Soon, he lost himself in the soothing work of fonts, headings, hyperlinks, and SEO. He didn’t even realize how much time had passed until Ash put a sandwich in front of him on the counter.

“Where’d you get that?”

“My kitchen,” Ash said. He pointed upstairs.

Truman’s stomach gave an appreciative growl, and he took a bite. “Thanks, it’s really good. What kind of jam is this?”

“Wild blueberry,” Ash said. “My mom makes it.”

“Wow, first the coat, now the jam. Your mom’s totally making my day.”

Ash smiled and ducked his head.

“Okay, you wanna see?” Truman asked. “It’s pretty basic right now, but I wanted to get your thoughts first. I can change whatever you don’t like. Then when we’ve got it how you like it, I’ll get pictures we can add of the bouquets and stuff.”

Truman sat Ash in the chair and let him navigate through the site. When Ash looked up, his eyes were wide.

“It’s…wow,” he said.

He sounded choked, and Truman wondered if perhaps Ash was also starved of kindness.

“I can change anything,” Truman repeated.

Ash shook his head, and Truman felt a wave of giddiness wash over him.

“No,” Ash said. “It’s perfect.”

It wasn’t until Truman was falling asleep that night that he remembered he’d never asked Ash who Maisey had meant when she said Ash knew who they should ask about Agatha Tark.

A Message from Ramona

RAMONA to GREAT!A RUSSAKOFF

Sorry I wasn’t in town to greet you, kiddo, but I know you’re settling in. Don’t forget to explore the shadowy side of the city, and yourself. It’ll make you grateful you’re alive!

Chapter 8

Greta

Greta joined the group of tourists at the corner where they were to meet for the ghost tour. There were fifteen or so of them in total, mostly couples and families, and Greta amused herself trying to figure out who was into the occult and who had been dragged along for the ride.

In some cases, it was clear—the woman in the pavement-skimming black skirt and tattoos and her polo-shirted boyfriend, the stiff-looking couple in khakis and sneakers and their wide-eyed goth kid—but in others, less so. Like the group of sorority-looking girls clutching enormous grenade drinks and talking animatedly about someone’s hot brother. Or the father and son who were both in head-to-toe Dallas Cowboys apparel.