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Joe, at all,” she vowed. “If it were up to me, we’d just forget all about that nasty murder business and get straight to talking about you. Unfortunately, there are some other people who are real sticklers about murder and they’d like to have a few words with you.”
    “I just want you,” he whispered wetly into her ear.
    Lucy had been fidgeting with the sheet, feeling a little guilty about using poor Eliot, and hadn’t noticed him leaning in to close the deal. At the sound of his voice directly beside her, she looked up and found him looming over her in full Casanova mode—his neck stretched out like a turtle peeking out from his shell and his lips puckered out in a fish face.
    She gave a startled little yelp to find him so close to impact. Eliot yelped at her yelp, his confidence evaporating. His eyes flew open and his body flew backward—right into her lamp.
    Lucy watched, stunned and not a little impressed, as Eliot accidentally knocked over a physical object, sending it flying to the ground with a resounding crash.
    For a moment, the only sound was of Lucy’s breathing as they both gaped at the shattered lamp.
    “Wow. You knocked over my lamp.”
    “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry,” Eliot dithered, kneeling on the floor and sweeping the shards into a little pile with his hands. “I didn’t mean to.”
    “I know,” Lucy said—but she wasn’t trying to comfort him, she was too busy being in awe of what he had done. “You weren’t even paying attention to it and you sent it flying . Most ghosts have to concentrate to make people feel a cool breeze, but you can move physical objects without even meaning to.” She blinked at him, openly amazed. “Eliot, you’re incredible.”
    He looked up at her, a slow, shy smile starting to spread across his face. As the smile grew, his glowing presence dimmed and flickered. Lucy would never know what would have happened next—that single moment of validation might have been enough for him to transcend—but before he could move on, her bedroom door flew open and Jake came charging through, gun drawn.
    “Lucy! Are you all right? I heard a—What the hell?”
    Lucy had told Jake a little bit about ghosts that afternoon. Based on her description of wispy white wraiths, he had no reason to expect a green-glowing nightlight of an accountant. And Eliot was his first ghost. That, at least in part, explained his reaction.
    Jake stumbled back a couple steps until his back slammed up against the wall, his gun trained on the glowing specter kneeling beside her bed.
    “What the fuck is that?” he shouted, never taking his eyes off of Eliot Mellman’s ghost.
    Eliot’s head snapped up when Jake burst into the room. Confusion dimmed his expression. Lucy scrambled for words to explain Eliot to Jake and vice versa, but she never got the chance.
    She knew the exact moment Eliot saw the gun. Fear flashed across his face, followed quickly by an eerie resolve.
    “ I’ll protect you, Lucy! ” he roared, surging up from his knees.
    Eliot swelled in size until he towered over Cox, his glowing, greased-down hair brushing the ceiling fan. Light shot from his fingertips, and his glow grew brighter and brighter until Lucy had to shield her eyes to look at him.
    The windows were all closed, but a howling wind suddenly tore through the room, whipping the drapes around like flags flapping in a hurricane. The doors to the closet, bathroom, and hall all began slamming, only to fly open and slam again.
    Jake Cox braced himself against the wind, sighted on the blinding nimbus of light that was the Eliot poltergeist, and began firing, the sound almost entirely drowned out by the wail of the wind and the thunder of the slamming doors.
    Lucy leapt to her feet on her bed and shouted to be heard over the keening howl. “Eliot! Eliot! Bad ghost! Bad! Jake, stop shooting him! Eliot, stop it this instant! Put down my nightstand! If I wanted it on the ceiling, I would have put it there myself. Put it