Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted novel Chapter 483

Chapter 483: Ava: Malloy

How the hell is anyone supposed to find common ground with a ghost? It’s not like we can bond over coffee or trade stories about our childhoods. Well, technically we could, but only one of us would be drinking the coffee, though neither of us are accumulating childhood stories anymore.

The ghost hovers nearby. It seems less manic than usual.

"Dead as a naaaail, dead as a door," it sings, suddenly spinning in chaotic circles around me. "Dead as the dreams on a cold stone floor!"

Never mind.

It’s clearly obsessed with death, which I guess makes sense. Being dead occupies a lot of your time when you’re a ghost.

Maybe I should stop dancing around it.

If I had unfinished business keeping me tied to the mortal world, I’d probably want someone to just fucking ask me about it.

"How long have you been dead?" I ask, trying to sound calm and unaffected by its antics.

The ghost stops its mad spinning. For a second, everything goes quiet—even the wind seems to hold its breath.

Then it’s right in front of me, so close our noses would touch if it had any substance. Its eyes widen to impossible proportions, pupils expanding until they swallow all the color.

"Nobody knows. Nobody cares." Its voice drops the sing-song quality, turning flat and hollow.

My throat tightens. It’s hard not to be nervous when a ghost is basically breathing in your face, even if it technically doesn’t breathe. Its eyes bore into mine, and I swear I can feel a cold pressure against my skin.

"I care. What’s your name? How did you die? How long have you been alone? Tell me. I want to know."

The ghost pulls back slightly, head tilting at an unnatural angle.

"Want to know? Want to KNOW?" Its voice rises with each word. "Nobody wants to know death. They run from it. Hide from it. Pretend it isn’t watching."

"Death isn’t watching me," I say, even as part of my brain is flabbergasted I’m having some sort of pseudo-philosophical argument with a ghost.

The ghost in question laughs. "Death watches everyone, Ava Grey. Tick tock. Tick tock." It makes a pendulum of its translucent arm, swinging it back and forth.

This conversation is going nowhere, and we’ve made it to Ivy’s cabin.

I open the door, hoping Clayton won’t be too offended. "Look, I’m trying to help you. But I need to understand what’s keeping you here first."

The ghost zips in immediately, not waiting for an invitation, and I follow behind. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

Selene nudges the door closed with her nose, even though we’re both fully aware it won’t keep an incorporeal being from leaving if it wants to.

"Keeping me here?" The ghost pauses, then cackles. "I’m not kept. I’m not trapped!" It spins in a tight circle, arms extending outward. "I am FREEDOM!"

Great. This ghost doesn’t just have issues—it has the entire subscription.

I’ve never heard of a ghost quite so... unhinged, Grimoire comments. Even by ghost standards, this is erratic behavior.

Selene growls softly. He knows things he shouldn’t. It’s strange.

"Do you know Ivy Shadowpine?" I ask, trying a different angle. The cabin is hers, after all, so it isn’t a strange mental turning point.

The ghost’s spinning slows. "Shadow... pine? Shadows in the pines, shadows in the pines, the dream-eater dines!" It dissolves into giggles, rolling through the air.

"You know her. You mentioned her. Said you wanted to see her."

"Did I?"

It sounds suddenly calm, no longer sing-song or melodic.

"You did," I confirm, sitting in the middle of the floor. The ghost hesitates, then sits across from me, looking more normal than it has since we ran into it.

In fact, it becomes so solid, it would be impossible not to assume he’s alive and breathing.

"What’s your name?" I ask again, taking advantage of the sudden lucidity.

The ghost stares at me for a long time. Like, an uncomfortably long time. I try not to squirm under its hollow gaze, but there’s something deeply unsettling about being sized up by the dead.

Then he leans forward, the movement way too human for a ghost who dives around singing creepy nursery rhymes.

"Will you give me vengeance if I tell you?"

His voice is different now. Gone is the manic sing-song quality, the riddles and the nonsensical phrases. What remains is deep and resonant and a sharp edge of desperation.

Watch your words, Grimoire cautions.

Did you regain your memories? he asks curiously, and I have the distinct feeling if he was manifested right now, he’d be in her face and upside down in his child form.

She huffs. No.

But you remembered the name, no?

She remains silent. We’ll talk later.

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