Chapter 9

While everyone was calling her name with frantic voices, moving from room to room, searching for her, Ralph was hovering…somewhere.

Somewhere dark and obnoxiously warm.

Gah. she hated the stupid heat. She had zero tolerance for hot and sticky. None. And boob sweat? Was there anything worse?

That was a small part of why she and her ex-fiancé, Will, had broken up. He was going to take a job in Texas, where it was, according to him, hotter than Satan's crotch.

While that wasn't what ended it entirely, it had been a small factor. Will had been a good guy, but she'd realized when he said he wanted to take the job in Texas, she'd have at least been willing to consider going with him…if her life would've felt empty without him.

That made her question how deep her love went, and if she'd drifted toward him simply because he was comfortable. Will didn't require much from her, he was kind, mostly supportive, gentle. But he didn't inspire her to grow, and she didn't feel passionate about him. Rather, she'd felt complacent.

In the end, she'd decided that wasn't enough. If she was going to spend the rest of what life she had left with him, Ralph wanted something more.

Their parting had been quiet and peaceful. She'd guessed it was because he'd felt the same way she did. That she'd awoke the morning after Will left for Texas feeling lighter, less obligated, spoke volumes.

Anyway, she really did hate the heat.

Raphaela Tucci needed four seasons—three of which weren't seasons she'd spend on fire. And wherever she was right now, fire might not be licking at her heels, but it sure felt like it wouldn't be long until she fully lit up.

Yet, no matter how hard Ralph strained her eyeballs, she couldn't see anything above or around her, only below, where all the women and Shamus were tearing Nina's castle up, looking for her.

What was going on, and how did she get here from there?

Better yet, how did she get back down there?

Ralph closed her eyes and counted to three. Maybe she was having trouble adjusting her eyesight. You know, like when it's really dark out at night, with cloud cover, and you can't see two feet in front of you?

She popped her eyes open.

Okay, it wasn't like that. It was still dark as dark gets.

Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she held her hair off her neck, cursing its thickness. Everyone always thought having this much hair was a blessing, but if there was someone around with an electric shaver? She'd shave it the flip off right this second.

The good news was she could still float. That would certainly help air out her undercarriage.

That thought made her ponder this ghost thing. It didn't have a lot of perks so far.

She was sweating profusely, she could still feel the occasional heartbeat and race of her pulse, but it only happened sporadically—which made no sense. If you were dead, you were dead, right? She shouldn't have a heartbeat or a pulse.

Though, she'd give it up for terror. As a ghost, she felt that all the time. Never knowing what was coming next was a real edge-of-your-seat ride.

Maybe it was time to make another mental list about the good things she could attribute to being a ghost? Just to keep the Rose Nylund in her alive…

If part of her job was to keep a deserving animal here, knowing they'd be safe and loved, she was all in, both feet.

A sudden noise—or maybe it was a snarl—from somewhere in the darkness, where she floated aimlessly like a helium balloon a child had lost at a party, had her forgetting all about making the rest of the list.

"Who's there?" she whispered, fighting the tremor she heard in her question.

Then she asked herself, WWND?

What would Nina say about her cowardice, about the fear and whine she heard in her voice?

Get your shite together, Ralph. There are big scary monsters in this new world you've been dumped in. Figure it out and get a backbone, chickenshit.

That's what she'd say.

Squaring her shoulders, Ralph repeated, "I asked, who's there?"

There was a whoosh of air, as though someone had fired up a hot-air balloon and turned up the thermostat another fifty degrees. Sweat poured from her forehead, pooling between her breasts, making her want to stomp her feet and have an all-out tantrum like a toddler.

Instead, she picked behaving like an adult. "Who's there?" she demanded. She paused to listen. When she heard nothing but the whoosh of air, Ralph became more insistent. "Speak up, you coward!" she said more sharply, surprising even herself.

Almost instantly, a hand snaked around her neck and began to squeeze, dragging her backward.

Panic seized her limbs, at first making her incapable of fighting back.

Then she gripped the wrists of the hands and dug her nails in, clawing at them to try to make them let go. "Stop! Who are you? Where are you taking me?"

But whoever had her in their GI Joe kung-fu grip wasn't listening. Instead, the grip tightened.

Ralph heard the grunt of her attacker's struggle as she was torn from the very dark place and dragged to an even hotter place, where flames licked at the walls in orange and red.

Still, in the background, she heard the women and Shamus calling her.

Something inside her, something tired of being a pushover, tired of being an onlooker to her fate, dislodged, rose up, raged.

"I—said—let—me—go!" she screeched, twisting and turning in her attacker's grip.

"Shut the fuck up, you stupid, stupid bitch! You couldn't shut up that night, either! Why won't you shut the fuck up?" he hissed in her ear, hauling her against him.

Her ears perked. That night?

"What does that mean? Who are you?" she yelled, grabbing at his forearms, only now noting she could actually grab on to him.

Was he a ghost? How could that be if she could touch him? If he could touch her? As she struggled to free herself, and he pulled her backward through the air as if she weighed nothing, the terror in her rose to an all-time high.

He tightened his grip around her neck, making it hard for her to breathe. "I said shut your fucking mouth!" His voice was rough and male and very angry.

Then Ralph remembered something she'd seen or read somewhere. If your attacker has a grip on you, go limp. Make it harder for him to hold you. Don't allow your body to give him a springboard of tension to keep you incapacitated.

Give him spaghetti limbs.

Without even another breath, Ralph slumped back against the hard body of the man, letting her arms loosen and hang by her side.

That was enough to catch him off guard and make him holler in her ear, "What the fuck are you doing, you crazy bitch?"

And he loosened his grip.

Ralph whipped around in time to see his face seconds before Darnell was there, scooping her up like a football, tucking her under his arm and making a run for it.

"Darnell?" she said in shock. She knew it was him because she'd seen him at Nina's, changing that fuse that didn't need to be changed, even if he didn't know she'd seen him.

Flames whizzed past her eyes, howling whistled in her ears, heat flushed her face before Darnell, who huffed and puffed above her, made a sharp left and then they were falling, tumbling, as he held her tight against his side.

With another whoosh of air, Ralph landed back in Nina's castle, almost exactly in the same spot as she'd been when she left.

The women and Shamus were all standing around Nina's kitchen when she reentered. Their eyes wide.

"What the ever-lovin' fuck?" Nina crowed, her eyes full of concern

She felt like she'd been hurled through space and time, her entire being jarred. Ralph shook her head in wonder. "I don't know. It was hot. It was so bloomin' hot, and there were flames and screams, and did I say it was hot? Dear Lord, was it hot."

Wait, when she said all those words out loud, they added up to…

No.

No way.

"Hell," Darnell provided. "She was in Hell."