Drake's voice penetrates the ghostly conversation. “It's more circumstantial than I'd like. Nate threatened David, told him he'd regret it if he went to the party where his drink was spiked.”

“Can he remember anything else?”

“What did they spike the drink with?” David asks, and I pass on the question to Drake who answers:

“Ketamine.”

“Special K?” He huffs. “Then it's Nate. He was dealing it at school.”

When I pass that on to Drake, his eyes bug out. “Are you being serious? You knew and didn't tell me?”

“What? And make my life a thousand times worse?” David shakes his head. “Nate's the most arrogant SOB because of who his dad is. He thinks nothing can touch him. If people know I died of a Special K overdose, then they'll know he was the one to spike my drink.”

“David, I've heard of Ketamine. It's hallucinogenic. Before you passed, you'll have been hallucinating. Think back,” Kenna tells him. “Do you remember anything from that time?”

“I've thought about that night every day since, Kenna.”

She narrows her eyes at him when he bows his head. “You're keeping something back. I can sense it.”

“No, I'm not. Why would I?” He licks his lips. “The only thing I can remember is...well, I do remember Nate getting in my face. He was laughing at me. Taunting me.” When I tell Drake that, he bites out, “What are we going to do? He needs to pay.”

“Well, first things first, we need to get David out of here.”

Drake frowns. “How do you even do that?”

“That's for me to know and for you not to find out.”

His glower doesn't affect me. Hell, Kenna does nothing but glare at me for most of every, single, freakin' day! “If it's going to affect my nephew, then I think I deserve to know.”

David's chest puffs up again. “That's my uncle,” he tells Kenna, who really isn't impressed.

“Yeah, I got that.” She rolls her eyes. “Tell him not to get his knickers in a twist.”

I sniff. “It's not like I'm going to do something bad, for God's sake. I'm going to make it so he's no longer connected to this place.” As I fold my arms across my chest, I won't lie, there's a pout to my lips. “I thought you'd approve.”

He blinks at me. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. Watch it, buster,” I snipe. “Do you want to come with me, David? Or do you like this dump?”

Apparently I've astounded both men, because David's ghostly lips work but no noise pops out. He looks like a silvery goldfish. When he gulps, I know he's way too close to tears for my own comfort. “I'd like that,” he whispers, his tone quivery. “Kenna says it's cool where you live.”

“It's certainly better than this shithole,” I remark, peering around the admittedly grim bookshop. But, it's not like if I pretty up the place it will make it better for its current residents. Ghosts actually come here because it's, well, I guess it suits their mood. Ghosts aren't exactly happy, after all.