I do a quick check of Sadie’s to confirm that yes, the sprites are in residence and they’re in a particularly naughty mood. Grit beneath the soles of my sneakers tells me they’ve knocked over the planter with the fern—again. Certainly they would upset dinner plans.
“I think I told you,” I say to the air. “That if you aren’t good, you’re out of here.”
Something whirls by my face. Something else ruffles my hair.
“Kona blend.”
I also say this to the air. Nigel is—wisely—waiting outside. Sadie is upstairs, I think. She will be where the sprites are not. I’m alone with the sprites, and speaking as if they can understand me. This last, I’m not sure of. I used to think I knew everything there was to know about ghosts. Lately? I’m not so sure I know anything at all.
In five minutes’ time, I r
