And when the light flashed again, I saw where it came from. Saw the way it slipped through the cracks of an old, boarded-up space that probably once held a door.
I edged toward it, smooshed my cheeks against the splintery slats, and peered in. Startled to find a kid I guessed to be about my age—a boy with hair so blond it was practically white, and skin so pale it blended into the hair. And when he turned, when he looked in my direction and his gaze settled on mine, I saw that his eyes were so deep and blue they reminded me of California swimming pools.
With the blond hair, blue eyes, and pasty pale skin, he wasn’t all that different from me—and yet, his features seemed so exaggerated, so startling and unexpected, I couldn’t decide if he looked like an angel …
Or more like its opposite.
I froze, unsure what to do. But before I could do much of anything, he’d already jumped from his chair, already moved to the place where I stood.
A couple of distressed pieces of wood the only things standing between us, as he placed his hands on his hips and said, “You’re not supposed to be here.” His voice was much higher than I would’ve expected, but deadly serious nonetheless.
I nodded. There was no use denying what we both knew was true.
“No one’s supposed to be here after closing.”
I shrugged, folded my arms across my chest, and peered past his shoulder. Trying to think of something to say that might get him to lighten up, let me hang around for a bit, at least until the darkness went away.
But the second I met his eyes, I knew those words would never come. There was something very odd about him, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“Usually the dark does the trick. It’s enough to keep all the stragglers away. That’s the whole point, you know. That’s why it happens. And yet, here you are.”
I bit down on my lip, did my best to hold on to his gaze.
“I guess you don’t scare easily, then?”
I squared my shoulders, recognizing a challenge when I heard one. Clearly he had no idea just who he was dealing with, and maybe it was time that I told him—heck, maybe I should even show him.
Big bad ghosts were my specialty. I’d already dealt with quite a few. From what I knew, the really bad ones were all lingering down on the earth plane, so how bad could this blond kid be if he was hanging out Here, in some old, abandoned soundstage?
I was tempted to roll my eyes, but I made myself refrain. Figuring at best, he was just some silly wannabe—at worst, he actually thought he could scare me.
Puh-leese.
“Yeah, I get it.” He looked me over carefully. “Fear is for sissies, right?”
I looked at him and shook my head. I’d been so distracted by my own thoughts, I wasn’t sure if I’d heard him right.
“What?” I squinted, taking him in, or at least what the slats allowed me to see. Not getting much more than a glimpse of a crisp, white shirt that was worn with the kind of pants, belt, and shoes my dad used to wear for important meetings at work. Shaking my head yet again at how some of these ghosts continued to dress despite the fact that they could manifest whatever they wanted.
But he just smiled, removed a few slats, and waved me right in. Motioning for me to crouch low so I wouldn’t hit my head, then he replaced those slats again. “I asked if you were here about a dream,” he said.
I stood before him, pretty sure that’s not at all what he’d said. But thinking he might be able to help, that if I played it just right, then I might still get what I came for, I decided to let that one go.
“You know, come to think of it …” He paused, his grin growing wider. “I could use a little help around here. So, how about you help me with my dream jump, and then I’ll help you with yours. Deal?”
He extended his hand, waiting for me to shake it.
So I did.
I ignored my better instincts and clasped it in mine.
15
He told me his name was Satchel.
Satchel Alexander Blaise III.
And I stood right before him, listening to him recite it, completely impressed.