Ghost (The Halloween Boys #1) (61)

I didn’t want to die. And not just because of Ames, or Onyx and Wolf, though they had quickly taken up residence in my thoughts.

I didn’t want to die anymore because I now had a crow that followed me around and laid pennies on my windowsill. And I had a creepy, cryptic friend who also happened to dress as a crow, who’d appear at Hallows each night to talk to me.

I didn’t want to die anymore because the ladies at the diner pulled together a bunch of their clothes they weren’t using and gave them to me at breakfast just to be nice. I actually looked forward to mornings, now. Each day after getting dressed, I’d go to the diner. I had a regular booth, and I’d sit and someone would bring coffee and waffles. Soon after, Onyx would take a seat across from me and ask me stupid questions about his crossword puzzle until I laughed. And then Wolfgang would join and gossip with us about town drama and whatever story he was writing. Wolf was the biggest gossip I’d ever met, and I loved it. They’d talk about everything except Ames and his glaring absence.

But I was thankful that at least they still seemed to care. I was thankful I hadn’t lost them too.

I didn’t want to die because Yesenia would stop by every morning after I opened the shop and spend hours just talking to me. She told me, not so subtly, about her family’s history of being gifted in the esoteric arts. She’d learned to palm read, and see auras, and look into crystal balls from her abuela. I’d only seen Marcelene once since moving in and working at the shop, and she seemed friendlier than our first meeting, though still wary of me.

I didn’t want to die because I suspected that Yesenia or Marcelene were stocking my apartment’s supply closet with food and drinks. Somehow, they knew my favorites of everything, and anything I needed was always there.

I didn’t want to die and not be a part of a world where Hallows Fest didn’t exist. The autumn air, the tint of orange, and smell of pumpkins and fire fed my soul. I knew the creatures now as I passed their pelts and paws. I loved it being a little fox in their midst. I didn’t want it to end.

When I called the Moores to let them know I’d found another place to stay, they were kind and apologetic for the leak in the basement. I was secretly thankful it played out the way it did because this setup was infinitely better than being scared and alone in a basement. From the top of the shop, I had a full view of downtown: the flame lanterns, the nightly trick-or-treaters running past, and of course, that damned creepy church. I’d look through my window at night and find his stained-glass attic window and wonder what he was doing. Probably not thinking of me in the slightest. Probably getting what he needed from Cat. I thought that could be why Onyx and Wolf hadn’t mentioned him. He’d already moved on.

The thought of him with someone else threatened to strangle me if I dwelled on it. Which was something else that had changed for me in that week. While the nightmares still plagued me, the daydreams were waning. The intrusion of nearly blacking out with dissociating into whatever fantasy world my brain wanted me to imagine had at least subsided momentarily. Maybe it was a step in the right direction, a sign I could grow and heal.

The Moores still insisted on having me over for dinner, which I didn’t feel I could refuse. It was a Monday night and I had nothing else to do. The shop was closed on Mondays, and I’d already walked around the town, talking to all the business owners downtown whom I’d met and knew by name now. I’d walked by Lamb’s Blood Church and saw Ames’s motorcycle out front, and my heart clenched remembering our ride. The way I felt free for the first time in my life on the back of his bike. Why was his bike out? Probably giving Cat a ride.

The Moores ate early, at five in the evening. I arrived clutching a bottle of three-dollar white wine and a list of excuses for leaving early. It’s not that I didn’t like them or appreciate their kindness; I did. But I hadn’t been asked to dinner in my adult life, and having to make small talk with anyone felt like an enormous hurtle. It dawned on me I’d still never met Mrs. Moore. The same damn crow squawked what sounded like a laugh above me. I grinned, thinking it sounded like Raven. My mind tumbled back to his song reference and very specific mention of peanuts. He had to be messing with me, right? Raven couldn’t literally be a crow . . . .I glanced up at the black bird ruffling its feathers, perched on the mossy home’s gutter. Something about the way it moved . . .

Soft fur caressed my ankles. With a smile, I knelt to pet the orange cat. The door opened and Mr. Moore happily ushered me inside.

And that was where shit got really weird.

I’d never been in the upstairs of the house except for the one dark evening I scurried straight from the basement stairs to their daughter’s room. From my soggy apartment, I’d assumed the rest of the old house would resemble the seventies decor. I’d expected some groovy flowers, maybe more shag carpet, some pastel tile. But what greeted me was . . . jarring.

“Welcome,” Mr. Moore said. “Again, we’re so sorry about the flooding. We’re glad to hear you found another place to stay.”

My breath caught in my chest as I took in my surroundings. Bookshelves lined the walls where hundreds, maybe thousands, of dolls sat perched, their beady little eyes seemingly staring me down. Dolls in frilly dresses covered the beige loveseat in the living room, they cascaded over the old television set, and they were piled in rusty red wagons near the walls. “Th-thank you for having me for dinner. I see you have quite the collection up here . . . .”