Page 41 of Ghost
I was dumbfounded, but Julian misread my expression and gripped my hands. “Don’t worry. Titus is looking into it personally. He also has people searching through public records to see if anything stands out. But it is a very large task.”
Why is he reassuring me?
It was obvious Julian and Miles expected me to be sad. They diligently watched me for any negative reaction. However, sadness was not one of the many emotions warring for dominance at the moment.
My heart raced for an entirely different reason.
I had neverdreamedit would be possible to find my birth family.
“This is amazing.” I almost vibrated in my seat from excitement and apprehension. “I might be able to find out who my birth mother is?”
Miles broke the silence that had descended after my statement. “We can’t promise anything, but we will do our best.”
I glanced back at them, taking stock of their nervousness.
Did they possibly think I’d be upset if my parents were never found? I might be a bit disappointed, but even this small hope was more than I ever had before. From the sounds of it, even narrowing down the population of the Earth to only people with abilities, the selection pool sounded quite large. I wasn’t stupid. The likelihood of anyone in my biological family just popping up was miniscule.
I had to fix this. No matter what, I didn’t want them to feel guilty. I had to tell them how much they had helped me already.
“I—” My statement was interrupted by my own startled scream. Because as I had begun to speak, a ghostly form materialized into view behind Miles’ shoulder.
Bushy brows furrowed, and Mr. Weaver appeared to be on the verge of another rant.
But I had no time to take in anything else. An instant later, I was pushed against the couch. Julian hovered over me, blocking my view of anything other than his chest.
A surprisingly strong and solid chest. The feel of it distracted me momentarily, as Julian’s frame tensed over mine. “Who’s there?” his voice rumbled. “Did you get it?”
“I don’t know!” Miles replied sharply. “Butsomethingis nearby, I can feel that much. Make it stop.”
I should have been helping them, I knew. But something wicked made me want to remain in this position for a moment longer.
“Girl,” Mr. Weaver’s voice floated through the room. “Will you stop wasting my time and set these fools straight? The Montrone nincompoop is spraying holy water at me.”
I fought back a sigh as my fantasy crumbled around me. Mr. Weaver was so dramatic.
Pushing against Julian, I was finally able to sit up again. I was about to remark on Julian’s continual tenseness, when I noticed Miles.
He was paler than usual, and was tucking a spray bottle into his overnight bag while he grumbled under his breath.
“Hold it!” I pointed in his direction, causing both he and Julian to freeze. “He was serious about the water? Is that a mist sprayer?”
Miles glanced at the bottle that was still in his hand, and then turned his gaze back to me. Confusion was written on his face, as if he found nothing wrong with this entire situation.
As if most people carried holy water in a mister.
“Yes…” he replied, his tone unsure.
“That’s for styling hair, not to be used for holy artifacts!” Another of my preconceived pictures of paranormal investigation shattered. In fact, this almost seemed sacrilegious. “What happened to a glass bottle and a cross? Or even, in dire cases, a mason jar?”
Miles’ eyebrow had climbed higher with my every word, but the confusion never left his expression. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?”
“Besides,” I ignored his ridiculous question. “How can you be touching that? That’s so irresponsible. What if you drip some onto yourself?”
Miles’ second eyebrow rose to join the first. For a moment, nothing happened. But then, with slow, exaggerated movements, he pulled the bottle back out.
I could only stare in shocked silence as he twisted off the cap and proceeded to dump the entirety of the contents into his open palm.
My horrified gasp echoed throughout the room. The sound turned into a strangled scream as Miles crouched into himself, cradling his hand to his chest. “Oh God,” he cried, anguish lacing his voice. “It burns! I should have listened.”
