This seemed very real.
The woman was a glowing greenish blue, her eyes wide in her pale face, feet dangling just a bit off the floor. But the weirdest thing about her was how she was dressed. She had on jeans, a flannel shirt over a T-shirt and a pair of Converse high-tops with Sharpie doodles on the toes, her dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail as she glared at them.
Whenever she’d died, it hadn’t been all that long ago, and Rhys found that more unsettling than he could explain.
The kid nearest him, a tall skinny guy in a Penhaven College hoodie and jeans, was sitting on the floor, his hands raised over his head like he was warding off a blow.
“What the hell is that thing?” he asked Rhys, and Rhys fought the urge to reply, How in the name of sweet fuck would I know?
Vivi stepped a little closer to the apparition. “What’s she looking for?” she asked.
The ghost was still moving back and forth, her head swinging from side to side, and yes, she definitely seemed to be searching the shelves for something, her pale face contorted into a scowl.
And then she seemed to see him.
“Son of a bitch,” Rhys muttered under his breath.
“I think she’s looking at—” Vivienne started, but before she could finish the sentence, there was a banshee shriek, and the ghost was flying at him.
For a moment, the cold Rhys had felt earlier seemed to slip over him from head to toe, enveloping him as though he’d fallen into the sea.
And then he was flying.
Well, not flying so much as tumbling slightly above the floor, his back connecting painfully with a bookshelf. Dimly, he heard it creak and wobble, heard the shrieks of the students in the library, the pounding of running feet and Vivienne calling his name. But above all of that, he could still hear that shrill scream the ghost had uttered, like Satan’s teakettle whistle, and as he tried to sit up, he winced, holding his ribs. None seemed broken, but they were definitely sore, and if that thing decided to take another shot at him . . .
The ghost had its back to him now, its attention focused on the shelves in front of it, and as Rhys watched, spectral fingers reached out to take a book down, only for the ghost to howl in frustration as her hand passed right through whatever it was she was trying to hold. Still she tried again and again, her movements jerkier and more frantic, and Rhys swallowed hard as he attempted to come to his feet.
Vivienne was still standing there, frowning at the thing, and when she took a hesitant step even closer, Rhys lifted his hand.
“Vivienne!” he called, and the ghost’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing.
He could feel it gathering up energy, the temperature in the room dropping even further, so cold now that he could see his breath, and every hair on his body seemed to be standing on end.
Bracing himself for another attack, Rhys gritted his teeth.
But then the ghost stopped, floating slightly to the right to glare at Vivienne, who still stood there, studying it like it was a puzzle she couldn’t quite work out.
With a sound somewhere between a sigh and a wail, the ghost dropped her head, and, as suddenly as a soap bubble popping, was gone.
The room almost immediately became warmer, and Rhys looked around him.
The few students in the room had fled, leaving him and Vivienne alone among the overturned tables, the abandoned textbooks and pages of notebook paper that had fallen to the floor, the library suddenly very quiet after all that chaos.
Rhys moved over to Vivienne, taking both her hands in his. They were freezing, and he chafed her fingers between his palms. “Are you all right?” he asked in a low voice.
Moments ago, they’d been kissing. More than kissing, really. Rhys knew when a kiss was just a kiss, and when it was a prelude to more, and what they’d been doing in that study room had definitely been leading somewhere. He could still taste her on his tongue, still feel the damp heat he’d touched between her legs.