Ghost of a Chance

Chapter One

Horace

I floated high in the air above Bianca Brighton as she checked for ghost issues before the first day of classes at good old Providence Paranormal College. I gazed down at her lavender hair, distracted. It used to be pink most of the time, baby blue on rare occasions. I wasn't sure why she'd changed it to that delicate shade of purple, though she usually told me just about everything. Ghosts and their Mediums often became best friends. Once they'd bonded by sharing a body with possession, however, the partnership got permanent. But we hadn't crossed that line yet. I was too chicken for that.

The lecture hall had such great acoustics I wondered why that vampire punk band didn't play in here instead of the Nocturnal Lounge. I couldn't figure a thing about the undead out, especially since they didn't tend to leave ghosts and I hadn't met many while I was still a solid. Dragons were a different matter altogether. Almost every single one of them that died left ghosts. Exceptionally disgruntled ones, too. And Blaine Harcourt's two dead dads were more annoying than most.

"All I'm saying is, you shouldn't have been so hard on my boy, Wilfred." I didn't bother looking over my shoulder at the ghost of Ignacius Harcourt. I knew his square, handsome features would be cast in a mold of barely concealed anger, ironically framed by his shaggy, auburn hair. That hair and his temper were two legacies he'd left Blaine.

"And I say your kid needed more tough love than even I could dish out." Wilfred snorted. "He was lucky to have me. Just look at the situation his mother has put him in now and tell me again how he should have had it easier, Iggy."

"Don't you dare call me that, or so help me—"

"Knock it off." This time, I turned fully around, snapping my fingers in front of both their faces at the same time. "Just look at what all your bickering is doing and shut your traps already." I flattened my hand and gestured at the chaos below.

The ghosts of dragons past went silent as they watched what looked like an entire ream of paper scattering around the room below us. Some of the last airborne pieces see-sawed their way down courtesy of gravity we ghosts didn't have to obey. Each sheet bore the bolded header "Fall Syllabus," and some were pursued by dismayed students.

"I'm sorry," said Wilfred. I nodded, then glared at his longer-dead verbal sparring partner.

"Yes, I realize I should know better." Ignacius rolled his eyes, looking exactly like his son, Blaine. "I ought to just hide away somewhere, even if it means losing all my marbles and going wraith."

"You know better, Ig." The oldest ghost I knew leaned against nothing, tilting the tricorn hat he always wore askew on his white-wigged head. "And if Mister Horace Lancaster here didn't try and stop you, you'd both risk losing your jobs with the College. I'd have to go through channels to tell the Headmistress about that."

"I don't like tattle-tails, Rob." I put one fist against my hip and brandished the other. "No one does."

"Actually, everyone solid does, especially the ones who aren't able to see us," Rob smirked. "This is an Incorporeal Studies course, and I've got more experience with teaching this sort of thing than you, Porous Horace."

"Just in case time has addled what passes for your brain, sir, we're all porous." Wilfred's sick burn reminded me that the dragon ghost still had some figurative teeth.

"Quit sucking up." I almost felt guilty for pointing at the still-scattered syllabi and glaring again. "Go and help those poor kids clean your mess up, already."

"You know you're a huge square, Horace, right?" Rob's eyes twinkled with a child-like glee, then crinkled at the corners.

"At least I'm a shape other than round." I side-eyed Rob's portly figure.