Pulse

Chapter 25

Cian

Lucie put on some pants.

She tossed on a pair of leggings and the black ankle boots that seemed glued to her feet with how often she wore them, and we clambered into her Subaru and sped off. I let her keep my hoodie on—mostly because I liked the way she looked in something that belonged to me, almost as if it made our connection that much stronger, a tether that would never break.

Her mouth was set as she raced down the road, competing against the clock, profile like something out of a painting in the early morning sunlight. The flush to her cheeks was still there, her eyes still alive with the moment we'd shared earlier.

I looked away from her and manned the radio, feeling like an idiot. I shouldn't have said any of the things that I'd said, shouldn't have done any of the things I'd done. Touching her was enough, but kissing her? What was I thinking?

But I don't care.

She wasn't serious. People said things like that because they were sympathetic, even pitying, and didn't want you to feel worthless. It didn't matter how they did or didn't want you to feel; all that won out in the end was the truth.

The radio had resolved to pure static. Lucie let out a frustrated grunt, reached over, and turned it off. The pavement whirred underneath us. "I'm confused," she said.

I waited. I didn't know what to say.

She glanced at me, exhaled, and shook her head. "Not about...well, screw it, I'm a little confused about that, too, but that's not what I meant. I mean I don't get this. What do you think is happening to Vinny?"

"There's this thing people do when they don't want ghosts quote-on-quote haunting their house, Lucie. It gets rid of the ghost. They fade away forever and they don't come back."

There was a pause. I heard her breaths, smelled the roses on her skin, the strange scent of death underneath. The light we were approaching turned to red. Her breathing hitched, teeth gritting as she let out a small tsk. "He's being exorcised? Who would do that?"

"I'd like to think my parents are on the Definitely Not list," I said, dropping my eyes to the glove compartment, "but then again, I don't think I know them as well as I think I do. Who knows what's more important to them: their son or their image?"

"Cian," Lucie said with a deep frown, sorrow in her voice. "I'm sure they wouldn't do that. I promise—"

"Don't promise."

She didn't promise.

She just sighed, shoved a few mussed hairs back into place, and stepped on the gas, speeding forward again. The rest of the ride to my house was silent.

There was a silver Tesla parked in my driveway, and a sedan beside it with the vanity plate N0SP1RITS. I put a hand to my forehead. I had thought there was no way this could get worse. I was mistaken.

I grabbed Lucie's hand, crashing through the front door. Immediately I coughed, holding a hand to my nose and mouth. The foyer smelled strongly of beeswax candles and a sweet but sickening incense, the tendrils of smoke rising to the high ceiling. I was shouted at as I crossed the threshold not to scuff the salt lining the entrance.

Mom and Dad were both in the foyer, huddled near the parlor with wide eyes, and Eden stood near the stairs, stone-faced. There was a wiry man in a pressed, gray suit standing underneath the chandelier, chanting something from a leather bound book in his hands. All the noises melded together in my ears; I had an earsplitting headache.