turns up. "Let me get dressed?"

He nods slowly, then shakes his head. "Any guy who doesn't think you're insanely sexy is an idiot." He disappears after that, leaving me to get ready on my own. Unfortunately, I just stand there in my towel for a few minutes, relishing his compliment. I still find myself doubting he'll keep thinking that once he really gets to know me, but for now, his words take my fears about meeting his parents down a few notches. My desire to impress them stays sky high, however.

My parents never attended church regularly. Probably me claiming to see ghosts wasn't really conducive to organized religion, but my mom always made sure I had a few nice dresses on hand for the occasional event that required dressing up. Nothing too fancy. I fish a pale green sundress out of my hanging bag and inspect it for wrinkles. The loose skirt is a little squashed, but it's in better shape than the others.

After picking out a bra and panties that won't show through the light fabric, I tug the dress on and only then realize I don't have a mirror. I settle for using the camera on my phone to make sure I don't look weird and settle in on my inflatable mattress to put on some makeup. My hair will just have to make do with air drying.

With a few minutes to spare, I step out of my bedroom and scurry across the hall to Zara's room. She doesn't bat an eye when I sneak in while she's wiggling into a pair of skinny jeans. "I dumped all my shoes in the closet," she says, zipping up her jeans. She knows me so well.

I snag a pair of white sandals from the closet and slip them on as I shuffle over to help Zara with the clasp of her necklace. Once it's on, she tosses her long, silky, molasses colored hair over her shoulder and examines me from head to toe. Grinning, she says, "You look amazing. Are you ready for this?"

My stomach flips, but I say, "Sure, I guess. They'll like me, right?"

"They'll adore you." She says it so confidently, I can't help smiling. Linking arms, we saunter out to the living room where Holden and Malachi are completely immersed in the game they're playing. Rolling her eyes, Zara clears her throat.

Holden looks back first, flicking his eyes between us before saying, "Ready to go?"

That draws Malachi's attention. When he looks back, I get a little more of a reaction. "Wow. You look beautiful, Carrots."

Yikes, I could seriously get used to this. I grin at his compliment, then laugh as his avatar gets blown to bits. He doesn't even seem to remember he was playing a game.

Holden shuts the system down and stands. "You look nice too, Cuz."

Zara rolls her eyes. "Gee, thanks." She gives him a shove as she walks past and stands at the door. "So, are we going or not?"

Getting up from the gaming chair a little awkwardly, Malachi is by my side a second later. He slips his arm around my waist and leans in close to whisper, "I'm so glad you're here with me."

The sultry tone of his voice makes me blush furiously and I know I'm in trouble. Talking to him over the phone was enough to convince me to move to Georgia. Having him near me in person, all the time...my heart clenches in fear at the thought of him getting scared away. We step out onto the porch, but I panic at the last minute and dart back inside with the excuse that I forgot my purse.

I wasn't planning to take my purse since we were just going to Malachi's parents' house, but I rush back to my room and grab if off my bed. After that, I close my eyes. I don't really know what I'm doing, but I have to try something. I can't afford to make a fool of myself in front of Malachi's parents.

"Archer," I say quietly, "I don't know why I can't remember you when I'm awake, but I'm begging you, please don't try to talk to me tonight. I'm trying to figure out how to let you go. It might take me a while, but I promise I'm trying. Please...please just stay away while I'm at Malachi's parents' house, okay?"

My body jerks in surprise when the temperature plummets. Did he actually hear me? I get my answer when the icy touch of an otherworldly hand presses to my cheek. My breath catches at the tenderness behind the gesture, the kindness. I don't hear a word, and I don't feel a compulsion to write, but that simple touch is answer enough.
20: Adjustment

(Malachi)

We all pile out of Echo's car when we reach my parents' place, and I try to take a minute to prepare them, but everyone—and I mean everyone—spills out the front door before I can manage a single word. Mama and Daddy hold back a bit while my sisters all but attack Echo. That's when I realize I forgot to tell Echo my entire family was going to be here. The panicked expression on her face as they maul her almost makes me laugh, but I decide I better step in and save her.

"Good gracious, you'd think Echo was a Georgia peach the way ya'll are trying to devour her. Back off a bit, why don't ya?" I give my nearest sister, Katie Lynn, a playful shove. She shoves me right back.

"Shame on you for not bringing this lovely girl straight over here to meet us," Angel May says with a shake of her finger. She's my closest sister in age, only two years older, but she was always the little mama of the group, bossing everyone else around.

Throwing my arm around Angel May's shoulders, I say, "We had a few things to do this afternoon. Ya'll just needed to be patient."

"Did you get yourself all settled?" Hannah Louise asks Echo.

It takes Echo a minute to realize she's addressing her. "Oh, yes, well, mostly. We don't have any furniture or dishes yet, but the rest is mostly put away."

Angel May and Katie Lynn turn to look at each other as if they've just seen the most precious thing. "Isn't her accent just adorable?" Katie Lynn says.

"So proper sounding," Angel May says with a smile.

Hannah Louise, my oldest sister, pushes the younger two back to give Echo a little breathing room, and asks, "What do ya'll plan to do about not having any furniture or dishes? We know some great little shops around town."

Darting a glance over at me, Echo grins. "Malachi said you might. I don't suppose you'd like to go on a little shopping trip tomorrow would you?"

Every single one of my sisters' eyes light up. As do Mama's. They look like they're about to start jumping up and down, but Hannah Louise just puts her arm around Echo's shoulders and says, "What a dear! You're so sweet to ask. We'd just love to come along."

Holden and Zara get scooped up into the fuss after that and we all get dragged inside to meet my brother-in-laws and the nieces and nephews. Angel May has yet to announce any new grandchildren on the way, but Hannah Louise's two little rugrats are running under everyone's feet as the last of the dishes are carried outside to the picnic tables, and Daddy is carrying Katie Lynn's six month old, Sara Beth. It's a bit of a madhouse, but my guests don't seem to mind too much.

Once we make it out to the backyard, I finally find Cerise tending to something on the barbeque, but it takes me a second longer to locate my roommate. I spot Kyran and head in his direction so I can introduce him to Echo, but he catches sight of her before he sees me and makes a beeline right for her. I will admit that when he throws his arms around her and plants a big sloppy kiss right on her cheek, it's a good thing he's across the yard. Had I been any closer, I would have punched him. Cerise's reaction is no less enthusiastic, though there's no kissing involved.

By the time I make it over to them, Cerise is talking a mile a minute and Kyran is simply basking in the glow of being near his favorite gaming partner. "I'm so freakin' pumped she's here," Kyran says as I walk up.

Before I answer, I slug him in the arm, hard. "Stop kissing my girlfriend."

Kyran rolls his eyes. "Are we goin' over to their place after the barbeque?"

"Why, so you can inspect her game console and see what games she has?" I shake my head. "We'll see how it goes. Did you get a chance to talk to your aunt about protecting Echo's dreams?"

"Still having nightmares?" Kyran asks worriedly.

I start to say yes, because Echo did have a nightmare the second night we were on the road, but it's no longer as simple as keeping bad dreams away. "She is, but we've got another problem. The ghost that's harassing her, he talks to her when she's asleep, and she talks to him, but she doesn't know she's doing it."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Kyran asks.

I really wish I knew. Sighing, I say, "Well, it giving us clues about who this guy used to be, so it's good in that respect, but getting information this way as about is slow as molasses in winter. All we've got so far is a name. Archer."

Kyran considers this. "First or last?" I can only shrug. I had thought it was his first name, but it could just as easily be his last. Kyran nods. "Let me talk to my aunt. Maybe there's someone in the family who could help. You can do an awful lot with a name if you know how to use it right."

He says it so easily, as though talking about tracking down ghosts is totally commonplace. I always knew his family was a little different and held some interesting beliefs, but I'd passed it off as part of the superstition that's pretty common around here, especially with old families who've been in this area a long time. It's crazy to realize how much I never had a clue about with Kyran's family.

"So, where are your friends?" Cerise says to Echo, drawing my attention away from Kyran. "I want to meet the rest of the Ghost Host crew." Her eyes are shining like a kid's. After the business with her ex, it's nice to see her smiling and excited about something.

Putting off talk of angry ghosts and dreams, I go find Holden so Cerise can meet him. Zara walks up as I'm leaving and is already fast friends with Cerise by the time I'm out of earshot. It doesn't take long to find Holden. Pulling him away from a conversation with my dad about his upcoming internship is a little more difficult. When I push him over toward Cerise, though, all thoughts of anything school related seem to vanish.

Cerise is beautiful. Her long blonde waves, bright smile, and sun kissed skin will draw most guys in. Add in her Southern charm and the fact that she's not your typical scratch your eyes out, drama up to your eyeballs kind of belle, and she could have any guy she wanted wrapped around her finger within seconds. Which always made me wonder how she got stuck with Evan. What really surprises me, though, is Cerise's expression.

Sure, Holden's a good looking guy, I guess. I'm not really an expert on how girls rate guys. He's tall, naturally tanned thanks to his mixed heritage, and an all-around nice guy. The way Cerise is looking at him, you'd think he's the only one here. They shake hands like any two normal people might, but neither one seems interested in letting go. I'm not quite sure how I feel about that.

"I think Holden might be rethinking that internship right about now," Echo whispers as she slips up next to me and takes my hand. I nod, slightly perplexed.

About then, Mama calls everyone to dinner and the smorgasbord begins. Honestly, there's enough food to feed an army. Everyone will go home with leftovers, but that's how we like it. Almost as good as my mama's excellent food is watching my California friends try to eat crawdads. Surprisingly, Zara has the most trouble, not even wanting to pick one up at first. Mama prepared all the staples like cornbread, Vidalia onions and tomatoes, black-eyed gravy, turnip greens, and the pies we're famous for around here, like pecan and peach. Echo gives me a weird look when I pile coleslaw on my pulled pork sandwich, but it's the best way to eat one.

Even with the unfamiliarity of some of the dishes, everyone eats until they're ready to burst. As things wind down, I look over at Echo to see her eyes drooping. She hasn't gotten the best of sleep the last few nights, and I'm sure hauling boxes all afternoon killed what energy she had left. When her head falls to my shoulder a few minutes later, I suppose we should call it a night. Before I can make the suggestion, Katie Lynn plops down next to me.

"I like this one an awful lot." She beams at Echo, but there's worry hiding beneath her smile. Knowing my sister well enough to be sure she'll spit it out, I don't bother asking. Finally, Katie Lynn says, "This ghost business, Mama mentioned her show a few days back, so I went on and watched several episodes."

I cringe, knowing she probably started with the more recent ones. The concern on her face deepens. "The one where she mentioned Grandma Maddie, the message...Malachi, I don't want you going back to the old estate."

"Wait," I say, surprised her follow up to the episode with Grandma Maddie wasn't questions about how Echo knew those things. "You...believe the things Echo says on her show, about her seeing ghosts?"

Katie Lynn turns her nose up at me. "Well, I am certainly open to the idea of it. I've heard enough ghost stories around here to admit there's likely more to this world than meets the eye. You remember that night I stayed over at Lizzy Bowler's house, right?" She shivers at the mere mention of it.

I never did get all the details, but I know the girls at the sleepover managed to scare each other half to death with ghost stories and they all swore they saw something that shouldn't have been there and went home with their pillows clutched under their chins. I had no idea Katie Lynn leaned toward the supernatural, but I appreciate her willingness to give Echo the benefit of the doubt.

"Regardless of whether Grandma Maddie really talked to Echo or not, I don't want you going back there, do you hear me?"

"Katie Lynn, it's fine. I haven't decided whether or not I'll go. Even if I do...nothing's going to happen. There's probably just some little trinket she left there she wants me to have. That's it."

Pressing her lips together, I can tell she wants to continue bossing me around, but she holds her tongue for now. With a shake of her head, she changes topics. "I gotta get the baby down, so Charlie and I are heading out. Have Echo call us tomorrow when she's ready to do some shopping."

"I will, and thanks." She squeezes my shoulder, stilling looking a bit worried, before stepping away to collect little Sarah Beth from Daddy. I'm forced to rouse Echo soon after.

"Is it time to go?" she asks sleepily.

"Yes it is. If I can tear Holden away from Cerise, anyway."

Echo chuckles, but blinks away her weariness and stands with me. A few minutes later, we're all divvied up between Kyran's and Echo's cars and heading back toward the girls' apartment. As soon as we make it inside, Kyran and Zara are having an animated discussion about their current list of games. Holden disappears to brush his teeth, but Echo just leans against me.

"Does it make me sound totally lame to say I'm a little freaked out to stay here at night with just Zara and Holden?" Echo asks.

Smiling, I say, "Not at all. Truth be told, Kyran and I felt the same way our first night in our apartment, too. You'll get used to it, though."

Echo bites her bottom lip, which is a habit I've come to love. "I've never slept away from my parents before." She practically whispers it, and I have to admit she catches me off guard with that statement.

"Really? No sleepovers or out of town trips?"

"Are you kidding me?" Echo asks with a sour laugh. "Who wants to be woken up by the crazy screaming girl at a sleepover? My parents never let me, and I didn't really want to go anyway. Too risky."

I shake my head slowly. Kyran's was the only place I stayed over regularly, but I can't imagine being too scared of what might happen to even entertain the idea. I'm surprised she never stayed over even with Zara. My conversation with Holden about Echo never making decisions before comes back into my mind and I begin to realize that this adjustment might be more difficult for her than I originally thought.

"Do you want me to stay?" I ask softly.

Echo's gaze pops up to mine. "What? No, I mean, yes, I'd love that, but no. I can handle it. I have to do it eventually, right? We'll be fine." Her eyes widen by the smallest degree. "Right?"

"Of course you'll be fine," I say, "but if you'd be more comfortable, Kyran and I can stay. It's not a big deal."

Echo bites her bottom lip again. It's hard not to focus on that. "No," she says firmly. "I need to do this on my own, I think."

"Are you sure?"

She nods, even though she looks anything but. "Maybe another time, okay?"

I laugh, because I know she didn't think that through before she said it. "Definitely another time. More than once, even. Whenever you want."

Faced with my teasing and my wolfish grin, Echo's cheeks blaze red. "I'm tired and my brain's not working." She shakes her head, but it doesn't soften her embarrassment.

Taking her into my arms, I kiss the top of her head. "Call me if you need anything, okay? I'm just down the street."

"Thanks, Malachi." She's reluctant to let go of me, but I understand why she wants to face this on her own. I just hope she doesn't have any uninvited visitors tonight. Knowing Holden will be here eases my mind somewhat, but I still worry. After dragging Kyran away from the games, we head back to our place, worry trailing behind us as we go.
21: Invasion

(Echo)

I can do this. I can do this. I'm eighteen years old. I can sleep without my parents down the hall. I'm sitting in the middle of my inflatable mattress with my knees tucked up against my chest when Holden and Zara appear in my doorway. Holden holds out a canister of salt and shakes it. "Just in case you need it," he says. "Unless you want me to make a circle to keep Archer out."

It's tempting, but I shake my head. Pointing at the notebook and pen next to the mattress, I say, "If he tries to communicate while I'm sleeping, maybe he'll have me write something. Now that we're on speaking terms in the waking world...kind of."

"Speaking terms?" Zara asks.

My arms tighten around my knees. "Before we left tonight, I asked him to not bother me until I got back, and...I think he heard me. He seemed to..."

"Touch your cheek?" Holden says.

I nod in surprise. "How did you know?"

"He did it that night in the hotel too. It didn't seem to bother you, though, like the first time he touched you." Holden shrugs. "I can only assume he wasn't trying to show you anything those times, just acknowledge what you said."

Closing my eyes, I try to wrap my head around the fact that I seem to be carrying on a relationship with a ghost while I'm asleep. That's not normal, right? Even for someone who can see ghosts, that's just plain freaky. What is wrong with me? Finally, I shake my head. "Well, all we can do is see how it goes. Maybe he'll stop attacking me now that he knows I'm trying to figure this out."

"We can only hope," Zara says. She flops down on the mattress next to me, nearly bouncing me off the side. "I'm crashing with you tonight, roomie. Sound good? That way Holden doesn't have to sleep on the floor."

I suspect this has more to do with me having a panic attack than Holden's comfort, but I appreciate the concern. "Let the sleepover begin."

"No pillow fights or jumping around in skimpy pajamas like they do in the movies," Holden says with mock seriousness, making us both laugh. He leaves the salt and heads across the short hall after we shoo him away. I can't help noticing that he leaves the doors to both bedrooms open. If I start freaking out, he'll hear it even with the doors closed, but I leave them alone.

Zara flips the light off and climbs back into bed. The dark is immediately spooky, but Zara grips my hand and squeezes it tightly before snuggling down into the blankets. I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, wanting to fall asleep because I'm exhausted, and fearing actually drifting off. How can I just go to sleep knowing he'll probably be there waiting for me?

It's a long time later when I realize Zara is out cold and I can't stand lying here in the dark anymore. "Archer?" I whisper. "Are you here?"

Nothing. I wait two minutes before breathing a sigh of relief. Maybe he's off doing whatever ghosts do when they aren't stalking me. Speaking of ghosts, they've been unusually quiet lately. I look around, seeing a few of the regulars hanging around here and there, but they're keeping to themselves. When I started doing the show, they stopped hounding me so much, but there are always a few hanging around in the wings, hoping I'll acknowledge them.

I try not to meet anyone's eyes, but I carefully survey the group. They all seem to be waiting for something, keeping a distance until it happens. I can't imagine what it is until my breath turns into white mist. My eyes zip around the room frantically. When he touched me earlier, I didn't see him, which means he can choose whether to manifest himself...which means he's gathered up a lot of power. Usually that means a ghost has been hanging around the physical world for a long time, but for some reason that doesn't seem to fit with Archer. He doesn't feel like an old spirit.

"Archer?" Being in the humid South, there's no shortage of ambient moisture in the air, but I'm still startled when a light frost forms on the ridges of my blankets. I have to force myself not to close my eyes and bury my head under my pillow. "I know you're here, Archer. Are you going to show yourself?"

Part of me hopes he won't. His hazy, messed up appearance really freaks me out. I've only seen a truly vengeful ghost once, and Archer is so much worse. Meeting that one was what started the nightmares in the first place. Not good memories. I have to face this guy, though. Slowly, I pick up my notebook and pen. "You can talk to me," I whisper. "I'll listen."

That seems to do the trick. A strange mixture and darkness and light springs into view. Startled, I yelp in fear. The apparition immediately begins to fade, but I reach out. "No, please, don't go."

The form solidifies and my heart nearly leaps out of my body. It's difficult to look at him. The blurred lines of his spirit seem to push my eyes away, but there are brighter bits surrounding him, giving off light only I can see. I force myself to search for something that will help me identify him, but there's nothing left of who he once was. Only anger, fear, and desperation remain.

"I don't know who you are," I say. Sorrow I don't completely understand fills me from top to bottom. Ghosts only get like this when they're trapped here and can't resolve whatever kept them here in the first place, though Archer seems to be a special case even among those types of spirits. What's keeping him here is me, but I have no idea how to fix it, how to stop tormenting this poor soul. Gesturing at the pencil in my hand, I say, "I'll write whatever you need me to, okay?"

Archer shakes his head.

"Why not?" I ask. This would all be so simple if he would just communicate with me. What's stopping him? "You don't want to talk to me?" He shakes his head again. "You can't talk to me like the other ghosts?" That sets his head to nodding.

Pursing my lips, I think back to that one vengeful ghost I met. They aren't the same, but there are enough similarities to see a connection of some kind. I was only six at the time, but as I dredge up those horrible memories, I realize that ghost never communicated with me through writing either. It went straight to forcing images into my head. My throat seems to close up as I attempt to swallow.

Slowly, I set the notebook and pencil down and push it toward him. I know he can interact with physical objects if he really wants to. He shakes his head again. He's not angry enough, I realize. Moving objects usually takes complete inner peace—which Archer certainly doesn't seem to be capable of—or a lot of pent up anger. I know he can muster up that much emotion, but he's not angry right now and I don't particularly want to change that.

"Okay, then how are we supposed to talk?" I ask. I want to shake my head at this entire conversation. I'm breaking so many rules right now, but it has to be done. I have to know who he is and what he wants from me. I regret my words as soon as he starts moving toward me, one hand extended.

"No," I beg, "please don't touch me. Don't try to show me anything. It hurts. Please, Archer."

He hesitates for a second, but then shakes his head and grabs me.

I don't know if I'm screaming. White hot, blistering pain races through my entire body, but I focus everything I can on what he's trying to show me. Image after image flashes through my tortured mind. Every one is like a gunshot, straight into my brain. I can't process even a tenth of what he tries to show me. Blood runs down the back of my throat, making me panic, but I keep going even though it feels like I'm being ripped apart. When I can't take it any longer and am on the verge of passing out, he pulls back.

Collapsing to the bed, I curl in on myself in agony. The pain fades slowly. I cry silently, wishing I could make it all go away. The fact that Zara isn't freaking out next to me is the only thing that gives me strength. If she's not awake, I wasn't screaming. I withstood his invasion and survived.

It feels like a million years later before I'm able to lift my trembling body and reach for the notepad and pencil. My hand is shaking so badly I can barely form letters, but I write down everything I can remember.

Trees

Hiking path

Water

Holding hands

Needle

Pain

Blood

Tent

Flowers

Cliff

I fall back to the mattress after the last one. There was more, so much more he tried to show me, but I couldn't keep up with it all. That's all I can remember. Knowing there's more I need to see, my stomach turns. Finding out the rest means letting Archer touch me again. Springing up from the bed, I rush for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before losing everything in my stomach.

When I'm empty, I slide down to the floor and press my head between my hands. Weak, clammy, shaking like a leaf, I can't face the prospect of going through that again. I sit there trembling, wishing I could just disappear for a while. Get off the ghosts' radar completely. Then I remember my appointment in the morning.

I nearly throw up again. Choking down huge heaving breaths keeps my stomach from betraying me a second time, but the rest of me is in pretty bad shape. Agent Morton will be there in the morning, but what will these tests entail? Will I have to let one touch me again? The prospect sends me reeling. I'm not even sure how I manage to get up, flush the toilet, and crawl back into bed. Once I'm there, I bury my head in the blankets and cry myself to sleep.
22: Enough

(Echo)

"You sure you're up for this?" Malachi asks as we park in front of the local FBI building.

No. I'm really not, but I can't back down now. Silently, I nod to Malachi and get out of his Jeep. He joins me a few seconds later, and together we walk up the steps to several sets of doors. Thankfully, I was prepared by Agent Morton for the process to get into a federal building. Malachi and I remove anything metal and step through the metal detectors as we're watched carefully by the attendant. Once we've been proved not to be dangerous, we're given visitor badges and directed to where we should wait for Agent Morton.

It only takes a few minutes before he appears and shakes each of our hands. "Echo, Malachi, thank you for coming."

Malachi looks a little freaked out that Agent Morton already knows who he is by sight, but he knows a lot more than that about him. About both of us, actually. Yeah, that was a little off-putting at first. Now I actually find it kind of relieving even if Malachi doesn't. Not much he can do about it, though, so we follow him through some halls and doors to a room filled with equipment that gets my attention. This definitely isn't a chemistry lab.

"Now, Echo, before the rest of the team comes in and we get started, I wanted to go over some of the equipment and tests with you so you know what we're going to do." He looks at me expectantly, but I can only nod.

First, he points to several video cameras positioned around the room. "These are motion activated and will capture anything that moves, including interactions by spirits."

He redirects to several pieces of equipment on a nearby table. I recognize more than one of them. Pointing to the thermal scanner, I say, "You don't need to explain that one. I have one back at my apartment. It helps Holden and Zara know when a ghost is hanging around."

Agent Morton looks extremely pleased by this and moves on to the EVP and EMF. "I'm going to assume you're somewhat familiar with these as well, correct?"

I nod. "EVP is for capturing sounds, EMF for electromagnetic fields. I've read about them, but never really needed them, since, you know, I already know where the ghosts are."

Agent Morton laughs. "Yes, I suppose that would cancel out the need for either one."

He glances over at Malachi, who seems to be studying the different devices intently. I wasn't disappointed that Agent Morton said I could bring Malachi along, but I am still curious why he invited him. I can only assume it has to do with his great grandmother. Malachi just received the message, though, so I'm not sure.

Morton points to the last device on the table and continues explaining. "This is just a highly sensitive motion detector. We have several set up to monitor the space around you to capture any movement not made by you or any of us." He takes his attention away from the table and its toys and turns back to me. "That's all I have planned for today. I know the move was probably stressful, and I don't want to push you too far today. Perhaps once you've had a chance to settle in, I'll bring you back in for some of the medical tests we discussed."

"Medical tests?" Malachi asks, his eyes narrowing.

I put a hand on his forearm, though it's nice to know he's ready to go to bat for me. "Just some scans and bloodwork and stuff. To see if they can pinpoint anything physical that makes me such a weirdo."

Malachi frowns at me for my self-assessment, but I ignore him. I'm okay with being weird. I'd just like to not be attacked by Casper the not-so-friendly ghost if I can help it. Turning my attention back to Agent Morton, I say, "That sounds fine to me. I've got to go furniture shopping after this. I've been told there are some great thrift shops around here."

Agent Morton quirks his head to the side. "Thrift shops?"

Oh yeah, he's seen my bank accounts. "Can't spend it all in one place, right?"

He chuckles a bit at that and calls in the rest of the team. My nerves spike as five new people come through the same door we did. Four of the five get busy setting up equipment. The fifth one comes directly to me and holds out her hand.

"Echo, I'm Dr. Rosemond. I'll be assisting Agent Morton with your testing. I have some paperwork to go over with you before we begin."

As Dr. Rosemond explains the risks of each test—which are minimal—and goes over some stuff about confidential information and all that, I half listen and half study her. She looks to be in her early fifties. Her glasses are trendy, but her hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail. The shoes she's wearing are definitely built for comfort and not style. Her clothes are neither old fashion nor too modern. It's her happy personality that sets me at ease the most. She seems to honestly enjoy what she does.

Clearly, she's never had to deal with ghosts face to face or she'd have different feelings on the matter, but as she talks about how the tests work and what information they'll give them, I feel confident she knows what she's talking about and might actually be able to help me. Finally, I sign my name half a dozen times. Malachi signs his name a few less times—probably just the "don't tell anyone" part, and then we're ready to start.

Malachi stands back behind the tables, arms crossed with a worried yet curious expression on his face, while I'm positioned in a chair at the other end of the room. There's open space around me with about a dozen different devices positioned in a ring around my chair. One of the interns, or whoever they are, sticks a bunch of monitor wires all over me, and then we seem to be set.

"So, what exactly do you want me to do?" I ask Agent Morton.

"Basically, we'll run you through a few exercises to see how accurate you are in locating spirits."

I scrunch my face at him because that seems like a stupid thing to ask me to do since I can see them, but I realize they have to "prove" I can see them before there will be any chance at a consulting job. I'm still not sure I really want to get involved in something like that, but I need to get through these tests first.

"Are there any spirits present now?" Agent Morton asks. Dr. Rosemond's eyes are as bright and alert as a dog waiting to have the ball thrown.

I don't really need to look, but I do a quick scan to see how many are hanging about. I'm only vaguely surprised to see five ghosts present—some of my regulars—that are hanging back behind the monitoring equipment. I can't help wondering if they know what this is all about.

"There are five here right now, but they're all standing outside the range of the equipment," I explain.

"Can you encourage them to come closer," Dr. Rosemond asks.

Grimacing, I want to tell her that's the last thing I want to do, but this will all be for nothing if I don't. Lifting one of my hands, I point to one of the ghosts that has been with me the longest. She used to stand over my crib when I was little and make me laugh. I motion for her to come forward. She hesitates, and I wonder if any of this stuff hurts ghosts. I can't imagine how it would, so I say, "Liza, it's okay. They just want to run a few tests."

I trust Liza not to do something crazy, and apparently she trusts me enough not to try and hurt her. She steps into the circle and approaches me slowly. No alarm bells go off to indicate there's a ghost inside the circle, but from the corner of my eye I see several members of the team getting excited. Malachi is hovering behind Dr. Rosemond's back looking pretty interested as well.

"Echo, can you give us the exact location of Liza?" Agent Morton asks.

"She's standing to my left, by my knee, about a foot away," I tell him. He writes something down and nods.

That's pretty much how the rest of the morning goes. I convince ghosts to come into the circle of equipment, Agent Morton asks me to do things like have the ghost move around or try to interact with something, everyone behind the scenes gets excited and nods and takes notes while I stay stuck in this chair. I'm getting tired of the whole thing after three hours, but before I can ask if we're almost done, the one ghost I didn't want to see today steps into view.

"No, no, no, no, no," I start whispering frantically. In my head I'm begging him to go away, to just disappear for a while. As if he knows exactly what I'm asking for, he cocks his head to the side and ignores me.

Heads snap up as one of the cameras fritzes out with a pop and puff of smoke. Something starts beeping as he crosses into the circle. Thanks to the monitors stuck all over me, I'm sure they can all see my pulse skyrocketing.

"Echo, what's going on?" Agent Morton asks.

I want to answer him, but I press myself into the back of my chair when Archer keeps coming toward me. "Go away, please," I beg him, which seems to be the exact wrong thing to say.

A blast of cold hits me. Frost begins to form on the rim of the half-drunk glass of water someone brought me an hour ago, then spreads out beneath his insubstantial feet as well. One blurry arm reaches forward. I want to scream, but I keep my mouth shut as tightly as I can. He doesn't touch me, but he touches one of the wires connected to me and I yelp as it shorts out and zaps me.

Almost as though he's startled, Archer pulls back and drops the wire. "That hurt," I snap as I glare at him. He cocks his head to the side again. I'm not sure if he's confused, or just staring at me. When his hand reaches out again, I really start to panic. "Don't touch me, Archer. Please don't touch me again."

I'm begging, but I don't care. My eyes squeeze shut as his hand moves closer. Don't scream. Don't scream. I hold my body rigid, waiting for the assault, but all I feel is ice against my cheek. My eyes snap open when it vanishes, hoping he's left, but instead, I see him standing in front of me, a frozen tear balanced on his finger. My hand presses to my cheek to find a few more frozen and quickly melting tears.

Archer bows his head, and then he's gone. I look around, startled and afraid he isn't really gone, but he's nowhere to be seen. I start yanking wires off my body as I struggle to breathe normally. Malachi is there in a flash, ripping off sticky tabs and pulling me into his arms. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine," I say in a rush. I close my eyes, wanting to block out everything but Malachi. Agent Morton's voice pulls me out of his protective embrace.

"Echo, what just happened? The readings we got were nothing like earlier." Dr. Rosemond looks flat out excited, but Agent Morton is clearly concerned.

Thankfully, Malachi jumps in to answer for me. "Remember the show that caught your attention? Remember those last few seconds before the cameras got fried? That's what just happened."

"That was the same spirit?" Agent Morton asks.

I nod. "He's been stalking me for a while, about a month and a half. He's wants me to help him, but I'm not sure how yet." I take a deep breath and try to calm myself back down. "Archer is the reason I called you, Agent Morton. I know you guys want to study me and see if I can help with cases, but I need your help too."

"Archer? Who is Archer?" Agent Morton asks.

Shrugging, I say, "I have no idea. That's why I need your help."

I realize I'm not in much of a position to bargain with the FBI, but Agent Morton nods slowly. "We're done with tests for today, but we need to sit down and talk about this soon. If you're going to be helping us, we can't have things like that happening without warning." He meets my gaze, and though his words sound more self-serving than compassionate, I can tell from his expression that this goes beyond his job. "We'll help you take care of Archer, Echo, I promise."

I don't think I have to tell him how much I needed to hear him say that. The way my body sags in relief is enough.
23: Doubts

(Malachi)

"Holden!" I yell. "I thought you were going to help us haul this monster couch up the stairs!"

Struggling to hold the screen door open and maneuver the couch through the opening, I glance into the living room to see where everyone went. Thankfully Zara is already on her way to help. She ducks past me to hold the screen open while Kyran and I work at getting the couch into the apartment. Finally, we get the couch to the middle of the living room and drop it. Zara plants her backside on it immediately and grabs a controller.

"I knew you two boys would come in handy," she says with a wink.

Kyran crashes next to her and picks up the spare controller on the floor. And...they're gone. Neither of them even notices when I ditch them and the couch and head for the back of the apartment. Sounds of an argument filter through the thin walls, but I see Echo in the kitchen and head that way instead.

Slipping up behind her, I put my arms around her waist and pull her against my chest. The soap suds halfway up her arms tickle as they burst against mine. Keeping her dripping hands over the sink, Echo lets her head fall against my shoulder. "Hey, sorry I didn't get the door. I'm all soapy."

"I see that." I have to turn my head a little to get her hair out of my face, but I freeze when Echo tilts her head to one side, exposing the soft skin of her neck, purely on instinct. Not doing anything about that is torture. "There is something about coming in to find you in the kitchen that I find overwhelmingly sexy."

"Is that a Southern thing?" Echo asks with a chuckle.

"I think it's mainly the bubbles."

Echo seems confused by my answer for a moment, but then that beautiful red blush blossoms on her cheeks. Seeing the bubbles still clinging to her forearms makes is tough not to wonder what the rest of her would look like wearing the same. Echo must realize where my thoughts have gone, but all she says is, "Oh."

Changing the subject before I let myself ponder on that much longer, I ask, "What's up with Holden? Sounds like a pretty heated conversation going on in the bedroom."

Echo sighs and glances at her bedroom door worriedly. "A letter arrived at his house this morning, and his dad opened it even though it was addressed to Holden."

"What kind of letter?" Must have been something pretty interesting to inspire a fight.

"An acceptance letter...from Georgia State." Echo bites her bottom lip and looks up at me. "I guess he applied the day after I started talking to you."

"Really?" Not that I'm surprised Holden would follow Echo to Georgia. Clearly, he's set himself up as her protector and is determined not to fail her in that. Curious that he applied before I even asked Echo to come here.

Drying off her hands and leaving the rest of her thrift shop china in the sink, Echo turns in my arms and looks up at me. "Does that make me the most predictable person in the world, or just the lamest?"

"Neither," I say. "It makes Holden very perceptive, and a good friend. He knew you needed out of your parents' house, and he spotted the connection you felt to me right away."

Echo seems to consider this. She looks down, thinking, then glances toward the bedrooms again. "Do you think he'll really come back here?"

"Come back? You mean he's still planning on taking the internship?" I ask.

Nodding her head, Echo says, "Holden's dad would kill him if he ditched the internship. Holden would be disappointed too. He worked really hard to get it. It'll probably suck, getting coffee for the mayor's staff, but it'll look great on a resume. Holden shouldn't give that up."

"He'll come back," I say. I don't know Holden well enough to be making judgments, but I find it hard to doubt his commitment. Echo is family, though my mouth turns up as I remember yesterday. "Plus, Cerise is a pretty big draw as well."

"She's kind of old for him, isn't she? You said she's a senior. Or was. Did she graduate?" Echo asks.

"She will in December. She started mid-year. She's twenty-two, but Holden's pretty mature. Neither of them seemed to mind the age difference yesterday." I shrug. I know Cerise well. She's a good person, and I can't imagine Holden finding anyone better at some stuffy Ivy League school, but I can understand Echo's hesitation.

Putting aside thoughts of Holden, soap suds, and everything else, I peer down at Echo seriously. "Now, plans for tonight."

Echo quirks an eyebrow up at my serious tone. "Did we have any?"

"Well, Katie Lynn might have mentioned that you bought a dress this afternoon, and I figured that if I'm going to keep telling everyone you're my girlfriend, I should probably take you on a proper date." I lose all my false seriousness when Echo's eyes light up. "How's that for a plan?"

"Just us?" Echo asks.

I can't tell if she really wants me to say yes or if she's nervous to get that answer. "Kyran said he's taking Zara and Holden out to show them around. Cerise is working until nine, but she said she'd call and see what they were up to when she gets off. They'll be fine without us...as long as that's okay with you."

There's a flash of hesitation in her eyes before she grins and nods quickly. "Where are we going?"

"I have a reservation at this great local place. You'll love it, but you might want to start getting ready. The reservation is at seven."

Echo's eyes bounce over to the clock on the stove. It's only five-thirty, but I figure she'll want to take her time. The anxiety that bursts into her expression says it was a wise choice. She glances back down at the dishes still in the sink and frowns.

"I'll take care of them. Go take a shower." Before she can argue, I plant my hand on her hip and push her toward the bathroom, then get right to finishing up the dishes. I need to run back to my place and shower as well, so I start washing, thinking Echo has taken off. When I hear soft footsteps behind me, I look over my shoulder and find her staring at me, biting her lip again.

"Just so you know," she says softly, "the bubbles...it's mutual." She grins shyly before spinning around and darting toward the bathroom.

It takes me a minute to get my focus back on the dishes.

I'm not sure how great of a job I do with the dishes, but a few minutes later the plates and bowls I'm pretty sure my mama must have helped pick out, are sitting in the strainer to dry. I should probably dry them, but I need to take off. Grabbing my keys, I head back to the living room and clap Kyran on the shoulder.

"Hey, I'm taking off. You coming with me or not?"

Zara, eyes glued to the TV screen, says, "Dude, you smell. Go. Shower. We'll reconvene and take care of business when you get back."

"Fine," Kyran pouts. He tosses the controller down on the couch when Zara pulls them out of the mission and stands. "All right, let's go."

A few minutes later, we're in my Jeep, pulling out onto the street. "So, you and Zara getting along?" I ask.

Kyran shrugs. "Yeah, she's pretty cool. Intense, but a nice girl." He leaves it at that and I put my focus on the road.

I'd been curious to see what would happen when they met, especially after his comments about her being hot. When I met her back in California, she didn't strike me as Kyran's type. I couldn't really pinpoint why, but I seem to have been right. When Kyran is interested in a woman, everyone knows it.

When we make it back to our place, I claim the shower first while Kyran flops down on the couch to take a quick nap. It amazes me how he can drop off like that. He's out before I gather my stuff and hit the bathroom. It won't take me nearly as long to get ready as I'm guessing it will Echo, but I still move quickly. Kyran also needs to get ready, and I want to get to the restaurant on time.

When I get out of the shower, I wake Kyran up and then head to my room. I put a little more thought into choosing my clothes than I usually do, but I haven't had much occasion to dress up lately, so I go with black slacks and navy button up. I have to hunt around for my tie, and end up finding it in Kyran's room. He

He must have misplaced the one that goes with his uniform last week and borrowed mine. It's not an exact match, but it's close enough no one ever notices. He tends to lose his ties a lot.

Fixing my hair takes the longest, which I know kind of makes me sound like a girl, but it's true. I brush it out, wondering if the length bothers Echo at all. I prefer it long. Not that I've got a mane like Troy Palamalu or anything, but it's brushing my collar in the back. Holden is clean cut—very political intern-ish. Echo's dad had a pretty standard cut as well. Even Kyran has a more conventional style, keeping his super curly hair cropped short. By the time I give up worrying about it and head back to the living room, Kyran is lounging on the couch, ready to go.

"What took you so long?" he complains.

I look at his standard jeans, skater shoes, and favorite Henley. Clearly, he isn't planning anything too exciting for tonight. "Just waiting on you," I say as I offer him my hand.

Kyran rolls his eyes, but takes my hand and I pull him up. As we're walking back to the Jeep, he asks, "So, after you and Echo go to dinner, do I need to stay away from the apartment...or look for a sock on the door or something?"

I probably should have been prepared for that question, but he catches me off guard and I have to shake myself to jumpstart my brain. "Uh, no, of course not."

"Of course not?" Kyran asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Dude, we haven't known each other that long, and besides, this whole thing is all kind of new for Echo."

"New as in...she's a virgin?"

I kind of want to punch him right now for getting this personal, but I try to be patient. "She's never been with a guy, at all. On a date, kissing, boyfriend, sex, nothing, okay? This whole ghost thing, it really kind of screwed up her childhood. We're taking things slow."

Kyran shrugs. "Yeah, okay, I get that. It's just..."

He doesn't finish his thought. It hate it when he does that. "It's just what?" I demand.

"I don't know, man." He shrugs again. "There's just something about the two of you, when you're together. It doesn't seem like you just met. I can't explain it. I just won't be surprised if taking things slow doesn't pan out."

I pull out of the parking lot of our building and think. What did he mean by that? I wonder if Holden got the same impression, if that's why he applied to Georgia State before I even invited Echo to come here for the summer. Did anyone else get this weird vibe from us? Short on answers, I head back to Echo's apartment.

By the time I get there, Holden is no longer yelling at his dad, but Echo is still nowhere to be seen. Surprisingly, the others aren't parked on the couch with controllers in their hands. Zara is milling around looking for her purse while Holden and Kyran discuss where to go first. Holden sees me looking around for Echo and directs me toward her room.

I knock, and immediately get the okay to come in. Echo has her back to me, sitting on the floor next to an outlet where she has her curling iron plugged in. Her head is cocked to one side as she attempts to curl a section of her hair. I'm not totally sure why she's wearing a glove on one hand until she wraps it around both the hair and curling iron.

"Are you just a big MJ fan, or is there a reason for the fancy glove?" I ask as I squat down next to her.

Echo laughs and lets go of her hair. "My hair is very stubborn and doesn't like to be curled, I have to really press it against the iron to get it to do anything. The glove is heat resistant."

"Ah, good to know."

"Your sisters never did this? The humidity makes curling my hair even more of a challenge."

I shake my head, smiling. "My sisters would parade around the house in hot rollers any time they needed serious curls."

"Hmm," Echo says, "maybe I should try that." She unplugs the curling iron and sets it to the side. I offer her my hand to help her stand and she takes it without hesitation. It's not until she stands that I really get to see her dress.

She wore a dress to my parents' yesterday, and she looked amazing, but this is a little different than a sundress at a barbeque. You'd think a shorter dress would be sexier, but the deep purple material cascading down to her bare toes does something to me. The top half of the dress looks like two pieces of fabric crossed over her shoulders that hang down as sleeves, creating a low neckline that manages to reveal her creamy skin without showing too much. The wide straps cross over her shoulders and disappear from sight, but all I want to do is run my hands over her bare skin right now.

"What do you think?" Echo asks nervously. "Is it too much, too little? I wasn't really sure."

I really have to focus on speaking to get any words out. "It's perfect."

Beaming, Echo slips on a pair of black sandals and takes the arm I offer to her. As soon as we leave her room, Zara bounces over and starts gushing over how amazing she looks. Holden looks a bit stunned to see his friend so dressed up, but he proves his romantic disinterest by grinning at her as her gives her a crushing hug and tells us to have fun. Kyran's the only one who doesn't have much to say. He seems to be more interested in something on his phone at the moment.

Eventually, we escape the apartment and find ourselves back at my Jeep. I open Echo's door, but before she moves to get in, she looks back at me shyly. "You look really good, Malachi." The emphasis I don't think I imagined on the word really seems amplified by the way she bites her lip and lets her eyes linger. "I should have said that earlier."

"No problem, you had your magic glove to deal with at the time," I say, trying to distract myself from my own thoughts.

Echo laughs and steps up into the Jeep. I breathe in and out slowly as I walk around to my door. All I can think about is Kyran's offer to stay away from the apartment tonight and his parting words from earlier. Going slow? I'm starting to have doubts, too.
24: Clouded

(Echo)

I've decided that being labeled as the crazy weird kid at school was worth it if it means I get to have all these firsts with Malachi. Yeah, I'm eighteen and going on my first date—which is totally lame, I know—but it's with the most amazing guy I've ever met. It's like surviving high school earned me a secret bonus level. I look over at him as he pulls out of the parking space and wonder how on earth I ended up here.

Smiling, Malachi offers me his hand after shifting into drive. I have to choke down one of those psychotic little girl giggles as I take it. I can't help staring at him as he drives. Holden is the only guy I've ever really had meaningful conversations with or spent any significant amount of time with. He's handsome, and a great guy, but Malachi is just in this whole other league for me.

I love his smile, and his eyes always look like he's holding onto this amazing secret—accept when he's worried about me. Then they look like storm clouds about to roll in. I don't think I'd ever really noticed a guy's jawline before now, but I'm captivated by the strength in Malachi's. His hair is what I adore most. That's probably weird, but I love how he keeps it long. It matches his personality perfectly and gives him just enough boyishness to keep me from taking him too seriously.

"So, where's this place you're taking me?" I ask in an attempt to distract myself from staring at him the entire drive.

"It's a restaurant called Apres Diem. Voted best first date spot in the ATL. You'll love it. There's a theater nearby, too, if you're up for it after dinner."

Struggling to keep my excitement from bubbling over, I focus on the one thing he said that won't make me jumpy. "The ATL? What's that?"

"Huh? Oh, it's just a nickname for Atlanta."

"I swear, moving here practically requires learning a new language." I laugh, thinking about the nonstop chatter from Malachi's mom and sisters as we hit the thrift stores this afternoon. Most of the phrases they used made no sense and half of the rest went over my head because I didn't have a clue what they were talking about.

Malachi chuckles. "You'll get used to it after a while. I'm here to translate whenever you need me." He grins at me and squeezes my hand.

"I think it's sweet how you call your mom mama, but she kind of caught me off guard when she said I should call her the same thing too." I can't help wondering if that's a thing here, to call your friends' parents mama and daddy too, or if Mrs. Fields is just expecting a lot from my relationship with Malachi.

The way Malachi shakes his head seems like answer enough, but he says, "Kyran and Cerise both call her Mama, but I told her not to attack you like that. She tends to get excited about things easily."

"Oh really?" I say with a laugh. I would have never guessed by the way she dragged Zara and me around every thrift store they knew, happily chatting and making suggestions all afternoon.

Malachi shrugs and laughs. Parents. The rest of the drive flows by comfortably. I'm nervous, but not nearly as nervous if I were here with anyone but Malachi. Something about him is calming, familiar. We talk about all kinds of things, right up until we park near the restaurant and get out. As soon as I see it, that's when the nerves hit full force.

My family never ate out much. Not with the twins behaving the way they do and all my previous problems. Even when we did, this place is way nicer than anywhere I've been before. I don't consciously sit there waiting for Malachi to open my door. I'm just too frozen to do it on my own. When he pulls my door open and offers me a hand down from the Jeep, autopilot makes me take it.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to faint as we walk into the foyer. The beautiful leather sofas and chairs positioned around equally lovely coffee tables makes me feel a little lightheaded. All my old fears come rushing back in an instant. What if something happens? What if Archer shows up? What if I have to run away? I struggle to breathe as I try to process everything running through my head and calm down.

"Carrots," Malachi says softly as he pulls me into his arms so tightly my heaving chest is pulsing against his. "Nothing's going to happen," he whispers. The simple fact that he understands why I'm freaking out takes the edge off my panic. "Archer will stay away, just like he did during the barbeque, and none of the others will get in the way either. We're just going to have a nice dinner, and maybe watch a show afterward. Completely average."

Every word he says takes my fear down a notch. By the time he finishes, I can breathe again, even if it is still a little fitful. My head falls against his shoulder and I take in a deep breath. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Don't be sorry. Just trust me." He starts to pull back, pressing his palm against my cheek as he does. "Everything's okay."

I believe him. My body begins to relax as his thumb trails back and forth across my cheekbone. He can feel me calming, his lips turning up at my response. I want to tell him thank you for staving off a panic attack, but our gazes lock and I forget what I was about to say. Suddenly, I'm having a hard time breathing again, but for completely different reasons.

"You okay?" Malachi asks, though he's grinning now so I'm pretty sure he knows what I'm responding to this time.

I nod, not trusting my voice at all. The corner of Malachi's mouth twitches. I swear he moves closer. He licks his bottom lip, but I don't think he even knows he did it. Am I still breathing? I'm not sure anymore. Just do it, I beg. Kiss me. Put me out of my misery, please.

I'm seconds away from closing the distance myself when a voice says, "Mr. Fields, your table it ready."

Malachi grins like a wolf when my mouth immediately drops into a pout. "You're killin' me, Carrots," he whispers before turning his attention to the guy who spoke.

I don't pay any attention as we walk, unless you count staring at the back of Malachi. That I'm paying very close attention to, everything from the confident way he carries his shoulders to his trim waist and everything else in that area. I very nearly run into the back of him when we stop.

Malachi pulls my chair out for me before going to his own chair. I'm still focusing on not screwing this up, so the first few minutes are relatively quiet as we look over the menu. "I love that there's so much fresh seafood here," I finally say. "I don't think I could ever live too far inland. Frozen seafood just isn't the same as fresh."

"I couldn't agree more," Malachi says.

My being able to say something intelligent without hyperventilating seems to take down the tension we're both still holding. Malachi settles into his usual easy charm and I manage to not look like a total spaz. The dark, cozy interior of the dining room mixed with beautiful artwork and a soothing atmosphere eases away any lingering nerves. As we settle into a conversation about my upcoming visit with Agent Morton, plans for the rest of the summer, and what movie we should see, time slips by without either of us noticing.

Startled when the waiter brings the check, Malachi pauses the story he was telling me about spending summers with Grandma Maddie and thanks the waiter. He seems regretful as he pulls his hand out of mine to take care of the bill. A few minutes later we're standing in front of the theater, only to realize we've missed the last showings.

"Well, what would you like to do?" Malachi asks. "We could see what the others are up to, or just head back and watch a movie on your awesomely heavy new couch."

"All our movies are still boxed up," I say. I almost suggest Netflix before I remember I don't have my own account set up yet. Malachi probably does, though. "We could watch something at your place, if you don't mind. I haven't seen your apartment yet, anyway."

I was just saying what was running through my head, but as I look up and see the expression on Malachi's face, I realize how that might have sounded. I try to backtrack, but I can't really think as I watch him swallow slowly, Adam's apple bobbing. "Uh, yeah, sure. My apartment. No problem."

Malachi turns, grabbing my hand almost as an afterthought, and tows me toward the Jeep. His keys jingle as his last two fingers twitch anxiously. He doesn't look at me...won't look at me. My brain seems to go on vacation, shorting out completely as I try to take it all back. The only tiny, semi-rational thought still functioning keeps whispering that Malachi likes me...a lot. Everything from his anxiety to his body language is screaming that he wants to run.

We make it back to the car before all the conflicting thoughts in my head coalesce into something understandable. When Malachi opens my door, I turn slowly to face him. "Maybe...maybe you should just take me home. Call it a night. I...if you...I didn't meant to...I think I just want to go home."

I bite my lip and stare up at him. His expression kills me, absolutely cuts my feet out from under me. I'm not even focused enough to know what I was expecting, but the hurt in his eyes nearly knocks the breath out of me. "Echo," he whispers, "I won't hurt you."

More than a little confused, I say. "I know that."

Now he's confused. "Then why...why don't you want to come back to my apartment?" He starts to reach toward my face, but pulls back as if he's suddenly unsure of whether or not I want him to touch me.

"Because you, uh, don't seem to, um, want me to." I stumble over the answer, prodded to keep talking when his face screws up in...I don't even know. "I didn't mean to push. I shouldn't have suggested it. It's fine. I didn't mean to presume or invite myself over. It was stupid."

I try to turn away, get out from under his confusing storm of emotions. There's way too much flying around in my head right now to figure out what happened and I'd rather just go home and bury myself under some blankets before I make a complete fool of myself...again. My escape isn't so easily made.

Hooking my arm, Malachi turns me back to face him. "Why wouldn't I want you in my apartment?" he asks. For once, his expression seems pretty obvious, like he's shocked I would think such a thing.

"Uh..." How do I say this right? "You kind of freaked out when I mentioned it." That sounded a bit harsh, maybe. Was his reaction normal? I have no clue. When have I ever invited myself over to a guy's apartment? Never. I want to smack myself. I should really start thinking before I speak.

"Not because I don't want you there," Malachi says adamantly. "I just..." He runs a hand through his hair, his fingers still twitchy with pent up anxiety. "I don't want to push you, Echo. I don't even want to put you in a situation where you might feel uncomfortable or pressured."

"And if I'm in your apartment..." I bite down on my lip, making it ache. I can't finish my sentence. How pathetic am I? Me talk about sex? I must have been high to even be able to admit to him I was a virgin. Long distance bravery is the only explanation. I have no clue how to discuss this with him face to face. That is what he's talking about, right? The familiar suffocating feel of panic starts creeping in. Am I totally off base?

Suddenly, Malachi is yanking me into his arms. "Breathe, Carrots," he half whispers, half demands. "This is why I freaked out. I want you like you wouldn't believe, but I kinda expected a reaction like this, to be perfectly honest. Being alone with you, within twenty feet of a bed...you're impossible to resist. I'm scared to death I'll get carried away and you won't tell me if you want to stop and you'll hate me for it afterward."

Breathe. Blink. Swallow. Think. Say something!

"I don't know what to say to that," I admit in a whisper.

Malachi's head falls, his forehead resting against my shoulder. "I'm sorry. I should've..."

"Don't apologize for being honest," I say quickly. "I'm glad you care enough to be worried about...this." I force myself to swallow some of my fear and latch onto the fact that I know Malachi is a good guy. "I'm scared, yes, but not of you. I trust you, Malachi. I don't want you to be afraid of being alone with me. I promise I'll tell you if I want to stop."

Malachi's brow furrows. "Will you?" When I give him a quizzical look, he explains. "Holden told me how you've never really made decisions for yourself before recently. You let your parents or Holden plan out your life and just accepted what they said. Honestly, I don't know if you will tell me, and that scares me."

Nothing he said is untrue. My parents ruled my life, made all my choices. I let them. I let Holden dictate my life away from my parents because I trusted him to protect me. The responsibility of making choices was more than what I could handle. It took everything I had just to manage the ghosts. All of these thoughts run through my head, but so do the memories of standing up to my parents, my therapist, Holden...everyone. It takes me a minute to realize when I took a stand.

"I don't know why," I say slowly, "but meeting you changed all of that. The second I read your email, I knew it was time to stop hiding behind other people and do something important." My eyebrows crinkle as I try to pull my thoughts together. "For once, someone else needed me, instead of me always needing them. It was like I had to make a choice. Hide for the rest of my life, or step out and help you no matter what the risks were. I chose you." I shrug, like that explains it, though I know it doesn't.

A huge chunk of Malachi's edgy, twitchy fear falls away. His hand reaches up to cradle my face as he steps in, moving his body closer. "I'm so glad you did," he whispers before pressing his lips to mine.

Fear abandons me in that moment. I let go and give myself over to him, relishing the heat rising in my belly as his warm breath pulses over my skin when he pulls back for just a second. His mouth crushes against mine again, hungry and intense. My fingers reach up to tangle in his hair. He moans against my mouth as I pull him closer. My muscles tighten with desire and I'm silently begging him to never stop.

Suddenly, Malachi pulls back and stares at me, chest heaving, fire in his eyes. There's more than just hormonal lust in his expression. It's not just about getting me naked, though I know that's what both our minds are completely fixated on. He looks like he's in pain as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and presses it to his ear after a few taps on the screen.

"Hey, Kyran," he says, his voice strained. "What're ya'll up to right now?" He pauses to listen, though his eyes are still pinned to mine. "Back at Echo's...uh huh...not sure...maybe...yeah, see ya."

Malachi looks like he hates himself for opening his mouth, but he stares at me and says, "I don't want to screw this up."

"Neither do I." I press my hand shakily to his chest and take a deep breath. "That was my first kiss," I tell him. "And my first date." Malachi waits expectantly. I have to take in another deep breath before I can speak. "I want all my firsts to be with you, but...I'm not ready yet. Despite what my body might be thinking right now." That last part comes out as more of a grumble, which makes Malachi chuckle.

His shoulders relax as he reaches up and touches my face gently. "Ditto on the mind and body not being on the same page." He presses a light kiss to my lips. "I don't think I'm ready either, but thank you for being honest with me."

"Thank you," I say, "for everything."

Malachi smiles, kisses me one more time, and then helps me into my seat. He closes my door and makes for the driver's side, but I catch sight of something moving from the corner of my eye and turn to look at it. I nearly jump out of my skin at the sight of Archer's indistinct form hovering only a few feet away. His features are clouded, but the slump to his shoulders tears at me. Understanding is impossible, but the feeling that I just did something to hurt him lingers as we drive away.
25: Zombie

(Echo)

Stretching as far as I can, I still can't reach the hair clip while I've got a curling iron twisted around a thick lock of my hair. Why didn't I move them closer? The strand I just curled keeps flipping forward into my eyes. I just need one clip to get it out of the way. Reaching a little farther, I almost have it when a sharp knock on the door startles me so badly I knock the clip to the floor and lose my grip on the curling iron.

Hissing in pain when it slides down my arm, more than one not so ladylike word slips past my lips. I'm not exactly quiet about it either. Yanking the cord out of the wall, I snatch the iron off the floor and drop it on my dresser with a scowl. The momentary burst of adrenaline is dulling the pain of the burn. I make use of it and rush to the front door so I can run to the freezer for some ice next.

After a quick look through the peephole, I flick the lock and toss the door open. I'm halfway to the kitchen before I hear Kyran say, "Nice to see you, too."

"Sorry," I holler as I fling the freezer door open and grab a handful of ice out of the icemaker tray. About that time, I realize I don't have anywhere to put the ice. Another curse slips past my lips.

"Need a hand?" Kyran asks with a laugh.

Crinkling my nose at him for poking fun, I gesture at a wide, shallow door. "Baggy, please. And hurry!" The stinging cold on my fingers is almost as bad as the burn!

Shaking his head, Kyran takes the ice from my hand and dumps it in the sink. "You're not supposed to use ice on a burn." He turns the tap on and gestures for me to join him at the sink. I'm surprised when the cool water relieves some of the pain. He leaves me there and grabs the sadly basic first aid kit we got yesterday out from under the sink and starts digging through it. "Ice can damage the skin. Since it's just a curling iron burn, I'm guessing, we only need to put a little antibacterial ointment on it and you should be fine."

He sets to work patting my arm dry and smearing ointment across the trailing burn down my biceps. It feels so much better by the time he pronounces me to be fine. "Wow, thanks, Kyran. Where'd you lean about treating burns?"

"Had to go through a pretty comprehensive first aid course as part of my flight attendant training. It's come in handy on the ground more than once," he says with a laugh. "Malachi and I have gotten into few scrapes over the last year. Least which was when he nearly set the kitchen on fire when some grease spilled on the stove."

Glad my own burn wasn't too serious, I just shake my head. It's amazing I never had to provide any serious first aid with my sisters. Those two were forever getting into ridiculous situations. Luckily, they never needed more than a few bandages. I'm about to ask Kyran more about his job, but another thought distracts me.

"I thought you were going with Holden and Malachi this morning to pick up the new mattresses we ordered. Did they leave you behind?"

"No," Kyran says as he starts gathering up the first aid mess. "I had to run an errand. Something for you, actually."

Surprised, but curious, I ask, "What is it?"

"Remember when you guys called about protecting your dreams?" Kyran asks. I nod, wondering what he's come up with. "Well, I told my aunt what you're having issues with and she thought this would work a little better."

Kyran pulls a rectangular cloth bag out of his back pocket and hands it to me. Malachi mentioned that Kyran's family tends to lean toward the mystical, and I admit I hesitate to open it. When I looked up what a hex bag was after Malachi mentioned Kyran sleeps with one under his bed every night, I was kind of grossed out to learn many of them contain bones of some kind—usually an animal.

Pressing my lips together, I pull the zipper open slowly. Please don't let there be any bones or bugs or slimy things in here. It's hard not to close my eyes when the zipper is completely undone and the sides open. Gingerly, I reach into the bag and pull out a length of corded leather. It takes me a minute to realize Kyran is laughing at me.

"What did you think was going to be in there? Frogs and worms?" He shakes his head. "Your expression was hilarious!"

Ignoring him, I hold up the leather cord. "What is it?"

Kyran takes the cord from my hand and reaches toward me. Shying away, I give him warning look. "It's not going to hurt you," he says with a roll of his eyes. "It's just a headband." He can tell I'm still not convinced by the scrunchy expression on my face. Sighing he holds up the headband. "See how it's braided? Inside the braid is salt. My aunt assured me it's waterproof, so the salt will stay inside and protect you. Putting it around your head keeps the ghosts from getting in there with you. There's some bracelets and necklaces in the bag too, so you can wear them however you think is best."

"There's salt in all of them?" I ask in amazement. What a clever idea! I don't know why I never thought of it before.

"Yeah. It's not foolproof, but it should work pretty well. Better than just being open for the taking," Kyran says.

I nod in agreement, and Kyran takes that as permission to go back to what he was doing. He positions the leather headband on the top of my head, letting the ends dangle for a second. His fingers slide down, producing a strange reaction in me. Nothing about his touch is out of the ordinary, but when his fingertips brush my hair behind my ear, I stop breathing for a moment and look up at him.

His own expression seems completely average, but he's looking at me as well. One corner of his mouth quirks up. "Carrots," he says with a laugh that seems to have something behind it. "Your hair is a pretty cool color. I thought so the first time I watched your show."

Kyran's fingers catch hold of the hanging leather cord and pull it behind my ears. I force myself to take a breath and focus on something other than this weird feeling. "When was that?"

"Second show you guys aired," Kyran says, grinning at my surprise. "Cerise saw the first show and told me I had to watch it the next week. That was before you guys started posting them on YouTube right away. She tried to get Malachi to watch too."

"He said no?" I ask while Kyran ties the cord at the base of my neck.

Shrugging, Kyran's fingers move slowly. "He just ignored her. Wasn't his kind of thing. Never has been."

"Until his great grandma came on, right?"

Finally pulling his hands away, Kyran leans against the counter. "Yeah, I guess."

I take in a deep breath and resist the urge to shiver. "You guess?"

Kyran folds his arms across his chest as he thinks. "He was freaked out by his great grandma coming on your show, but I think he was still more interested in you than the whole ghost aspect. Why do you think he hasn't tried going back to the old estate since we got ran off by the termite guys and gotten what she left him?"

"Because it's dangerous," I say automatically. I told him it was. He agreed. Madeline just said he should go before the estate is sold. There wasn't any big rush. I look to Kyran, hoping he'll agree, but he only shrugs.

"Maybe," he says.

"But, everything he's seen since meeting me...he believes me about the ghosts now." Pressing my lips together, I backtrack just a little. "He believes me enough to not run, anyway. I know he's still working on taking everything in. It's a lot, you know?"

Kyran nods. "Yeah, I know. He'll get there eventually. It may take him a while longer than you expect. Be patient with him, okay?"

That seems like a strange comment, but I can't really put my finger on why. Needing a distraction, I reach back into the bag Kyran gave me and pull out several leather bracelets and a necklace with a metal six pointed star dangling from it. I look at the star, then up at Kyran questioningly.

"Star of David," he says. "My aunt said it's good for protection from evil. She figured it couldn't hurt."

"Thank you for these, Kyran. Tell your aunt thanks, too. I really appreciate it."

Kyran pushes away from the counter. "No problem."

"She didn't by chance find anything with Archer' name, did she?" I know it was a long shot to have her do whatever it is she does, but I can't help hoping.

"No," Kyran says with a sigh, "sorry."

I'm disappointed, but at least there's still Agent Morton. I know he'll scour everything he can get his hands on to find an answer. Not wanting to think about it any longer, I wonder when the guys and will be back from the store with the mattresses. They've taken quite a bit longer than what I expected. I pull out my phone to see if either of them has texted me.

"Where's Zara?" Kyran asks.

"Checking out the complex pool and gym. She said she'd be back in a few minutes." How long ago was that? She must have found something interesting to check out. I'm about to shoot her a text when my phone starts ringing. Agent Morton's face pops up on my screen. "Hello, Agent Morton."

"Good morning, Echo. Would you be up for coming in today?" he asks. "I have some information I want to discuss with you."

Excitement bubbles up that maybe he found out something about Archer, but then fear of the same thing hits me right in the chest. "Uh, sure. Is it okay if I bring Kyran? I'm still learning the streets and I don't want to get lost." Really, I just don't want to go by myself.

"That's fine. He can always wait outside if you want to discuss things privately," Agent Morton says.

So, it's nothing top secret. That's reassuring, at least. I tell him I'll be there as soon as I can and hang up. When I stuff my phone back in my pocket and face Kyran, I cringe. "Sorry, I didn't even ask if you wanted to come. Do you have something else you need to do?"

"What am I gonna do that's more interesting than stalker ghosts and the FBI?" He laughs and gestures for me to take the lead. On the way down to my car, I text the others to let them know where I'm going and that Kyran's with me. I don't get any immediate response from Malachi or Holden, but Zara sends me back a smiley face and some excited words about a guy she met at the clubhouse. So, that's where she went.

I do end up needing Kyran's help to find my way back to the FBI building, but we make it there without getting too terribly lost. Just like last time, Agent Morton meets me in the lobby. He shakes Kyran's hand without needing an introduction—which surprisingly doesn't seem to bother Kyran even though he's likely got a more colorful past that Malachi. Agent Morton doesn't lead us back to the testing room, but to his office, which is still largely in boxes.

"So," I ask nervously. "Is this about Archer?"

Agent Morton frowns, which puts me even more on edge than I already am. "Possibly," he hedges, "but it's mainly about you." He leans back in his chair and focuses his full attention on me. It's not a pleasant feeling. "What can you tell me about the last time you were admitted to the hospital?"

Last time? There was only one time. Not sure what this has to do with anything, I give him what he wants. "I was seven. The ghosts had been getting really hard to deal with. We were at the park when a couple of them tried to touch me. I already knew what that was like, so I ran. I was scared, not paying attention, and I ran right in front of a guy on his bike. His pedal caught my arm and tore a pretty good gash in it. Plus, I got a concussion."

That was the whole of it, nothing spectacular, but Agent Morton's frown deepens. "That's not the incident I was talking about." He seems confused, but he can't be nearly as confused as I am.

"What are you talking about? That's the only time I've been admitted to the hospital."

"No," Agent Morton says slowly, "you were admitted when you were thirteen. The only injury was a cut on your head from a short fall, but the psychological trauma kept you there for a week."

I have no idea what he's talking about. "Someone must have screwed up, because that never happened."

Slowly, Agent Morton pushes a file across his desk and taps the blank manila folder. "There's no mistake."

He keeps his eye on me until I reach a shaky hand forward and take the file. For a few seconds, I just sit there staring at it. Not until Kyran reaches over and puts a hand on my shoulder do I dare make a move. Confusion slaps me across the face when I'm greeted with a picture of my thirteen-year-old self lying unconscious in a hospital bed. There are a few more photos that show a close up of a gash on my head.

I can't help it. My fingers slip into my hair and start shaking when I feel a raised lump of scar tissue exactly where the pictures say it will be. Have I never felt that before? How is that even possible? Moving the pictures aside, I read through the forms and scribbly doctor's notes. None of it makes any sense.

What camping trip was I on? Where was this ravine I fell into while hiking? Why wasn't I with my parents? Where were my parents? Where were the twins? How did I end up losing an entire two weeks of memories? The file says we'd been on a family camping trip for a week when I fell, that my parents found me and took me to the hospital. I woke up an hour later, but started screaming and freaking out so badly they had to keep me sedated for several days.

I flip to the last page and stop breathing when a passage catches my eye.

When asked about what happened, the patient has no memory of the fall or even the camping trip. The only information we can get out of her is a name. Peter Archer. She is unable to tell us who he is. The only coherent thing she's said since waking was that she needed to find Peter Archer and save him from the ghosts. Parents have agreed to a psychiatric consultation.

I feel sick. Sucking in a deep breath, I try to keep myself from vomiting. Thirteen. Summer. That's when my weekly therapy visits were amped up from once a week to three times a week. My parents refused to let me do anything that summer. I barely even got to see Zara and Holden. I never knew why. I never even questioned their sudden anxiety.

It gives me a headache trying to think back to the end of that school year. I remember the last day of school my eighth grade year. Zara and I talked my mom into letting us go to the mall by ourselves to buy new bathing suits. We had a blast. I'd been doing better in school the last half of that year. Holden's parents had just put in a pool—the reason for the shopping trip—but I never went swimming. Try as I might, I can't remember a single thing that happened the two weeks after school let out. The next thing I remember is being hauled off to therapy by a strung out mom.

Tossing the file back on the desk, I stare at it. My head starts shaking slowly. This can't be right, can it?

"Did you find anything on this Peter Archer?" Kyran asks, his hand sliding from my shoulder to take my shaking hand.

Agent Morton looks at me in concern, but answers anyway. "Yes, we did. He went missing while his family was camping in the same area as Echo's family, on the same day Echo was found in the ravine. His body was never found."

That's it. That's all I can take. I lose it. Tears start pouring down my face as I look up at Agent Morton, pleading. "Is this my fault? Did he die because of me? Is that why he hates me so much?" I crumple in on myself, already knowing this poor boy is dead because of something I did. Agent Morton doesn't say anything, but Kyran's arm comes around my shoulders immediately.

"Echo, nobody knows what happened. Even if it does have something to do with the ghosts, that doesn't mean it's your fault."

He's wrong. I know he's wrong. I did this. Whoever Peter Archer is, he's dead because he had the misfortune of getting tangled up with the crazy girl who sees ghosts.

"Archer doesn't hate you, anyway," Kyran says. "Dude's in love with you."

Pulling my soggy self back up enough to face him, I say, "What?"

"Remember what Malachi and Holden said about the night in the hotel, when you begged him not to leave you in your sleep?" Kyran says. "He didn't attack you. He touched your face. And when you asked him to stay away from the barbeque, he did the same thing. He's not trying to hurt you. He's trapped, and that's turning him into the vengeful spirit you keep seeing, but he doesn't hate you."

I want to tell him he's wrong, but the night after the barbeque, when I actively sought him out and tried to talk to him, comes back into my mind and backs up everything he's saying. Suddenly, the images he tried to show me start flashing through my mind again. Every word I wrote down that night after Archer left is permanently etched into my mind.

Trees, hiking path, water, holding hands, needle, pain, blood, tent, flowers, cliff.

The trees, tents, water, flowers, hiking path...the cliff...they all match what Agent Morton is telling me. Holding hands...that image stuck more firmly than anything else. Was it really Archer and me? The blood, the needles, it's impossible to deny that those fit, too.

"Why can't I remember any of this?" I beg, desperate for an answer.

Agent Morton sighs. "The sedation you were under probably had something to do with it, but the psychiatrist who examined you at the hospital, as well as your usual therapists, agreed that you simply blocked it out because it was too difficult for you to process at the time."

"Will I ever remember it?" My eyes dart between Agent Morton and Kyran, afraid to hear the answer.

"More than likely," Agent Morton says slowly, "you will remember it eventually, but it may not be pleasant if it happens unexpectedly."

"How would it happen not unexpectedly?" Kyran asks.

Leaning forward with his elbows on the table, Agent Morton regards me carefully. "Hypnosis." He pauses to take in my reaction. I'm still too shocked to really react, so I'm sure he's disappointed.

Putting one hand to his chin, he continues. "Dr. Rosemond is experienced in hypnotherapy and she thinks you'd be a good candidate. It's not a guarantee, of course, but she feels confident she could help you. I don't want you to give me an answer right now, but I want you to think about it. Perhaps when you come back on Monday for the rest of the tests we talked about you can discuss it with her once you've had time to process all of this."

"Yeah, sure," I mumble. I just want to get out of here. I must make that pretty obvious, because Agent Morton nods and stands. I think he says something to Kyran, but I'm not really listening anymore. Kyran nudges me to stand and I take my keys out of my pocket on impulse, but he grabs them immediately. Probably a smart move since I barely even remember how we end up in the lobby again a few minutes later.

I'm little better than a zombie on the drive back to my apartment. Some vague part of me wonders where everyone is when Kyran unlocks the door and drags me inside, but it doesn't last. I don't even care about how pushy he's being when he leads me over to the couch and makes me sit down. When he takes the spot next to me, I lean my head against his shoulder—needing something real to keep me from losing what's left of my mind—and don't complain when his arm falls around my shoulders. Self-preservation forces my eyes closed, shutting out everything.
26: Pieces

(Malachi)

"I can't believe how heavy these things are," Holden grumbles as we lug the first of two queen sized mattresses up the stairs. It's not as bad as the pullout couch, but it's ten times more awkward to carry and hold.

"At least we finally got them," I say. My voice comes out muffled as my face is half squashed by the mattress. The first set they brought out weren't the right size. The second set had a tear in one of the mattresses, so we had to wait for them to pull another one. Getting them both to fit into the bed of my daddy's truck was no picnic either. I'm really hoping this is the last piece of furniture Echo needs picked up and hauled. My shoulders are killing me.

Unable to even attempt opening the screen or apartment door, I bang my foot on the screen and hope someone's inside to hear us. A few seconds later, Zara swings the door open and laughs at our awkward attempts to get the mattress through the door. All I can see is mattress and wall as I guide Holden through the apartment to Zara's room. It's closest. Seeing that she did indeed set up her new bed frame while we were gone, Holden and I flip the mattress onto it unceremoniously.

"And now we do it all over again," Holden complains.

Rolling my shoulders, I say, "I think Kyran and Zara should have to get the other one."

"Zara carry something?" Holden shakes his head.

I'm at least dragging Kyran down to help. I step out of Zara's room and notice Echo's bedroom door is open. The pieces of the bed she picked up at my mama's favorite antique shop are still leaning against the wall, not put together and ready for a mattress. Perplexed, and a bit annoyed, I head for the living room. "I draw the line at hauling mattresses and putting beds together," I say as I round the corner.

Oddly, I only see the back of Kyran's head poking up above the couch. What? He couldn't be bothered to get up and help us? Walking up behind him, I smack the back of his head, and I'm about to comment on his laziness until I see Echo sprawled out on his lap. My entire train of thought derails.

"What the hell?" I demand.

"Before you go blowin' a gasket," Kyran drawls, "how about you ask why your girlfriend's pretty much comatose? Might be that she had a pretty rough morning, genius."

Holden is suddenly right in front of us, sitting down on the coffee table as he stares at his friend worriedly. Zara stands off to the side, fingers tapping nervously at her mouth. Clearly, she already knows something. Still slightly distracted by the fact the Echo's head in is my best friend's lap, I'm becoming more freaked out by the second.

"What happened? Her text said she was heading down to talk to Agent Morton, but then we never heard anything else."

Kyran motions for me to sit down somewhere and stop hovering. When I do, he starts talking. I feel sick to my stomach as he tells us about the camping trip, Echo having no memory of it, and what happened to Peter Archer. The first thought that comes to mind is Holden's comment a while back about how the ghosts are very protective of Echo. Did this Archer guy try to hurt her? It seems possible, but I toss it away a moment later. Archer is in love with Echo, not out to hurt her.

I'm trying to come up with another answer when I notice Kyran's hand moving back and forth across her arm slowly. I very nearly snap at him to stop touching her when I notice the red marks running down her upper arm. "Did one of the ghosts do that?" I demand. "Did Archer?"

Kyran rolls his eyes, which renews my desire to punch him. "Curling iron, dude." He shakes his head. "She dropped it this morning and it burned her. I took care of it."

It kills me that I wasn't here this morning, that she had to face all of this alone. Kyran's free hand pulls a strand of hair back from her face, reminding me that she wasn't alone, but not making me feel any better. Does everyone has some weird fixation on my girlfriend? Maybe I'm just reading more into things than I should, but Kyran makes no move to get up.

"How long has she been out?" I ask.

"About an hour," Kyran says. "Morton suggested hypnosis, but maybe there's another way to find out more, something that won't traumatize Echo any more than she already has been."

"And that would be?" Holden asks warily. He knows about Kyran's interesting family background.

Kyran glares at him, looking more than a little offended. "Call her parents." His eyes snap over to mine. "They should know something about the trip and this Peter kid, right?"

Grunting that he's probably right, I excuse myself to clear my head and make the call. It takes serious effort to put Kyran out of my mind. Or, I try to anyway. He's the one who was ridiculing me about how quickly I fell for her. Aside from those flashes of jealousy I thought were related to his hero worship, he's never shown any interest in her past video games and ghosts.

It's the ghosts part that worries me. I believe Echo. I have to, right? I've seen enough to believe, but really wrapping my head around the concept, really believing in ghosts and all the stuff Kyran's been talking about since I contacted Echo...it's not that easy to just take it all in and accept it. Part of me keeps hoping there's some logical explanation for everything.

It doesn't matter right now. I step out onto the girls' tiny apartment balcony and pull out my phone. The only number I have for her parents is their home phone, so I dial and hope someone is there to pick up. As the rings begin to add up, I realize it's still early in the morning there. I'm about to hang up when a groggy voice says, "Hello?"

"Mrs. Simmons? Sorry for calling so early. I forgot about the time difference until just a second ago."

"No, it's fine," she mumbles. "Is everything okay? Is Echo all right?" She seems to wake up as those words slip out of her mouth. In fact, I'm pretty sure she's starting to panic.

"She's fine," I half-lie. "We're all fine. I just needed to ask you about something."

She's quite for a moment. "Are you sure Echo is doing okay?"

Hopefully those "Mom senses" every mother seems to have are still half-asleep. "Yeah, she's good. It's just that the nightmares are still happening. She's mentioned the name Archer...from her nightmares," I say, hoping I didn't just make it sound like Echo and are I sleeping together and I'm hearing her while she's asleep.

"Archer?" Mrs. Simmons squeaks. "Oh no." She starts crying and I have no earthly clue what to say then. Luckily, she pulls herself together and continues. "How much does she remember?"

Knowing that Echo doesn't want her parents to know she's involved with the FBI in any way, I decide to give myself some leeway with the explanation. "She remembers a camping trip, meeting Archer, then having some kind of fall and not knowing what happened to him. In her nightmares, she feels like she has to find him and save him."

Mrs. Simmons sounds like she's crying again, but she keeps talking. "That's all she could say when she finally woke up. She was inconsolable, had to find Archer. I don't even know why she always called him Archer when everyone else called him Pete." She pauses for a moment to rein in her tremulous emotions. "They hit it off the first day we made it to the campground. It was so rare that Echo connected with another kid. We didn't even care that he was two years older than her. They got along so wonderfully, and Echo was doing well during that time...we just couldn't bear to keep them apart."

Choking back a sob, it takes her a moment to gather herself. "They even had this silly thing they'd do," she says. "Peter thought Echo's name was so funny in comparison to his. He called her Repeat, like the old nursery rhyme. You know the one that goes, Pete and Repeat were in a boat. Pete fell out. Who was left? And then you just had to keep repeating it. They were Pete and Repeat. It was so cute at the time."

She breaks down again, crying the kinds of sobs that wrack your whole body. She must have gone somewhere by herself to not be disturbed by anyone else in the house wanting to know what was wrong. I wait patiently, aching for Echo more than anyone else. I guess I get why they hid this from her, didn't make her deal with it, but they had to know it would bubble back to the surface at some point and it likely wouldn't be good.

When she's finally calm enough to address, I ask, "What happened to Archer?"

"Nobody knows," she says. "That day, they weren't even very far from camp, just hiking around the campground to get away from the twins for a while. We heard Echo start screaming, and we all rushed over to her. No one was nearby when we saw her. I still don't understand what happened."

"To Echo? Or to Archer?"

Mrs. Simmons sniffs a few times. "To Echo. Archer was just gone. Not even a clue about where he went. Echo, though, when we got to where we could see her, she looked like she was fighting with something, swinging her arms around and such, but no one was there. She kept screaming and fighting as she inched closer to the ravine. She went right over like she never even saw it."

"And didn't remember anything when she woke up at the hospital...except wanting to save Archer?" I ask.

Her voice is small as she says, "Yes. We chose not to press her about it because we were scared. Peter's parents were desperate for answers. Search and rescue scoured every inch of that area, but they found nothing."

"Why were you scared of getting Echo to remember what happened?" I ask. I could see not wanting to traumatize her further, but that's not what this was about.

"We...we just didn't know what she would say," Mrs. Simmons cries. "What if...what if Echo did something? Without meaning to. She would have these times where she would be completely unmanageable, screaming and fighting and trying to get away from us. If something did happen, I know she didn't mean for it, but I just...we couldn't bear to face that. To make her face that. Whatever happened, it wasn't her fault."

A strange numb feeling begins to creep into my body. I end the conversation with Mrs. Simmons soon after. She doesn't beg me to keep her updated, even though Echo is her daughter and her wellbeing could quite possibly be at stake. She just says she's sorry and hangs up after a while. I end up standing there for a long time. Eventually, Holden steps out onto the balcony and looks at me expectantly.

"They think she did something to Archer," I say. "That's why they didn't try to make her remember. He was missing, and they just took Echo and left as fast as they could because they were afraid she'd remember and admit to doing something."

Holden leans against the wall and sighs. "That sounds like her parents all right."

I don't believe Echo did anything to cause Archer's death aside from being who she is. Her mother is right that what happened to Archer wasn't Echo's fault, but she obviously feels responsible. Her fear of facing what happened is blocking it all out.

"She's going to have to call Agent Morton back about the hypnosis if she wants this to end," I say. My tone is hard and full of fear, but this can't keep going on forever. Archer needs to cross over or whatever it is ghosts do. No matter how he feels about her, staying here is hurting them both.

"If that doesn't work," Holden says, "she's got to go straight to the source."

"Meaning?"

Holden crosses his arms as if he's gearing up for a battle. "Ask Archer. Let him show her what happened. It's going to hurt...a lot. It could do some serious harm, possibly, but if the hypnosis doesn't work, it may be the only option left."

Dropping my head into my hands, I wonder for the millionth time what I've gotten myself into. A deranged ghost is haunting my girlfriend. Facing him might break her. Will I be able to the pick up the pieces and put her back together if it does?
27: Tether

(Echo)

Rolling over in bed, I swat at my phone. If the buzzing doesn't stop I'm going to chuck it at the wall. Why can't they all just leave me alone? I made it very clear that I needed some space and a little time to process everything. Learning you're the reason someone's dead isn't something you just get over. I should know.

Holden and Zara should at least understand, right? I was a basket case for months after what happened with Martin Coulter. This guy, Peter Archer, he was my friend. He actually liked me and wanted to hang out with me. Sure, I don't remember a thing about him, but the fact that I talk to him in my sleep and he's been near me since he died, that means something. It means we actually had real friendship, and it cost him his life.

I shove my phone under my mattress—which is still sitting on the floor with the pieces of my bed leaning against the wall. Malachi offered to put it together for me after he dropped off the mattress, but by that time I just wanted to be alone. I've barely left my room in two days.

My phone buzzes again. Another text message, I'm sure. The hum of TV noise from the living room tells me Holden and Zara are awake already and either watching a show or playing a game. The faint laughter I hear filtering under the door says it's probably cartoons, despite their age. That makes me smile, just little. It fades as soon as I feel the temperature drop.

Bolting upright in bed, my head snaps around as I look for the source. All I see are the usual suspects hanging around the edges of my room. They've been here for the last two days, though. Fear turns me into a statue as I see my incorporeal friends begin to fade away, but the frost and misty breath I'm expecting doesn't show up. It's cold, too cold for the start of summer in Georgia, but not cold enough to mean an attack is coming.

Praying I'm right, I whisper, "Archer...Peter? Is that you?"

I almost hope it is him. It still terrifies me to think of facing him like my friends suggested, but I'd rather it was the crazy I know than something entirely new. It takes a few seconds before he materializes in front of me. Even though I'm expecting it, I still gasp and scramble back on my mattress. The sheets are twisted all around my legs by now, but I can't do anything about that at the moment. I'm too terrified to move.

"Archer?"

His sharp nod makes me shiver. Is he really trying to communicate with me politely? Please, please, please, keep it civil. Don't attack me. Don't touch me. Don't try to make me see anything again. Tears well in my eyes as the memory of him forcing those images into my mind stabs at me. I try to shove them away, but a traitor rolls down my cheek anyway.

I swear my heart stops when a blurry hand reaches forward, almost like he wants to wipe the tear away. The horrified expression on my face stops him, or maybe something else. I don't know. All I know is that he pulls his hand back before it touches my skin and settles in his lap.

A relieved breath bursts out of me and I gasp in another one. It takes me a few more seconds to get control of myself, but Archer seems moderately okay with waiting. His form is twitchy, the edges flickering in and out like he's trying really hard to restrain himself. I know what I have to do, but my courage is weak.

"Are you in pain being kept here?" I ask, putting off the inevitable, but more concerned about him than I can admit to out loud.

Ghosts don't talk, but they can answer simple questions well enough. Archer is as desperate to get this over with as I am, and he nods.

"Can I make things better for you until I find a way to let you go?"

He's nearly featureless in his tormented state unless he really focuses, but his form droops in sadness. The slow shake of his head makes my heart squeeze.

"Is this my fault? Are you dead because of me?"

There's no hesitation when his head starts shaking back and forth. Maybe there should be some relief that I wasn't the one who killed him, but there isn't.

"No," I say slowly, "I didn't ask if I was the cause of your death. I asked if meeting me is what lead to you dying."

Archer hesitates. His blurry dark face turns away from me. I think he's not going to answer for a moment, but eventually he looks back, head down, and nods.

Tears spill down my cheeks. Just a few before I take control of my emotions again, but Archer sees them and reaches forward. Flinching, I jerk away from his touch. Unfazed by my fear, his icy fingers brush along my cheek. The tears freeze instantly and fall to the blankets like discarded diamonds.

"Can I really help you?" I finally ask.

Archer's nod is calm, sure. I already knew the answer, but I had to ask. I had to know that he believes I can free him from the awful prison he's been stuck in for the last five years. I don't ask how I can save him. He couldn't tell me even if I did ask. That's not why, though. I don't ask, because I already know the answer. At least, I think I know the first step.

First, I have to remember what happened. Remember Archer and how much we meant to each other. I have to remember who did this to him, too. Then, when I know the truth, I have to set things right. I think everyone else thinks that means simply releasing my hold on Archer. They're wrong. I don't know how I know that, but I do. Saying goodbye to my first teenage love won't break the tether that's holding him here. Archer latched on to me, but I'm almost positive I'm not the only reason he can't move on. Whoever killed him is just as responsible.

I keep away from researching ghosts and other paranormal phenomena because I simply don't want to know any more than what I already do. I know that needs to change with Holden leaving soon. Facing that reality isn't easy. He's always learned enough to keep me safe, but let me stay blissfully ignorant of the dangers I'm really facing. It's time to stop hiding behind him and his research and start trusting my own abilities and knowledge. It terrifies me to think of stumbling onto something even worse.

That same feeling of dread is cinched around me now. I don't want to see what he wants to show me. I don't want to find out I'm responsible for his death. Blocking out what happened doesn't change the fact that he accepted me when almost no one else would and he died because of his kindness. Because of me. Whether I was directly responsible or not, he's dead because he had the misfortune of meeting me.

I don't want to know.

I want to keep hurting him even less.

Trembling uncontrollably, I fumble with the leather ties to remove the headband and bracelets Kyran's aunt made me. No matter how much I want to hide from all of this, I can't. Slowly, I reach my hand forward. He doesn't jump at the chance to connect. He waits, giving me the option of changing my mind. I want to so badly, but I shove my hand toward him and close my eyes. I take a deep breath in...and reality shatters.

Images slam into my mind, and with them comes pain that slices through me with each new scene. Holding it all in feels like trying to contain a bomb, but I can't let the others know what I'm doing. Focusing, I try to see everything Archer is trying to show me. Woods slam into place only to vanish a second later. Trees zip past me, scraping against my mind like rough bark against tender skin. Fallen pine needles prick every inch of me. Rocks crop up unexpectedly, tripping me, forcing me to fall.

Minute details assault me relentlessly, but I can't see anything bigger. I'm not there. Archer is nowhere to be seen. Pleading for this to be over, I beg Archer to show me what happened. Frustration pours through his touch as he tries to focus the images he's sending. Blinding pain shoots through my head as he wrenches away scenes of the forest and thrusts snapshots of us together into my consciousness fast and hard. Each one knocks the breath out of me like I'm being pelted by baseballs. It's all I can do to keep from passing out.

Holding hands. Touching my hair. Smiling. Running. Laughing. Spinning with the twins. Marshmallows. Fire. Rocks. The cliff. Feet swinging over the edge. Sitting. Talking. Screaming. Darkness. Pain. Fighting. Screaming. Pleading. Trying to save him. Failing. Screaming. Falling. Blackness.

One after another, they stab into me, too fast, too painful to truly understand. Archer knows I'm not getting it, but he can't control his message. He pushes harder. The pain swells, builds up, and finally bursts out of me in an agonizing scream.
28: The Last Thought

(Malachi)

Her screaming sends a jolt through everyone in the apartment. We're all stumbling up to our feet before the first awful sound fades. Another one starts right away, shrill and filled with terrible pain. Holden and I crash through the door first, stumbling over the top of each other before coming to a terrified halt. Neither one of us is capable of reacting.

Sitting on her mattress, Echo's frost covered arm is stretched out, gripping something so hard her hand is blanched white. Her eyes are squeezed tight, but the expression on her face is like nothing I've ever seen before. I can't even move, the shock is so strong. All I can do is stare at her as she screams, frost creeping up her arms to envelope her trembling body.

"Move!" Kyran shouts as he shoves me out of the way.

Finally jerked out of my shock-induced stupor, I lunge forward, but Holden grabs the back of my shirt and yanks me away. Rounding on him, I'm ready to take a swing if I have to, but he yanks my face next to his and says, "It's Archer. Rushing in there could hurt her! Let Kyran help."

Kyran? What is he...? Turning back, I'm caught off guard to see Kyran scooping up several pieces of what looks like jewelry. How is that supposed to help her? I try to break free of Holden again, but there's no getting away from him without a fight. I'm stuck watching as Kyran drops the smaller pieces of jewelry and focus on one long strand. I have no idea what he's doing when he holds it up over her head like he's about to crown Echo the new queen of England.

Zara is mumbling behind me, begging Kyran to be fast and careful. I'm completely lost, and dying to get to Echo, but Holden refuses to let me go. Everyone holds their breath when Kyran's hands snap down. The three of us still waiting by the door are thrown back into the wall a second later when a blast of icy wind slams into our bodies.

Echo collapses.

I rush forward with only one thought in my head. I need to touch her, make sure she's okay. I'm about to grab her when Kyran shoves me back again. "Let me finish!" he snaps angrily.

Finish what? I'm too freaked out to immediately comprehend what he's doing. Even when I do take a breath and focus, I haven't got a clue. "A headband?" I demand. "What are you doing?"

"Filled with salt!" Kyran's gaze snaps up as he tries to finish tying the knot behind Echo's hair while she's sprawled out on his lap completely unconscious. "From my aunt. She wasn't supposed to take them off!"

Sitting back on my heels, I stare at the other pieces of jewelry lying on the bed next to Echo. The bracelets don't look like anything special. A necklace half stuck under her mattress is only slightly more noticeable with some kind of star dangling from it, but the headband is the least remarkable of all of them. That's what saved her from Archer?

"When did...?"

"Before we went to see Agent Morton," Kyran says.

Echo's been pretty out of it since then. No wonder she hadn't mentioned them. I knew Kyran was picking up something for her that morning, but I wasn't sure what, or whether it would actually work. Who knows how much of what Kyran's family is into is more than just backwater nonsense and superstition. I really didn't think much of it even when he told me what he was doing that morning. I'm floored by how wrong I was.

"Why did she take them off?" I ask more sedately.

Holden and Zara sit down next to us, but Holden is the one to speak. "To talk to Archer, I'm guessing."

"Why would she do that without telling anyone?" Kyran growls. "She knew how dangerous it was!"

The anger in his voice catches me off guard, but Holden distracts me before I can comment. "Because she was scared," Holden says, "scared of finding out the truth and learning that she was the one who hurt Archer."

"She wouldn't have wanted to find that out in front of everyone else," Zara says as she reaches forward to take her friend's hand. As soon as she does, she gasps. "She's like ice! She's freezing!"

Everyone's hands dart forward. I feel sick when I touch her skin. Touching her is almost painful, she's so cold. "Get blankets!" I demand.

Zara goes running for her room, but only returns with one comforter. "This is all I have," she apologizes. Her face wrinkles in worry. "Isn't there a heater or something? An electric blanket, maybe?"

"This is Georgia," Kyran apologizes. "It only gets really cold here a few days a year." He's still holding her head is his lap, but when he pulls his hand away to pull the blankets more tightly around her, I see the difference his touch made.

"Body heat!" I point to the spot on her cheek where he'd touched her. Now free of frost, it tells me how to help her. No one objects when I strip off my shirt and pull Echo out of Kyran's grip. Pressing my chest against her back, I hold her there, but it isn't working like I expected.

Zara is the first to take action. Grabbing at her friend's shirt, she starts tugging it off, pushing me out of the way. "Skin to skin," she says in a rush, and she yanks the shirt free. Her hands shove me back against Echo and we all take a deep breath when the frost starts melting. It's slow, but her usually pale skin slowly begins to regain what little color it used to have.

Standing, Zara grabs Holden's and Kyran's shirts and starts shoving them toward the door. Both argue and try to get away, but Zara's fierce glare shuts them up. Or maybe it's what she says to them. "Echo needs to be warm, pronto. You want her to stay cold any longer than she has to? No. So more clothes need to come off and I don't think either of you need to see that."

Holden's face crinkles. He's still worried, but he clearly isn't interested in sticking around. With a nod that promises he'll be close by if Echo needs him, he disappears around the corner. Kyran's only response is a clenched jaw before following suit. Sighing, Zara turns back to me and says, "Seriously, strip down and get her warm. Yell if you need me. I've seen Echo in her underwear plenty of times in the locker room after gym class."

"Will she be okay?" I ask. "Has this happened before?"

Zara bites her bottom lip. "Only once that I know of. In fourth grade. I had to warm her back up that time. I just thought she'd probably rather wake up naked in bed with you instead of me this time." She smiles, but it's dwarfed by her worry for her friend. Gesturing at me to get moving, she steps into the hall and pulls the door closed.

I feel more than a little weird undressing my unconscious girlfriend, but once we're both down to our underwear and huddled under the blankets, Echo's body relaxes against mine and I watch the scary white ice fade as her skin returns to a healthy pink.

She doesn't wake up, but on some strange level, I'm relieved. Logically, I have to believe in the ghosts. I've seen too much not too. Archer is real. The other ghosts, they're hanging around somewhere. Echo's ability is dangerous. I kind of understood that before, but now, I've pretty much been slapped in the face with how real all of this is. Danger included.

My arms are wrapped around her body. I have no desire to let go, but I'm not sure whether that's wholly out of how much I care about her, or out of fear. If I let go, will the ghosts come back? Will I have to face that all over again? Can I do this? I'm still too much in shock to really have an answer for that.

Before she came out here, I made her a promise. I told her there was no way I'd bail on her. Getting to know her wasn't going to change how I felt. It wasn't a lie. Nothing has changed about how much I want to be with her and protect her. What's different now is that I'm finally starting to understand what her dad meant when he said I had no idea what I was taking on. I didn't. I had no freakin' clue.

I pull one of my hands out from under the blanket to pull back a lock of Echo's hair that has fallen in her eyes. It's only then that I realize the trembling I thought I was trying to calm in Echo is actually coming from me. My hand quivers as I hold it out. Maybe that shouldn't be so surprising after what I just witnessed, but it is.

Kyran and I, we've been in plenty of trouble, some of it fairly serious. We've done dangerous stunts that have gotten us hurt more than once. I've always thought of myself as a tough guy, someone who could face down just about anything. I stood up to Evan when I had to. I should be able to handle this, right? The ghosts, it's different. It's not just that they scare the bejeezus out of me. There's something more, something deeper I don't understand.

The compulsion to be near and protect Echo is only getting stronger the more I'm around her. My confidence that I can actually protect her from anything is taking a nosedive, though. How in the hell am I supposed to keep these psychotic ghosts from killing her? And why does it feel like that matters more than anything else in my life right now? Echo is amazing. Seeing her hurt would kill me. There's something else going on between us, though, and I have no idea what is it is. That is as terrifying as the ghosts, because if I'm right, what happens if I fail?

That's the last thought on my mind as the constant fear and worry of the last two days finally catches up to me and pulls me into a fitful sleep.
29: Ordinary

(Echo)

Coming out of the fog of broken memories is like falling through ice. Cold envelopes me in a flash of breath-stealing pain before being swallowed up by warmth I can't really explain. Sucking in a desperate breath, I bolt upright in a panic. When hands grab my shoulders, it only gets worse and I lash out at my attacker.

"Echo! Stop! It's just me!" a voice begs.

I whip around, his hands pulling back at my movement. The sight of Malachi's panicked face staring back at me is so disorienting after the nightmares that I can't respond. Not until I realize the warmth is coming from him. That realization spawns something primal in me. He protected me. He saved me. His warmth kept me from falling off the cliff of horrible memories into a darkness I knew I would never be able to escape.

Rational thought is gone. Need overwhelms me as I grab his face and pull it to mine. Our mouths meet in a painful clash, but I don't stop. I can't. I need him. I need to feel his warmth, his emotion. I have to be buried in it after what Archer tried to show me. Just the thought of all those terrible memories trying to cram themselves into my mind makes me wince and I shove them away in desperation.

I can't feel that again. The pain and guilt and fear. I can't lose myself in what happened to him. Escape. Safety. Forgetting. I drown myself in Malachi's touch. When he tries to pull away, to say something, I refuse to let him go. My lips beg him, plead with him to stay. Raking my fingers down his bare back, I pull him closer and close every last inch of space between us. He can't let go. Please, don't let go.

Suddenly, I'm lying on my back. Malachi's lips lose contact with mine. I reach up, desperate, and pull him back. "Echo, wait," he says, but I shake my head and kiss him again and again.

"No, please." I'm begging. I'm pleading, but I have to. If he leaves, it will all come back. The memories will come back. They'll drag me under and never let me go. One hand tangles in his hair and pulls him down the rest of the way. I need to feel him. His warmth is the only thing saving me from the darkness, but suddenly it's not enough.

Releasing my grip on his back, my hand slides down to the waistband of his boxers. Malachi pulls away immediately. Gulping in breath after breath, his eyes are wide as he shakes his head. "Echo, no. You've just..."

"Please," I beg as I reach out for him again. "I need you, please, Malachi. You have to save me from all of this. You have to."

Something changes in his expression, but I can't focus on what or why. He doesn't resist when I pull him back down. His hands and mouth move to match mine, frenzied, frantic. I nearly lose it when he pulls away again, but this time he isn't trying to leave me. He reaches for his jeans and comes back with a foil packet, but he hesitates again, like he's trying to clear his thoughts.

On the edge of full blown panic, I reach up and pull his mouth to mine, kissing him until I am the only thought in his mind. "Don't leave me," I mumble against his mouth, almost a command more than a plea, and he responds immediately. The last few pieces of clothing between us are gone a second later and a new pain bursts through my body as he thrusts into me.

Biting my lip against the rush of sensation, I don't even know how to respond. He can't stop. He has to take it all away. He's the only one who can get rid of what Archer shoved into my head. It's all I can focus on as Malachi's body pulses against mine. My nails dig into his skin as pain and pleasure wash over me in tides tinged with blackness. Every movement pushes away my fear, my terror at having to face the truth of my past. I feel like I've barely breached the surface when Malachi collapses on top of me, spent and exhausted.

The rush of safety and peace I was expecting to feel when he pulls away doesn't come, and suddenly I can't breathe. He's still right there, emanating the warmth I need to keep myself from falling apart, but it isn't enough. I thought I could bury it all beneath the way he makes me feel. I begged him, used him, and all the darkness is still there, right beneath the surface where it's waiting to consume me.

When Malachi finally looks up at me and sees the expression on my face, it's like something lifts from his mind and his eyes widen in panic. "Echo, what's wrong? I thought...you said...are you hurt? Are you okay?"

Frozen, I just stare at him with the sheet pressed up against my chest. What did I just do? He reaches forward and I flinch. The fear on his face kills me, but I can't be here anymore. I can't think with him looking at me. I can't think in this room, not after what I just did, and not with Archer's memories beating around inside of me like a storm that's about to break open.

Scrambling for my clothes, I start yanking them on as Malachi does the same. His hands are grabbing at me, trying to stop me from running. The beautiful warmth of his soul begs me to stay, but I twist out of his grip and run away from everything I don't know how to face.

Voices call after me as I dash through the apartment. Somehow I end up with my purse and car keys in my hand by the time I bolt out the front door. My frantic speed nearly sends me sprawling as I sprint down the stairs, but if I stop Malachi will catch up to me, stop me from running, force me to face everything that's happened. I know I'm a coward as I throw myself into my car and jam the key in the ignition, but if I stop, I'll fall apart. I'll break into a million pieces, and not even Malachi will be able to put me back together again.

As I speed out of the parking lot, a regret-filled backward glance shows Malachi standing in the middle of the asphalt as he watches me run away.

***

I don't know when I stopped driving. I don't even know where I am. Staring out the windshield, I don't actually see anything. I don't want to see anything. I don't want to think or feel. If I do, I'll have to process the fact that it's my fault Archer is dead. I'll have to face the reality that I just lost my virginity to a guy I truly care about, but I barely remember even a second of it because I was just using him to save myself from the pain of what I've done.

That more than anything else breaks my last thread of control.

Tears pour down my face. Breaths refuse to come. All the pain I was trying to hold back comes crashing down on me full force and relentless. I'm ready to crumble, about to break, when a shrill ring startles me so badly I nearly slip out of my seat. I don't remember grabbing my phone, but I don't remember much of my mad escape from the apartment. My purse, lying on the floor of the car with most of the contents spilled out, is the source of the noise. Terrified of having to talk to anyone and explain the psychotic events of the last few hours, I start to turn away until I see Agent Morton's face staring at me from the screen.

It's a lifeline I desperately need.

Scrambling to pick up the phone before it goes to voicemail, I miss it three times before managing to get it in my hands. Swiping at my phone like a maniac, I can't seem to get it to answer the call. I think I've missed it until a familiar voice booms over the line.

"Echo? What on earth is going on?" Agent Morton demands. "I've got Malachi, Holden, and Kyran calling me telling me you were attacked last night and then ran out of the apartment this morning like it was on fire! Are you okay?"

Half a dozen responses pop into my head, but not a single one of them comes out. Instead, I burst into tears again.

"Take a deep breath, Echo," he says patiently. He waits until my sobbing slows before asking, "Are you in danger?"

"No," I squeak.

"Do you want me to come get you?"

I can't think straight enough to figure out how he even knows I'm lost. I am, though, and I have no clue how to get home or anywhere else. "Yes. I'm sorry. I just..."

"Focus on your breathing, Echo. Calm down and tell me where you are. What does the nearest street sign say?"

My bleary eyes dart around. Puffy and raw, my eyelids protest blinking, but I'm forced to ignore them so I can clear my vision a little more. "Sullivan Street. There's a park. A little one with an old fashioned teeter totter."

Agent Morton sighs. "I know where you are. I'll be there in ten minutes." Rustling and the sound of quick movements carry over the line. "Don't hang up, but you don't need to explain anything until I get there. I just want you to breathe, don't think, and try to calm down, okay?"

"Yeah." My weak reply is enough to satisfy him. His voice drops out, but I can hear the mumbling office noises he passes through as he rushes out of the building.

Just talking to him has taken my panic down at least ten notches, but my hands are still twitching and if I think the wrong thing I have no doubt I'll lose it again. He told me not to talk. I don't want to talk, so that I can at least do. Breathing, not thinking, calming down, those are infinitely harder. Counting, I take in breath after breath as I push back everything else. Malachi's face, the guilt and hurt in his expression when he looked at me is most difficult to ignore. Have I ruined everything?

"Echo, I'm pulling up behind you," Agent Morton says.

His voice startles me into dropping my phone, but by the time I pick it back up he's ended the call anyway. A few seconds later, a tap on my window sends my heart rate into the stratosphere. His worried face peers down at me through the glass as he motions for me to unlock the door. My fingers feel as numb as the rest of my body when I try to hit the unlock button, but the locks pop up all the same. Agent Morton pulls my door open immediately after and I all but fall into his arms.

Only once I'm curled up against his chest do I realize this is probably the most inappropriate thing I could have done. He's my...handler? Is that what he called it? He's not my dad. Not my friend. Not even someone I really know all that well. Yet I'm standing on a strange street, hugging him and still not letting go. He's not pushing me away either.

"It's a good thing I have two daughters who regularly had bawling meltdowns, or this might seem a little awkward right now," he says.

Blushing furiously, I pull back and cinch my arms around my body. "I'm sorry, I...I don't know what I was thinking."

"Echo," he says kindly, "it's okay. You're an eighteen year old girl on your own for the first time. And then there's the ghosts. If you didn't have a breakdown at some point, then I would be worried."

I search his expression for any sign that he thinks I'm a lunatic, but all I see is the practiced patience of a dad who's been through this kind of thing way too many times. Well, maybe not exactly this kind of thing. A chunk of my embarrassment chips away and I take a deep breath.

Gesturing to a bench set back from the street, Agent Morton says, "Why don't we sit down for a few minutes and talk?"

I nod and follow him at a more professional distance. When he takes his seat, I leave a good amount of space between us. I'm not worried about him. It's looking like a needy teenage drama queen I'd like to avoid.

"Tell me about the attack," he asks.

A rush of relief bursts through me that his first question is about the ghosts. I swallow hard and focus on just that one topic. "It wasn't an attack. I reached out to Archer on purpose."

One of his yebrows lifts. "What made you do that? Hypnosis would have been much safer."

"I wanted to know...by myself. Without anyone else there."

"Just in case it was bad news." He frowns. "Worse news."

Nodding, I look down at the prickly grass. "I was afraid it wasn't ghosts that killed him. I thought maybe I had done something. I know that's why my parents didn't want me to remember all of this. They thought the same thing, didn't they?"

Agent Morton sighs. The sadness behind that simple exhale surprises me once again. "They knew whatever had happened, it hadn't been on purpose, but yes, they were afraid you had caused some kind of harm to Peter Archer."

My breathing hitches, the pain of hearing my fears confirmed lodging itself in my heart. It's not surprising. It was all too easy to figure out why they kept this from me. I just...for once, I wanted to believe they'd had faith in me, stood up for me. But they didn't. They ran and hid.

Apparently, they taught me well, I think bitterly.

"Were you able to learn anything from Archer?" Agent Morton asks. "Neither Malachi nor Kyran had time to give me any details, but they were very concerned."

Shaking my head, I bite my bottom lip as hard as I can without drawing blood. It takes me a second to stomp down my fear enough that I can respond. "No. It was all too fast, too much. And it hurt so badly I couldn't take it."

"What hurt? The ghosts can't actually touch you, can they?" There is real concern backing this question, because I think he knows as well as I do what ghosts are capable of doing to a living person.

"Sometimes, but not usually. Archer can...when he wants to. It's only when he tries to force his memories into my mind that it hurts," I explain. "I don't think he can control it. They just spill out of him and into me like a fire hose. It feels like he's ripping me apart from the inside."

Agent Morton rubs a hand across his chin thoughtfully. The crease between his eyebrows deepens. When he finally looks back up at me, his expression is hard. "No more direct interaction with Archer. You can't risk something worse than a massive headache. We'll try the hypnosis and see if that allows you to remember more safely."

"When?" I demand. I can't handle Archer following me around, pleading with me to save him for much longer. I'm liable to lose my sanity any day now as it is.

"Whenever you're ready," he replies.

I start to stand up, eager for answers and some kind of relief from all of this, but Agent Morton locks his fingers around my arm and guides me back to sitting. "We're not done," he says. The edge to his voice leaves no room for arguing. I'm sure his daughters hated that tone of voice. For some reason, I actually find it comforting.

When I'm fully seated again, he lets go of my arm and looks straight ahead. "What else happened?"

I don't answer right away. He gives me a few moments before turning to face me, his expression demanding an answer. "Why?" I whisper.

"Why what?"

My eyes drop. "Why do you care? Why do you care about any of this?"

"Aside from the fact that you might be the most valuable asset we've been able to acquire...almost acquire, in a long time," he says sounding suddenly tired, "I've been where you've been, Echo. I know what it's like to have your family treat you like an outcast, to find yourself suddenly on your own with everything being thrown at you all at once."

He turns to face me more squarely. His expression is still hard, but there's a hint of honest understanding, compassion like I've never experienced before. "It's not just about my job," he continues. "Yes, I have to protect you because you're important to the Bureau, but every time I see you I can't help thinking of what it would be like if one of my daughters were in your position. I would hope someone would step up and take care of them if I couldn't."

"My parents could," I say quietly, "if they wanted to."

The corner of his mouth twitches in what might be anger. "I know."

For a long time, neither of us says anything. Letting everything he's said sink in takes time. When it does, I find I'm finally ready to answer his question. "I slept with Malachi."

As ready as I thought I was to say those words, admitting them out loud breaks something in me. A half second later, I'm buried against his chest again. He doesn't say anything as I cry what little tears I have left. He just lets me get it all out like I'm sure he did for his daughters more times than he'd care to admit.

When I finally stop blubbering, he doesn't let go. His arm tightens as he takes in a deep breath. "Was it consensual?" he asks in a low voice.

"Yes, I mean...he tried to stop, but I wouldn't let him. I think I...I think it was my fault he didn't stop."

Agent Morton's grip relaxes by the smallest degree, letting me sit up again. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"When I woke up, after what happened with Archer, Malachi was in bed with me. Neither of us had much on in the way of clothes, and..."

"Why didn't either of you have clothes on?" he asks.

I shrug as I sit up. "I wasn't really conscious at that point, but I'm guessing interacting with Archer kind of, well, literally froze me, a little bit. Maybe a lot."

"Has this happened before?"

"Not with Archer, but yeah." He doesn't comment on that piece of information, so I continue on with explaining the last thing I want to be talking about with anyone. "Anyway, when I woke up, I was still cold, and freaked out, and kind of hungover from the pain and shock. I couldn't really focus on anything but how warm Malachi was."

Shaking my head, I know that isn't right. Putting what I felt into words isn't easy because I can't really wrap my head around what happened in those few moments. "It wasn't just that he was warm. It was more like he was the only warmth, anywhere. Being with him kept me from losing it completely...kind of. Somehow, I knew I had to be as close to him as possible or I wouldn't snap back from what happened with Archer."

My head falls into my hands as I think back on those chaotic moments. "He kept trying to stop me, tell me to slow down, but I just kept pushing him. I told him he had to save me from everything Archer did and it was like this switch flipped in him, but I didn't care enough to stop and think about why or how he changed. I just knew I needed him and I kept pushing until he gave in. I had to have him in that moment, but it wasn't enough like I thought it would be. Afterward, I was thinking straight enough that I panicked when I realized what I'd done."

"What had you done?"

"I used Malachi, maybe more than I even understand right now. Then I got scared and ran away. The look on his face..." My chin starts trembling again, but I hold back my tears for once.

"Was it your first time together?" Agent Morton asks calmly, like he has these kinds of conversations all the time.

Gulping, I figure I might as well admit everything since I've already said so much anyway. "My first time...ever."

That finally gets a reaction out of him. One hand comes up to scrub against his forehead as he breathes out nice and slow, just like my therapist always told me to do. I can tell by the way his other hand is clenched into a fist that he's not happy. "Did you use protection at least?" he asks.

"Yes." I'm not sure he even hears my weak voice, but he gives me a sharp nod a second later.

"Are you in any pain?"

Shame rolls over me like a wave. My voice is even more ghostly than last time. "A little." He shakes his head and I panic. "I'm okay, though. I'll be fine. Really."

Agent Morton stands and motions for me to do the same. He looks like he's trying for understanding, but his eyes are hard. "If I were having this conversation with one of my daughters, I'd want to beat the shit out of Malachi for not putting a stop to things when he knew he should have, regardless of what you wanted or what influence you may have asserted at the time." His hands clench and unclench several times before he can continue. "You're not my daughter, and I still want to throttle him, but we're not going to deal with Malachi right now."

He grips my upper arm, gentle but firm, and starts leading me back to his car. I stumble along next to him, scared without knowing why. "Where are we going?"

"We were planning to start the medical tests on Monday, which would have included a physical. Pushing at least that up to today seems like a good idea given the whole freezing experience and what happened with Malachi."

"But, but...I...," I stutter, too caught off guard to find a good excuse to derail his plan.

"The FBI has physicians on staff," he says, "they'll check you out and make sure everything's okay."

Finally finding my strength and my footing, I yank my arm out of his grip. "I'm fine. I promise. I don't need to see a doctor. I hate doctors."

When he turns to face me, he isn't angry. It takes me a second to realize he's scared. He's worried about something. Maybe something more than any minor injuries I might have sustained during those frantic minutes with Malachi or almost being turned into a Popsicle.

He confirms it when he says, "Echo, please. Just come with me and let the doctor look you over. Between what happened with Archer and everything with Malachi, not to mention the shock of the last few days, you could be hurt without realizing. I'm supposed to be protecting you, but you're making it difficult. Please just let them make sure you're all right."

I don't know what has him so scared, but it steals the fight right out of me and I nod. He opens the door for me when we reach his car and I slip into the seat with only vague concern about leaving my car here. A few seconds later, Agent Morton takes his seat and pulls into traffic.

The drive back to the FBI building is silent, but I'm thankful for it. It feels like it will take me days to process everything that's happened recently. The fog that still seems to be hovering around in my brain makes it hard to focus on anything concrete, but there are a few things that stick fast and beg for attention.

What did Agent Morton mean when he said he knew what it was like to be in my position? I knew from the second we met that he seemed to understand more than anyone else ever had. My age wasn't a good enough reason for not questioning me when I first popped up on his radar. Waiting until I was eighteen, skirting my parents, getting what my life is like without having to live it with me...I have no idea what ability this man has yet to reveal, but he's about as ordinary as I am.

Maybe that should freak me out a little, but it doesn't. It's actually a relief. Not only has my trust in him deepened, the dreamlike possibility of one day being a part of something important like he is, of learning how to control my abilities...it's not just a fantasy. He did it. Maybe I can too.

By the time we pull up to the building, I'm a million notches calmer than before. There's plenty I still have to deal with when I go home. For right now, though, I can focus. I can get through an exam, answer some questions, maybe get a few answers, and then I can take a deep breath and think.
30: The One

(Echo)

Wrapped up in a paper gown like some kind of Christmas present gone wrong, I sit on an exam table while Agent Morton sits in the waiting room. A sensible looking woman opens the door and steps through a short while later. The click of her dress shoes echoes in the little room, but she smiles as she approaches me.

"Echo Simmons, I presume." She shakes my hand when I nod, and says, "I'm Doctor Lacey Fischer. Agent Morton has asked me to give you a once over to see how you're doing, okay? Sounds like you've had a rough couple days and he was a little worried about your health. We'll save any major scans or evaluations until next week when you're feeling a little better."

How do you really act happy about that when your entire life has consisted of doctors trying to label you with one form of mental illness or another? My faith in the medical field is riding pretty low. Instead of accidentally offending her by saying something that will undoubtedly come out wrong, I just force a polite kind of-smile onto my face and nod. Maybe she gets that response a lot, because she doesn't comment. She chatters the whole time she works checking my heart and lungs and whatever else. I suppose it's probably supposed to distract me, but it really doesn't. I just hope this is over soon.

"Now," Dr. Fischer says, "Agent Morton was a little vague on all the reasons behind the physical today, but a thorough exam for female agents would normally include a pelvic exam and pregnancy test just in case..."

Her voice trails off as my skin flushes red. Sitting down on a rolling chair near the exam table, she folds her hands in her lap. "A reaction like that usually either means there's no reason for an exam and the patient is embarrassed to even discuss sex or the opposite is true and an exam is going to be necessary." She pauses and regards me for a moment before nodding. "My guess is that I need to continue. Am I right?"

Wanting to sink into the floor, I nod. "I had sex with my boyfriend."

"For the first time?" she asks.

I nod.

"Today?"

Another nod. I know the question coming next, so I answer to save myself from having to hear it. "We used protection."

Instead of giving me a lecture or furthering my embarrassment, Dr. Fischer stands and says, "All right, well let's go ahead and continue then."

The awkwardness carries on when she has me lie back and position my feet, but it's over quickly and she tells me everything is fine. She does, however, follow that up by saying she's going to write me a prescription for birth control. I guess I should have seen that coming, but I feel my face flame scarlet all the same.

It's not until she asks me to sit back up and I find her sporting a familiar look that I remember why I really don't like visits to the doctor. I don't bare a lot of skin normally, for good reason. Sitting here in only a paper gown, there's no chance she didn't see all the scars. I know what questions are coming next.

The last time I was at the doctor's office—well, the last time I actually remember—it was for whatever vaccinations it is you get when you turn twelve. That guy hadn't even seen the worst of it before he spawned the same look. All he did was ask me to remove the light pullover I'd been wearing despite how warm it was. If he'd planned to give the shots in my other arm, it probably wouldn't have been so bad.

The scar on my right shoulder looks uglier than the circumstances warranted. It had been a year earlier when I was hiding out in our backyard tree after a fight with my mom that one of the ghosts appeared right next to me. That wouldn't have been so bad—I'm used to them popping up whenever they please—but when I ignored him and he tried to touch me, over I went.

I broke a branch on the way down and got a pretty good gash. That, mixed with the bruises running up and down my arm from a mad rush to escape another ghost a few days earlier where I ran into more than one wall...well, my mom was called in immediately and a discussion about abuse kicked up. My mom blamed me for all of it. Not that she came out and actually said that, of course, but I knew.

As Dr. Fischer must have seen the same scar when she pulled back my gown to check my lungs, and I know she didn't miss a variety of old wounds on my legs from various incidents. Here comes the inquisition. Dr. Fischer clears her throat, making me tense, and then she throws me for a loop.

"This isn't an official physical that would normally be ordered before employment, but I'm going to take some pictures to put in your file just to be ahead of the game a little. Your status is still in the wind a bit, but I can't imagine it will take too long to work things out once we get through the other tests next week." She sets her papers aside and her expression becomes even more serious. "Agent Morton has given me the basics of your situation, so even while I was a bit surprised by the amount injuries you've sustained previously, I'm not here to make accusations."

"You're not?" Skepticism runs rampant through my mind.

Frowning, Dr. Fischer says, "I'm assuming there have been questions about abuse in the past, right?" I nod and she mirrors the motion. "From what Special Agent Morton has told me, you've been watched very closely since age ten, and he's assured me abuse isn't an issue. Of course, if you have something different to say about the matter, I'm here to listen."

"No," I say quickly. "My parents have never hurt me. It's the ghosts."

The ghost part kind of slips out without thinking, but Dr. Fischer only nods like she actually understands. "Okay, back to the pictures then. They're purely for documentation, so your file is complete. Every employee..."

"I'm not an employee," I argue. "I'm not anything, really. Just Agent Morton's pet project, I guess."

"But you plan to be an employee, right?" Dr. Fischer says with a smile.

Frowning, I'm not sure how to respond. She said something similar a few minutes ago, but I was so focus on preparing for a discussion about abuse that I didn't really process what she said. Agent Morton promised me a job if I passed all their tests, but is that really what I want? Slowly, I say, "It would just be as a consultant of some kind. I wouldn't think I'd need a file and a physical for that."

Dr. Fischer cocks her head to one side. "Well, the process to become an official FBI consultant with the level of clearance you'll need is a pretty involved process, but from what I understood, Special Agent Morton has different plans." She shrugs, but smiles despite my confusion.

What feels like forever later, she finishes with her pictures and notes and sets everything aside. "Now, before I let you get dressed again, I do want to discuss one more thing with you. Before you came to Georgia, you had been seeing a therapist regularly. Is that something you wish to continue?"

"No." It pops out of my mouth before I even fully process the question.

Dr. Fischer doesn't seem surprised. "May I ask the reason for that?"

"They never believe me, so what's the point?"

She nods. "I can definitely understand your position, and I won't press you about it unless I think it's necessary, but I do want you to know that we have psychiatrists on staff who are used to dealing with agents like yourself and Morton. There won't be an issue with them not believing you if you decide you need someone to talk to."

I'm too surprised and leery to really respond. At this point in my life, I feel like I've had enough therapy to qualify me for some kind of award. I'm not eager to jump back into it, but part of me does wonder what it would be like to talk to someone who actually believes me and wouldn't tell me I'm just imagining things. It's a question for another day.

When Dr. Fischer leaves the room, I hustle to get all my clothes back on. I don't know why I'm in such a hurry. Going back to the apartment sounds even worse than therapy right now. I know I'll have to face Malachi eventually, but not yet. I hit my trauma ceiling for this week a while ago. I put off thinking about the confidence draining apology I'm going to have to gear myself up for and step out into the hall. Agent Morton is waiting for me just as he promised.

The first few hallways we walk down, the trip is silent. It's not until we're alone in an elevator that I bring up what Dr. Fischer said. "What exactly are your plans for me now? It's not what you told me before."

"No, it's not," he admits. "Things have changed."

"How?"

"You're stronger than I ever imagined. I don't want you as a consultant anymore."

"You don't?"

He shakes his head. "I want you as an agent."

The doors of the elevator slide open. It takes me a moment to get my feet moving. We're halfway across the lobby before I manage to pull my thoughts together. "Don't you have to have a degree or something to join the FBI, and not be, you know, crazy?"

"By crazy, I assume you're referring to your psychiatric history?" He looks down at me and I nod. To that, he only smiles. "If you saw what mine looked like before I was recruited, you wouldn't be so worried."

If I wasn't curious about his past before, I certainly am now. Hardly the time for those kinds of questions. "There's still the college issue. I can't get in...anywhere."

"I think you'll be surprised to find out just how much having an FBI agent in your corner can help when applying for college," he says as he gestures for me to go through the metal detectors ahead of him. Once we're both out, he says, "You should be getting your acceptance letter within the week."

I trip over my own feet as I spin around to face him. The words bubbling up from my throat stick and nearly choke me. "What?" I croak.

"You'll be classified as an intern of sorts while you're in school, working directly with me. Once you graduate, then we'll discuss full time employment." He's smiling, but this isn't a joke. I feel lightheaded as I realize he's serious. Maybe a job with the FBI should be what's really getting to me, but oddly enough, it's going to college.

He pushes open one of the exterior doors, and I follow him in a haze. It's not until he nudges me and I look up to see he's pointing at something that I focus on what I'm doing. When I follow his gesture and see Kyran waiting for me at the curb, I look up at him questioningly.

"I figured you might not be ready to face Malachi just yet," he says.

Just a little perplexed, I ask, "Why didn't you call Holden?" I mean, I'm sure he has phone numbers for every single one of my friends. We've probably all got GPS trackers somewhere on our bodies just for good measure, too.

Hedging, Agent Morton doesn't answer right away. When he does, I'm even more confused. "Did you know Kyran and Holden have been friends for over a year? Through email, mostly."

"What?" I ask. Is that really true? I can't imagine why he would lie to me, but I also don't understand why neither of them mentioned it. What does that have to do with him calling Kyran today?

Agent Morton clears his throat and says, "I figured that if Kyran finds out about what happened this morning, it's probably better that he's with you and not Malachi."

What? I want to ask, but I also don't want to ask. A second later, Agent Morton is pushing me toward Kyran anyway—probably to avoid having to explain himself—and I miss my chance to figure it out. As soon as I reach Kyran, he pretty much tries to squeeze me in two. My arms wrap around him as well, and it actually feels really good after hiding from everyone for the last few days. As much as I feel a weird connection with Malachi, there's something different with Kyran, like he really understands me even though we've only know each other for a few weeks. Does that have something to do with what Agent Morton said?

"Are you okay?" Kyran asks when he finally pulls back. Concern is etched into every square inch of his face.

"I'm fine. Promise."

"Did Malachi hurt you?" Blood drains from my face as I realize he already knows. My inability to answer brings red to Kyran's face. His hands, still gripping my shoulders, tighten to the point of almost hurting. "I could kill him right now," he seethes.

"No!" I finally manage to blurt out. "He didn't hurt me, and it wasn't his fault. Please, Kyran, don't say anything to him. I need to talk to him about a few things first."

His teeth grind back and forth as he tries to shelf his anger. It doesn't really work.

Hoping to diffuse this before it blows up in my face, I try for distraction. "Why didn't you tell me you and Holden knew each other?"

Kyran knows what I'm trying to do, judging by the sour look on his face, but he gives me this one, though his voice is no less friendly than before. "Because those were the rules."

"Rules? What rules?"

The tiniest bit of tension releases from his shoulders. "Holden would tell me about the ghosts, things that had happened, so I could understand everything better, but I wasn't allowed to try to contact you in any way. It was supposed to protect you, but it..."

"It what?"

"It didn't really work, now did it?"

Frowning, I don't know what he means. Kyran hasn't done anything to me. "How did it not work?"

I fear he's going to blame what happened this morning on himself for getting Malachi to watch my show in the first place, but he doesn't.

"I wanted to learn more about the ghosts, figure out how much of what my family believed in was true. Talking to only Holden was supposed to keep me from getting close to you, but it didn't," he says. "Now you're here, with Malachi, and things seem like they just keep getting worse and I feel helpless to stop any of it from happening. I think it's Malachi that has to do that for some reason I can't explain, and that kills me, because I didn't want it to be him."

I don't have to ask who he wanted it to be, because the pain in his expression makes it all too obvious. He looks away before I can respond and leads me over to the passenger side of the car. I barely even realize that it's my car. He must have had someone take him to go pick it up. It seems so unimportant. Everything Kyran just said weighs on me so heavily I feel as if I might be crushed.

Kyran has known me, in a way, through Holden, for over a year. He believes in the ghosts, and in me. What he said about Malachi being somehow connected to all of this, I've felt it as well. More so after whatever it was I did this morning. I have no idea what to do about it, but I think he's right. I know he's right. I care about Malachi so much, but I hurt him. Everyone else seems to be pissed at Malachi for what I did. Maybe there's some logical reason for that, but I think something besides just my need and panic pushed us both. All I do know in this moment is that even with everything that's happened, Kyran wanted to be the one.
31: Connection

(Echo)

The apartment is practically empty when Kyran brings me home. Holden is nowhere to be found, and Zara has her purse in her hand when I walk in. Her arms fling around my body as soon as she reaches me. "I'm going to take Kyran home," she says, "but I'll be right back. I, uh, changed the sheets on your bed. We can talk when I get back if you want."

Tears prick at the backs of my eyes as I nod. "Thanks, Zara."

She nods and pulls away. A second later, she's out the door, and both she and Kyran disappear down the stairs. Silence is usually unnerving for me, because I know I'm never really alone, but for once, it doesn't bother me. Dragging myself to my bedroom, I collapse on the mattress that's still lying on the floor.

Shame, fear, and confusion roil around inside of me. Everyone knows Malachi and I had sex...and then I ran out of the apartment like a crazy person. After that, it doesn't seem like the ghosts can do anything to make my life worse, but I'm sure they can if they try hard enough. I thought moving out here would be different. All that's changed is that I've found even more ways to screw things up than before.

My plan for the rest of the day is to wallow in self-pity before forcing myself to face Malachi tomorrow. It seems like a pretty good plan. When do my plans ever work out, though? The sudden drop in temperature sends me scrambling off my bed. Backed up against a wall, my eyes dart around for any sign of Archer or whatever killed him. Even after I see Madeline Crew sitting politely off to the side, it takes me a few minutes to calm back down and breathe again.

"Madeline," I say, my voice sounding like it's been sandblasted. "What are you doing here?"

Gesturing to the notebook and pencil still sitting next to the bed after my failed attempt at communicating sans pain with Archer, she seems to be asking for a chat. I know Madeline won't hurt me, but moving away from the wall is still a challenge. I can't help searching the edges of the room for any other visitors. Even my regulars seem to be taking a break right now. It's just me and Madeline.

Settling back on the bed with the pencil and notebook, I tell Madeline it's okay to "talk." Her first question isn't terribly unexpected.

Why hasn't Malachi gone back to the estate and retrieved what I left him yet?

"I don't know," I admit. "I think partly he's struggling to believe in all of this still, but mostly, going back really freaks him out. Kyran, too." I shrug apologetically. "Plus, there's kinda been a lot going on. My fault on that."

I understand Malachi is afraid, but he must go back. He won't be able to protect you if he doesn't. Also, none of this is your fault. This morning included.

My eyes close as a whole new round of mortification hits me. Malachi's great grandmother, dead great grandmother, knows we had sex, and now she's ticked off at him too. Yeah, this is totally all my fault. Hoping to avoid any further discussion on the matter, I focus on the first thing she said.

"What's at the house? And why does Malachi need it to protect me? Are Kyran and I right that there's something more between Malachi and I when it comes to the ghosts?"

In my state, I'm prevented from talking about it in detail, but you are right about Malachi.

"Who or what's stopping you from explaining?" I demand.

The same beings that killed Archer, she writes, and if you want to prevent it from happening again, you must get Malachi back to the old estate. He will fail without what I left him.

"How do you know about all of this?" It seemed so coincidental a few weeks ago when Madeline came on the show and brought both Malachi and the FBI into my life. I'm beginning to suspect it was anything but.

Malachi and I have the same talent. My abilities are what led to me being recruited to work undercover during the war. I wasn't alone.

Whatever's preventing her from fully explaining everything isn't doing a very good job. Understanding starts to unravel as I piece things together. Whatever protection Malachi is supposed to provide me, Madeline was able to do the same thing. During the war, she must have had someone like me she worked with and protected. I'm at a bit of a loss about what ghosts had to do with the war, but I suppose maybe dead Nazis were more willing to talk than the living ones?

"Madeline, can you tell me anything about what happened to Archer?"

Only that it will happen again if you're not careful.

Not pressing her for more details is aggravating, but I know she would tell me more if she could. "I'll make sure Malachi goes back," I tell her. "We'll go together, okay?"

Madeline nods gratefully, but she doesn't slip away just yet. Instead, she gestures for me to lie down and rest, then moves closer and keeps watch over me while I try to fall asleep. For a few moments before sleep claims me, I feel like a little girl again, back when the ghosts were playmates and talking to them was okay. It takes me back to a time when I was happy and unafraid, something I haven't been for a very long time.

***

(Malachi)

I'm dying here. Kyran won't talk to me. Holden told me to stay away from the girls' apartment until either he or Echo gives me the go ahead. And when Zara dropped Kyran off yesterday, I swear she looked like she was ready to murder me if I blinked. Everyone's pissed at me. Hell, I'm pissed at myself, probably more than any of them are. I don't totally understand what happened, but I hate myself for hurting Echo. Oddly enough, Holden seems to be the most understanding.

I know I screwed up big time. Despite what Echo wanted in that moment, I knew she was scared and wanted to take things slow. She told me straight out and I promised I would respect her wishes and protect her. What did I do? I caved. Even though I knew something was wrong, because Echo would never act like that under normal circumstances, when she told me I had to save her, it was a push I didn't know how to resist. Maybe I just I wanted to believe what she said and what I felt in that moment, but I knew I should have stopped regardless of what she said or any other weird influences. I just...didn't know how in that moment. It was almost like I couldn't, but that doesn't make any sense.

Pacing, I can't focus on anything but what an ass I am. Kyran was right. When he came home yesterday looking like he was ready to take a swing at me, I didn't even try to talk him down. I wanted him to do it. After all, I would have deserved it. I deserve worse.

Whatever happens between Echo and me after this, I'll just have to take it and deal. How am I going to argue with her if she ends things?

I'm still pacing and berating myself when Kyran actually comes out of his room. The same scowl is still there to greet me, but he surprises me by actually speaking. "Echo wants you to meet her. Twenty minutes. Starbucks on the corner."

That's it, and he seems pissed to have had to deliver even that short message. The fact that she called him and not me makes my stomach drop. We're over. She just wants to tell me in person. It almost would have been better if she'd just sent a text. I don't know if I can face her. Kyran has already disappeared back into his room, and there's no way I'm going to tell him to tell her I'm not coming. He'll murder me in my sleep.

I suspected Kyran had a thing for Echo since before she got here. Well, I think he's had a thing for her from a distance for a long time. Now, though, I realize just how deep his affection for her goes. He's never been this pissed at me before. No way I'm doing anything he might interpret as me hurting her even worse. Swallowing hard, I decide I better just get this over with and head for the door.

I don't drive. Starbucks is only two blocks away, so it's a short trip either way, but I'm not in any hurry to be dumped even though I know I deserve it. In reality, I need the extra time to try to somehow prepare myself for this. Shaking the feeling that I've screwed up so much more than just my relationship with Echo is impossible. She can't leave. I can't explain why not, but a nagging and uncomfortable feeling is pushing me to find a way to make her stay whether she breaks up with me or not.

My feet are already dragging, but they seem to glue themselves to the sidewalk when I reach the café and spot Echo waiting for me through the window. I can only see a small section of her face with the way she's positioned. Deciphering her expression is impossible. I have no choice but to rip my feet up from where they're rooted and face my fate.

She doesn't notice when I come in. Walking up to her table feels like waiting for a wave I know is too big and will take me under. Maybe that's why I feel like I can't breathe as I finally step up to the table.

Echo's head pops up when she sees me from the corner of her eye. A dozen emotions splash onto her face all at once. Shame is the one that sticks. Her eyes drop, but she says, "Please, sit down." Hair falls to cover most of her face. "Thanks for coming even though I'm probably the last person you want to see right now."

"The last person I want to see?" I ask in confusion. "I'm surprised you're even speaking to me. I'm the one you probably never want to see again."

Echo doesn't meet my eyes, but she cringes. "I'm so sorry about the way everyone's been treating you. This is all my fault."

Her head drops even lower and it kills me not to grab her chin and force her to look at me. My hands stay fisted at my sides. "None of what happened was your fault, Echo. None. Don't even think about blaming yourself."

Finally, Echo looks up at me. Her pained expression and watery eyes tear straight through me. "I was the one who kept pushing...even after you tried to get me to stop."

It's obvious the guilt and shame are tearing her apart, and that makes me feel even worse. "Echo, you weren't yourself. You'd just been through something pretty freakin' terrifying. You reacted. You weren't thinking straight." Shaking my head, I scrub a hand through my hair as I try to say what needs to be said. "I was thinking. I knew something wasn't right. I knew I should have stopped and, I don't know, left the room or something. You told me what you really wanted a few days earlier, but I didn't listen. I gave in, and I hurt you."

"I'm the one who hurt you, Malachi," Echo argues.

"How?"

Sighing, Echo buries her face in her hands for a moment before forcing herself to look at me again. "When I woke up, I still felt the effects of what Archer had done, and it scared me. Being close to you, it...I felt better. Safer. Protected. I needed that so much in that moment, I didn't think about anything else. Certainly not about you. I needed something from you, and I pushed you until you gave it to me. I think maybe I did more than that somehow. I don't know. It's so confusing right now. Something happened I can't explain, though, and I think it was me that did it."

There's way more information in what she just said than I can take in all at once. First off, even though I've felt like there's some kind of weird connection between Echo and me since our first phone conversation—and Kyran's hinted that he thought the same—I had no idea Echo felt anything similar. More even. What she feels seems to go beyond just a strange familiarity. I'm not sure what to think about her needing me in some supernatural way. Is that why she's really here? I try not to dwell on it.

What freaks me out the most is that she seems to have felt some kind of weird interference, too. Was it her? Maybe it was me. It could have been the ghosts or something we don't even know about. The possibility that something could exert that kind of power on one or both of us, and neither of us being able to recognize it enough to stop what was happening, is more than a little disturbing. I'm not about to put all the blame for me caving when I should have been protecting Echo, on some bizarre experience, but it's troubling all the same.

"Look, Echo, whatever else might be going on between us, I knew you weren't ready for sex. You asked me to wait and be patient, and I failed to do that. Nothing else matters."

"But..."

Before she can say anything else, I grab her hand and shake my head. "No. It's not your fault. Don't make yourself feel awful about what happened."

"But I used you," Echo argues. "That was a terrible thing to do."

"Look," I say, "yesterday, that wasn't how I'd been hoping our first time together would go, but the fact is, I care about you a lot. Maybe I am supposed to be near you for some ghost-involved reason, but even if that weren't true, you're the only person I would have wanted to end up in bed with. I feel like an ass for how things went down, but I promise I'll make it up to you if you don't dump me on the spot."

Echo's eyebrows scrunch together. "Dump you? Why on earth would you think that?"

For a few seconds, I just stare at her. I get that she's harboring a lot of guilt for what happened, but does she really not blame me for any of it? Surely the idea of breaking up with me crossed her mind at least once. Is that naiveté, or does she really feel that completely responsible? For someone who's never been allowed to make her own decisions before a few weeks ago, she's certainly no stranger to accepting responsibility, I suppose. Even though none the ghost stuff was really her fault, blame was never in short supply. Realizing that makes me feel like the biggest tool in the world.

"Malachi," Echo says when I don't respond, "I'm not breaking up with you. I do think I need to take a few steps back, though."

"What do you mean?" I ask warily.

Echo looks down and shrugs. "I thought I was ready for all of this, but I'm just not." She looks up and bites her bottom lip. "Not just you. Everything. Ghosts, my own apartment, the FBI, your grandma...I can't handle everything coming at me at once. I care about you a lot, and I don't want to screw this up even more than I already have, so...well, I think I need to deal with a few other things before I can really make an attempt at being someone's girlfriend."

"That sounds an awful lot like you breaking up with me," I say with a half-smile. The logic behind what she's saying keeps me from panicking.

Smiling a little, Echo says, "I know it does, but I think I just need some time to sort things out before we take things any further, or well, you know, rewind and try again." She bites her lip again and looks at me worriedly. "Is that okay?"

"Well, considering that I walked down here pretty well convinced you hated me and were about to drop me to the curb, I guess I can deal with a redo. It's more than I deserve anyway." Her shoulders drop in relief when I smile back at her. It's certainly not what every guy wants to hear from his girlfriend, but in Echo's case, I know she really needs this. To be honest, I do too. I wasn't lying when I said I cared about her, but before our relationship goes any further, we both need some answers.

"You said you need to deal with a few things," I say. "Would Archer and Grandma Maddie's message happen to be on that list?"

Echo's hand disappears from sight as she reaches for something on the bench. Her nervous energy makes a reappearance and I tense. "Actually," she says, "I'm beginning to think those are one in the same."

"What?" Completely lost again, I can't imagine what Peter Archer would have to do with my great grandmother.

Instead of explaining, Echo lays a piece of paper flat on the table and smoothes it out with her hands several times before stopping with them still covering the majority of the surface. "I tried to fill in the parts I said so it makes sense." Several of her fingers tap against the paper anxiously. "I tried to get as much information as I could but...well, you'll understand better if you just read it."

Her hands slide back slowly, leaving the sheet of notebook paper on the table. Even without an explanation, I recognize Grandma Maddie's handwriting immediately. Even if I hadn't, her opening question would have been more than enough. I can almost hear her voice grouching at me for not having done as she asked yet.

Why hasn't Malachi gone back to the estate and retrieved what I left him yet?

"I don't know," is Echo's answer.

Something tells me there was probably a little more to that explanation than what Echo chose to write down. She knows I'm trying to wrap my head around all of this, but I just hope she doesn't take that to mean I don't believe her. What's happening to Echo is real. Knowing my role and what I'm supposed to be doing is a whole other deal altogether. Certain I won't work everything out sitting in Starbucks, I keep reading.

I understand Malachi is afraid, but he must go back. He won't be able to protect you if he doesn't.

What? Whatever she left in the stairs closet will help me protect Echo? How? What is it? I pause and shake my head. Why would Grandma Maddie have something like that?

The next bit looks like Echo tried to scratch it out with a pen, but I can make out the letters well enough to realize Grandma Maddie is more than aware of what happened yesterday, and her response is exactly what I would have expected.

Also, none of this is your fault. This morning included.

There's something oddly comforting about getting more or less chewed out by her. It's been a long time since I've gotten in trouble with my great grandma, but she never held back when I deserved a tongue lashing. She always followed up a punishment with a hug, too. She's been gone a long time, but I still miss her an awful lot.

Going back to the paper, I read Echo's next response.

"What's at the house? And why does Malachi need it to protect me? Are Kyran and I right that there's something more between Malachi and I when it comes to the ghosts?" she asks.

In my state, I'm prevented from talking about it in detail, but you are right about Malachi.

Well, at least we were on the right track. It kinda freaks me out to have something like that confirmed, but it's not like there's anything I can do about it right now. I just wish I knew what this connection was and where it came from.

"Who or what's stopping you from explaining?" Echo asks next.

The same beings that killed Archer, and if you want to prevent it from happening again, you must get Malachi back to the old estate. He will fail without what I left him.

"How do you know about all of this?" Echo asks.

Malachi and I have the same talent. My abilities are what led to me being recruited to work undercover during the war. I wasn't alone.

Whoa! What? Grandma Maddie protected someone like Echo during the war? Is that really a thing? Now there's some kind of serial killer ghost or whatever that's going around taking out people who try to help mediums like Echo? That concept is enough to put me over the edge, but I glance back at the paper hoping for more answers.

"Madeline, can you tell me anything about what happened to Archer?"

Only that it will happen again if you're not careful.

It takes me a moment to realize that's the end. Just to be sure, I flip the paper over, hoping to find more. Nothing. Flipping it back, I let it fall to the tabletop. The second it settles, I zero in on Echo. "These ghost things killing people, do you have any idea what they are or how we keep them away from you?"

Echo shakes her head slowly. "I've never heard of anything like that. I tried asking Holden, but he didn't know either. He said he'd research it and let me know."

Falling back against the booth, I drag my hands down my face slowly. A million different thoughts race through my mind. Catching and holding one feels like trying to catch pollywogs in the creek. On the surface, it seems like only the barest of information, but the longer I roll around each detail, the more connections I make.

"Echo," I ask slowly, "I know you don't remember much about meeting Archer, but...from what your mom said, it seemed like you two hit it off real fast...just like..."

"Just like we did?" Echo whispers.

My stomach sinks as I realize she's seen the possible connection as well. "Could it be possible that Archer was...whatever I am?"

Echo only shrugs and pulls her arms around her body more tightly.

"Is that why they killed him?" I ask.

The bob of Echo's head is so slight I almost miss it. What she says next...I can't not hear it, no matter how much I want to. She blows out a shaky breath before saying, "I think that's why they killed your great grandma, too."
32: The Choice to Stay

(Echo)

They all wanted to come. I practically had to beat Holden off with a stick when Agent Morton picked me up at the apartment this morning. There was a small moment when I considered telling him I could drive myself, but I didn't want to make the trip alone, and I honestly don't know what condition I'll be in after the hypnosis session. Dr. Rosemond promised I'd be perfectly fine. Forgive me if my trust level is riding pretty low at the moment.

"You have all your wards in place, correct?" Dr. Rosemond asks for the third time.

Not rolling my eyes at her is tough. "Yes, thank you, I do." To reassure her—and maybe myself—I touch the headband, necklace, and bracelets Kyran's aunt made me. I've got everything on today. There's no way I want to risk Archer or any other ghost busting into my head while I'm under hypnosis. Who knows what kind of trouble that could cause?

Glancing up, I look at Agent Morton wistfully through the glass separating us. I kind of wish he was in here with me, but Dr. Rosemond insisted on no distractions. Too bad the ghosts don't listen. Archer is absent. I pretty much threatened to leave him in the deep, dark abyss of ghostliness if he interfered. I'm sure he's not far away, but he at least listened and isn't skulking around in a corner. There are three others who I guess couldn't resist the show. I ignore them.

"Now, Echo, before we start, I just want to remind you that this requires a high level of focus and concentration." She looks at me seriously, no doubt aware of how unfocused I feel right now with Agent Morton staring at me, ghosts lurking nearby, and all my friends waiting nervously for the results.

"Yeah, I know. I'm trying," I offer weakly.

Smiling in a calm, not condescending way, she says, "Most people need help focusing before hypnotherapy. You have even more distractions than the average person. Why don't we start by clearing everything out of your mind together?"

"Sure. Okay." I'm pretty much willing to do whatever she wants at this point.

Dr. Rosemond nods. "The first thing I want you to do is hold both arms out in front of your body, palms facing each other."

Okay...

When I have my arms out, Dr. Rosemond places her own hand between mine with one finger extended. "Now, focus on the tip of my finger and start practicing the breathing techniques you use when things seem out of control."

Easy enough. Keeping my eyes glued to her fingertip, I draw in a long, slow breath, counting to five as I fill my lungs. She keeps her finger in the same spot as I exhale and breathe in again. After that, though, she drops her hand with the instruction to stay focused on that same spot.

Once my breathing is consistent and my mind is less chaotic, Dr. Rosemond says, "Keep breathing, but as you breathe, I want you to imagine there are magnets in the palms of your hands, slowly pulling your hands together. They can pull as fast or slow as you want them to, but when your hands meet, you'll feel a wave of peacefulness wash over you."

It sounds like a vaguely ridiculous thing to do, but Malachi's life might be on the line. I don't really expect her magnet tactic to work, but I pour all my focus into pretending it will. As I continue to inhale and exhale, I don't know if my arms are just getting tired or if the visualization thing starts working, but my hands slowly begin to drift toward each other. By the time they touch, my mind is completely calm and the world around me seems quiet and...empty. It's a good feeling.

"Echo, whenever you're ready, I want you to open your eyes," Dr. Rosemond's faraway voice says.

Are my eyes closed? They must be, I guess. Slowly, I peel my eyelids open, expecting to see everything the same as it was when I closed them. It is...but it isn't. Outside my focus, I can see the room and Dr. Rosemond, but they don't seem to matter right now. The picture in front of me captures my full attention.

I recognize it immediately, but I don't know why. There's something about the trees that seem familiar. Pushing myself to think, I nearly jump when the rough sensation of bark on my palm sneaks up on me like I'm really there touching it. My eyes move sluggishly away from the picture to stare at my hand. It's empty, but the feeling is still there, as if right in that very moment I'm pressing my palm against one of the trees in the picture.

Not sure I understand what's happening, I look up to ask Dr. Rosemond a question, but another picture assaults me instead. My feet twist at the feel of dry pine needles beneath them. I swear I can feel their prickliness poking through my socks. Confused, I look down at my shoe clad feet and try to understand the sensation. It's not just a trick. I know it happened somehow. Some time. I ran out of the rented camper without my shoes. Why? What was I hurrying for? Or maybe who?

Looking up again, the next picture is like a physical blow. Archer. The twisted blackness that cloaks him now is gone, and I see his smile, his ruddy cheeks and the freckles across the bridge of his nose. My hair doesn't move, but I feel his fingers run through the strands hanging over my shoulder.

He's the reason I ran out with no shoes. My mom shouted at me to come back inside, but it was halfhearted. Her voice was happy, for once.

A new sensation presses against my hand as I feel his slip into mine. My careful breathing stalls as a warm breath brushes against my ear. "Come with me," he whispers in a voice that sounds like warm chocolate feels on your tongue. His voice runs through me like an electrical charge. It silences that rising fear in my heart, terror that I might actually remember what happened.

"Come with me," he whispers again, and I nod because I trust him. I feel safe with him. I feel whole instead of picked apart by ghosts who only want to use me.

Taking the first step, the feeling begins to fade. I panic and look up, desperate for another image to keep me in this forgotten and buried moment. Dr. Rosemond doesn't disappoint. Held right in front of me is a picture of the cliff. Shrinking back, I fight the memory trying to surface.

"Please, Repeat," Archer's voice begs. I don't know anymore if this is a memory or something different. It feels off—not in a bad way—in a way that hints he never said that. He didn't have to beg me to follow him that day. It's only now, when I'm scared and terrified of learning the truth that I hesitate.

I inhale as deeply as I can and focus everything I have on the image of the cliff. I have to know. I can't let anyone else die.

As if that simple, ephemeral decision flips some kind of mental switch, the memory slams into me like a Mack truck.

***

"Where are we going?" I say, laughing and not caring about the debris sticking to my socks and poking my feet.

"Just come on," Archer says with a shake of his head. "I want to show you something...without your sisters."

Grinning, I pick up my pace. Archer has been sweet to let the twins hang around all week, but I have to shove away a silly giggle at knowing he wants a few minutes with just the two of us. My belly feels hot and I struggle to breathe as we race through the trees by ourselves.

Archer stops suddenly, and I have to grab a tree branch to keep myself from flying on past him. He laughs at me and pulls my hand off the branch to show me the sticky mess of sap all over my palm. My nose screws up in distaste, but he presses his hand to mine, sealing them together. "Now we're going to have to stick together all day. That stuff does not come off easily."

I try to tug my hand away, but I don't put much effort into it. The sap actually does a pretty good job of resisting. "I don't want to be away from you," I admit.

For a brief moment, Archer's smile falters. "Why not?"

Even though I know my mom will be ticked about the sap, I lean back against the tree and look up at Archer. "Why? Because you don't treat me like a freak."

"Why would I treat you like a freak?" he asks, though he doesn't seem all that confused by the question.

Given that I haven't brought up my less than desirable special talent just yet, I'm not sure I understand his response. The ghosts hovering around us seem extra interested all the sudden. They almost look...scared. Ignoring our ghostly voyeurs, I say, "Back home, I've had a lot of problems. Most of the kids at school think there's something wrong with me. I mean, there is, but not like they think. It's...well, I mean, explaining is, uh, not that easy."

"There's nothing wrong with you, Repeat." I try to argue with him, but he just shakes his head. "Why do you really want to be around me?"

"Because...because I like you." I shrug. "And I think, I mean, I hope, you sort of like me too, right?"

"You think?" he teases. "You hope?" He presses in closer, our bodies touching as his mouth moves to my ear. "I would think you'd know by now."

"Know what?" I whisper as I try to remember how to breathe properly. One, two, wait...what?

Archer's hand slides up my neck and into my hair. "Know how much I like you, and not just because of the ghosts."

Shoving him away from me, I stare at him in shock. "What?" My screechy voice echoes off the nearby ravine. What did he just say?

Archer doesn't move. He's frozen in a strange, half stumbling stance that saved him from tripping over a tree branch when I pushed him. "You really don't know?" he asks.

What is he talking about? Surely not about him liking me still. I mean, I do know that. I think. The rest...I'm completely lost. "What are you talking about and how do you know about the ghosts?"

"You see them, right?" Archer asks. He nods, prodding me to answer him in the affirmative. How does he know?

Feeling utterly bare, I nod slowly. "Do you? See them?"

"No," Archer says, confusing me even more, "but I'm drawn to people who do." He shrugs. "At least, that's what my granddad told me. It's a family thing, I guess. He said I'd know when I found the person I was supposed to protect, because I'd sense their need for help, but I guess I just wasn't expecting it to be a girl my age. Especially not one so...beautiful. And fun. I mean, I don't know if I'm supposed to fall in love with you, but Echo, I can't stand the thought of you leaving next week."

Stunned way beyond words, I can only stare at him. Am I having some kind of seizure? Why can't I move or feel anything anymore? "I...are you...what?"

Apparently taking my inability to speak as a sign that I'm not about to attack him, Archer laughs and stalks back over to me. His arms are around me a second later as he grins down at me. "I know about the ghosts," he says slowly, "and I'm cool with it. Okay?"

"Really?" I squeak.

"Really." He grins once more before darting in and planting a kiss on my lips. "Now," he says as he pulls back, "about what I wanted to show you..."

He starts to turn away from me, and I have every intention of following him to the ends of the earth until I see them and start screaming. Archer barely has even a second to react. All he can do is look over his shoulder in shock before one of the black oily beings reaches out and grabs him.

"Echo!"

I can hear him screaming my name, but the black things overwhelm us, swarm me until I break under the weight of their suffocating depravity. Running, crying, begging for help, my mind is so filled with terror I don't even realize when the ground disappears from beneath my feet. The only thought I have as my body becomes weightless is that maybe it's finally over.

***

Hot, heavy tears spill down my chin with abandon. Wretched pain beats against me, accusing me. "I didn't even try to save him," I wail.

Someone touches my shoulder, but I shake them off violently. I don't deserve to be comforted. Archer accepted me, knowing full well that I was a basket of crazy wrapped up in danger. He loved me. He wanted to be with me despite everything I am and all the trouble I caused. He made me feel like a real person and I didn't even try to save him from whatever those black nasty killers were. I just let them take him and ran away because I was too scared to stop them.

Agent Morton puts an arm around my shoulders, but I knock over the chair I was sitting on in desperation to get away from him. "Stop it!" I yell. "Don't try to make me feel better! I don't deserve it. I don't."

My shoulders heave as guilt and grief spill out of me. Neither one tries to approach me again, but my panic shoots sky high when Dr. Rosemond shivers and Agent Morton starts looking around the room warily. There's only one ghost in my entourage that causes the temperature to drop that fast. Backing against the wall, I scour the room for him. I can't...I just can't. Please, please just go away, I beg.

A terrified shriek tears out of me when he appears right in front of my face. This close, his features seem clearer, which should be comforting, but the compassion in his expression breaks me. "No," I whisper, "don't. Please don't feel sorry for me. Not when I let them take you away."

Archer slowly shakes his head. His black eyes are the only thing I can really see semi-clearly, and they hold unfathomable pain. I used to think I knew the source of that pain, of his anger, but I was wrong. I was so wrong.

His icy black hand slides onto my cheek, leaving a trail of crystalized ice on my face as it draws moisture from my skin and moves up into my hair. His other hand presses gently against the small of my back, and suddenly we're back in that moment.

"I let them take you," I say, shaking my head as tears freeze on my cheeks as they try to escape me. "I let them take you, and then I kept you here and turned you into this...I don't know what you've become, but it's my fault."

Black trailing mist flutters as he shakes his head back and forth adamantly. I try to argue again, but fire and ice race through me as his lips meet mine. Words are pointless then. It doesn't hurt this time when his memories start flowing into me. They aren't thrown at me like a train out of control. With every subtle move of his mouth, emotions and flashes of our time together—not just that week camping, but every moment since then—rush over me like champagne.

His pain is overwhelming, but it's an undercurrent to the moments he spent by my side when I was ready to give up, when my parents were on the verge of committing me, or when the tears simply wouldn't stop falling. A deep well of compassion and love seeps into my soul as I understand he was there through all of it, the good and the horrible. Suffering himself, he withstood it for me. He stayed in the early days after his death when he could have distanced himself from me to dull his own pain. He stayed until protecting me became what was murdering his soul.

He stayed until Madeline Crew found me.

Suddenly, he's not the one kissing me anymore. It's me who is desperate to connect, to pour my love and gratitude into him. I never would have made the connection without him pointing it out. The day Madeline showed up—hovering in the corner of my bedroom—that was when Archer started to communicate with me, beg me to release him. He knew what she was. It's not clear whether he knew about Malachi, but he knew Madeline would provide a way for me to be protected and he was so desperate to be free of his agony that it overtook him.

All the fear and pain he inflicted on me are forgiven in an instant of pure love. Collapsing against his semi-solid form, my whole body is wracked as I sob. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for everything." His inky arms wrap around me, sinking partway into me, but supporting me enough that I don't fall. "Can you ever forgive me?" I beg.

I don't exactly hear him, but I sense his words, like I must while I'm asleep. "There's nothing to forgive," he tells me. "I made the choice to stay near you and I would make it a thousand times over." His trembling hand presses against my cheek. "I love you, Echo, and I always will."

"I love you, too, Archer, but I...." My heart squeezes painfully and I bite my lip so hard blood runs. "I don't know how to free you. I don't know how to let you go."

"You do," he says in that same speaking-but-not-speaking way, "but don't do it yet. Not until Malachi has what he needs."

Malachi. My heart breaks all over again as I think of Malachi, of everything I just felt and experienced with Archer, and how I have no idea how to reconcile all of this with him.

"He'll take care of you and love you," Archer says, though I can feel how much it hurts him to admit that.

"I don't know if I can do this," I cry. I don't even know if I mean letting him go, relying on Malachi, going to the old estate, or just living each day at a time. None of it seems possible right now. Everything I thought I knew about him and about myself has been obliterated. So many lies, so much confusion, it's too much and I can barely even process everything, let alone consider moving forward.

Archer's features solidify even more, still hazy and vague, but clear enough that I can see him smile. "You've survived everything up till now. You are strong enough, Echo. Don't ever doubt that."

"What if I'm only strong enough with you here?"

He kisses me one more time, gently, slowly. "I'll be there for this last fight, but it's the strength you're only beginning to recognize that will save you and the people you love."

"I'm scared, Archer." I'm shaking, trembling with fear that his confidence is misplaced. "What if I can't save Malachi?"

Archer's hazy expression becomes more serious as his grip on me tightens. "You're not supposed to save Malachi, Echo. He's supposed to save you."

"But, you said..."

He nods, cutting me off with what he says next. "You're not meant to save your Keeper. You're supposed to save the rest of the ghosts and the people who help them."

"Save them from who?" I ask, so completely floored my entire body feels numb.

A memory flashes through my mind of the oily black being that stole Archer from me five years ago. I flinch away from the memory but Archer's physical and spiritual hold refuses to let me run. He forces me to watch them devour him seconds before they turned their attention on me. It's only then that I realize I wasn't trying to fight them to get Archer back. I was trying to stop them from killing me, too.
33: Cryptic

(Echo)

Being the in the car with a ghost who's in love with me, my on-hold boyfriend, the guy who wanted to be my boyfriend, and an FBI agent is all kinds of awkward. Nobody's talking, at least not out loud. Whatever connection Archer and I forged yesterday after the hypnosis session hasn't diminished. While I'm sleeping is no longer the only time he can talk to me. I'm not totally sure whether or not that's a good thing. It certainly makes me look crazier than usual.

"I don't understand how you can't tell me any more about these oily ghost killers. You don't even have a name for them?"

Archer shrugs. His voice forms in my mind as he says, "They killed me, but I wasn't a ghost at the time, so it's different. Ghosts whose souls are devoured by them obviously don't come back to tell anyone about it. I can't give you a name, only what I experienced."

"What happened when they killed you then?" I know the question is a little harsh, but given that we're on our way to the old estate to most likely face these things, I really need some answers.

"I can't really tell you any more than what you saw, Echo. One second I was standing there with you, the next there was this horrible pain and blackness. I felt them ripping my soul from my body, but I don't really know what happened to my body. It just disappeared, or ceased to exist or something. I don't know why they didn't do the same thing to my spirit, but I think it has something to do with me being a Keeper. I don't think they can devour my soul like they can with normal ghosts."

Every answer just seems to spawn more questions. It's exhausting. Desperate for answers but constantly coming up short takes a toll on you. I suppose it's my fault for dumping the research on Holden's shoulders for so long and pretty much closing my eyes to all of it. That has to change, I know that, but even Holden has never heard of Keepers or what killed Archer. At first he thought they might be shades—beings that can basically eat ghosts' souls—but that wouldn't explain Archer's body vanishing or why they haven't come after the ghosts who're always hanging around me. Archer is the only one holding any cards right now. Unfortunately it seems to be a lousy hand.

"Keepers, can you at least explain that?"

I was so emotionally and physically beat after everything yesterday, even when I tried to ask Archer about Keepers, he insisted I take a break and get some rest. Agent Morton agreed and actually spent most of the afternoon at my apartment making sure no one bothered me. Malachi especially. They're not on good terms right now.

"Keepers," Archer explains, "are basically protectors of anyone with a spiritual connection to the veil."

"Veil?"

Archer nods. "The barrier between the living world and the spiritual world. People call it different things, but that's what my grandpa called it. We watch over mediums, clairvoyants, some mentalists and psychics who are in contact with spirits or spiritual energy. People like that."

"Why?"

Giving me a pointed look, Archer says, "Why do you get involved with ghosts?" He pauses and shrugs. "It's just something we're born to do. Can't escape it even if you try."

"But it's different than me. You said you'd know when you found the person you were supposed to protect, right?"

"Yeah," Archer says slowly, "but it's not like you were the only person I could protect. We were...compatible. Your needs fit my abilities, I guess. Same with Malachi."

I glance back at Malachi, who's listening attentively just as everyone else in the car is as I relay Archer's answers, but he isn't looking directly at me. More questions about this compatibility thing swim around in my mind. Asking them out loud is not going to happen. Yes I want to know if that compatibility goes beyond needs and skills, if that's the reason I fell for both Archer and Malachi so quickly, but it will have to wait until Archer and I can speak privately.

As deep as my feelings go for both men, it makes me uncomfortable to think I might have reacted to something outside my control. Is falling in love with someone because it's almost predestined in a way different than falling in love with someone for no reason at all? I can't stop my eyes from drifting over to Kyran. He admitted his feelings, and I can't deny there's a spark of something there for him inside of me as well. Everything is so screwed up right now I can't even contemplate figuring out what any of this means right now.

"There will be time for all of that later," Agent Morton says quietly from the driver's seat.

My head whips over to stare at him. What did he just say? His expression is completely neutral, like he didn't even say anything, but I know I didn't imagine him speaking. Does he simply understand what thoughts are most likely running through my head right now because he's a smart guy and raised two daughters, or is there another reason? I've yet to figure out what Agent Morton's supernatural ability is, but I hesitate to jump to conclusions.

Focusing on Archer, who's sitting on the console between me and Agent Morton, I ask, "If the ghost killers get to me, what will happen?"

Flinching, Archer hesitates to answer. "Do you understand how spiritual energy works?"

"What do you mean, 'how spiritual energy works'?"

My first gut reaction is to turn to Holden for help, but he's in the second car with Cerise and Zara. Why Cerise insisted on joining us when she found out about the trip to the old estate, I don't really know. When we first met, her enthusiasm about the show pegged her as a superfan, but I'm beginning to think there's more to it than that. A question for another time, though.

Instead of having to call Holden for an answer, Kyran offers up an explanation in his place. "Spiritual energy is like that weird powder science teachers will use to teach you about how germs are spread. Luminol, I think. They'll put it on one object, have a student touch it, then have the class go about their normal business. At the end of class the teacher pulls out a black light and practically the whole room lights up."

I'm not the only one who seems confused by his explanation. Malachi finally looks at me, hoping I understood what he clearly didn't. Nope. Seeing that we don't get it, Kyran continues. "Every ghost you 'touch' leaves an imprint of their spiritual energy on you, and you on them. It connects you. In haunting instances, it binds them to a person or place until someone breaks the connection."

Leaning back against his seat, Malachi considers this information. "What does this have to do with the ghost killers and Echo?"

"When you and I met," Archer says, "we formed a connection. When they killed me, it ripped that connection away and hurt you badly."

"That's why I couldn't remember what had happened, or anything about you?" I ask as an ache builds in my chest. Archer nods and I feel the truth of it immediately. "It wasn't just trauma, they stole those memories when they killed you."

Archer nods slowly, but the way he holds himself says there's more and I brace myself for whatever else he needs to say. "If they kill you, Echo, it won't just hurt the ghosts you've helped. You were protected when I died because I was alive when they got to me, and because I'm a Keeper. The ghosts you've interacted with won't have that. If they kill you, it will destroy them. They won't crossover or move on. They'll simply cease to exist and those monsters will consume their energy, becoming more powerful, more able to kill."

I feel in that moment exactly as I did when I fell out of the tree as a child. Breathing is impossible. My brain and body shut down as I think about all the ghosts who've come to me over the past eighteen years. It's not a small number, not an inconsequential amount of energy they hold. What kind of damage could these devouring monsters do with all of that?

***

(Malachi)

Part of me had this tiny hope that the termite tent would still be in place as we pull up to Grandma Maddie's house. I want to protect Echo and get rid of these soul eating psychotic whatevers, but we know almost nothing about them. No clue how to fight them, escape them, nothing. I'm convinced now that they are what Kyran felt the night my great grandma died.

I don't know any more if the men we saw standing over her really were just there to break into the house the same night by chance or if they were somehow in league with these things that are after Echo. All I know now is the men in the house grabbed Kyran and I when we ran down the stairs. We screamed and fought back as much as our eleven-year-old bodies could manage. Neither of us considered how our yelling would wake up my sisters and send them running down the stairs after us.

My sisters may look like delicate ladies, but they weren't about to let anything happen to us if they could help it. I could see the terror in all of their eyes as the guy holding me threw me into the wall to confront them, but all three of my sisters launched themselves off the stairs at the men. Their rescue was short lived.

I cringe thinking about Angel May being slapped so hard she fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, blood pouring from her lip as her eyes rolled back. Hannah Louise and Katie Lynn lasted longer. Kyran even tried to jump up from where he'd been knocked down to help them while I limped to Angel May to make sure she was all right, but it didn't make any difference.

Hannah Louise swore a blue streak at them as they tied her up, but Katie Lynn just sobbed and held her side to protect herself from another kick. She wasn't the only one crying. Angel May was still unconscious as they yanked her out of my grip and tied her hands and feet, but tears were pouring down my face as I berated myself for not being able to protect her. Sporting a huge bruise across his cheek, Kyran glared furiously at the nearest man as tears dripped down his face.

The whole time, Grandma Maddie was less than five feet away. Her thin body lay twisted awkwardly on the blood soaked carpet. There was no doubt in any of our minds that she was dead. All our eyes were drawn to her as we sat huddled together, tied up like hogs about to be dragged off to the butcher. Tears fell more freely, but the real sobbing didn't start until the men started dragging us away from her, down the hall to the basement door.

Nothing was stolen after we were thrown into the basement and locked in. The police said they must have been too scared to finish what they started and just ran. It didn't really make sense even then, but no one wanted to think about it hard enough to raise more questions. Now, all I have is questions. Archer's body vanished when he was killed, but my grandma is buried in the Albert cemetery. Archer also turned into this weird monster ghost while Grandma Maddie, from what Echo described, looks pretty much the same as she did in life.

When Echo relayed my questions to Archer, he didn't have any answers. Does my great grandma? Archer's been hanging around since Echo's hypnosis session. She and Agent Morton were both vague on the details of what happened during that, but we all knew the second Echo showed back up at the apartment that something was different. She was different. Her energy, the way she carried herself, her confidence.

Don't get me wrong, she's scared and plenty freaked out, but there's something about her now that's changed the way she sees the world. I don't know what that is, or even if it's a good or bad thing, but I do understand that it's an important change. Archer is the reason behind it, I have no doubt. It makes me wonder what will happen to Echo when he's gone.

"I really don't want to be here," Kyran says quietly as he walks up beside me. It's the first time he's spoken to me of his own free will since that morning with Echo.

Tentative to respond, all I say is, "Yeah. Same here."

He continues on, not looking back at me as he follows the others up to the veranda. I didn't hear Holden pull up, but he and Zara are only a few steps behind Kyran. Cerise stops next to me and threads her arm through mine. "You doing okay?" When I shrug in response, she squeezes my arm. "Let's just get through this and then you and Echo will be able to work things out."

So far, she's the only one who hasn't threatened me with bodily harm after sleeping with Echo. Maybe it's because she sees me as her little brother and feels a need to protect me from their scorn. Echo is her hero, so I expected a little hostility from her too, but she's only offered comfort and understanding. That's Cerise, though. She's made her share of bad decisions and she's not one to attack another person for messing up when she sees herself as far from perfect as well.

As kindhearted and compassionate as she is, I still wonder why she asked to come with us today. Watching a YouTube show is a far cry from signing up for Ghost Hunting 101 with a crew that has no clue what they're doing—possibly with the exception of Agent Morton, though no one really knows for sure what experience he has with soul-eating, murderous ghosts. The idea of her being hurt today makes me sick and I hesitate to let her jump into something I'm not sure she understands. There's no doubt in my mind this will be dangerous.

"You don't have to go in."

Cerise takes a deep breath. "I know."

"Then why are you?"

Her hands are shaking as she tightens her grip on my arm, but she forces one corner of her mouth up in a rueful smile. "Haven't you ever wondered how I found Echo's show that first week? Did you never think it was strange that a European literature major would be so fascinated by ghosts?"

"I just thought you liked her show because it was interesting," I admit. I'd never really considered why Cerise would latch onto something so out of character for her.

Cerise pats my arm before letting go and straightening her blouse. "Well, there are reasons," she says, "and it's not because I'm studying up to be an extra on Supernatural, though I definitely wouldn't say no to meeting Sam and Dean."

Pitching an eyebrow at her, I say, "And you're not going to tell me the real reason?"

"Later," she says, "Echo has enough to deal with right now, don't you think?"

She doesn't give me a chance to find a response to her cryptic answer. Why would telling me her story make things more difficult for Echo? Knowing I won't get an answer, I shrug it off and jog up to where everyone is waiting for me to unlock the door and possibly unleash an enemy none of us knows how to defeat.
34: Power and Purpose

(Echo)

Everything feels wrong. I glance over at Malachi and Kyran first, thinking they'll be the ones to recognize something isn't right before anyone else, and I get all the confirmation I need from the strained expressions on their faces. They aren't alone. Everyone with us feels the claustrophobic oppressiveness of this building. It's not an unfamiliar feeling. I felt it when Archer died, only for a few brief seconds, but reliving the memory imprinted the queasy, unnatural feel of death on my soul forever.

If that wasn't enough to convince me, the fact that not a single ghost other than Archer followed me inside the house says everything I need to know about what we're going to face.

"Do you see anything?" Agent Morton asks.

"If I do see something, I'm certainly not keeping it to myself," I say. More likely than not, everyone within a five mile radius will know when I see something. I have lots of practice at screaming.

Agent Morton almost scowls, but not quite. "Give me a little warning if you can."

Not making any promises there. Turning away from him, I survey the surroundings. Stairs to the right lead to the upper floors. There are doors on either side of the wide entryway we're standing in, but all I can see of the rooms from here is furniture draped in white cloths and dust motes swimming through the sunlight filtering in between the shutter slats. The entryway itself is disturbing, though I can't pinpoint why until I look down at my feet.

Years of wear and sunlight have left a distinct pattern on the hardwood floors. A carpet runner is missing, judging by the outline. I start to wonder why it was moved when everything else seems to have been left in place and simply covered. Movement from behind me unblocks one of the entry windows and a sick feeling wells in the pit of my stomach. The discoloration of the floor is somewhat faded, but impossible not to notice. There's no question in my mind about the source.

Blood.

When I drag my gaze away from the stain and missing runner, I notice Malachi and Kyran struggling to do the same. I don't know the details of what happened here the night Madeline died, but it's plain that it scarred them both deeply. Not wanting to be here longer than necessary—or keep them in this house and prolong their pain—I turn to Malachi.

"Where's the closet you're supposed to look in?" My hope is that we can grab whatever Madeline left for Malachi and split. I'm not stupid enough to believe it will actually be that easy, but the desire to cross my fingers and toes for luck is hard to resist.

It takes Malachi a moment to look up at me and respond. He shakes himself and redirects his gaze away from the blood stains. "Just down the hall, under the stairs." He gestures down the hallway we're standing in to where the wall supporting the stairs dips in and the hall widens.

Nobody moves. Cerise's hand slips into Holden's. Everyone else just seems to tense up, like we're all waiting for someone else to take the first step. Archer's presence hovers next to me. I know he isn't keen on facing down the creatures that killed him, but it's the only way to release him from his torment. I shouldn't be able to say that for certain. I know it's true somehow. Whatever they did to Archer's body, it bound his soul on Earth, slowly killing him in a way they couldn't during their first attack.

I don't know how to save him. Not the specific details, anyway. Confronting these beings is the key. Where that will lead me, I have no idea, but it's time to stop running away from my inheritance.

My foot feels like lead as I take the first step. Archer flinches next to me, but moves forward as well. That one movement seems to get everyone going, though Holden gestures for Cerise to hang back behind the others. Malachi steps up even with me but doesn't push my hesitant pace. It's barely more than ten steps before we hit the corner of the wall and I have to take a deep breath to steel my desire to run.

This time it's Agent Morton who gives me the strength I need. One hand on my shoulder, he offers it a gentle squeeze and a weight feels as though it's been lifted. I don't know what his abilities are, but this isn't his first spooky weird rodeo. He wouldn't have agreed to come along on this likely ill-advised trip when I proposed it—with or without him—unless he had some confidence in his ability to protect at least me. I'm an asset, after all. I know his concern for me goes deeper than that, but right now his training is exactly what I need to convince myself to step around the corner.

A plain, six-panel wooden door is the reward for my bravery. The paint is peeling on the top left corner, and thousands of times being opened and closed has worn away even more paint along the edges, but it's a solid door. Fearing it might be locked and breaking it down won't be easy, I hesitate reaching for the antique glass doorknob.

Seeming somewhat comforted by the sight of the door, Malachi reaches forward and closes his hand around the knob, twisting, and releasing the catch. The door pops open just enough to pass the jamb. Malachi and Kyran both heave in a breath, though I'm not sure if it's from relief that simply opening the closet didn't set something off, or fear of what opening it all the way will reveal. I can't answer that for myself either. I half expected the ghost killers to burst out of the door as soon as we opened it.

Everyone exhales, but then immediately tenses back up as Malachi pulls the door open more fully. All we can see is darkness at first. Not until there's a gap wide enough for a head to pass through does light permeate the space and reveal dusty outlines of boxes and random items. It looks like a disorganized mess and I worry we'll be stuck here sorting through things all afternoon, but Malachi's eyes go directly to a stack of small boxes that look like they were made to hold old photographs.

I'm not sure why he zeroed in on them until he pushes the door fully open and squats down in front of the stack to brush away the dust. HL, KL, AM, and K are printed neatly on the front of each box. I recognize the first three as initials for Malachi's sisters and can only assume the one labeled K is for Kyran. Where is Malachi's?

Fear strike's me like a lightning bolt. Was this whole trip a waste of time? Did someone else move it after Madeline died? Did she forget where she put it? How could the one box we need not be here?

Malachi reaches for the stack of boxes and pulls them forward. When he does, everything that had been leaning against the boxes topples over, unleashing a cloud of dust that sends everyone into coughing and sneezing fits. Malachi pushes the boxes out of the closet as he tries to wipe off his face and clear the dust still floating in the air. Kyran and Cerise each grab a box, flipping off the lids, searching for something we can use. Maybe Malachi's stuff got transferred to one of the others?

"It's just trinkets and pictures," Cerise says. "Little reminders of their time here on the estate as kids. Memory boxes."

Kyran fishes through his box, hopeful, but his shoulders fall after a few seconds. "Recipes and pictures. Nothing about ghosts or soul eating monsters."

Panic begins to set in. There have been so many new revelations in the last few days I can barely keep up with them, but one thought that solidified quickly and I've yet to share is why Archer was attacked when he was. I can't make myself believe it was coincidence that he was taken after admitting who and what he was. So far nothing has come for Malachi, but hearing these stories doesn't exactly mean he believes what his great grandma said about him. He hasn't taken any action to claim his destiny or right to protect me from ghosts. That holding back might mean he's protected from the creatures for now, but it also means I'm not.

In a non-crazy situation, I wouldn't hesitate to keep Malachi out of this if it meant keeping him safe, but what about all the ghosts, their power, the horrible damage these beings could cause if they succeed in killing me? I don't know what to do other than search for more answers. Until we know what's going on, I fully believe we're both in terrible danger.

Trying to right the mess he made when moving the boxes, Malachi struggles to get all the random bits and packages stacked back up. He pushes aside something that looks like an old coat and I gasp. Peeking out from under an afghan blanket is a boldly written M. Pushing past everyone, I fall to my knees and latch onto the box. I almost rip my hands away a second later, but I'm too shocked by the sensation to do anything at all.

Heat and vibration pulse through my fingers, up my arms, encompassing my entire body. It's not frightening, not in a scary kind of way, but I'm terrified of finding out what it means, of what the box contains. It feels both foreign and familiar at the same time. The same energy ghosts possess hums through my body, alongside a deeper thrum of something I can only describe as...safety. It's so consuming I never want to let it go.

"Are you okay?" Malachi asks quietly.

"I...." Turning to look at him, I hold the box up but don't let go. "There's something in here. Something important."

Malachi hesitates for a moment, then extends one hand toward the box. He seems confused when I pull back out of fear. Not fear of him. Fear that if I let go of this box every bad thing I've ever experienced will come at me in an onslaught to rival Pandora's Box. Malachi's fingers twitch, and I wonder if he feels it too. If he knows that opening this box will change everything.

"We need to open it," Malachi says. His voice is as hesitant as my heart, but there's an undercurrent of determination steeling his words. "Whatever's in there...."

"Could put you in a lot of danger," I interrupt.

Malachi's shoulders square up. "It will also keep you safe."

Biting my bottom lip, I look down at the box. "What if I'm not worth the cost?"

Warm fingers slide onto my cheek, gentle but insistent pressure forcing me to meet his gaze. "That's not even a question for me, Echo. My fear is that I won't be good enough, or strong enough, not enough of whatever it's going to take to protect you. That's always been my fear, way before we found out about any of this stuff."

Somehow bound by mutual doubt in ourselves and our abilities, admitting our biggest fears makes them real, but it also makes them manageable. My fingers feel stiff as I release my death grip on the sides of the box and inch them to the lid. Malachi mirrors my every movement. Our gazes lock as we each grip an edge. The breath we both take is a gathering of fears, strength, doubts, and hope. In silent agreement, we begin to lift.

I don't know what I expected to happen. An Arc of the Covenant blast of disintegrating light maybe. A hydraulic sigh as if there were moving parts involved even though that makes no sense. I was expecting something, but...nothing. Nothing at all. Startled, and a little annoyed, I toss the lid to the side and pray the contents are more spectacular than the opening of the box.

This time, I'm not disappointed.

"Whoa," Kyran says from over my shoulder.

Holden follows up with, "What the hell?"

Zara barges past everyone and reaches into the box, dragging out a handful of photos and newspaper clippings. She flips through them like it's a race before thrusting them at Malachi. "Why does your grandma have all this stuff about Echo?"

Too stunned to say a word, Malachi only shakes his head after taking the stack from Zara. A clipping falls from his hands and I flinch when I realize what it's about. Making the paper might be a good thing for most people. It definitely wasn't for me. I remember going to the county fair all too well. It was my first and only visit. Being put on a kiddie rollercoaster only to have a ghost squish in next to me and try to touch me at seven years old didn't lead to anything good. The operator stopped the ride when he saw I had wriggled out from under the safety bar and was crawling across the cars to get away. I didn't get hurt, but someone snapped a picture and everything blew up the next day in the paper.

That wasn't the only time something like that happened either. Somehow, Madeline knew about it all. I'm stunned, stuck sitting there wondering how I ever came on her radar when I notice a blue envelope sitting on top of what's left in the box. The envelope itself is nothing special, except I recognize it as one of my mom's. They had been left over from a set of thank you cards. I snuck one out of her box during some of my first attempts at helping the ghosts and escaping their torment. My juvenile cursive handwriting stands out against the envelope like a neon sign.

I reach in for the envelope, my hand trembling. I can feel more than hear the hallway going quiet around me. Holden curses somewhere to my right. I swear the paper feels ice cold when I pick it up, but I'm sure that's just my imagination. Scanning the address, I realize this wasn't sent to Madeline. It makes me feel less crazy, because I couldn't imagine I had contacted this woman as a child and not remembered. Apparently, though, I had sent a letter to her neighbor.

My fingers feel detached from my body as I extract the letter and try to read the looping writing that wasn't my own even though I wrote it. It's a simple message, a note to tell this woman that her late husband had left the keys to their safety deposit box inside the gun cabinet because he'd been afraid their son would find it and take whatever was in the box. Nothing astounding or shocking. I wrote dozens of letters like this and mailed them out whenever I could manage to sneak one past my mother.

Was it kismet that one of my letters ended up in Albert, Georgia? Maybe it was just chance, but Madeline finding me as a ghost wasn't. She knew about me for years before her death, seemed to be keeping close track of me even. I want to ask why, but knowing what I know about her now doesn't lead to that question but another.

Why didn't she contact me, try to protect me? Why gather up all this info and then just stick it in a box for Malachi? Did she not feel compelled, or suited to watch over me like Archer did? Did she somehow know Malachi was the one meant to become my Keeper? When was she going to tell him? How long was she willing to let me continue being labelled as delusional and borderline schizophrenic, suffering under the reign of the ghosts that ruined most of my childhood?

Anger builds fast and strong. She knew about me, knew I wasn't crazy or messed up. She knew I needed help but she just left me there to struggle through it on my own! What kind of Keeper was she? Why would she do that to me?

"Oh wow," Malachi says, sounding like the breath has been knocked out of him.

Kyran is leaning over him a second later, staring at what Malachi is holding, shaking his head in amazement. "I'd completely forgotten about that." He shakes his head again, then stops abruptly. "It was all because of Echo, wasn't it?" he asks Malachi, who nods slowly.

Frustrated and not about to be blamed for anything else, I snatch the papers out of Malachi's hand, fully intending to defend myself. The words poised on my lips die a quick death as I find myself staring at a trio of plane tickets. At first I don't understand why they were so worked up about airline tickets. Then two letters catch my eye and it all starts clicking into place. CA. California. Santa Barbara, California.

Three tickets. One for Madeline. One for Malachi. One for Kyran. Dated two days after Madeline's death.

Maybe it's a leap to say they were coming to see me, but it's a jump I make with full confidence. Madeline wasn't content to let me endure everything on my own. She was coming to save me. I don't know if she had any idea whether it would be her or Malachi, but I now believe she wasn't willing to take any chances. Was there a reason she planned to bring Kyran, or was it a guise to make the trip seem more natural? I have no idea, but all the sickening anger that had been trying to swallow me only a moment ago morphs into a blanket of comforting knowledge that she believed me and she tried to protect me.

Someone or something found her before we could connect and that brings back all my anger in a rush. It's followed closely behind by a chaser of confusion. "How?" I demand. "How did they know? The creatures, or the men? Who actually killed her and how did they know she was trying to get in contact with me?"

Malachi's mouth falls open, but he only shakes his head. "I don't understand any of this."

"There's more in the box," Zara says, pointing at the remaining papers and half-covered items.

Before Malachi can react, I'm tearing into the box. More clippings, reports on me I have no idea how she got a hold of—including my involvement with Martin Coulter's wife—pictures she must have hired someone to take, which is admittedly a little freaky, and a few non-ghost related keepsakes for Malachi. I reach for another saved drawing Malachi must have done, desperate to reach the bottom and find something useful, when a flash of cold hits me a split second before Archer yanks my hand away.

"Don't touch that!" his ephemeral voice booms in my head. It's so loud and painful my free hand snaps up to my head as if it might ward off the agony. Seeing my reaction, Archer pulls back. "Echo, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Straightening as his influence recedes, and with it the pain, I glare at him. "It's just a picture."

Archer shakes his head. "Beneath the picture...there's something...powerful. I think it's...my granddad mentioned a...something physical to bind me as a Keeper, but I never saw it. I only felt it once, and it..." His voice fades inside my head as he stares at the box.

My first thought it to go after it and see if he's right, but I fear Archer will clobber me and induce another spontaneous migraine if I do. We turn to look at Malachi simultaneously. It's his box. Left for him by Madeline, a Keeper who had been about to bring us together. Just like knowing freeing Archer will require defeating the monsters, I know Malachi is the only one who can touch whatever's in the bottom of that box without being seriously injured.

Swallowing hard, Malachi steels himself. One hand reaches forward and lifts the drawing from the box. He tosses it aside absently and we all stare at...something. The two-inch disc looks to be a charm made of pewter. Inscribed on the disc is a myriad of symbols. Some I recognize, like the Star of David, Om, Celtic knots, a cross, an Ankh, a crescent moon, but others I have no clue about. The few I recognize seem to be wards or meant to protect. They're all crammed in together as if someone tried to squash in every known religious or cultural symbol that might keep them safe from whatever darkness they're facing.

Like soul devouring oily black ghost monsters.

I don't notice there's a piece of paper tucked beneath the disc until Malachi pinches the edge of the paper between his fingers and slides it out from beneath it without touching the metal. Crowding in close, everyone is leaning over his shoulder as he reads the note.

"Malachi, in case I can't give this to you myself as I'm beginning to fear, I'm leaving you instructions on what to do with the talisman. My journal will explain everything else, but should you need protection before you've been trained, this will provide it both for you and Echo by unlocking the abilities you were born to use.

"The symbol must be pressed against the skin of your forearm of your dominant hand. Doing so will bind you to your destiny. It is not an action to take lightly. I hope I'm proven wrong, and during our trip to California I will be able to explain everything and begin to properly train you, but if the Devourers or their masters come for me before then you will need to take up my responsibilities. You're the only one of my line who has inherited the Keeper abilities, and young Miss Simmons will need you desperately if she has any hope of surviving the coming battle.

"Be strong, Malachi. Be brave. Rely on Kyran for help and guidance. You two are forever bound in friendship and purpose. Never take off the necklaces I gave you. I love you both and will miss you dearly when I am gone, but I promise to watch over you as best I can. I have taken precautions that, should they come for me, they won't be able to take my soul or body and my spirit will remain behind to protect my dear ones.

"Trust in your power and purpose,

"Grandma Maddie."

I honestly don't know how much more of this I can take. Battles? Devourers and their masters? Kyran? Magic talismans? I feel like I've been dropped head first into a foreign world I haven't got a prayer of understanding. Confused, terrified, and more than a little pissed off all of this has been going on and no one ever bothered to let me in on the secret, I'm about ready to walk out on the whole thing and dedicate myself to being a hermit when Malachi's hand moves.

I shout at him to stop, to be careful, think about this, to just wait! The talisman is in his hand before I can stop him from touching it. He waits only a second, only long enough for his gaze to lock with mine, and then it's too late. The second the metal touches his skin, our world explodes into chaos.
35: Instincts

(Malachi)

Pain like I have never experienced in my life tears through me as a tidal wave of agony. Concern for Echo is a faint thought behind my screaming. The stench of burning flesh hits me and I realize my arm doesn't just feel like it's on fire...it's actually burning. It hurts too badly to even consider sitting up, but I claw at my arm, trying to dislodge the talisman and end the pain. Nothing I do will get rid of it.

Everyone around me is panicking. I can hear them shouting and moving, but all I can focus on is making the agony stop. Rolling and thrashing, eyes closed as I try to shut out the pain, I beg for it all to end.

Just like it started—all at once—the talisman falls away and the pain is simply gone. I roll onto my side, gasping for breath and feeling as though my muscles have turned to jelly. It's all I can do to breath and not throw up from what I just went through. As my body calms, a heavy, dark feeling presses in on me. That's when I realize the entire house is absolutely silent. Not a creak or groan, not even a breath or subtle movement.

Forcing my eyes open, I don't see anything at first. There's a moment of panic that something's wrong with my eyes, but Kyran's shoes come into focus a moment later and I realize I'm not blind. It's simply dark, which makes no sense. We got to the estate a little after one o'clock in the afternoon. None of us were stupid enough to want to visit a possibly haunted house in the middle of the night. But it's dark. Moonlight streams through the glass panels on the front door, highlighting the bloodstains in the entryway. I have no clue what just happened. Not hard to figure out it isn't good.

It's a struggle to get my limbs to obey my brain's commands, but I drag my hands beneath my body and jerkily push myself up to my knees. That's as far as I get before a hand grabs the back of my t-shirt and yanks me up to an unsteady standing position. I almost collapse immediately, but not because of my weakness.

"Shit," I say as my eyes take in the horde of oozing black Devourers closing in around us.

I have no idea how I ended up lying on the ground in the middle of the entryway when the last place I remember being was right in front of the closet door, but I'm the furthest from the creatures. In fact, there seems to be a buffer around me while the others are practically nose to nose with them. That's when the thought hits me.

"Why can I see them?"

Echo's voice from over by the closet door is small, but strong. "I don't know."

Her near-whisper draws my gaze to her. Planted in front of what I can only guess is Archer, she has an arm out to either side of her body, as if she could really stop them if they wanted to take him. Who am I to say, though? I haven't got the foggiest about what the hell's going on anymore. They haven't attacked her or Archer yet, which I assume must mean something.

Still feeling shaky, I take a step forward, just to see what will happen. The nearest Devourer drifts back, but looks no less menacing than before. I start to lift my arm to, I don't know, tell them to get the hell away from us or something, and realize I didn't lose the talisman when the pain finally stopped. Gripped in my off hand, it feels unusually cold. It may have stopped trying to kill me, but that hardly means it turned off or whatever. A subtle pulsing of power undulates up my arm. Noticing it seems to make it come alive even more, and the Devourers take notice.

"Fledgling Keeper," the one nearest me hisses, starling me so bad I nearly drop the damn talisman. "You cannot win against us."

"Echo," I say slowly, beyond freaked out now, "you can hear them, too, right?"

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head quick and fast. Her arms stretch out even more and she takes a step backward to protect Archer. That seems to amuse the Devourer in front of me. A choking, mocking laugh gurgles out of it. "The lost Keeper boy is no concern of ours. He is already well on his way to joining us."

"What?" I blurt out. Joining them? What the hell are they talking about? I take a step back and find Agent Morton in my way. He grips my shoulder to steady me but says nothing.

Ignoring my question, the Devourer slides forward like spilled oil across a countertop. "Your grandmother may have escaped us through her trickery, but we will not lose another prize and disappoint our master."

I don't have time to ask any more questions. As soon as the last word slithers off its lips, the creature lunges at me. They all do. Diving away in panic, the only thought in my head is to keep them away from Echo. Whatever else happens, I can't let them hurt her. My body slams into the hardwood floors, blasting the breath from my body, but I'm scrambling up a second later. Everyone is running then. Salt rains down everywhere I look but it isn't doing a damn thing to stop them.

Somewhere Cerise screams. Zara launches herself into the sitting room and disappears behind a couch. Everyone is scattering, unable to see their attackers or defend themselves. Only Echo remains against the wall, though her arms have fallen and it looks like she's now holding onto Archer rather than trying to protect him with her body. Agent Morton is beside her now, and I swear he's staring directly at the Devourer nearest them. My plan to have them chase me isn't working.

"I'm gonna need you to tell me where they are," Kyran hisses from behind me. He shoves something into my hand with no explanation. "No guarantee anything I brought will work, but we have to save her."

I nod and close my fist around whatever I'm holding. Given that I haven't got a clue how to use whatever power or abilities I'm supposed to have, it's no time to doubt Kyran's questionable family beliefs. "They're lining the hall, most of them closing in on Echo and Morton."

It's not like we can sneak up on them. Half a dozen are still watching my every move. They don't seem to care much about Kyran trailing behind me, or Agent Morton standing guard over Echo. We're their prime targets and it's clear they don't intend on losing.

One of the Devourers moves closer to Echo, as if it's testing her for some kind of barrier. It reaches out, but its hand stops a few inches in front of her face. Terrified, Echo's chest is heaving, but she doesn't move or even blink. It seems to be Archer who lashes out at them, Echo shouting his name as a force goes crashing into the one who tried to touch her, and actually knocking him back.

Not about to ask questions, Kyran and I both leap toward Echo. She ducks away from another Devourer attack and curls herself up at the base of the wall while Agent Morton drops to cover her with his own body. I can't imagine how he thinks that will help, but I don't have time to ponder his methods. I launch whatever I'm holding at the nearest pack of creatures and nearly trip over my own feet in surprise when the packet bursts open and the Devourers seem to disintegrate as the smell of sage fills the air. For a second I think Kyran actually did it. Then they coalesce back to their original shape and fly into a rage.

"Try these!" Kyran yells as he shoves more packets into my hands on his way to Echo. He tosses his own as well, some going straight through the Devourers while others hit and burst open with only short-lived results. Archer is faring better than any of us. I can only tell that by the random Devourers flying into walls and ceilings.

Whatever's in these packets isn't killing them, but it's at least holding them up so I toss them furiously as I sprint down the hall toward Echo. Diving at the last second to avoid a Devourer trying to take my head off, I hit the ground shoulder-first and skid into Echo and Agent Morton, toppling them like dominoes. Echo's hands are yanking at me a second later, saving me from another attack and pulling me back against the wall.

There isn't even a second to speak before Agent Morton hauls her away from me and a Devourer flies at us and sinks through the closet wall at our backs without getting a piece of anyone. Freaked that it could come at us from inside the closet and kill someone, I shove Echo into the middle of the hall and dive on top of her. Kyran is still launching whatever he's got left, but I can tell from the look on his face that he's nearly out of options and I know I have to do something.

The talisman in my hand sends a biting shot of icy cold up my arm and I groan at the pain it elicits. I glance down at it, afraid it's going to erupt into a disabling fire again and that's when I realize the scent of charred flesh I smelled earlier wasn't imagined. A perfect replica of the talisman is now burned into my forearm. It sparks an insane idea, and before I can even pull it together into a coherent thought, Agent Morton growls, "Do it!"

Pressing the talisman into Echo's hands, I shove her into Agent Morton's arms as I stand. I don't really know what I'm doing, but instinct is guiding me now. It's all I've got left at this point. Focusing all my energy on the mark feels right. Everything inside of me, from power to anger to fear, flows to the still raw flesh and the mark blazes a fiery red.

I may have no idea what I'm doing, but the Devourers sure seem to get it. One bursts and vanishes midway through a flying attack at me as soon as it sees the mark flare. The others shriek and freeze. The only ones who don't react are the few still doing battle with Archer. Even that slows as I can only guess Archer has finally been overpowered. Wishing I had time to help him in some way, but knowing there's slim to no chance of me doing anything useful, I raise my arm so the creatures can all see the mark.

"Release Archer," I snarl.

One steps forward. The same one who spoke earlier, I'm almost positive. "He's ours," it hisses.

"Not yet."

That same sick laugh rises up like bubbles in tar. "Are you sure?"

It raises a hand and I flinch, thinking it means to attack me, but it doesn't come. Instead, all I see are tendrils of oily black mist trailing from the creature's hand and leading back to where a sudden but fruitless struggle erupts. To Archer.

It takes me a second to realize what this means. "You killed him. You're the one who murdered Archer."

"Stole his body," it oozes. "Ripped it apart to nothingness. No chance of getting it back. Claimed his soul for our masters since we could not consume it."

Claimed him. That phrase twists in my mind. Claimed him, linked him to them with that creepy tether, but he isn't one of them yet. If I can break the tether...

Striding forward despite Echo's plea for me to stay back, I take the last of the lingering doubts that this is all insanity and superstition and shove them away, making room for conviction, for the bravery my great grandma asked of me, and pulling in the power she promised.

The Devourer sees it, tries to react, to stop me or run. It's too late for that. My fist slams into its face. Shock that I don't fly right through him like I half-expected to, despite the glowing red mark on my arm, nearly puts me off balance. I catch myself at the last second and throw up an elbow to block the creature's parry. The force that slams into my arm is devastating. For a split second it goes limp, numb from elbow to fingertips. Flaring again, the mark shoots life back into my arm and I'm swinging again, connecting with its gut and sending it stumbling into a wall.

That's the first moment I realize the other Devourers have bailed to the edges of the hallway. Fear pours off their disgusting forms in waves. One solitary spot of struggling pinpoints Archer's position, but I don't have time to do more than notice it. I've completely lost track of Kyran and don't have a chance to find him. The Devourer launches himself at me again and I'm not fast enough to dodge him completely. Clipping me in the side, I spin and land face down on the floor. It's on top of me before I can blink and the breath is knocked out of my body.

Breathing doesn't get any easier when salt pelts me in the face, but it's not so distracting that I don't realize the pressure on my back has loosened. Flinging my shoulder back begins a spin. As soon as my right hand is free, I slam it into the Devourer's neck. I doubt these things breathe, but the impact stuns it and I take the upper hand by force.

I can only imagine what I must look like to the others, rolling around on the floor, taking swings at nothing. Whether they have any idea of the tide of this fight or not, I keep swinging. Both hands connect with the Devourer despite the mark only being on my right arm. The creature claws at me, howling in frustration as its claws split my skin, but don't free him from my grip.

It bucks violently and almost dislodges me, but a burst of power fully fueled by my hatred for this vile being sends a crushing blow straight into the side of its head. Its form flickers. Terrified of losing my hold on it, I shove my elbow against its throat and let my instincts take over once again. Vengeful fury brings my hand to the center of its chest. The Devourer's horrified scream is all the confirmation I need.

Pressing down, sinking my fingers into its weirdly solid-yet-not-solid form, the screaming intensifies to an unearthly howl that feels like a physical force against me. Everyone has their hands on their ears, their arms wrapped around their heads, anything to shelter themselves from the destructive wave. Fear that continuing could seriously hurt someone isn't strong enough to overpower the bone deep need to destroy this abomination.

One final thrust sinks my hand through his chest. My entire fist disappears and my fingers latch onto something I can't explain. Physical while oddly incorporeal, this is the essence of the Devourer's soul, and as soon as that realization hits me, I rip it out with absolutely no remorse.

Everything happens at once. As soon as my hand comes free of the Devourer's body, the creature's dying scream bursts from its mouth like a death curse, throwing the living into walls as a flare from my mark blinds them all with a flash of scarlet light in the same moment the Devourer's body erupts into a bomb of suffocating black ooze.

It covers me entirely and I panic, scrambling back in terror that it will contaminate or infect me somehow. Agent Morton stops my retreat with a commanding grip on my shirt and a finger pointed at something I don't know how to process.
36: Gone

(Echo)

There are a million things that should be commanding my attention right now, from Malachi covered in the insides of a Devourer to an unconscious Kyran slumped against the wall, but all I can focus on is the absolutely perfect image of Archer staring at me in disbelief.

He's exactly as I remember him, but infinitely different at the same time. Frozen as a fifteen year old boy physically, his eyes bear the unfathomable pain he's been forced to endure. He seems ageless, beyond what any human could hope to reach in life, scarred so deeply it's reflected in what's left of his soul, but buoyed by a deep sense of purpose and love. I stumble to my feet. Salt clenched in my fist for a useless attack rains from my fingers like the discarded bits of someone's soul.

"Archer," I whisper when I finally shake off my shock. Tears pour down my face. I don't know if they're from joy that he's free or the harsh realization that this will be the last time I ever see him. Whatever the reason, Archer responds immediately and is at my side in an instant.

He feels different as his arms wrap around me, less solid than yesterday. Every second he holds me, more and more of him slips away and I cry harder. "Shh, it's okay, Echo," his voice whispers not in my head this time, but through the air like any other person in the room. "It's okay now."

"I can feel you leaving," I argue, but I hold back saying that he's leaving me, most of all.

"Part of me will always be with you, remember?" Archer says. "We're forever linked like Kyran said."

The lightness to his voice is so beautiful, because I can hear the joy in it, the aching desire to be free of this world and the excruciating pain it forced upon him. I want to revel in it with him, but I just can't. That moment in Dr. Rosemond's office when he shared the past five years with me, all the times he sat up with me at night—through tears and the moments I thought everyone was right about me—quietly comforting me, strengthening me even though I had no idea he was there. There were so many of those nights. So many times I needed him, and he never once failed me.

"I don't know if I can do this without you." I swipe at tears, trying to be brave for him and failing miserably.

Archer smiles and runs the back of his fingers down my cheek, his hand sinking partway through my skin. "I do know. You are strong enough to survive this, Echo. I've never doubted that even once." His lips brush against my forehead, but I barely feel it and my tears fall in earnest. "Shh, it's okay. Look at all the people you have to help you now. People who believe you and believe in you. And you have a new Keeper. You have Malachi to watch over you after I leave."

I want to tell him that it's not enough, that he has to stay with me, but I bite back such a selfish request because I think he might actually do it. He's already suffered so much. All of it my fault whether he blames me or not. I can't repay him with more of the same. What kind of thanks is that for the countless hours he stood silently by my side despite the agony of his existence? I have nothing worth giving as payment for his love other than to let him go.

"Will you be okay?" I ask, forcing back another round of tears.

Nodding, Archer smiles. "I'll be fine." Heat flashes in his eyes as he leans in close and tightens his failing grip on me. "I'll wait for you," he whispers. His lips don't quite press against my skin, but I feel it all the same.

Slowly, Archer straightens and his gaze slips past me, but I can't look away from him. To Malachi he says, "Take care of her. Keep her safe, please."

It's only then that I look back. I almost gasp at the sight of him, bloody and covered in ghostly entrails, even though I saw him in the exact same state a few minutes ago. Confusion lines his features, but he nods to Archer's request. "I'll keep her safe, I promise."

There's something different in his eyes, but before I can really ponder it Archer redirects my attention. "Be strong, Echo. Be brave. Survive, okay? Don't let them win. Don't let them take you away from me, please," he begs. His expression breaks, letting through what leaving me behind is really doing to him.

"I will," I say. "I will. I'll make them pay for what they did to you."

Archer shakes his head. "It's not about revenge. It's about saving all the others, saving yourself. That's all I need."

Not wanting to rip every last Devourer apart is impossible, but I nod, promising him I won't let my desire to make them suffer derail what I'm supposed to be doing. "I love you," I whisper as I follow Malachi's example and sever the link to Archer I've been subconsciously holding onto for five year. It's not as dramatic as what he did, just a bundle of energy gathered from my soul and released like a breath held for too long.

He smiles as he feels me release him, but the corner of his mouth trembles as he tries to hold it steady. "I love you, too. I always will, Repeat."

Slipping away from me, what's left of his soul dissolves into the ether. I don't know what happens to ghosts when they crossover, but I know beyond any doubt that he'll keep his promise and wait for me wherever he's gone.
37: Tune In

(Echo)

All I want to do in that moment is curl up in a ball and cry, but that would be breaking a promise. Turning around in a daze, I stare at the scene in front of me. Kyran is groaning, but conscious again, and everyone else looks largely unharmed if not seriously disheveled. Malachi is the only one who looks like he needs a doctor. My shock at his appearance hasn't lessened from a few seconds ago, and it's enough to break through to me.

"Malachi," I cry out as I rush to him, slipping in the Devourer mess on the way and nearly landing in it.

He grabs my arm before I fall, but flinches at the movement. Not wanting to hurt him any more than he already is, I reach for Agent Morton and get out of the ick to inspect Malachi. Rivulets of blood are running down his arms amid the sticky black filth. I can't even begin to figure out how bad his injuries are. My hands hover over his arms, afraid to touch anything.

"You need an ambulance," I say, panic rising in my voice.

Malachi scoffs, but is purposefully not looking at the blood running down his arms. "Yeah, and then they'll want to know what happened. And call my dad after they ask why we're even here." He flinches, going even paler than he already is. "I'd rather not get my parents involved in this." He shakes his hands lightly, but it does nothing to dislodge the muck on his arms and inflicts more pain. Sighing, he shakes his head. "The utilities should be on. The people who're supposed to come and clean this place out will be here on Monday, but my dad had everything turned on early just in case there was a problem with the gas or water pipes."

Thankfully taking charge, Agent Morton gives a curt nod. If anything that just happened shocked or affected him, it certainly doesn't show in his expression. Handing out directives, he puts Zara in charge of attending to Kyran while Holden and Cerise are put on clean up duty. Turning back to us, his eyes narrow at Malachi for a moment before turning to me.

"I assume there's a bathroom somewhere upstairs. Help Malachi clean up. I'll bring up a first aid kit in a few minutes. If we can avoid involving the local police, all the better, but if he needs medical attention, I'll arrange for something more discreet."

While that freaks me out a little, it's oddly comforting at the same time. "Sure, okay."

Malachi takes a step toward the stairs, but the black muck follows with him. Grimacing at the mess, he kicks his shoes off and stares at his pants. They're soaked in the stuff and I think we both realize right then that he's going to have to take them off. The entryway is hardly the place for that. Scrambling for an alternative, I squat down and gently roll up the hem of his jeans so they hopefully won't drip all over everything. It's the best I can do for now.

When I stand, Malachi tilts his head toward the stairs, trying to avoid moving his arms, and steps toward them. A million things about our relationship have changed, but not so much that I don't rush to his side and help him up each step. It's a long trek and he looks ready to drop by the time we finally reach the landing.

With his arms hanging limply at his side, he only has enough energy to look at a door just to the right. A few more steps and I'm pushing the door open. Hoping Malachi is right about the water being on, I settle him on the toilet lid and twist the faucet handle. A groan is followed by a fitful burst of water that looks a bit rusty, but we both sigh in relief. I twist the handle back off and step over to the shower instead. There's no way the sink is going to cut it for this mess.

It seems to take an eternity for the water to finally warm up. Then it takes a ridiculous amount of adjusting to find the singular spot where the temperature is neither burning hot nor ice cold. By the time I turn my attention back to Malachi his eyes are closed and I fear he's fallen asleep. I have no clue what time it is after that weird time warp or whatever it was—another question with no answer. The battle was enough to drain all our energy. We can't stay here all night, though, and I seriously doubt Agent Morton is going to let Malachi back in the car like this.

Reaching for him, I touch his shoulder as gently as I can, but Malachi startles back awake, hissing in pain a second later from having jerked his arms in surprise. "Sorry," I say with my hands held up both in apology and in preparation to catch him if he loses his balance.

Malachi shakes his head. "Sorry, nodded off I guess. Didn't mean to scare you."

"I'm fine." I do have to take a deep breath, though. "The shower is ready for you."

"Oh, thanks." Malachi moves to stand, but falls back to sitting almost immediately. Frowning, he stares at his clothes. It takes him a few seconds to realize the problem—no doubt the same thought running through both our minds in that moment. If he can barely stand, how's he going to get his clothes off and step into the shower? Looking up at me, Malachi says, "Maybe you should go get Kyran."

The defeat in his voice tears at me. Part of me would love to do as he says, run from even thinking about his naked body, but I can't leave him here like this. I don't want to. Kneeling down next to him, I reach for his t-shirt. Malachi can't move to stop me, but he shakes his head. There's fear in his eyes, and this time it has nothing to do with ghosts.

Ignoring his protests, I hook the hem of his shirt and begin inching it up his chest. He doesn't say a word as I work. I'm the one flinching when I see the beginnings of more than one bruise marring his ribs and stomach. I get the shirt up as high as I can, but once I get there I have no idea how to get his arms through without hurting him. Nothing I try is going to make this any less painful for him. "This is going to hurt," I say with a grimace.

"Yeah." He sighs.

I grip the ends of his sleeve and screw up my face as I await the pain I know this is going to cause for him. Malachi takes a deep breath and then yanks his arm through in one smooth motion. He groans and pinches his eyes closed.

"One more," I say apologetically. I reach for his sleeve, but give him as much time as he needs to psych himself up for another round. After taking in two short breaths to prepare, he yanks that arm through as well and falls back against the toilet with a growl.

Tossing the disgusting shirt in the sink, I sigh in relief. "At least your pants will be less painful," I say.

Malachi's eyes pop open. "You don't have to..."

"You can't do it on your own," I argue.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn't argue. As much pain as his torn up arms have to be in right now, there's no chance of him reaching down and wriggling his jeans off his body on his own and he knows it. I'd say I'd already seen everything he had to offer anyway, but I wasn't exactly paying a lot of attention to him in that moment. Right now, a flock of seagulls seem to be fighting over the bits of embarrassment swimming around inside me at the moment, but I stuff that all away and get to work.

My fingers fumble with his belt buckle more than once. When I finally handle that challenging piece of apparatus, I'm even more of a dunce with the button to his jeans. The zipper pull seems ridiculously small as I try to grab hold of it, but I finally manage to carefully inch it down. Then I really start trembling.

If Malachi notices, he doesn't say anything. Given that his eyes are closed and his jaw set, he really may not be aware of how shaky I am. He seems to be struggling with what's going on in his head right now, too. It takes several attempts grabbing at the sides of his jeans to find a place loose enough to grab. All my missing the mark tenses Malachi's body to the point I think he might snap in two if I touch him one more time.

Trying to avoid exactly that, I tug on his jeans. Finding it impossible to get them off while he's sitting, I start to ask him what to do, but he's already identified the problem and sets his elbows on the back of the toilet tank with a groan and lifts his body just enough that I can yank his pants past his hips. From there on out, it's nothing to slide them off his legs and toss them into the sink as well.

When I turn back to Malachi, he's watching me with an expression so full of conflict I don't even know where to start pulling out meaning. "I'm so sorry about all of this, Malachi." It bursts out of me like a geyser. "I'm sorry about everything. About pulling you into my psychotic life. About tricking you into having sex and causing everyone to be so horrible to you. About you getting hurt tonight. About...Archer."

My voice cracks on that last one and I fall back against the sink. Pressing my hands to my face, I have no idea where to even begin with making up for everything I've put him through. How many mistakes can one person make? How many people can I unintentionally hurt? First Archer, now...can I really kid myself and say Malachi won't end up with a similar fate?

"Echo," Malachi says with a sigh, "first of all, you didn't trick me into having sex with you. I was clearly willing. Too willing. It was a mistake..."

"It wasn't for the right reason," I interrupt, hating that I made a mess of that more than almost anything else. "And I think more was going on than either of us realize, and I'm sorry about that too because I'm sure it was my fault."

He shakes himself and says, "Regardless, I don't blame you for any of this. One way or another, I was going to become your Keeper. I think Grandma Maddie's box proved that. You act like that's a bad thing, something you have to apologize for, but it's not. None of this was a mistake. I chose to get involved in your life. I invited you to come here. I wanted a relationship with you and I wanted to protect you. I had a choice, Echo. I'm the one who picked up the talisman and chose my path. No matter what happens between us after tonight, I choose to be a part of this, and I don't regret it even though my arms feel like they're going to fall off right now. So stop apologizing."

"But..."

"No," Malachi says with more force behind his words than I'd think he'd be capable of right now. "I mean it. I don't want to hear another apology come out of your mouth. Ever. Not even for something as silly as letting Kyran get blown to bits online or misinterpreting one of our weird local sayings. You've done enough apologizing and taken enough blame for ten lifetimes. That's enough. I won't stand for it anymore. No more apologies, got it?"

The corner of my mouth twitches at the reminder of me being startled when Kyran said he'd Sallyjacked the spaghetti the night before. Why that means he made too much, I will never understand. The rest of what he said sinks into me in a way that hits home.

I've spent my life feeling like a problem, a mistake, something that could never be fixed. But it's not true. The ghosts aren't an affliction. Being able to see them isn't a curse. My relationship with the ghosts isn't a mistake, it's who I am. I'm not anyone's problem. I'm the ghosts' protector. Tears well in my eyes at the realization.

"I don't mean to upset you," he says quietly, "but I am serious about the apologies. No more, okay?"

I nod, unable to force any words out of my mouth and explain the reason behind my tears. He's right anyway. It's time to stop apologizing for who I am and start fulfilling my purpose.

For several minutes we sit in silence. Our hands are covered in ghost guts and a few of Malachi's cuts are still bleeding a little, but we need this moment badly. I realize I'm not the only one shaking from the aftereffects of tonight when Malachi's fingers gently quiver as he touches the back of my hand.

"I'm sorry about Archer," he says quietly.

In his voice, I can hear how much he means it. I know watching me say goodbye must have killed him, but there's only shared pain in his voice instead of jealousy or judgment. "Later," I say, my voice quavering, "when things have calmed down a little, I want to tell you about what he showed me after the hypnotherapy."

"You don't have to do that, Echo." His trembling fingers rub back and forth across my knuckles.

"I do. I want you to understand, for more than one reason."

He doesn't ask me what those reasons are, because he knows his fate could easily mirror Archer's. I think he also knows I need to tell him and share that part of me with him if we have any chance of figuring out our relationship in the middle of so much chaos.

"Okay," he says, "but can it wait until after I shower? This stuff's starting to itch."

Smiling, I nod and help him stand. He keeps his boxers on as I guide him carefully into the shower and leave to see if I can dig up any clothes for him to wear on the ride home. What I end up finding in the attic isn't stylish, or even from this decade, but it will work. After that, I get to work cleaning up the mess we made in the bathroom—mainly to keep my mind focused on the good we managed to accomplish so the bad can't pull me under completely.

We saved Archer tonight. We even discovered a few answers, though the price was much too high. I fear that happening again and again if we don't figure out a way to stop it. For every answer we got, another dozen questions sprung up in their place. Whittling them down won't be easy on our own. The Ghost Host show was meant to be an outlet, a method of control. Starting now, it has a new purpose. Keeping Malachi alive and saving as many ghosts as we can. Tune in for the next episode, I think to myself. It's going to be a good one.

The End

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Keep reading for a preview of Episode 2!
If you enjoyed The Ghost Host: Episode 1, keep reading for an excerpt of The Ghost Host: Episode 2.

The Ghost Host: Episode 2
Chapter 1: Worse

(Echo)

When Agent Morton told me he'd pulled some strings and gotten me into college at Georgia State, I'd wanted to kiss him. Now, I'm leaning more toward punching him in the face. I blink to clear my vision so I can see the pages of my textbook. I had seven to eight class a day in high school. Four college classes hadn't seemed like too much of stretch. Morton's advice that I only take two classes, start out part-time, had earned him a scowl. I'm sure the words "I told you so," are on his lips every time he sees me hunched over textbooks scribbling out notes and highlighting until nearly the entire page glows fluorescent yellow.

Pulling my feet up to a crisscross style, I pull the book off the desk and settle it in my lap. I sigh, wishing that if I'm going to kill myself for this degree I could at least skip all the boring stuff and just study chemistry. Why do I need a foreign language or interpersonal communication? Paranormal communication, now that I could master in about a day. How come that can't be a class?

My phone, still sitting on the desk, buzzes. I ignore it. I know we're recording a new show tonight. I don't need text reminders every ten minutes. I'll be there. Zara knows that. As busy as school and an internship/consulting job with the F.B.I has made my life, I can't miss a show. The Ghost Host episodes keep me sane. After what happened with Archer.... I shiver thinking about the last time I saw him. The last time I would ever see him, and the oily black monsters who nearly killed me and Malachi in their attempt to destroy what was left of Archer's soul.

"What are you doing here?" Morton asks, his voice startling me so badly my book bounces from my lap when I jump.

I reach for it, a less than pleasant response on my lips, but another hand darts in and picks it up. The smooth skin of the hand says it's not Morton. Pulling back more quickly than a normal person would, I hesitate half a second before looking up. A young, suit-clad guy looks down at me. His patient, understanding expression creeps me out a little. There's something about him that looks familiar, but I can't figure out what.

"Echo," Morton says with a hint of amusement in his voice, "meet Griffin." When he sees me hesitate, he rolls his eyes. "He's not here to study you. I didn't even know you were here. Don't you have a show tonight?"

"Yes," I snap. The sharp look I get from him reins in my irritation. "Sorry, Zara's been hounding me all day and I have a ton of homework. I came here to get away from her so I could study in peace."

Morton cocks one eyebrow, but doesn't say anything in the face of my scowl.

"What are you studying?" Griffin asks.

His question reminds me I never acknowledged his presence, which makes me sigh. Good first impression aren't really a strong point of mine. "Sorry," I say as I extend my hand. He takes it, unfazed by my rudeness. "Thanks for picking up my book."

He shrugs and hands it over. "Sorry for scaring you."

"You didn't," I say. "It's just...well, never mind." No need to go into my high level of weirdness attracting entirely too many people who want to see what I can do. Morton's keeps them at a minimum, but a few have slipped by when he's not around and the results haven't been great.

Seeking a distraction, I say, "Chemistry, but I have to do all these ridiculous classes along with it."

"French is a little ridiculous," Griffin says seriously. "They don't pronounce half the letters in their words."

He keeps such a straight face, I can't immediately tell whether or not he's joking. Not until the corner of his mouth twitches do I finally laugh. Griffin relaxes a little, though I hadn't noticed until then that he was tense. He gestures at the book in my lap. "If you need help, let me know."

I scoff. "I'm sure you have better things to do than help me with my vocabulary."

"Actually," he says, "I'm on vacation for the next few weeks."

Glancing at the suit he's wearing, I can't help the skepticism that takes up residence on my face. "Must be some boring vacation if you're going to spend it in a suit hanging out at an F.B.I. field office."

Griffin laughs. "I had to run into work this morning and didn't have time to change before I caught my flight, and if I want to see my dad for more than a few minutes, looks like I'll be spending vacation hanging around here."

"Dad...?" At first, I'm confused, then I realize what he means and look over at Morton in surprise.

"Oh," he says, enjoying this, "did I not introduce him properly? Echo, meet Special Agent Griffin Morton. My son."

I stare at him for a few seconds before saying, "I thought you only had daughters."

Griffin's expression morphs into one of mock offense. "You've been working with her for almost four months and you've never mentioned me once? Why do Cas and Brit get all the attention?"

"You've never come up," he says drily.

There seems to be some kind of shared joke between them, one they don't let me in on. Whatever.

Another buzz sounds, but it's not my phone this time. Morton glances down at his phone, then takes his keys from his pocket and tosses them to Griffin. "This meeting shouldn't last more than an hour, but if you'd rather head out, I'll catch a ride with Agent Gill." His gaze drops to me. He frowns. When he speaks, it's not to me, but to his son. "Ask her if she doesn't mind. I'll text you when I'm heading home and we can grab dinner."

Griffin pockets the keys and nods. A second later, Morton is out the door on his way to some meeting I'm happy not to be involved in. It's an odd exchange, but for one reason more than any other. "Ask me what?" Narrowing my eyes, I stare at Griffin. Morton said he wasn't here to study me.

For the first time since walking into the office, Griffin loses his easy confidence and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "If I can...watch the show." He shrugs apologetically, almost as though he's embarrassed.

"The...show? The Ghost Host show? You know about that?" I ask, though I'm not sure why I'm surprised. Morton is his dad. It's not like us working together is a secret or anything...except from my parents.

Griffin grins. "Being interested in the strange and unusual is kind of a family hobby."

That's...odd. "Uh," I said slowly.

"If you're not comfortable having an outsider there, I get it," Griffin says. "Just thought I'd take a chance. I've been curious since my dad mentioned you."

Frowning, I'm not sure what to say, so I ask another question. "Does he do that a lot? Talk about me, I mean."

For a moment, Griffin hesitates. His gaze focuses on me a little more intently before relaxing. "Let's just say, my sisters are beginning to think of you as part of the family."

"And...you?" I ask slowly.

He laughs. "I don't get to talk to my dad as often as they do because I'm out on assignment a lot, but yeah, you could say that. Sorry if that's weird."

I open my mouth to say it is most definitely weird, but then I say something else entirely. "As far as family goes, I'll take what I can get."

If he thinks it's a strange thing to say, I can't tell. Actually, he looks like he understands, which I don't really get but won't complain about. Things with my parents have been tense. They brought the twins out to see me once over the summer, and I swear my dad was almost disappointed to realize I was doing okay. Not great or anything, but all right enough that I'm not running home with my tail between my legs.

The entire four days they were here, he asked question after question, demanding to know how I'd gotten into college, how I'm supporting myself with Zara not working and me supposedly working part-time as a data entry clerk for the F.B.I. field office. I know he thinks Morton got me the job out of pity, because there's no way he actually believes in my ability to see ghosts or communicate with them. He was on edge the whole visit, waiting for my life to implode. To say it was disheartening would be putting it mildly.

My mom was a little better, and the twins had a blast touring the city and causing trouble. The twins believe me. They know I'm not lying, and have a pretty good idea about what I can do without ever having seen it firsthand. My mom is being cautiously optimistic. It's not the same as believing me or supporting my choice to move out here, but it's better than being forced to attend therapy sessions and take medications I don't need. She's ready to swoop in and haul me off to a psychiatric facility at the drop of a hat, though. I have no doubt of that.

"Hey," Griffin says as his hand slips onto my shoulder and squeezes. "It's all right." He doesn't elaborate, and for some reason that makes me feel better.

"If you really want to come," I say without looking at him quite yet, "it's fine with me." I keep to myself that Holden will most likely not be fine with it, and Malachi and Kyran will almost definitely be either pissed or jealous or whatever, but I don't really care. Homework is only part of why I've been less than eager about showing up to shoot the shows since...well, since I screwed everything up.

Big surprise, right?

I sigh and start shoving all my homework paraphernalia back into my bag. Griffin moves to help me, wordlessly lending aid. We work together in the minute or two it takes to pack up my scattered belongings, with a strangely familiar synchronicity. He looked familiar when he first walked in. I realize now that was due to having his dad's eyes and jawline. This is different, more elemental. We don't get in each other's way or grab for things at the same time. His nearness is comforting.

There's sexual zero attraction between us. It seems weird that I feel one hundred percent accurate saying that about him as well as myself, but I do. He was teasing, kind of, when he said he and his siblings are beginning to think of me as family. That's exactly what he feels like, though, an older brother I know will have my back.

I'm used to weird, but this is freaking me out a little. Maybe a lot.

Normally, I keep these kinds of odd thoughts to myself. Morton insists I share every stupid little thing with him that has to do with my paranormal talents. Some of the everyday stuff too, unfortunately. Maybe it's just habit, but I don't keep my thoughts to myself for once.

"I'm not the only one feeling this, right?"

He doesn't ask me what I'm talking about or shy away. Instead, he smiles and hands me my backpack. "No, you're not."

"Care to explain what it is?" I ask with a slight edge to my voice.

"I'm not like Malachi, if that's what you're thinking."

Honest relief sweeps through me, because...I really don't need that kind of complication right now. Malachi is bound to me, my compliment in all things freaky and bizarre, required to protect me from all the dark and scary beasties trying to suck away my soul and destroy the world. He's also in, well, not love with me, but heavy like, I guess. Or he was. I don't even know anymore. Maybe he still would be if I hadn't accidentally commanded him to have sex with me after nearly dying and completely freaking out when I woke up. Oh yeah, then I ran off like a lunatic and inadvertently made all my friends blame him for taking my virginity when I was at my weakest. Even though I've tried to explain to him and everyone else what really happened—or at least my best guess—yeah, things are still a mess.

Before I realize he's moved, Griffin pulls me in for a hug and my head falls against his chest. "It's not as bad as you think," he says quietly.

I laugh, but it's not a happy sound. "No," I say, "It's usually worse than I think."
Acknowledgements

When I started writing this book last year, I intended it to be funny. Echo had other plans and this book is not funny. However, when I sent the beta copy to the always fabulous Apryl Baker, there were still vestiges of humor in the first few chapters and she said it felt too YA because it reminded her of iCarly! I had a good laugh about that because it was my kids' love of iCarly before it ended and my love of Apryl's books that got me interested in ghosts and introduced me to Echo Simmons, The Ghost Host.

I also owe Apryl a big thanks for pointing out several majors and minor flaws with the original version of this story and helping me work out how to fix them. You know you have a great friend when they're willing to be that honest and then stick around to patch up the problems.

I need to thank my other early reader, Sneha Mohite, who started reading when I only had half the book written and then stuck with me for months on end to get the ending and give me her thoughts.

My other beta readers on this project were invaluable as well and helped me with a particularly sticky issue so I could get it just right. Thank you, Melissa Bendt, Mylissa Demeyere, Michelle Zeplin, Rhonda Sermon, Monique Bogan, Deanne Gladden, and Nikki Jeffrey.

Final thanks goes to Kassondra Sturtevant (my awesome sister), aka Mystereah Photography, for taking the cover model pics for the front cover after I whined that there were no good stock photos of redheads, and to the gorgeous Kate Bordeaux for posing for her.
Also by DelSheree Gladden

Escaping Fate Series

Escaping Fate

Soul Stone

Oracle Lost

(Coming 2017)

Eliza Carlisle Mystery Series

Trouble Magnet

The Catalyst (novella)

The Handbook Series

The Crazy Girl's Handbook

The Oblivious Girl's Handbook

The Arcane Wielders Series

Life & Being (coming Dec 2016)

Twin Souls Saga

Twin Souls

Shaxoa's Gift

Qaletaqa

The Destroyer Trilogy

Inquest

Secret of Betrayal

Darkening Chaos

Someone Wicked This Way Comes Series

Wicked Hunger

Wicked Power

Wicked Glory

Wicked Revenge

The Aerling Series

Invisible

Intangible

Invincible

The Date Shark Series

Date Shark

Shark Out Of Water

The Only Shark In The Sea

Shark In Troubled Waters
About the Author

DelSheree Gladden was one of those shy, quiet kids who spent more time reading than talking. Literally. She didn't speak a single word for the first three months of preschool, but she had already taught herself to read. Her fascination with reading led to many hours spent in the library and bookstores, and eventually to writing. She wrote her first novel when she was sixteen years old, but spent ten years rewriting and perfecting it before having it published.

Native to New Mexico, DelSheree and her husband spent several years in Colorado for college and work before moving back home to be near family again. Their two children love having their cousins close by. When not writing, you can find DelSheree reading, painting, sewing and trying not to get bitten by small children in her work as a dental hygienist. DelSheree has several bestselling young adult series, including "Invisible" which was part of the USA Today Bestselling box set, "Pandora." The Date Shark Series is her first contemporary romance series, and her first book in her upcoming new adult series, The Ghost Host, will be releasing 2015.

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