Rachel Caine & Kristin Cast & Claudia Gray & Nancy Holder & Tanith Lee & Richelle Mead & Cynthia Leitich Smith & P. C. Cast Read Online Free Page A

clear newspapers off a crate for her to sit on. “What about him?”

    She takes a seat. “I . . . We went to prom together. Ben got a motel room on the highway afterward. I thought it meant one thing. He thought it meant, um—”
    â€œI understand,” I say. A lot of guys have expectations about prom. I can’t help wondering how badly Ben took “no” for an answer. The fact that he was still hassling Ginny tonight suggests it was an ugly scene.
    â€œI had to crawl out the bathroom window,” she adds.
    It could’ve been worse. “You want me to walk you home tonight?”
    â€œYes,” Ginny pauses, standing again. “No. I’m fine. It’s just . . . I never meant for things to turn out this way. I never thought going on one lousy date would—”
    â€œHaunt you forever?” I ask.
    She visibly shivers. “How did you know?”
    My uncle’s face flits across my memory. “Call it a hunch.”

    Once the last happy customer leaves, Ginny skips across the lobby with a large black trash bag. “Let’s get this over with and go celebrate!” With that, she flashes that sunshine grin and disappears into the screening room.
    Celebrate ? I’m going to have to sit her down and explain that we’re employee and employer, that we can’t ever be anything more. Except . . . she could use a friend right now. “Hang on,” I say. “Let me help you.”
    I grab a bag, and then it dawns on me that I should probably hit the restrooms first. So, I head down the hall, my steps
slowing when I hear the mysterious voice again. “Sonia?” Is that her singing? “Sonia!”
    I let the plastic bag slip from my fingers onto the red carpet and begin walking faster in the direction of the sound. It’s louder, clearer with each step I take.
    I’ve heard the song before. Spirit only gets three radio stations—one in Spanish, one that plays country western, and one that plays golden oldies. It’s a 1950s hit, “To Know Him Is to Love Him.” It’s kind of sweet and kind of insipid and, once you’ve heard it, it’s hard to get out of your head for the rest of the night.
    The voice leads me to the door of a dingy break room that, in the push toward the grand re-opening, I decided to worry about later. I’m reaching for my keys when the supposedly locked door opens on its own.
    Inside, the temperature is cooler, much cooler than it should be, especially with the vents shut. I’m greeted by the sight of a sink and cabinets, an empty space where a full-size refrigerator used to be, a beat-up table big enough for six, and five metal chairs.
    The voice is coming from one of ten rusty half-lockers lined against a wall.
    I’d hold my breath, but breathing is optional. “What are you trying to tell me?”
    When I open the locker, it’s empty. The voice grows louder, the room colder.
    From behind, I hear something smack the table. Turning fast, I see the dust still flying up from where the little cloth-bound book landed. I walk over, and the song dissipates
with each step I take, ending altogether when I pick up the . . . it’s a diary.
    I flip through the entries, each signed with the letter “S.” I slip out an old photo of a lovely dark-haired girl, the same girl whose photo is on the front page of the 1959 copy of The Spirit Sentinel in my office. She’s cuddling a tabby kitten.
    Amazing. After a lifetime as a loner, I suddenly have two new girls in my life.
    Ginny is easy enough to figure out. But Sonia? The singing, the diary, even the mysterious “S” here and there all seem a lot more welcoming than the GET OUT in the bathroom. Does she really want me to leave, or is she just playing along with the haunted-theater theme?
    A moment later, from across the building, Ginny cries out again.
    When I reach the screening room, she’s clutching her