CHAPTER ONE
SPENCER'S POV
A floating bucket of ice cream. That's what was in my rearview mirror. A spoon dipped in, lifted, and a dollop of vanilla disappeared into thin air.
"I'm done with this one," a voice said from the back seat. "I need another."
I gripped the steering wheel of my Bentley, my knuckles turning white. "Wednesday, you'll get diabetes. This is your third bucket just this morning."
The empty bucket levitated and bonked me softly on the head before landing on the passenger seat. I flinched.
"I licked seven buckets a day when I was alive," she said, her voice now right beside my ear as she phased through the seat to sit beside me, placing the new bucket on her lap. "Why should I stop now?"
I gulped. "You're haunting me, you know. I could sue you for psychological damages and unauthorized possession of my premium dairy products."
She laughed, a sound like wind chimes in a graveyard. "Take me to Ghostbusters, huh, silly? You'd still have to buy my ice cream."
"Who even are you?" I asked, exasperated.
"What am I wearing?" she retorted, a challenge in her ghostly eyes.
I glanced over. She was still in that stark military uniform from the night we met. "A military costume."
"Now, who am I?" A slow, knowing smile spread across her pale face.
"Wednesday," I breathed out, the reality still feeling impossible.
"So, I'm not a ghost for Ghostbusters. Get that clear." She pointed a translucent finger at the windshield. "Eyes on the road, Postlethwaite. What have you gotten yourself into?"
And what I'd gotten myself into started exactly four weeks ago, on the night that changed everything…
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I'm Spencer Postlethwaite. Twenty-four years old, a business tycoon, and CEO of Postlethwaite Generals. I'm stinky rich, a little rude, and, if I do say so myself, devastatingly handsome. I suppose that's why I caught the attention of someone not even of this world.
The morning of Halloween, I stood shirtless in front of my floor-to-ceiling mirror, admiring the view. My abs were coming in nicely. A smirk tugged at my lips as I tucked my damp hair back.
My phone rang, shattering the silence. It was my friend, Allen.
"Hey, Allen. What's up?"
"Did you get my invite? Today is Halloween. We're throwing a massive party at the Continental Hotel tonight."
"I got it," I said, walking towards my walk-in closet. "I've worked my ass off all week. I need a party. Just… not a spooky one."
Allen laughed. "You're scared! You're not a real woman. Megan's here, and we're all going. So get your costume ready."
After the call, I drove to the most exclusive costume shop in town. The streets were already lined with grinning pumpkins and fake cobwebs. My phone rang again. Megan.
"Hello, babe."
"I'm so sorry I didn't make it last night," she said, her voice sweet. "My . started."
"It's fine. I'm at the designer shop now. What do you think? Frankenstein? Captain Hook? A ghost?"
"Go for Dracula," she giggled. "It suits you."
I shrugged, paid the $500 without a second thought, and headed back to my car. As I reversed, I slammed on the brakes. I could have sworn I saw someone in my side mirror—a flicker of movement in a military-style coat. But when I looked again, the sidewalk was empty.
"Spooky wooky," I muttered to myself, speeding off. I hate Halloween. But I love parties.
A few hours later, I was transformed. My hair was slicked back, the plastic fangs fit perfectly, and the black cape flowed dramatically behind me. I looked in the mirror and winked. Perfect.
My phone beeped with the location: Continental Hotel. Here I come.
I never knew that night would be the last normal one of my life.