Chapter 26

Back at Hennessee House, Lucky gingerly placed Gengar’s carrier on the floor.

Her feral kitty was fully awake and enraged—hissing, growling, and yowling to be set free. The carrier rocked and skidded across the floor.

“Just one minute! One more minute!” Lucky darted to the kitchen to lock the kitty door. He wasn’t supposed to go outside for at least twelve hours. Doctor’s orders. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” With quick fingers, she unlatched the top opening and pulled it back. He was going to eat her alive for this.

Gengar leaped out of the carrier and ran straight into the sitting room. He continued growling and glaring at her from under the couch.

“We had to get you checked out! What if you needed medication?” He didn’t, thankfully. “She said you were incredible, never seen an outside cat like you before.”

Gengar was approximately six to eight years old with no identifiable illnesses or physical ailments. The doctor even seemed confused by his clean bill of health.

“And you’re registered now. That means we’re officially family. I’m responsible for you.”

Gengar continued staring at her.

“Okay, I’ll leave you alone.” She sighed. “I’ll be in the suite if you find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Lucky sprinkled extra treats on top of his dry food and grabbed a couple of the Squeeze Up treats he loved before heading upstairs. After her bath and dinner she waited around for Maverick’s nighttime check-in because that’s what her life had been reduced to—waiting for something spooky worth documenting or for him to call. Preferably both would happen at the same time.

She’d been so surprised when he asked her to meet his family. Not because she never expected him to—it just seemed so…final. He’d said he never brought anyone he dated around Rebel before and she assumed that rule extended to the rest of his family.

He was sure about her. And she didn’t have anything to give him in return.

Maverick would probably never meet her family. She didn’t have anyone else worth introducing him to. She didn’t have any other parts of her life to share. She had…her work. That was it. Yes, it was deeply important to her, but how could that possibly be enough?

In a perfect world, she’d have the family she always wanted. A mom who loved her unconditionally. A brother who never stopped understanding her. A dad who hadn’t died and maybe still, a stepdad who wanted to be there for her. There’d be daily messages and weekly calls and postcards from all the places she traveled while investigating and big family dinners when she came home. She’d be a good daughter and little sister. Thoughtful, caring, and supportive.

But that wasn’t what she got.

Her family never recovered from her dad’s death. Her mom remarried, but it didn’t do anything to stop how mean she became. That really was the best word for it. She wasn’t evil or a narcissist. She was hurting and refused to talk about it. All that pain turned inward and made her mean, especially to Lucky, who was already the black sheep of their extended family by that point.

Lucky understood, in a way, more so now that she was older. But parents were supposed to protect their kids, not hurt them. She didn’t know how to heal from that yet. She might not ever. So, she didn’t talk or even think about her mom, and although her heart might always want to love her mom, hearts didn’t always know best.

Her brother was a different story.

He didn’t have ESP and believed she didn’t either. She was lying, being weird for attention. He’d stopped talking to her after they graduated high school. The last time he called was to tell her Grandpa died. She could at least count on him for big news like that.

Lucky hadn’t seen him in years—did they even still look alike? Where did he live now? Was he married? Did he have kids? When she met Maverick’s family, they’d ask about hers and she’d have nothing to tell them except lies. Her phone finally rang and she crawled out of her accidental nest of blankets. “Hi.”

Maverick hesitated. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t sound like it. What happened?”

“I’m a little congested.” Not a lie. Not the whole truth. “I’ll be fine.”

Maverick managed to hold every bit of her attention, keeping her barely concealed sadness at bay, until they said good night. And then, right as she was falling asleep, she thought about her family again. Her mom and her brother.

Lucky had the best, most restorative sleeps of her life inside of Hennessee House. No tossing. No turning. Never woke up in the middle of the night.

Until now.

She gasped awake, sitting up in bed with one hand clutching her blankets and the other on her chest. Cold air clung to her clammy skin—her window was open. She did not do that. She never slept with the windows open out of fear of someone crawling through it.

Yes, she was on the second floor. Old habits stemming from years of being a woman living alone in a first-floor apartment died hard.

Tossing her blankets to the side, she walked to the window and firmly shut it.

Someone knocked on her bedroom door.

She whirled around, heart in her throat.

A voice called out, “Lucky?”

She clutched the windowsill so hard her fingers began to hurt. Carefully, slowly, eyes peeled for any sign of danger, she grabbed her phone and began to record. Because she knew that voice. Fear existed within her like flour inside of a sifter—solid until she forced it through. Was she truly afraid or just startled?

Heart rate—accelerated.

Breathing—heavier than normal.

Stomach—queasy with nerves.

Hands—a slight tremor.

Willpower—steady as a rock.

Not calm, but ready. The doorknob felt warm in her hand as she turned it. Hennessee’s peppermint scent beckoned her into the hall.

A woman stood on the other side. Tall with light brown skin and giant dark eyes. Her hair extended around her like a curly halo straight from the heavens. She didn’t smile because she rarely ever did when she looked at Lucky.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Lucky.” Not a hint of affection. Not even a scrape of it. Shit.

“You’re not real.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows raised in question. “You could be wrong but that never occurs to you, does it? Stop being rude. Why are you always hiding in your room?”

“I’ll come out.”

Hennessee House’s specter of Lucky’s mom stepped back to give her space.

The house had turned all the lights on. Lucky almost laughed. It must not have wanted her to miss a single detail of its work. The hair, her face, her voice—it’d even gotten the small triangle-shaped mole on the front of her mom’s wrist right.

Her gaze flicked between the phone screen and the specter as she willed herself to internalize the truth. No matter what happened, no matter what it said, it wasn’t real. That wasn’t her mom. On the screen, a blurry white smear appeared in her place.

As if reading her mind, it said, “You don’t need that. Put it away. Now.”

“No. Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Who in the hell are you talking to like that?”

Lucky nearly flinched. That tone made her feel twelve again, trying to disappear after giving a bad translation to one of her mom’s friends. You speak when spoken to, do you hear me?

Hennessee was so good, she instinctively knew which bad memories the house had chosen to sustain the specter: Her dead husband had left her with a weird-ass daughter who wouldn’t stop racking up medical debt. A useless daughter who couldn’t even be a good psychic to help them cover the bills. What a life. At least her son was normal.

“You’re not my mom.”

“Always thinking you know everything.” It smiled. “What if I die? Who would want to take care of a self-righteous brat like you?”

“You’re not dead. Reggie would’ve called for that.”

“Would he? Are you sure? Maybe he’s too busy with a baby now. Maybe you’re an aunt and you didn’t even know it.”

“That’s not true.”

“A little boy. Reggie Junior. Ten little perfect toes and fingers, fat little legs, and chubby cheeks. He might have your eyes—Hart eyes. Just like Reggie. Just like your dad.”

“That’s not true. Reggie would’ve told me. I would’ve gone home for him.”

“You sure about that?”

Lucky closed her eyes in resignation. This is what she asked for. This is what she wanted. A specter of her brother leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. The waves in his short hair, the nose piercing, the dimple in his chin—a picture-perfect replica. Oh no, this one was going to hurt. She blinked back the tears pooling in her eyes.

“You’re shorter than I remember,” she lied, staring him down.

He grinned in response, gaze dropping to the ground momentarily—a nervous habit he’d always had because ironically he hated eye contact.

Lucky’s heart squeezed with fondness for him, but that wasn’t her Reggie. It wasn’t.

Hennessee House couldn’t fool her. Hennessee House couldn’t scare her. The most it could do was hurt her feelings, but she’d brought this on herself. She’d gone to sleep thinking about her family because Maverick wanted her to meet his. Technically, she hurt her own feelings.

Lucky would bow to no one—not even an invasive, old sentient house.

Summoning the bravado she always found when she truly needed it, she asked, “So is this it, then? We’re going to stand here until sunrise?”

It, Reggie-edition, moved closer to her. Face to face. It tilted its head to the side. “Why aren’t you leaving?”

“The others were scared. I’m not.”

Specter-Mom’s face had gone slack. “Yes, I know, only the ghost scares you.”

Lucky frowned. “What ghost?”

Its eyes suddenly turned black, shining with a tiny pinprick of light at the center—a single star in endless darkness. Its mouth hung open.

Formidable, ringing, and clear, she heard it speak directly inside of her head—a deep, slow growl with a halting cadence. “at the bottom of your mind—destroyed—are you not happy—will you stay—will you run.”

Hennessee House needed to use telepathy to communicate!

Lucky’s eyes widened. Terror gripped her neck, cutting off her air. Fear so palpable she could taste it burned in her mouth like stomach acid and had her reaching for the door, slamming it behind her.

“Come back, Lucky Bug! Come back!”

A cold sweat beaded on her brow, ran down her face as she sank to the floor in her suite. She curled into the fetal position willing her lungs to relax, to let her breathe, to not pass out. She squeezed her eyes shut.

That voice reverberated in her memory palace. Her great library with reflective tide-pool floors and enormous columns, living water tree bookcases with branches and sprouting leaves, vaulted ceilings covered in vines and giant windows. Her gold-plated automatons that were shaped like starfish and spun like tops to travel, zipping around everywhere. She’d left it unchanged, the exact way her eight-year-old self imagined it—nonsensical, earthy, and wondrous. That voice chased her as she visualized flying down the winding staircases, through the long passageways and secret rooms, past the vaults, and beyond the final boundary to the bottom.

To an empty room.

The first impression of the ghost she’d read, the one that she had to lock away for her own safety, was gone.

But that was impossible. Impressions didn’t leave her memory palace. She remembered everything about the ghost, how it felt, what it wanted, how she got it—but it wasn’t there. And she couldn’t feel it anywhere else.

But when? She had it at Penny Place. It must have been when she came back. Sometime in the past few days, Hennessee House stole it. Destroyed it.

Lucky opened her eyes. She knew exactly what her next steps would be. Had to be.

“Lucky Bug.” Only Specter-Reggie had waited for her in the hall.

She swallowed hard, choosing her words carefully. “Thank you. I appreciate your intentions, but don’t ever do that again. My memory palace is mine. You are a guest. From the moment I walked through your doors, I have been nothing but respectful. I expect the same while you’re in my head.”

Specter-Reggie’s brow furrowed as if he didn’t understand.

“And no more hijacking. Don’t do that to me again either. Good night.” Lucky closed the door.

She unfortunately welcomed the specters back the next night. And the next. And the next…