May the Best Ghost Win–Sneak Peek

May the Best Ghost Win will be available for purchase on October 31st–naturally.

From the tiny town where signs proclaimed, “Last Gas No Kidding” and “Ice-Cold Pop” to the top of the mountain where a dark destination waited, a narrow road snaked through wilderness. On one side of the mountain, the last rays of evening turned the world pink with alpine glow. On the other side, in the only moving car in twenty-five miles, Anton Berg drove alone except for his best friend who Anton thought was only pretending to sleep in the passenger seat. It was October thirty-first.

Outside the car, dim headlights picked out gnarled black-limbed trees huddled close to the narrow, twisting road. Inside, the dash lights cast a green tone over Anton’s hands on the wheel and limned the edges of Lammie’s shape where he had curled into a ball, face pressed into the passenger seat.

Hell, maybe he was asleep now. It’d been hours since he’d moved. Anton pondered what besides sleep could keep Lammie quiet and decided he didn’t actually care. Quiet was good. Quiet was what he wanted. Just get the trip over and—

Static spat from the radio, finally overwhelming the DJ entirely. Anton jabbed the button to turn it off. Now he didn’t even have bad music to keep him awake.

Silence filled the car, only enhanced by the rattles of the canvas top in the wind, the creaking of the woods around the car, and the soft sounds of the motor as Anton crept ahead, careful of his wide old car on the narrow old road.

A glance at his phone showed him still stuck in the middle of nowhere, right where he’d been since the phone lost service. The road had climbed a lot since, but the signal hadn’t come back.

From the soft dark of the passenger seat, Lammie sighed and shifted. Probably really asleep, though Anton was never going to believe he’d fallen asleep at three in the afternoon, right after Anton asked why they were driving to an address in the middle of nowhere.

Should have just turned around then. But he hadn’t, so here he was, alone in the dark. Anton was aware that sunset came earlier when mountains were west of you, but he hadn’t expected it to be this dark. And the trees were freaking creepy. But whatever. He couldn’t be far now from the mysterious address. He’d drop Lammie off, find a quiet place to park, and catch a few hours of sleep in the backseat. Home by morning, and he could get the animals fed and then maybe finally get that back fence fixed by lunch. Then the shed—no, Maisie was throwing that baby shower on Sunday. Best to mow the yard Saturday; she’d be mad if people were walking through that jungle to her party just because Anton thought fixing the cow shed for winter was more important. And it wasn’t like Scott would do it, just because it was his wife wanting it.

Right, so. Sleep, drive, chores—something bounded into the road and stopped, staring at the car. Anton stomped the brakes, throwing a hand out to hold Lammie in his seat.

The car wallowed on the shocks, but he hadn’t been going very fast. The brown thing in the middle of the road flicked an ear and trotted into the bushes it had come from.

“Nice reflexes,” Lammie said, patting Anton’s arm still smashing him into the seat. “All good, dude.”

“That…that was a wolf,” Anton said, taking his hand back.

“Dude! You think? Cool!” He settled back in his seat and stretched. “How late is it? It’s so dark! Oh shit, is that where we are? We’re supposed to be—”

“The map froze when I lost signal,” Anton said. “Hour or so ago. I think.”

“Stupid technology, always dying when you need it.” Lammie slurped from the drink he’d bought hours ago and made a face. “Bleh. Want me to drive for a bit?”

“I got it.”

Anton didn’t need light to know that Lammie rolled his eyes.

“I don’t wanna die ten minutes from the top because you got a case of the machos,” Lammie said.

“If you wanna walk, jump out while I turn around. Though you could have said hours ago and spared me the drive.”

“No way, bro. You owe me. I feel it’s fair to stipulate that you get me there alive, though.”

“Yeah, I’m still a little suspicious of your accounting,” Anton grumbled. “I’ve spent years saving your ass. How the hell do I owe you?”

“It’s graded on effort. For you, saving my ass means glaring at someone. I broke my arm to save your ass!”

“You could have taken a ladder.”

“Right, sure, no one would have questioned me skulking around the principal’s office with a ladder.”

“You could have stood on some other piece of furniture—maybe one without wheels.”

“Yeah, the Incredible Dork wasn’t there to move a desk for me, remember? That was the point—you had to be obviously somewhere else.” He chuckled. “Remember the look on Pullman’s face when he saw the gnome silhouette in his air grate?”

“Where the hell are we even going? We’re in the middle of nowhere, this road is a dead end, and that was a wolf.”

“Yeah, confession time. I brought you out into the middle of nowhere to jump your hot gay bones.”

“Bullshit. You have zero interest in my gay bones.”

“Fine. I dragged you into the wilds to murder you and steal your amazing car. I planned to feed your body to the wolves, then send cryptic letters to true-crime shows.”

“You couldn’t push this wreck by yourself. Bullshit, strike two.”

“Grump grump grump…”

“Fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t care.” That shut Lammie up. He wanted Anton to care, to keep asking.

Finally, the road wound out of the last grasping branches and the trees fell away. The car came out onto rocky mountainside, so Anton could see how far up they were. And how dark it wasn’t, quite yet—dull red streaked the clouds overhead, looking like fire streaking from the other side of the mountain. Ahead the road angled up and to the left, toward the fire. Right above the mountain, an orange glow reflected from the clouds. Anton nodded at it. “Looks like the clouds over Hawksglove Mall,” he said, “but that can’t be it. Have to be Disney to get people to drive this.”

“It’s Disney for grownups,” Lammie said with a grin.

Anton groaned. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s where we’re going. What the hell?”

“Trust me,” Lammie said.

“No,” Anton growled. “I’m not making that mistake again.”

“You’ll do it, and you’ll love it.”

Anton growled.

“You’re gonna love it,” Lammie said again. “We’re going ghost hunting.”

“What the hell do you mean, we?”

Ahead of the car, the road went up, then disappeared into the air. Anton knew it had to go back down on the other side of the ridge, but he couldn’t see the road and it made him nervous. He eased off the gas, as if driving off a cliff slowly would make any difference, and crept over the crest.

The road continued down two switchbacks to enter a meadow of relative flatness. Well, it had been a meadow. Now it looked like a circus, complete with big tents, big lights, and a lot of cars parked in the dying grass. On the far side of the meadow, the road wound back into the woods and the mountainside stopped being flat.

“You can’t turn around before you get there,” Lammie pointed out, doing his damn mindreading thing.

“Wanna bet?” Anton muttered, but Lammie was right. The road was too narrow, and his car was too big. “What do you mean, ghost hunting?”

“What I said. There’s a haunted house. We’re one of the teams that get to explore it tonight. It’s a contest.”

“I’m still confused by the ‘we’ thing,” Anton growled. “I’m not going to spend a night having actors jump out of closets at me.”

“First prize is a hundred thousand dollars,” Lammie said. “You could go to college after all. Or buy Cousin Scott a tractor, if you’re still on the martyr kick.”

“The farm needs me right now,” Anton muttered, looking for the best way to get into and back out of the meadow before Lammie somehow talked him into staying. A hundred thousand—

“For what?” Anton demanded. “A hundred thousand dollars for what? Capturing a ghost?”

“Evidence,” Lammie said. “And style. It’s a Phantom: Fact! Halloween special and we’re going to be in it! Best ghost wins. And that’s gonna be mine.”

Phantom: Fact! Should have known, as soon as the word “ghost” came out of Lammie. There was one show Lammie never missed, one show that he talked about in person and for which he haunted dedicated online forums, one show that somehow, no matter how broke he was, he owned all the seasons…

Hell. If Anton just kept driving like he really wanted to, he’d be the reason Lammie missed a chance to meet Red Corrigan…he could stop long enough that Lammie could get out. Then go find…somewhere…away from the circus to pull over, and—

In the meadow a woman in a yellow vest waved Anton over as he pondered just pushing Lammie out without stopping. Anton drove to her and rolled his window down.

“View passes expired fifteen minutes ago,” she said. “You’ll have to—”

“Not spectators.” Lammie waved a paper in Anton’s face, as close as he could get it to the woman. “Participants.”

“You should have been here an hour ago!” she snapped. “Go park by the news van and give your papers to the big guy at the gate!” She thumped the side of the car. “Assuming this thing makes it that far. How old is it?”

Anton shook his head and drove off instead of answering.

Everyone inside the rope fence was in a Halloween costume. This thing was worse than a circus. “I’m not staying,” he told Lammie. “I’m not going to be part of this clown show.”

“But—dude. I need a partner. I could die. You want this face haunting you the rest of your life?”

“What the fuck do you mean, die?”

“I know I showed you that episode where Red barely stopped Mick from walking into an elevator shaft. Don’t you want to be there to rescue me?”

“At some point you gotta grow the hell up and take care of yourself, you know. Like, stop making stupid choices like wandering a haunted house—”

“Nuh uh. That’s not what best friendsies is about!”

“Bro.” Anton shook his head. “We’re not in school anymore. We’re grownups. You can’t keep pulling this bullshit.”

“Vinnie’s kicking me out December first,” Lammie said. Even with eight cats, his Aunt Lavinia had plenty of room to keep her dead sister’s only son housed. “And Burger Barn dropped me off the schedule. So I don’t have an income, and in a month, I don’t have a home. I could really use your help to get me fifty thousand dollars to live on, dude. Give me one fucking night. For 50K I could buy a trailer and a bit of land and probably earn enough to survive on in between getting fired for being a dumbass shit-for-brains.”

“You’re not—”

Before Anton could finish his protest, the car’s engine sputtered and died.

No. Anton shifted it into neutral, gave it half a stomp of gas and turned the key off, then on. Nothing. “Push,” he told Lammie, who jumped out as Anton did and they pushed the car the rest of the way into the parking spot. A nearby group dressed as pirates laughed. Anton straightened and glared, and they found something else to stare at.

“Hey.” Lammie patted Anton’s shoulder as he leaned into the car, scanning the dash for signs the problem was…anything other than the damn carburetor needing rebuilt again. “Fifty thousand dollars would buy a brand new, great big, useful truck that would be shiny and yours and fit that big ol’ farmer’s frame without your hair brushing the roof.”

“Dude, shut up.”

“All right, sorry. I will.” He patted Anton’s back as he stepped away. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You always do. I got like eight bucks and change if…hell, if you can find someone to run to a parts store. I’m willing to help charm for that, too.”

“Go…sign up for your thing. I got this.”

“But you’re my team, bro. I need you.” Lammie ducked under Anton’s arm to peer into his face. “Come on, dude. What are you going to do, call Scott? You know he’ll flip—and then not help. Probably tell you to walk home. Come on. You know how this damn car is. In the morning it’ll start right up. In the meantime, they’ll feed us. And we’ll win. Fifty thousand dollars will buy a lot of truck. Then how’s Scott gonna be mad?”

The meadow sounded like a circus, with yelling, music, odd noises… He wasn’t going to get any sleep in the car. And it would be cold.

“It is a mistake to listen to you,” Anton said, reaching past Lammie to pull his jacket from the car. He slammed the door, threw his jacket on over his hoodie, and tried to pocketed his keys but Lammie intercepted them. “It is always a mistake to listen to you. Why am I listening to you?”

“Because I’m a genius, and you know it. ” Lammie squeezed his arm before bouncing back to open the trunk. “You watch. This wreck’ll start just fine in the morning.” He dropped the keys into Anton’s hand. “This is fate! Oh, the big backpack is for you.”

“Holy hell! What’s in this thing?” Anton asked, swinging the backpack onto his shoulders.

“Snacks! It’s going to be a long night.”

“If I see one effing spider…”

“I got you, big man. Got my stomping sneaks on. I am prepared.”

“You are a dork.”

The papers got them through the gate and directed to a tent set well back from the rest of the circus. Outside the tent stood a lean man with a shock of red hair and an impish grin between fake elf ears. Even Anton recognized him in his black t-shirt, utility belt, and hip holster that carried a ghost-hunting device, not a gun.

“Duuude,” Lammie breathed as he walked up the path.

“Breathe, dork.”

“Dude, he’s Red Corrigan! I might lick him!”

“At least try not to slobber then,” Anton muttered. Dignity. At the very least, Anton told himself, he could get through this with some dignity. Lammie couldn’t manage it, but Anton would keep his head.

“Bite me, dope,” Lammie returned. “Oh my god, he’s—”

“Here’s our last team!” Red Corrigan said, coming forward with hand outstretched. “Glad you made it! Let’s get you caught up. Hi, kid! Red Corrigan.”

“Such a fan,” Lammie gasped out like he’d just run all the way up the mountain. “I’ve seen every show, every special, all the spin-offs—”

“That’s great! Delighted to meet you.” Red extricated his hand and offered it to Anton. “And your partner, the big guy! How tall are you, son?”

“Six foot seven, sir,” Anton said, bracing himself to smile at whatever beanpole or basketball joke came.

“Well, be sure to watch yourself running around in the dark. You’ve got four inches on my cameraman, and he concusses himself about every other location.”

Lammie snickered.

“I’ll be careful,” Anton promised.

Red hadn’t let go. “Marked by destiny, eh?” he said, nodding at the white patch of hair on Anton’s forehead that no one who’d known him before ever mentioned. “Let’s hope it doesn’t find you tonight!”

It already did, Anton didn’t say. Lammie pressed against his side in silent support.

“Come inside,” Red said, spinning away. “Let’s get you set up.” He flipped the tent flap up. “Stevie! Here’s our last team; where’s that evil paperwork?”

Inside the tent were some heaters and a lot of people.

“Stevie!” Red called again. A short man with a lot of papers slipped through the crowd. Red clapped his shoulder; Stevie staggered. “Here he is with the papers he loves! Stevie, here’s our young man who needs to sign his life away. You’re called Lammie, yes?” he asked, bending closer to Lammie. “Since you did your paperwork online,” —he pointed over Lammie’s head— “there’s a table of food over there, in case you brought an appetite. Maybe bring your friend a plate; he’s got a lot of work to do! I’ll see you both later.”

He turned and ducked back out the flap as Lammie waved.

“Duuuude,” Lammie breathed. “That was Red fucking—”

“Yeah, yeah, and here’s Red fucking Corrigan’s paperwork.” Stevie shoved papers at Anton. “Got a pen?”

“Dude!” Lammie exclaimed. “Stevie! What’s it like working for—”

“It’s Steven.” Steven slapped a pen on top of the paperwork. “I know you,” he said, peering up at Anton. “There were like, six top schools scouting you at the championships. NCAA then NBA, everyone figured, then—”

“Yeah, great,” Lammie interrupted, “but he doesn’t want to talk about that, Steven, especially with a complete stranger in the middle of a crowd! Thanks for bringing it up! What the—”

“Bro, I got this.” Anton turned Lammie around. “There’s a buffet. Free food.”

“Oh em gee! Bee-arr-bee!”

“Did he just—” Steven began.

“Yes,” Anton answered. “Just hope he doesn’t start speaking in memes.” At the loaded buffet table, Lammie was already balancing three plates in one hand like the waiter he’d been, briefly. The other hand waved tongs to emphasize whatever he was saying to a pretty girl with dark brown skin and an amazing afro.

“I…will hope for that,” Steven said. “And he’s right. Sorry, kid.” He picked up the pen to hand it to Anton and then pointed at the paper. “Sign here. That says you read the release. Second signature is agreeing to the release, then—”

“Can I read the release?” Anton asked. Lammie had attracted more company—another pretty girl, this one with long black hair in a braid and a white dress over trousers Anton knew from some movie set in Vietnam. She had a—stick? A pole maybe six feet long, carved with decorations and trimmed with metal, one end resting by her foot.

“You should have read this online and signed it no later than yesterday.” Steven glowered up at Anton over round glasses. “The producers were ready to cut your team, but Red went to bat to let you participate if you managed to be ready. If you aren’t ready, we’ll have the police escort you off the mountain.”

“I read fast,” Anton rumbled.

“Fine.” Steven checked his watch. “You’ve got thirty minutes, tops, before the teams are introduced. If you’re not ready, your buddy goes in alone or not at all.”

Obviously Lammie would go in alone rather than back down in front of Red fucking Corrigan.

“Fine,” Anton said, and started reading.

Lammie was talking to three girls now, but still stuffing his face.

Anton got through the release, signed that he’d read it, signed that he agreed. Five pages down. Lammie’s audience was back down to two girls—and two guys, who looked skeptical at whatever he was claiming. Blond football muscle-head types—Anton tried to skim faster and also look up more. Eventually Lammie’s mouth always got him in trouble with muscle-head types.

“Your partner is impressive,” a girl said, coming over from the buffet. She was the third from Lammie’s audience. “He’s been eating and talking without choking for fifteen minutes.”

“He’s magic like that.” Had it been fifteen minutes already? Steven looked frustrated enough.

“I’m Ravyn Wyng Starcrossed.” She pointed to her nametag. “Team Witch.”

Her hair was long and black—clearly dyed—with purple streaks. Highlights. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were purple too. Black makeup rimmed them, adding little wings on the outsides. She wore a black dress that fell nearly to the floor, with poofs and frills and drapey sleeves, all of which would probably be awesome for running around a haunted house in. Especially since she had a cloak instead of a jacket. A crown or tiara or whatever circled her head, mostly plain silver-colored metal, but with a purple crystal in the middle of her forehead. On a leather thong around her neck, she wore a large clear crystal point.

“Of course you are,” Anton said.

“You’re cute,” she said with a flat look that said the opposite, but she reached out and patted his shoulder, tugged his shirt collar straight. “I’m sure—” Her face went from cool to gentle. “I’m sorry,” she said. “My condolences on your loss.” She squeezed his shoulder and walked away.

Anton stared after her.

Steven tapped his hand with a pen. “You’ve got maybe five more minutes.”

Anton went back to the papers, but the legalese was a blur. How had she known? He found a signature line and signed.

Obviously Lammie had told her—except Lammie wouldn’t do that. And she hadn’t known when she came over. It was like she had touched him, and—Anton shook his head, signed another line. No way. She was one of those fake witches, who liked the drama and show of making up their own shit except mostly they just stole some other religion’s rituals. He couldn’t think of anything that could have tipped her off, though.

For fuck’s sake. He’d been in this tent, trying to ignore these people, for maybe twenty minutes and he was falling for some foolery. Ravyn must have known before she came over; she’d just made a show of realizing. Like the fortune-teller at the fair who saw Lammie’s then-blue hair and the “Best Friends Forever” necklaces he’d won and shared with Anton and went on about how he was a rebel and a driver of change with great loyalty to his friends but be careful of a dark family legacy. Which he and Anton had laughed about, because his mom had been a groupie and her sisters were horrible gossips, who no secret could ever survive.

Ravyn Wyng had probably seen an article about it—yeah, that was probably it. She’d seen it on the news. She probably had a great memory—useful for snowing people and getting their money by telling fortunes and such—and had just remembered as she touched him.

Apparently, his goal for the night, along with keeping Lammie from dumbing himself to death, needed to be to try not to fall for the woo-woo bullshit. Wouldn’t have thought it would take much effort, but here he was.

“Contestants, you’re on in five!” a woman by the tent-flap called, holding up her hand with fingers spread.