There's always some hot hunky guy from a by-gone time we'd love to meet, or be romanced by. Whether a historical figure or a literary figure...we all have someone in mind...Of course, it hasn't happened yet. But for our heroine, she gets a chance at true love... not with someone from her school but someone from another life.
Ilona discovers what it means to have a mother who is a modern woman and a father who is a 19th-century gentleman ghost.
After being hit by a car and taken to the hospital, Ilona starts to realize she’s different from other people, and that her mother has hidden the truth from her. She sneaks out of the hospital in order to discover the truth.
A mysterious boy named Archer guides her through Brooklyn and introduces her to Hendrick, the man who claims to be her father—though he died in 1890.
Ilona must discover not only what she must do to rid the city of Soll, a sadistic and powerful spirit, but also what it means to be half ghost. She proves what her mother told her—love is stronger than death.
Ilona stopped and searched for a way around.
“What are you doing?” a rough voice growled.
Ilona recognized it immediately, even before she registered Archer’s face.
“It’s none of your business what I’m doing,” she said.
He moved closer. “You’re making it goddamned impossible to protect you.”
“You can’t protect me.”
His jaw tightened, and he glared. “What in the hell do you think I’ve been doing?”
“I’m honestly not sure.”
His voice rose. “You’d be lying frozen dead in a gutter right now if it wasn’t for me. You saw what happened in the shelter—you’d have been attacked by now if I hadn’t been around.”
Her tone was quiet, calm. “I know how you scared them away.”
“I told you I have a talent for creating fear. It comes in useful.”
“But you don’t like it.”
He said nothing.
“And I know you’ve been around,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows as if she was being slow.
“Before, you asked me if I was lost,” she said. “You were there—when the car hit me.”
His expression sobered.
She waited for a response.
Finally, he said, “I’ve been around.”
“Will you answer one question? And be honest?”
“I give as much honesty as I can.”
Her lips curved a little. That was perhaps the most honest response he had yet given.
She moved closer, and he backed away.
“No,” she said.
“When you turned the corner and asked if I was lost,” she said, “you leaned your shoulder on the wall. How did you do that?”
His eyebrows pulled together.
“You’re really good at it,” she said. “It took me a while to realize you never actually touch anything, that you stay out of the light, that you don’t get cold, your breath doesn’t come out in puffs in the cold like everyone else’s, you never let anyone close, near enough to realize you have no scent, to feel the static when you get too close.”
He took a step back, almost like in self-defense.
“Don’t try to lie anymore,” she said. “I know what you are.” She moved closer and reached her hand out to touch him.
He stepped back again.
“So, you’re going to continue lying to me,” she said, voice still calm, quiet.
His voice barely made sound. “I don’t want to lie to you.”
“Then don’t.” She moved closer, hand outstretched.
He glanced at her hand, then met her eyes, as if it took all his strength to stand there, not to keep her at a distance.
At the center of his chest, the tips of her fingers felt the static. And then they passed through him.
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