Sisters Of Salt And Iron

God. Ghosts were such douche bags.

(#ulink_ef7bf1ab-1583-5dd0-b2e4-2a3850410d0c)

LARK

We met at the local Goodwill later that day to shop for Halloween stuff. The dance the night before had just been the beginning of what Roxi was calling “The Halloween Season.” There was a party tonight at Kevin’s because his parents were on a cruise—his parents were away a lot—and then there were a couple of ghost walks through the week that I’d probably bow out of, leading up to thte Dead Babies concert at Haven Crest on Halloween.

I’d already let everyone know what a bad idea attending the concert was, and we had all agreed to go anyway, despite the fact that ghosts from the hospital had tried to kill us. Were we mentally deranged? Probably, but Dead Babies were awesome. One of my favorite bands. Yes, enough that I’d risk going to see them at the most haunted place I’d ever visited, on the night the barrier between the realms of the living and dead was at its thinnest.

I justified it like so: I had to be there in case anything happened. It was my duty as someone who could combat ghosts to protect the concertgoers—and the band—from spectral harm. I had told my friends—and myself—so many times I almost believed it.

Bottom line—I wanted to go more than I was afraid of the ghosts. And that was stupid. No getting around it. I was the chick who went into the dark basement to find out what had made that scraping sound, armed with nothing but a pair of nail scissors. The idiot who decided to help the creepy little bare-footed, black-eyed kid who wore a tattered nightgown and stank of stale well water.

Hey, at least I owned it.

So, we were at Goodwill getting last-minute items for tonight, and also for Halloween night.

“I think you should go as Daenerys Targaryen,” Roxi remarked, holding up a pink stuffed dragon.

“Ugh,” I said, digging through a rack of dresses. “Do you know how many times I’ve been called ‘Khaleesi’ since that show started? Too many.”

“But your hair is perfect for it.” She looked genuinely upset that I didn’t jump on the idea. “And I found a dragon.”

I sighed as she wagged the toy. “Throw it over.”

She grinned and tossed it over the racks. I caught it with one hand. “It smells like puke.”

“It will wash,” she chirped.

Roxi was one of those people who were almost always happy. I could hate her for it, but I think she kept me from being too emo. She was a little shorter than me, with long dark hair, a tan complexion and big brown eyes. She said her mother was Romanian and her dad was half-black. It didn’t matter much to me, but she was gorgeous all the same. My mother was a bitch, and my father was a half-ball-less wonder. I was jealous that her parents even liked her, let alone loved her.

“I think I’m going to go as Cleopatra on actual Halloween night,” she announced, holding up a long white dress that might have been fashionable in the late ’70s. It was hideous by way of fabulous.

Her boyfriend, Gage—cute, dark-eyed, needed a haircut—bounded up beside her. “Does that mean I can be a gladiator?”

The way they smiled at each other made me turn away. PDAs were not a spectator sport as far as I was concerned.

Ben walked over. We’d been dating for almost two months, and I saw him almost every day, but I still smiled whenever I saw his face. Call me biased, but he’s one of the hottest guys in school. Funny, smart—and he knows how to kick ghost-butt. His grandmother was Korean, and she’d taught me how to make pujok—basically a protection sigil against ghosts and evil spirits. I thought she liked me, but sometimes she looked at me like she wasn’t quite sure what I was.

I got that a lot. I’m a teenage girl with stark-white hair whose mental state had been seriously questioned, and who could interact with ghosts the same as the living. I probably wouldn’t like Ben’s granny nearly as much if she just welcomed me with open arms.

“What are you wearing?” I asked, trying not to laugh.

Ben grinned and did a little twirl in front of me. “Do you like it? I might get it.”

“It” was a full-length silver fur coat that was too big for him and too short in the arms. My guy was tall and lanky, and for a former chubby kid, he seemed to have no issues with self-confidence. One of the things I liked about him was that he was comfortable in his own skin and rarely worried about what other people thought of him.

“It’s a little big,” I said. “But it’s a good look.”

“I feel sexy.”

“You smell like mothballs.”

He sniffed his shoulder and made a face. “Yeah. Who even uses those things anymore?”

I shrugged. “People against moths, I guess. I have no idea what to wear to the party.”

“You could go as Elsa,” he suggested, slipping the coat off his shoulders. “You’ve got the hair for it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Me and my damn hair.”

He hung the fur up and stepped closer. He took a piece of my hair and wrapped it around his finger. “I like your damn hair.”

Oh. When he lowered his voice like that and smiled that little smile...

“Get a room,” Mace growled.

I turned around and shot him a grin. Mace was tall with light brown hair and hazel eyes. He was gorgeous, and someone I never thought I’d be friends with, especially after he found me bleeding to death and called 911. But we were friends. In fact, he was one of my best friends, though I doubted he knew it.

He had a fedora on his head. It actually didn’t look too bad. “Who are you supposed to be?” I asked.

He made a face—like he’d bit into something sour. “Sarah wants us to be Bonnie and Clyde.”

“We’ll look fabulicious,” his girlfriend called from four aisles away. “Stop making that face.”

Mace made the face again and went back to pawing through the racks.

Suddenly, Wren popped out from between two dresses in front of me. It was so weird seeing her do that and the clothing not move. She was so real to me that it was easy to forget she was no more substantial than breath in this world.

“Haven’t you figured out what you’re going to be yet?” she demanded. “I’ve had my costume sorted out for weeks.”

I wasn’t feeling quite snarky enough to inform her that no one but me—and possibly Kevin—would be able to see it. “Yay, you.”

Ben glanced at me. “You talking to me?”

I shook my head, glancing around to make sure no one else was paying attention.

He smiled. “Hey, Wren.”

She waved, even though he couldn’t see her. “Hi!”

“You could help me look for a costume,” I told her.

Her eyes lit up. If she clapped her hands I was going to slap her. Instead, she turned around and whipped down the aisle toward evening wear. Mace shivered as she flew by. He turned to me. “Was that...?”

I nodded. “Yup.”

He grinned. “I knew it.”