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Broken necks didn’t bother me the way they used to.
A Source is an object to which a ghost is tied. Locate that, and you soon have your haunting under control. Trouble is—it isn’t always easy to find.
While a recap is necessary. This feels heavy-handed. This sort of context could be given in dialogue more naturally.
The Wraith fractured like a reflection in stirred water. Streams of pale light arched back, away from the salt, away from the circle, pooling at a distance to become a tattered form again.
We didn’t hang around to watch. We were already off and running across the black, uneven ground.
Being diplomatic, I’d say Kipps was a slightly built young man in his early twenties, with close-cut reddish hair and a narrow, freckled face. Being undiplomatic (but more precise), I’d say he’s a pint-sized, pug-nosed, carrot-topped inadequate with a chip the size of Big Ben on his weedy shoulder. A sneer on legs. A malevolent buffoon.
She was blond, slim, and pouty, which would have given me three good reasons to dislike her even if she’d been a sweet lass who spent her free time tending sick hedgehogs.
Not very girls supporting girls of you lol
The dust danced up around his gliding feet as he moved back and forth, rapier swaying, left hand held out behind for balance. He cut patterns in the air, feinted, shimmied to the side, and struck a sudden blow to the dummy’s ragged shoulder, sending the tip right through the straw and out the other side.
I had a fluttery feeling in my tummy and my legs felt weak. It was probably the late night catching up with me.
Oop, is that a romance brewing???
But he also remained—and I had become increasingly aware of this fact the longer I observed him—ever-so-slightly detached: from the ghosts we discovered, from the clients we took on, perhaps even (though I didn’t find this easy to admit) from his colleagues, George and me.
