The Half-Ghosts: A Spirit Prince

Ch. 6: Hemmett's Mental Block

Hemmett jumped, and bobbed off the carpet slightly. Oh no! He hoped the girls hadn't seen that. He checked them out from the corner of his eye.

Serafina's face showed only sympathy. She touched Hemmett's hand, and it hummed, like a bident struck by a thousand keys. Hemmett held as still as possible. He hoped he wasn't flickering.

"Aw, your parents are here? That's too bad. I guess you have to go," said Serafina.

"Yes," said Hemmett in a stilted voice. "They're terribly embarrassing. I must flee--I mean go."

"You're not going to run away so soon? Don't you have a phone number or something?" said Melissa. "I think Serafina has one, too." She nudged Serafina, who gave a sigh--Hemmett noticed it didn't materialize or go anywhere--and said, "I do. But I have no paper. Let me just write it--here."

She took Hemmett's hand, and penned her phone number on the back of his hand. Hemmett shivered and gritted his teeth at her exquisite touch. He longed to merge his hand into hers, but didn't dare.

"There," she said. She let go of Hemmett's hand--it dropped like a stone, so hard had he been concentrating to keep it material--and held out her own hand to him. Hemmett saw she wanted his phone number written there.

"I'll write you something," he said. Taking the pen, he crafted a special bit of spectral script, right on her hand.

"What's this?" she said, squinting at it. "Muy hermoso, Hemmett. Beautiful." A smile lit up her face as she gazed at the script on her hand.

"It's your name," said Hemmett. "The highest angel. I created that, just now. For you." They admired his handiwork together. He really had done a beautiful job this time.

"It's so nice. But not your phone number." She scanned his face, disappointed.

"I--I haven't got a phone. You'll have to call the bookstore. But they can get a hold of me! Don't you worry about that!" Oh, could they get a hold of him. He'd be lucky after this if Mom ever stopped searching his thoughts for five moments in ecto-time.

"Oh, I see," said Serafina. "That's . . . different. I hope you get a phone soon. I'd like to text you."

"I hope so too!" said Hemmett, not knowing what else to say. He couldn't text, of course. Not unless he wore special gloves, and even then, it was risky. One false move, and he'd be fried and wake up in a liminal space--or a far dimension if he was really unlucky.

--We've got to go. They're heading right for us!

Hemmett heard the message as if it were speech, in a hollow space inside his mind. He reacted--ducking down to hide his blond curls, he crept past the girls, waving good-bye. Serafina in particular gave him a forlorn gaze as he went.

Bent over, Hemmett rounded the bookshelves into the next aisle--and there, smack dab in front of him, was his father. Hemmett stood up straight, sure the jig was up. They'd haul him back home now, and probably lock him in the basement with the ghoul--and that would be getting off easy.

His father smiled at him, an absent look in his eyes, and turned back to the bookshelf. He hummed to himself as he rearranged the books. Then he seemed to notice Hemmett standing there, waiting, and said, "Pardon me, sir. I've almost got them arranged in the most efficacious fashion." Hemmett back up slowly, slowly--then bumped into Aether, and stepped on her toes. She smacked at him.