"I can't find anyone that's died recently on this area of land," I mumbled, scrolling through newspaper archives on my laptop. Again.

"It doesn't have to be recently," Noah reminded me—again—over my shoulder. "Click that."

"Will you stop backseat researching?"

"Will you give me the laptop?"

"No."

"Then I'm going to keep backseat researching, thank you very much."

Annoyed, I shoved the laptop aside. Noah pounced on it, pulling it into his lap and resuming the scrolling.

We sat in the center of the living room, both of us on the floor. Somehow that felt safer than sitting on the couch or lingering near the edges of the ward. We'd be researching for hours. At this point, I couldn't decide if the creature was still out there or not. Did ghost monsters even get bored?

I glanced at Noah out of the corner of my eye. He was tired. Sweat coated his forehead and he was breathing raggedly. As if he'd been running.

My gaze shifted to the ward. Noah continued to power up the ward every ten minutes, just as the shimmer began to fade. Or, at least, it'd started out every ten minutes. We were down to five minute increments now between recharges.

It was draining him. I could see it and surely he knew it too. But neither one of us voiced it aloud. Voicing it aloud felt like surrender, almost.

We wouldn't be able to go another two hours before Noah keeled over, exhausted.

Despite that, his fingers flew over the keyboard, still searching for a name.

After making sure the ward reached into the kitchen, I went to get a glass of water. Thank God we'd decided to put the ward in the living room.

I brought the glass back to him. "Here."

He looked up, his eyes focused on the glass. Then he looked up at me, confused. "For me?"

I shook the glass a bit and he reached out to take it. Downing the entire glass in a single go, he held it back up to me. "Thanks."

Before I knew it, I blurted, "If you start to feel too tired, tell me."

"I'm fine."

I lightly banged the glass against the side of his head. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Seriously, Frat Boy, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you look like crap. If we can't find a name, we can't stay here. The ward is slipping."

He sighed. And when he didn't look around to check the ward, I knew I had him. "Yeah. We can't stay in here forever."

I took the laptop from him. "Ok, Plan B."

"Which is?"

An idea had been forming in the back of my mind for the last hour. Again, not something I wanted to voice aloud, because the idea scared me more than the thought of being trapped in a ghost ward by a ghost monster. But Noah looked terrible. The sooner we lowered the ward, the better.

"Do you trust me?"

"No," he said immediately.

I blinked, surprised.

He gave me an unapologetic shrug. "No offense."

Oddly enough, I felt a stab of affection for Rose's beau. Those two words had felt the most genuine coming from him yet. In that moment, I could see past the frat boy exterior, past the ghost-hunting bravado, and could see the frightened boy underneath. Uncertain and scared. And, finally, not afraid to admit that he was. "None taken. But I'm still taking the lead."

He waved a hand. "Be my guest."

Setting the laptop and empty glass on the kitchen bar, I turned toward the room. "I would like now to address the thing currently hanging out outside of our magic ward here. Please," I added, thinking of Bronte and her manners.

Noah had opened his mouth to protest, and had even leaned forward a bit as if to physically stop me. But he stopped now and watched. And waited.

For what felt like an eternity, nothing happened. The same stillness from inside the ward dominated, cutting us off from outside. No sounds, no voices, nothing.

And then, just when I'd started to give up hope, I heard it.

Deep and guttural.

Laughter.

Like the sound you'd expect your childhood nightmares to make as they leaned over your bed, your parents a world away. The sound you swore came from beyond your closet door or underneath your bed. A sound that lived in dark places and thrived on dark things. A sound that chilled.

Because when monsters laughed, nothing good followed.

"I'm Bonnie," I said, knowing now that giving out names to anybody was a terrible idea. And silently praying this monster hadn't been alive during the duo's infamous reign. "This here is Clyde. And we'd very much like for you to go away. Now. Please."

The laughter continued. I couldn't tell where it came from. Even Noah's head swept the room, searching, listening. It sounded like it came from all around us.

"What's your name?"

Noah cut me a disbelieving look just as the laughter stopped. Both of our expressions shifted into unease. I found myself inching closer to Noah, just as he scooted closer to me.

Something like hissing filled the room. "Sssssssssstella."

My skin crawled at hearing my name coming from this monster.

It chuckled and then hissed out my name again. "Sssssssssstella."

"Bzzt. No, I'm sorry, that's actually not the correct answer. Let's go for Ghost Names, five hundred please."

"Sssssssssilly."

"Ok, seriously, not to insult the talking impaired, but if you're going to keep doing that creepy hissing bit, you can just stop talking right now because I'm seriously unimpressed."

It laughed again.

"That too, while we're at it. Invisible monsters really don't need to be laughing so damn much."

Noah, still seated on the floor, grabbed for my hand. He was too far away so he missed, his hand latching onto my pajama pants instead. With strength I didn't think he had at this point, he tugged me closer as he hissed: "Will you stop insulting the homicidal ghost, please?"

"I'm nervous," I snapped. "I get snarky when I get—"

"Scared," the voice answered, no trace of hissing in its tone. The word seemed to come from everywhere, all around us. And not like a thunderstorm-of-voices kind of around us but more like we were ants standing before a behemoth, it's voice so deep and wide that it enveloped us completely.

Noah's hand began to shake and I had to step away from him. Otherwise he'd have been likely to pull down my pajama pants. And seriously, the last thing anybody needed was me flashing my underwear to a malevolent ghost.

"Ok, you know what? I'll admit it. Yes. I am freaking terrified. But that's not going to stop me from shoving my foot up your ass if you don't cut this shit out right now."

The chuckling came back, as all-encompassing as his last word had been.

"So are you going to tell me your name or what? I mean, isn't now the time the bad guy monologues? Especially if you want to tell me who it was that's going to kill me or something?"

"And why, dear Stella, would I give my name to a psychic gifted with manipulating names?"

My stomach dropped. I had to resist looking down to see if it'd spilled on the floor in front of me. "How do you know that?"

It chuckled. "I've seen everything. I've been watching for weeks, my oblivious little Stella."

"Watching?"

"Hunting."

I shivered. I heard Noah let out a soft gasp.

"Two little ghost boys pining for two little human girls. Waiting, watching for the little human girls to finally perceive the little ghost boys. Yet so afraid of that course too."

I continued to stare up at the ceiling. "How did you know we'd perceive them?"

Its voice dropped to a purr. "Shivering little human girls. Stirring at unspoken voices. Wincing from unseen shadows."

He'd seen us. He'd seen me react to voices coming from nowhere. Had seen Bronte flinching at nothing when she thought I'd come into a room. Our sudden shivers. Conversations dancing about things we refused to voice aloud. He'd been here for it all.

Still purring, it continued. "Waiting for the pining little ghost boys to charm the sweet little human girls. A little scare to push things along, to get your emotions...high."

I held up a hand, signaling for it to stop. Whether or not it saw me, I have no idea. But I did have the space to speak. "Excuse me. Our little ghost boys haven't put the moves on anyone—you're jumping the gun here. So if you want to give it a few weeks then come back, I'd totally understand."

It chuckled again. I hated the sound. How feline it sounded. Like a panther or a jaguar, tail twitching, as we little mice had no choice but to cower before it. "And miss my glorious opportunity?"

"What?"

"Number ninety-seven."

"Number ninety—"

It clicked.

I whirled around to see Noah noticeably paling. Eyes widening. Panic setting in.