I linger in the kitchen, watching them fuss over candles and chalk lines, muttering things about banishing spells and energy-cleansing nonsense. My irritation mounts with each sweep of Caelum's hands across the countertops, laying out various objects like he's some sort of ghost-hunting expert. They're treating my house like it's some common haunted shack.

I lean in close to Maxwell. "They're drawing circles in my kitchen," I mutter. "What is that even supposed to do?"

He sighs, adjusting his spectral tie with a look of practiced tolerance. "Perhaps they believe it'll send us to some netherworld. I've found that the living often overestimate their powers."

"Good," I say with a smirk. "Let them think they can get rid of me. This house and I have been together long before they showed up."

As the group settles around the kitchen island, I decide it's time to remind them that the house's real owner is still here. I drift to the far end of the counter and let out a slow, heavy breath—a small, hollow breeze that makes the candles flicker.

Ash frowns, glancing around. "Did you feel that?"

"No," Lorcan replies, disinterested, his focus on whatever concoction they're brewing in a bowl. "But I doubt your breakfast victim is coming back for revenge, Ash."

"Funny," Ash says, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Though I wouldn't joke about it. Ghosts are real, you know."

I snort, deciding to add a little more pressure. I hover near one of the glasses, just close enough to tip it, letting it fall over with a satisfying clink.

Caelum's eyes snap to the glass. His brow furrows, and for one blissful second, I think he actually sees me. There's a hesitation, a lingering gaze that makes my nonexistent heart flutter in my chest. But then, as usual, he brushes it off, looking back to the circle they're drawing on the countertop.

I roll my eyes, glancing at Maxwell. "Maybe I should start throwing them around instead of the glasses."

He gives me a faint smirk. "As much as that would amuse me, miss, I fear it would not have the desired effect. Perhaps we need a more...subtle approach."

I consider this, watching as they continue their ritual. "Subtle isn't really working for me, Maxwell. They keep talking about me like I'm a stain on the wallpaper."

"Perhaps a little more of your usual flair, then?" He gives me an encouraging nod.

"Oh, I have flair," I say with a grin. "Watch this."

With a flick of my ghostly wrist, I focus all my energy on the pot of herbs they've placed in the center of their circle. The little sprigs and dried leaves rattle, then rise slowly into the air, spinning gently above the table. It takes a ridiculous amount of effort—haunting isn't quite as easy as movies would have you believe—but I'm rewarded when I hear Ash curse, stumbling back a step.

"What the...?" he stammers, staring up at the herbs.

Lorcan just sighs, reaching out to pull them back down. "It's a draft, Ash. Stop being paranoid."

I let the herbs fall, watching as they scatter across the table, bits of sage and thyme floating through the air like confetti. Lorcan shoots Ash an exasperated look, and I can't help but chuckle.

"You know," I say loudly, hoping maybe, just maybe, one of them will hear me, "if you're going to hold a séance, at least do it with some style. Where are the chandeliers, the flickering lights, the dramatic Latin chanting? You people have no sense of drama."

Maxwell snorts beside me, hiding his smile behind a gloved hand. "I must say, I expected more as well, miss."

The group moves on to their next step—drawing strange symbols on the walls with chalk. I hover close, inspecting their work, and give Maxwell a sidelong glance. "Symbols? Really?"

"They do seem...unimaginative," he replies, watching Caelum's careful strokes on the wall. "Perhaps they believe it will deter us."

"Ha!" I scoff, crossing my arms. "They've seen too many horror movies."

I drift closer to the wall, waiting until Caelum steps back to inspect his work, then use my energy to smudge one of the symbols just enough that it's barely recognizable.

He stares at the mark, frowning, then rubs at his temple in frustration. "I could've sworn I just..."

Ash snickers, nudging Caelum. "You're losing your touch, mate."

Caelum glares at him, clearly not amused, then turns back to the wall and redraws the symbol. I wait until his back is turned and smudge it again, holding back a laugh as he lets out a frustrated sigh.

"Alright, that's it," he mutters, rubbing at his temple like he's getting a headache.

I share a triumphant look with Maxwell. "See? Subtle and effective."

Caelum straightens, his gaze darting around the room, like he's finally getting the hint. "Something's...off," he says slowly, his eyes narrowing as he scans the room. For a heartbeat, his gaze seems to land directly on me. It's almost as if he can feel me there, a presence lingering just out of reach.

My breath—if I had one—catches. I stand my ground, refusing to look away, even though I know he can't truly see me. But there's a moment, a spark, where I think maybe, just maybe, he senses me.

But, as usual, he brushes it off, shaking his head and turning back to the others. "We'll just have to be more thorough. Whatever's here isn't going to make itself known easily."

"I'm right here!" I shout, throwing my hands up in exasperation. "You'd have better luck summoning Bigfoot with that half-baked ritual!"

The sound of my voice echoes faintly, a barely-there whisper. Caelum's eyes flicker toward me, his brow furrowing, and I hold my breath, heart pounding as he stares right at me. But then he blinks, dismisses it, and turns back to his little ritual, utterly unaware.

I watch him go, feeling a strange pang in my chest that I can't quite identify. Anger? Frustration? Loneliness, maybe. It's all mixed together, a messy tangle of emotions I thought I'd long since left behind.

Maxwell hovers beside me, his gaze sympathetic. "Perhaps, in time, he will see you, miss."

I force a smile, pretending I don't care. "Please. I wouldn't want them to ruin my peaceful afterlife."

But as I drift back to my corner of the room, watching them chatter and laugh like they own the place, I can't help but feel...different. Like maybe, just maybe, having someone—anyone—who could see me wouldn't be so bad.

Maybe. But they'd have to earn it.

As I hover there, Maxwell by my side, I let out a sigh. "Alright, Maxwell," I say, casting one last look at the group as they move through my house. "Let's show them what real haunting looks like."

Maxwell grins, his expression mischievous, and with a wave of his hand, the lights flicker, plunging the room into shadow. The group freezes, eyes wide as they look around, clearly unsettled.

I smirk, floating a little higher, ready to show these clueless mortals exactly what they're dealing with.

"Welcome to my home," I murmur, a faint echo of my voice threading through the room. "Let's see if you're ready to stay."

And with a flick of my wrist, the haunting begins in earnest.

Or it would, if I had the voodoo mojo dojo juice that Maxwell possesses, instead all that happens is an embarrassing sweep of my hand that amounts to nothing.

I click my finger like that will do anything and then huff.

"This is no fun." I whine, slumping.