Page 68 of Ghostly
Perry!Oh, no. She couldn’t let him leave, thinking they ignored him.
“You said I should contact you when I’d thought the thing over. I called you on the phone but you didn’t answer.”
Damn, damn, damn.
Ida floated to the door. “I’m here! Don’t leave, please!”
No response. She stayed there for a minute, looking at Perry’s blurred shape behind the frosted glass.
“I wanted to say, thanks for the opportunity, but I kinda have some stuff to do. So I think I’ll go.”
No!Ida clenched her fists, and the door flew open.
“Whoa.” Perry leaned in, head first. “Hello? You home?”
“Right here,” Ida said, a moment before he stepped through her.
“Yikes.” Perry shivered and closed the door. “You gotta get the heating sorted out, man.” He strolled into the living room. He wore the same jacket and headphones as the other day, together with a gray backpack. “Yoo-hoo? Mr. Buren?” Perry peeked into the kitchen, then circled the living room. He looked under the coffee table. “Hid the wires, didn’t you,” he murmured.
Dammit, what was keeping Gabriel? He only went to pick up groceries. Ida shifted from foot to foot at the doorway to the living room. She had to convince Perry to stay. If only Gabriel and his charm were here.
Perry swallowed. “You’re not here, are you, Mr. Buren? I really should go.”
Ida gripped her mind around the front door lock, but stopped herself in time.
Don’t freak him out. What else—the notes!
As Perry gazed out onto the backyard, she hastily scribbled aHi Perryon a piece of paper, then passed a hand through his shoulder.
Perry turned, but his attention was on the shelves and walls.
She knocked on the table three times.
“Holy—” Perry’s eyes widened, then rounded almost to a saucer-like shape as he noticed the note. He raised it. “Ghostie?”
Yes!
She lifted the pen and scribbled on another piece,Please feel athome. Her handwriting became wobbly at the last word, strength quickly seeping out.
“Oh, man. Okay. Okay.” Perry sat and plopped the backpack at the foot of the couch. “This is all weird as hell.”
You tell me.
“So, uh, what’s up?”
Ida reached for the pen, but only managed to lift it an inch off the coffee table, then lost her grip. Too much—she’d never written that many words before. Hauntings, knockings—those were easy. But they wouldn’t allow her to communicate with Perry.
“Never thought I’d meet my distant ancestor,” Perry said. “Well, ‘meet’. I have a grandma still living through my foster mom. Not my biological grandparents, though. Grandma’s one of those types who pinch your cheeks and ask you about girlfriends and keep filling your plate with fried chicken. Are you like that?”
Ida had been smiling at Perry’s nostalgic tone until he reached the end of his sentence, and she frowned.Excuse me?
She knocked once.
“Oh. That sounded like an angry knock.” Perry scooted away. “You don’t like fried chicken?”
Knock.
“You—ooh! Man, I’m dumb. You’re not old. Why’d I think you died old? How old are you?”
