Part 2

  There were risks—a lot of them—when you talk to the passed about their family. I know Guides who were disbanded for bending the rules. I’d heard nightmare stories of the passed going full-on poltergeist on the living because a Guide broke rules and made them remember all the reasons they didn’t want to move on.

  I’ve outright broken rules on more than one occasion, but haven’t been caught and haven’t had any terrible consequences. The only spirits that have given me issues were the ones that were angry to begin with or the ones who were made to feel angry right before passing. Part of me feels skeptical about the terrible consequences coming from a Guide sharing messages of love. I shared messages of love all the time. It’s nearly impossible to look a grieving family in the eyes and tell them that I could share their love with their departed loved one—but won’t.

  Families are briefed before we arrive. Everyone knows the etiquette. We’re all just bad at following it. I always went in with a plan—a great plan, an excellent plan! I would keep the rules. But then a cute kid or an overly emotional adult would start crying and pleading and well . . . plans just don’t pan out.

  I arrived at my next appointment: 30 West Center Street. The house was close to my old college. Back before I dropped out to become a Guide, I used to walk past this place every day. For a moment, nostalgia hit, but I shook it off—I had work to do. I still had three more appointments after this, and I needed to stay on schedule. Spirits left alone too long got antsy.

  I knocked on the door, the sound echoing through the house. Thirty seconds passed. The crisp autumn air bit at my skin as I raised my hand to knock again. Just as my fist made contact, the handle turned.

  The door cracked open slightly, revealing the bloodshot eyes of a man staring back at me.

  “Are you here for my dad?” he asked, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

  “I’m here for a Sam,” I responded cautiously. I wasn’t sure if that was his father.

  The door shut again. I heard the chain unlatch, and a moment later, the door swung open, giving me my first good look at the man standing before me. He was in his mid-thirties and clearly hadn’t slept in days. His wrinkled shirt was half-tucked into dirty jeans. If he told me he was homeless and had just broken in, I would have believed him. And honestly, in this housing market? I wouldn’t have blamed him.

  “Hi, I’m CJ. Nice to meet you, Guide,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing for me to come in.

  I hesitated at the threshold. The house was a disaster. Books littered the living room, some crumpled, others thrown open. The couch cushions were ripped apart, the rest of the couch overturned. A shattered TV screen gaped at me from the corner, surrounded by broken furniture and debris.

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  “What happened here?” I asked, suddenly very aware of my situation. A young woman alone in a house with an unstable man. Guides were a protected class, but that didn’t mean everyone followed the rules. As CJ fidgeted, I subtly pulled out my phone and texted my friend Lacy, sending her the address and a brief description of the unwell man in front of me. Just in case.

  CJ sighed and scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, it’s a little embarrassing.” He gestured to the wreckage around us. “You see, my father was—how do I put this delicately? A massive asshole.”

  I arched a brow. “You mean he did all this before he died?”

  “No.” CJ let out a soft but bitter laugh. “This was all me.”

  I folded my arms. “Okay. Why?” I felt like this may not be a question I should be involved in. My job was to assist the passed. Nothing else. But sometimes curiosity gets the better of you.

  CJ ran a hand through his sweaty hair, his exhaustion giving way to frustration. “My dad stole twenty-five thousand dollars from me.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “He had access to my bank account from when I was younger. I never thought about it—never changed it. Then, before he died, he pulled out twenty-five grand as one last fuck you.” CJ’s fists clenched at his sides. “And then, before he swallowed a bunch of pills, he told me it was ‘somewhere in the house.’ Even in death, the man makes me hate him.”

  I glanced around at the devastation. “So you tore the place apart trying to find it.”

  CJ nodded. “Book by book, cushion by cushion. My family needs that money. That was our entire savings. We were trying to move out of our apartment and get into a house. We need this.” He exhaled sharply and rubbed his palms on his jeans. “Could you… could you ask him? Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

  I clenched my jaw. This wasn’t how I wanted to start today. I had promised myself I’d start following the rules. No giving spirits a chance to linger. No risking transformations. But… plans don’t pan, right?

  And this was a risk. If his father had been spiteful enough to steal from his own son, he could be dicey.

  “You do know this is dangerous, right?” I warned. “Spirits like your father—ones that hold onto resentment—can become unstable. If that happens, I’ll have to destroy him.”

  CJ scoffed. “Honestly? I couldn’t care less. My dad was the worst person I knew. He never accepted me, never accepted my wife, and made sure our kids knew they weren’t loved. Even after we cut him off, he kept sending letters just to hurt us.” His fists tightened. “Delete him, exorcise him, whatever—just tell me where the money is. My family needs it.”

  What he was asking went against everything Guides stood for. We were supposed to help spirits move on, not judge them. But… maybe some people didn’t deserve the journey. If I made a guy who stole from his own son who was only trying to support his family angry and he had to be erased, would that be so bad?

  And maybe he wouldn’t get angry. Maybe this would be a chance for him to make things right.

  CJ led me down the hall into the master bedroom. The sheets were tangled, the dresser drawers yanked open. It was clear CJ had already torn the place apart in his search.

  A man sat in the chair near the bed—his own corpse still positioned peacefully in it.

  Tendrils of the Passed waved and danced around his body. His spirit had the same expression as his lifeless face—serene.

  The Passed turned toward me. He was the only one who could see me. He gestured for me to sit beside him.

  “My name is Sam,” he said with calm sincerity. “I assume you’re the Guide here to help me on my journey?”

  I met his gaze. “Nice to meet you, Sam. I’m Katy. We need to talk.”

  A flicker of confusion crossed Sam’s shimmering face. “About the journey? I know how this works. I’m ready to move on.”

  “No.” I sat forward, my voice leaving no room for debate. “We need to talk about the money.”