Dry sticks and dead debris snapped and crackled beneath Tristan’s feet while the ominous trees loomed large. Dusk was just starting to set in, the blue sky a shade darker than it had been an hour earlier. It gave the disheveled yard a creepy vibe and Tristan questioned himself several times as he snuck towards the vine-wrapped tower.

Why the hell was he doing this for some kid he didn’t even know?

He moved forward anyway, staying low and eyeing the house for any sudden movements. It was probably intrigue more than anything that had him stopping at the bottom of the tower and analyzing the vines. They were a thick mass of interweaving roots. Tristan ran his fingers over the rough exterior, skeptical it could hold his weight. Then he noticed a rickety trellis buried beneath it all. It probably couldn’t hold his weight either, but maybe the combination of the vines and trellis together would be enough.

Gazing up the tall tower, Tristan couldn’t deny the sense of danger and the voice of reason screaming at him to back away. He ignored it, placing his hands against the trellis and pulling himself up until he could reach a decent enough foothold. Shoving the toe of his shoe into the tiny trellis cavity, he leaned into the vine and used the power in his legs to push a little higher.

He’d always been a good climber—long and lean, with strong muscles that weren’t bulky. It was easy for him to bear his weight. His mother had spent years calling him a monkey and laughing nervously before ordering him to not climb so high.

His lips twitched at the memory and he pushed himself a little higher. Yeah, it was risky—the vines could snap or rip away from the house at any moment—but he struggled to think when he’d last felt so alive.

He was climbing up a forbidden tower that quite possibly housed a ghost. That was kind of cool.

With a grunt, Tristan pulled himself up the last few feet, until his fingertips were gripping the dirty window ledge. Shuffling up the rest of the vine, he tiptoed on the top rung of the trellis and hauled himself through the open window.

Gripping the edge of a low bookcase, he wriggled his legs and pulled himself through, landing with a thud on the shiny wooden floor.

His face bunched with confusion as he studied the immaculate attic. Overstuffed bookcases lined the walls, but they weren’t covered in dust. A trunk sat in the corner, clothes neatly hanging on a freestanding rack behind it. A large desk with a computer was sitting in the corner next to a high shelf that housed labeled trays—English, Math, Humanities…

Tristan looked behind him, his lips parting at a luminous living space that housed a comfy-looking sofa and a huge pile of pillows.

Every surface was spotless, not a speck of dust or grime to be seen.

What kind of attic is this?

Tristan rose to his feet, wiping his grimy hands on his butt and easing into the room. He had to be quick, grab the baseball and run, but curiosity pulled him farther into the room. Peeking his head around the corner, he spotted a craft table laden with beads, buttons, ribbons, wonky scissors, stamps, and every colored card imaginable. Hanging above it on clear, nylon strings were a collection of perfectly constructed origami cranes. Tristan tipped his head, enchanted by the way they spun and swayed. Stepping towards them, he lifted his finger to touch one. That’s when he spotted something out of the corner of his eye.

It was just a shadow in the edge of the room—at least he thought it was, until it moved.

He jumped back with a gasp, his heart thundering in his chest as he caught sight of a large pair of pale green eyes.

He backed away from the ghostly white hand reaching for him and crashed into a wooden chest, losing his balance and tumbling onto his backside.

“Stay back!” He scrambled away from the ghoulish creature, his breath evaporating as it stepped into the light.

It was the girl.

The one who was murdered by her mother.

Ghosts do not exist! This is insane! I don’t believe in ghosts!

Tristan’s mind screamed the words while his pounding heart and light head told him he was lying.

The ghost’s long blonde hair, so pale it was nearly white, hung over her skinny shoulders, reaching down to her hips. She was wearing a navy blue turtleneck sweater, making her white skin look even more translucent. Her skinny legs were wrapped in pale pink tights and she was wearing a pair of fluffy UGG boots.

It was a weird thing for a ghost to wear, but maybe she’d had them on the day she died. The guys failed to tell Tristan she was a teenager. At least she looked like one anyway. Kind of pretty too.

She took a step towards him, her green eyes lighting with a soft smile.

“S-stay back.” Tristan raised his hand to stop her.

Her lips rose into a playful grin, her pointy little nose twitching when she laughed. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you? You’re the one who just broke into my house.” She had an accent, much like her mother’s, but not quite so strong and la-di-da.

The ghost is talking. Oh crap, the ghost is talking to me!

Tristan’s vision was blurring as a dizzy fear swamped him.

“Please don’t kill me.” He swallowed. “I just came to get a baseball. I swear, I won’t come back again.”

“Kill you?” Her thin eyebrows wrinkled. “I’m not that annoyed.”

“I know what you are.” Tristan pointed at her, his finger trembling.

“You mean a girl?”

“A ghost,” he whispered.

She giggled, a sweet, melodic sound. “I’m not a ghost.”

“Don’t trick me.” Tristan’s blurry vision made way for a spark of anger. The room came clear as his survival instincts kicked in.

“I’m not.” She spread her hands wide. “Here, look.” Stepping past him, the girl moved to the couch and collected something from between the cushions, holding it out with a triumphant grin.

Tristan studied the baseball in her hand, but was distracted by her radiant smile. It took over her entire face, raising her cheekbones, narrowing her eyes and emitting such a sunny vibe that it was impossible for his lips not to twitch in return.

“If I was a ghost I wouldn’t be able to hold this, would I?” She giggled.

Still trying to wrap his brain around the bizarre experience, Tristan rubbed his eyes and fumbled to his feet.

She stretched out her long, pale fingers. “Go on, touch my hand. You’ll see I’m real.”

He shook his head. It had become his instinctual response to most things of late, so it kind of happened before he realized.

“Chicken.” Her smile grew even more dazzling as she laughed a little harder.

Tristan couldn’t stop staring at her, entranced by the way her pale green eyes danced as she teased him.

As the unexpected fright wore off and made way for his standard skepticism, Tristan started to think logically again. It was a huge relief, and Tristan had to fight a smile as the crazies fluttered out of his head. Reaching forward, he took her hand, the pads of his fingers sliding over her soft palm before he wrapped them around her slender hand.

She gripped back, her smile softening. “I’m Helena Thompson.”

“Tristan Parker,” he croaked.

“Well, my crazy new friend, it’s nice to meet you.” She winked, and something inside of Tristan started to unfurl.