From TEXAS GOTHIC, coming out next year:
“Fine. I’m trespassing.” Dropping my arms, I refilled the dogs’ bowl and capped the bottle. “If you’re going to run us off, can I at least get a look at the cool stuff first?”
“You swear you’re just here to satisfy your curiosity?” he asked, a skeptical twist to his brows.
I drew an X over my chest and raised my right hand, careful what I said, because oaths have consequences. Even implied oaths. “My motives are pure.”
If I was lying to anyone, it was to myself. I told myself I wanted nothing to do with ghost hunting, or rumors of haunting, but last night’s apparition, its reaching hand and gasping mouth, weren’t far from my thoughts. It had only moved to the corner of my mind, where the morning sun couldn’t reach.
Ben seemed satisfied, and he stepped back to let me pass. As I did–ignoring the tingle where my shoulder brushed his–I added, for the hell of it, “But I can’t promise my sister won’t get a wild hair and decide to experiment with raising the dead.”
His brows shot back down; they were extremely expressive, really. “You aren’t nearly as funny as you think you are.”
“Who’s joking?” I said, as I headed toward the dig site, and the uncovered grave by the river.