𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐂 | (adj.) "Otherworldly."
In an alternate version of present-day Britain, ghosts who are deadly to the touch have been rising from their graves for the past fifty years. Adults cannot sense the ghosts, but children can, so teenagers hav...
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𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁 after connecting with Annabel. The trio had since moved into the kitchen and made breakfast, but Erin could hardly stand to eat. The intensity of the echoes that had leapt off of the ring and right into her very soul were enough to let her know that she needed to help this girl, regardless of the fact that she was a Visitor. She kept replaying the waves in her head—the immense joy, the unbridled passion and devotion that turned into hysterical jealous. And the blinding rage of the man who had given her the ring. The mercurial emotions stayed with her, nestling just underneath her breastbone.
George was sitting at the head of the table, in the seat beside her, and Anthony was standing across from them. He held the ring in one hand and a silver-glass container small enough to perfectly encase the ring in the other.
"The ring stays in the basement until we take it to the furnaces," he stated as he placed the ring inside and snapped the lid to the case shut.
"What?" Erin asked, blinking back to the present as he placed the container in yet another containment case. "Why would we stop when we're just getting somewhere?"
Anthony flicked his gaze toward his best friend, who looked as though she hadn't slept in weeks. Her hair was dull, her gray eyes flat, and her skin was sickly pale. She hadn't looked as such prior to what had just occurred in the sitting room, and it made Anthony's stomach sick with the notion that what he had allowed to happen under his roof had caused her to deteriorate so quickly. Her eyes were unfocused and he knew that she was reliving every bit of emotion she had felt while connected to Annabel.
"Are you suggesting we do that again?" he questioned, pointing in the direction of the sitting room.
Erin shrugged. "If it helps us understand more about her, then yes," she replied, folding her arms over her chest.
"You're not subjecting yourself to that again," Anthony told her softly. "I can't let you. It's too dangerous—that just proved it." He pushed the plate of toast that he'd made for her toward where she was seated. "Please, eat something, love. You're pale."
Erin ignored his concern, instead still on the subject of Annabel and her Source. "But we—"
"No," Anthony interjected firmly. Erin glanced at George, who was busying himself with reading days-old notes on the Thinking Cloth. She sighed, returning her gaze toward Anthony. "No more pet projects. There's bills to pay."
That got George's attention. He lifted his head, brow furrowed. "Uh, what bills?"
Anthony sighed, reaching into the pocket of his hoodie. With two fingers, he pulled out a piece of folded paper and handed it to George as he leaned against the end table across from them, arms folding over his chest.
George opened the paper, eyes scanning the page. "Sixty thousand pounds?" he asked and Erin's eyes widened.
"What?" she followed up, plucking the paper from George's hands. Her eyes scanned the paper, noting the DEPRAC logo emblazoned on the top of the page, as well as the request for reparations in regard to Mrs. Hope's home.
