Yasmin giggles and bumps it back to the other girl. “I’m so sorry. A most poor assumption.”
“Ever play soccer?” Rafe asks me.
I shrug. “Not sure, but willing to give it a try. Though if what just happened two seconds ago is any evidence, I kind of doubt it.”
Yasmin bumps the volleyball in the air a few times before passing it back to her friend. “Never know until you try. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
“You sound like one of those cat posters.” I laugh a little, watching as Rafe scoops a black and white ball out of the ball locker.
He dribbles it a few times off his knees. On the third bounce, he bumps it with his head, then catches it on the top of one of his shoes where it balances perfectly. If possible, his grin brightens even more, and he throws me a wink.
I cross my arms. “Show off.”
“Guilty.” He pops it up again, then kicks it gently in my direction.
Like the incident with the volleyball, I know this isn’t going to end well. I miss it with the side of my foot and instead hit it with a heel, sending it off in a weird direction, and forcing Rafe to run after it. He chuckles and dribbles it back to our little corner.
“Sorry,” I say. “Guess I don’t play soccer either.”
Rafe bounces the ball off his knees again. “Not yet.” He wiggles his brows. “I could teach you.”
“You sure you want that headache? I feel in my bones that this is not where my athletic skill lies.”
One of his brows arches, though he doesn’t lose a second of concentration on his mad ball skills. “What do your bones say about where your athletic prowess does lie?”
Tapping my jaw with a finger, I consider the question just as someone shouts “heads up!” I spin around in time to see a football flying right at my face. Pure instinct kicks in. I catch it inches before it flattens my nose. Like my first night at Locklear, images from a memory play through the room.
I run across a yard after a little boy holding a bright orange football. He giggles when I grab him around the waist, squealing laughter as I tackle him onto the grass, pulling him to my chest as I roll.
A hand touches my shoulder, and a gasp pulls me away from the images before I can dig into them the way Ms. Alvarez suggested. I look up at Rafe. He’s blinking at the space where my memories just played out, lips parted in what I think is surprise.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think…” Rafe runs a hand through his hair. “I think I just saw your memory.”
My brows pop up. “Me running around with a little kid playing football?”
Rafe nods. “As soon as I touched you I caught the very end of it. Sorry, by the way, I definitely didn’t mean to snoop.”
“I mean, it was totally rude,” I poke his ribs and he grins, “but I guess I can forgive you because that’s a pretty epic discovery. I’ll have to ask Kaz if that’s a thing.”
“Ask me if what’s a thing?”
Rafe and I turn to find Kaz a few feet away. Definitely not dressed to do sporty things.
“Can ghosts share life flashes?” I ask, rolling the football between my hands.
Brow furrowed, Kaz rubs his jaw. “It is possible, though it usually takes a lot of practice and concentration to get it right. Why?”
I glance at Rafe. “Rafe touched my shoulder while I was having one and saw the end of it.”
“How clear were the images?” Kaz asks.
Rafe shrugs. “I didn’t see very much, but pretty sharp, I guess.”
“That’s impressive,” Kaz says. “Most of the time if you’re not focusing all you’ll see are indistinct shapes. Kind of like shadows. Not sure why you’d be able to see it so well. As far as we can tell, only a witch with medium abilities should be able to do that. Though since you are one, Billie, that could explain it. Speaking of mediums though, we do have one who just arrived to help work on your case. He’s at the front with a few questions for you.”
My skin tingles as excitement rushes through me. If I can speak to someone in the land of the living, surely they can help me figure out who I was. Maybe then I can find my body and protect it from an unceremonious torching.
Kaz leads me into Mr. Qureshi’s office and it’s exactly like how you’d imagine a headmaster’s office. Many leather-bound books, leather chairs, wide windows, and an unnecessarily large desk. What I don’t expect are the pictures under the glass on top of the desk. Postcards, children’s crayon drawings, and even a few finger paintings decorate the smooth wood. It’s the cutest thing ever.
Cute’s definitely not the word I’d use to describe the dude in the corner though. If his shaved head, massive shoulders, and ripped jeans didn’t scream dangerous loud enough, the thick scars along his neck and jaw definitely do. Not to mention the fact that his arms are about as big as my waist. His pale eyes coast to me and Kaz when we walk in the door, and he smiles, an expression that throws me way off.
It’s all kinds of gentle and peels away the tough guy exterior.
He stays quiet as Mr. Qureshi stands from his desk. “Ms. Martin, welcome. This is Theodore Carmichael. He works on our cases quite often, and I’m sure he’ll be able to help us dig into your past.”
The big guy takes a step forward, that disarming smile still on his face. “Call me Theo.” His voice is deep and his large hand strong and solid and so, so warm as he shakes mine. “And Mr. Qureshi is right. My order has been helping ghosts for a very long time. It helps that you have medium abilities as well. We might even have a record of you somewhere
