“Lonely and possessive.” Both of which could cause severe danger when mixed in with the wrong personality. She hoped that Jamal was as much a child as Mrs. Erickson thought he was—if age of death mattered to the dead at all.

She put Mrs. Erickson firmly behind her. “I have no intention of harming him—how could I, if he’s a ghost? I’d just like to stop him from breaking things or driving visitors out of your home.”

“I’ve tried that.”

“Yes, well. You’re a civilian.” Mrs. Erickson’s expression made clear that Jamal didn’t differentiate.

Kaylin’s marks were glowing brightly—a brilliant blue-white that would have caused Kaylin to squint had they not been so much a part of her skin by now. Kaylin had never fully understood what made them light up; she only knew that when they did something was significant.

A ghost that could pitch things across a room was significant, if that’s what was happening. Kaylin had been haunted by the usual regrets and memories; she’d never expected to be haunted by an actual ghost. If there had been ghosts, if they chose to haunt people, she knew whose faces she would have been terrified to see, in part because she would know she deserved their pain and rage.

Not a happy thought. She reminded herself that Jamal—if that’s who it was—had somehow driven out the next-door neighbor the one time he’d entered Mrs. Erickson’s house. Jamal was probably the reason he’d never returned. She exhaled. If Mrs. Erickson intended to follow anyway, she might as well get this over with as quickly as possible, and only in part because she was hungry.

The halls were narrow—everything about the house was. Kaylin listened for any more sounds of objects hitting things, but none came. She hadn’t heard anything shatter, so maybe he’d chosen things that could be retrieved and returned to their proper place.

She found the room down the hall. It was a small parlor, similar to the one that Helen opened up when there were guests, but a lot smaller. There were books on the floor, some facedown, some closed; it depended entirely on how they’d landed.

She didn’t see Jamal. She glanced at Mrs. Erickson, but Mrs. Erickson was looking around the room, so the old woman didn’t see him, either. Maybe he’d gone into hiding because he was aware that he’d behaved badly. If so, Kaylin could sympathize.

But the marks on her arms were still glowing brightly. “Does he usually stay in this room?”

“No, not usually. But here is where he usually shows the most displeasure.”

“Probably because it’s a room meant for guests.”

“Don’t judge him too harshly. Amaldi and Darreno at least have each other. Right now, I’m all he has—and he knows I’m not getting any younger.”