Sweet Ruin Read Free

sucked into the air. She blinked; her surroundings had disappeared, replaced with the hood. She was standing in front of Wally’s still smoking house.
    She’d . . . teleported here? Of course! Because she was
supposed
to get revenge. That’s what ghosts did. Once she’d finished with that, she’d go snag Thaddie; they’d find a spooky deserted mansion somewhere. Live happily ever after and all that shit.
    First step: get a bead on Wally. She started walking/floating over cracks in the sidewalk. Why did this movement seem so familiar? Why was her ghostness not freaking her out?
    There was something so right about her new form, as if she should’ve been freaking out about her existence
all the years before
.
    Homeless kids and runaways, other street rats like her, peeked out from lean-tos and abandoned cars. Gasps sounded as she made her way along the street.
    So ghosts were visible to people. Would she meet other ghosts?
    She heard the kids’ whispers. They all knew Wally had killed her. Some had watched her body get bagged.
    A prostitute on the corner didn’t see her coming and backed right into—or
through
—Jo. Their bodies got tangled, and suddenly Jo was inside her, sharing her movements as the woman shuddered.
    It was as if Jo was a hermit crab in a hooker-shaped shell. She couldn’t feel anything through the woman’s skin, but she could make her move.
Awesome!
    When Jo backed out of the shell, disentangling herself, the woman turned around with a terrified look on her face.
    A moment passed before she registered what she was seeing. “Oh God!” She stumbled back, making the sign of the cross. “You died! The Wall shot you.”
    “It didn’t take.” Jo’s voice sounded ghostly and hollow. “Where’s Wally staying now?”
    The woman sputtered, “F-few houses down from his old crib.”
    Jo float-walked back in that direction. Others followed her at a distance, wide-eyed, as if they couldn’t help themselves.
    She found the digs—with the dragon guarding the lair. Voices sounded from inside, Wally’s among them.
    Her nails lengthened and sharpened. They were
black
, and they ached.
Ghosts have claws?
    She tried to teleport into the house, but her body didn’t move, so she float-walked up to the porch, stopping at the front door. Could she knock? They probably wouldn’t open for her. Maybe she could “ghost” into the house, as she had the hooker shell.
    With a shrug, Jo floated forward—and passed right through the door. Score!
Breaking and entering
would now simply be
entering
.
    In the den, packets of smack and guns topped the coffee table. They’d already replaced all the weapons and drugs. Bags of new clothes were strewn around the house.
    These dickwads had set up a few doors down. Burning down his pad had done jack.
    Jo clenched her fists. She’d only come here to scare the gang, to moan
woo-woo
and send them running. But rage took hold of her.
    Her claws ached to slash someone.
    When the lights flickered, Knuckle and the two others glanced up. Saw Jo. Their mouths moved wordlessly—
    They lunged for the guns.
    With a shriek, she flew at Knuckle. “You gonna shoot me?” She slashed out with her claws. She half-expected her fingers to pass through his torso—yet four deep gashes appeared on his belly.
    She gasped. Her claws dripped with his blood. She could become solid when she wanted to?
    He clutched his bloody stomach, but guts slithered out between his fingers like eels. His knees met the blood-wetted carpet, and then he collapsed.
    I just dropped a dude!
Superheroes didn’t kill people. Not even bad people.
    She should be screaming, yet all this felt natural.
This is me. I ghost. I hurt bad guys.
    No, I
hunt
them.
    Realization struck her. She’d always been
hunting
.
    Been waiting for this. All. My. Life.
    JT and Nobody scrambled toward the door, barely got it open. She flew after them, catching them on the porch. She easily dragged both men back inside. She winked at the kids