I nodded. “I wonder why that is?”
She shrugged. “The approach of All Hallows’ Eve would magnify your sensitivity to spectral energy, but probably because this is how every ghost in this building sees it.”
I glanced around again. “Like an altered reality?” I wasn’t completely sold. Halloween was becoming an all-too-convenient excuse for anything strange, and this didn’t feel natural to me like other All Hallows’ Eve weirdness had. It felt contrived. Like someone had cast a spell over the entire building. Or maybe, the building itself was responsible. It was so old and full of so many ghosts, it had become something of a wraith itself, able to revert its appearance to a more beautiful age.
Regardless, it was both weird and awesome to witness.
“Why do you need Noah’s help?” Wren asked.
“Oh, we found out the name of the ghost that attacked me and Kevin. I wanted to ask Noah if maybe he knew of him.”
Wren’s hands went to her hips, elbows out like she was about to do the chicken dance—which would be freaking hilarious. “Because all ghosts automatically know each other?”
“No.” I scowled at her. “Because the guy was a patient here, and Noah’s been around so long I thought he might know the guy. God! I’m not that much of a bigot against ghosts, Wren, no matter how much you think I hate them. Thanks for that, by the way, because the most important person in my life just happens to be a ghost, so, you know, it’s great to know she thinks I’m a total douche.”
She made a face. “I hate that word.”
I threw my hands in the air. “Then you shouldn’t have looked it up!” It was not my fault that she knew nothing about outdated feminine hygiene products. I’d had to look it up myself, and I personally thought it was a fantastic word that rolled easily off the tongue and included a large sampling of the human race.
I wasn’t going to think about the fact that she hadn’t said she didn’t think I was a douche.
“Suggesting your sister be less inquisitive is akin to telling the sun not to shine, Miss Noble, but then I’m certain you’re already well aware of that fact.”
I turned. Standing on the staircase that curved down from the second floor was Noah. He looked like something right out of the pages of Victorian GQ magazine. Any moment I thought someone might come along and challenge him to a duel, or that he might yell for his horse.
Of course he disappointed me by doing neither of those things. He simply walked down the remaining stairs, then toward Wren and me. I could see more ghosts gathered at the top of the stairs, peering down at us like kids spying on a party during which their parents had made them go to bed. I waved.
Someone waved back, which made me smile.
When he stood in front of me—beside Wren—Noah bowed. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Noble.” He straightened. “Have you come to collect your sister, or is this more of a social call?”
Okay, so maybe I wasn’t completely sold on the guy, but he had an accent that almost made me not care. Seriously. I’d listen to him read the phone book.
I pulled the page I’d printed off at home out of my pocket and offered it to him. “I was hoping you might know this guy.”
Long, manicured hands took the paper from me. “Is this the fellow who attacked you and your friend? Because I can assure you, Miss Noble, that none of the spirits in this house are given to violence. Nor are many strong enough to travel to places beyond their own experience.”
He didn’t really think I’d believe that, did he? The violence part? Most humans were capable of great violence, and ghosts were even more inclined. I wasn’t being racist, that was just a documented fact.
“I’m sure that’s true,” I lied. “But would you mind looking? Maybe you’ve seen him around.” The moment the words left my mouth, a movement on the stairs caught my eye. I turned my head and smiled at the man standing on the landing, staring at me like he’d just seen...well, a ghost.
I smiled at him, not the least bit amused. “Hey, Woodstock. Got a minute?”
Robert Alan Thurbridge, Jr. stared at me. I braced myself for his attack, but then he did the one thing I hadn’t anticipated.
He ran.
WREN
Lark ran after Robert, her boots striking the steps hard. I turned to Noah, who stood beside me holding a piece of paper with a grainy black-and-white photograph of Robert on it. It was part of his patient file.
He was the one who’d attacked Lark and Kevin. A tendril of anger snaked up my midsection, obliterating the confusion that had been there just seconds before. Running was the act of someone guilty.
He’d tried to hurt my sister but played friend to me.
I started after them. Noah grabbed my arm. His eyes were bright. Such pretty eyes.