Ghost (The Halloween Boys #1) (90)

“Among other things, yes, it comes from my dragon side. I’m a hybrid, the only one of my kind, as far as I know. My mom was . . . is . . . a dragon. My father is a vampire. They abandoned me here in Ash Grove over two hundred years ago. When the curse happened on Halloween, it removed my blinders, I guess. I thought the family I was staying with were mine, but they were just random humans. My parents left me here for some reason and erased my memory of them. But I remember. If I can ever leave Ash Grove . . .” He shrugged. My chest constricted for my friend. I had no reason to leave other than selfishness. Onyx, however, had a family, a lineage, and an entire new world to seek out. Instead of exploring, he was tethered here like an animal on a chain.

Blythe clicked her tongue in her cheek. Stray hairs from her ponytail wisped around her face in the cold autumn breeze. “Which one did the ability to drug me come from?”

He winced. “Vampire. I don’t know a lot about my dragon heritage, aside from the fire.”

She raised an eyebrow and tapped her foot expectantly.

“I’m sorry for making you fall asleep and giving you happy feelings? Is that what you’re looking for? Because I was just keeping you safe, and I don’t regret that.”

Blythe blew out an exasperated breath, though she was fighting a smile. A smile that burned like a coal in my gut. She shouldn’t be looking at him like that. He shouldn’t have been standing so close. “If it makes you feel better, you snapped out of it way quicker than most humans,” Onyx added.

Wolfgang bounded over, shirtless and dripping sweat. “What about snapping humans?”

“And you.” She poked his bare chest. “You’re a shadow monster. Beast of the forest?”

“More commonly known in lore as werewolf but I’ll take it.” Wolf tilted his chin and let out a forlorn howl toward the moon. The other boys stopped and followed his lead, letting out their howls. When he finished, he shot Blythe a devilish grin. She smiled, despite her crossed arms and what I assumed was a determination to act tough. My valiant Little Ghost.

“You’re all hopeless,” she muttered.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Wolf said, pulling her in for a hug. “I’m glad you’re okay, pup. And hey, that bastard is dead, and we don’t have to hide who we are anymore. You don’t have to hide anymore either.” She nodded, hugged him back before he and Onyx returned to their games.

When I noticed her break away from them and float back toward the fire, I joined her. “Want to talk?”

“Just thinking about the crones and their tests. They said that I’m not alive.” She rubbed her arms. I shrugged off my leather jacket and wrapped it around her. She smiled sweetly. “Thanks.”

I chuckled darkly. “What, did some cards and chicken bones tell them that?”

Her mouth quirked at the corners again. “Maybe I was hoping there was something extraordinary about me. But turns out I’m average. No, not even average, below average. Marcelene said I was verifiably dead. Maybe because I’ve been so depressed, so afraid for so long . . .”

“I think time has messed with her mind. And you are extraordinary, supernatural abilities or not. You’re brave, and compassionate, and accepting.” I tugged playfully at a lock of her long hair. “Those aren’t things most humans or monsters alike possess. You definitely won’t find those traits amongst many witches, that’s for sure.”

I picked up a stick and speared four marshmallows. “Want to do the honors, or shall I?”

She took it from my hands and poked them into the ebony blaze. After a moment of silence, she blew the flame from her treats and tugged a messy glob off, passing it to me. Then she tapped her sticky mess with mine in a salute. “Thanks for this, by the way. It’s nice watching him burn.” She plopped her marshmallow into her mouth.

I grinned. “I know. It becomes addictive . . . watching your enemies burn.”

“You are so fucked up.” She laughed.

I put my arm around her. “You’re only grazing the surface of that fact, Little Ghost.”





CHAPTER 33





Blythe





GHOST STORIES





She was young and very beautiful, but pale, like the grey pallor of death.

Bram Stoker, The Lady of the Shroud





I spent the next week back in the church attic. Raven had indeed dropped off my things . . . and organized them. I blushed at discovering he’d folded and put away my panties and bras amongst Ghost’s things in his top dresser drawer. He’d also spread out my makeup on the bathroom counter and placed Benny the Bat in the center of the pillows on the bed. Bats had taken on a whole new significance for me after our sexy cave visit. Benny would be proud. And as if Raven’s over-tending wasn’t enough, the countertops and fridge were stocked with all my favorite foods: chips and salsa, brioche bread and crunchy peanut butter, and a five-pound bag of unsalted, shelled peanuts, which I guessed were for him. It was better than frogs, at least.

“This is ridiculous.” I laughed, handing Ghost, who looked like Ames now, the jar of salsa. “It looks like I live here.”

He popped open the lid for me. “No, this is perfect. The bird’s scoring big points with me and he knows it. And you do live here now.”