Chapter One: Spirits and Sparkling Water
The party was held in a tastefully haunted mansion.
Fake cobwebs clung to crystal chandeliers, dry ice poured from punch bowls, and a Bluetooth speaker crackled with a looped thunderstorm that sounded more like an old man’s cough. It was a ghost-themed party, for ghost hunters, in a mansion known more for its TikTok cameos than actual spirits.
Mara Blake hated it instantly.
She slipped past a group of contestants comparing EMF readings on their phones and made a beeline for the bar, muttering a prayer for caffeine and minimal small talk. Her name tag, “MARA (Skeptic/Researcher),” was already peeling off her shirt.
“Sparkling water,” she told the bartender. “With a lime. Just one. No ghost-shaped ice cubes.”
“You sure? They’re very haunted,” came a voice beside her. Deep, amused, and absolutely uninvited.
Mara turned.
Ezra Cross. She recognized him from his social media, @CrossTheVeil, a feed filled with shirtless poses next to haunted mirrors and sultry whispers to ghosts that made them look more like love interests than lost souls. In person, he was taller than she expected, with messy curls and the smug, slow smile of someone who knew exactly how pretty he was.
He was also holding two drinks and wearing a black silk shirt that should have been illegal on that many muscles.
“I’m good,” she said, turning back to the bar.
He didn’t leave.
“You’re Mara Blake, right? The ghost buzzkill?”
“And you’re Ezra Cross. The reason my students think ghosts wear eyeliner.”
He grinned. “Only on special occasions.”
The bartender handed over her drink. Mara sipped it and tried not to look like she was calculating how many steps it would take to flee the conversation.
Ezra leaned casually against the bar. “So. What’s a ‘serious researcher’ like you doing on a reality show where half the cast thinks ghosts are allergic to copper?”
“I’m here to win. And to prove that science and spectacle aren’t the same thing.”
He tilted his head. “And I’m here to prove that ghosts are real, flirty, and probably rooting for us to fall in love.”
She choked on her drink. “Excuse me?”
He raised a brow. “You don’t believe in fate?”
“I believe in contracts, and the one I signed said nothing about paranormal matchmaking.”
Ezra clinked his glass lightly against hers. “Then I guess we’ll just have to haunt each other for the next ten episodes.”
Before she could reply with something cutting (and possibly brilliant), the lights flickered. A chill ran through the room. Most likely air conditioning.
Then came his voice.
“Contestants of Spook Showdown,” Victor Steele boomed from the top of the grand staircase, backlit by flickering candlelight like a gothic Batman. “Your fates have been sealed. Your first assignment begins at dawn.”
A hush fell over the crowd. Ezra leaned in again.
“Guess we’re about to see who screams first.”
Mara gave him a sideways look. “I hope it’s you.”
Mara tried to escape Ezra’s orbit by disappearing into the crowd. Unfortunately, reality TV contestants were like ghosts: they could smell fear and loved attention.
The ballroom had been divided into themed corners. One featured “Psychic Readings” with dollar-store crystal balls and plastic palmistry guides. Another had a ring light and backdrop for contestant selfies with signs like “I’M HERE FOR THE BOO’S” and “SCAREDY CUTE.”
“Look who’s here!” A high-pitched voice cut through the room like a banshee in heels. A petite woman in a glittering mini-dress and five-inch heels swept up to Mara, trailed by a cameraman and enough perfume to knock out a medium-sized poltergeist.
Willow Moonstone was an influencer, a crystal witch, and Ezra’s on-again, off-again “friend”. Possibly something more, if the online gossip held any truth.
“Mara Blake,” Willow said, clutching her hands dramatically. “You’re the skeptic! I’ve seen your YouTube debunking videos. So icy. So sciencey. I love that for you.”
Mara blinked. “Thanks?”
Willow leaned in conspiratorially. “But just a tip-from one reality star to a soon-to-be-reality flameout. If you don’t cry in episode one, no one’s going to care if a ghost eats your face.”
She vanished in a puff of glitter and attitude, practically teleporting to the dance floor, where she began a mystical-looking sway to a remix of Somebody’s Watching Me.
Mara turned, only to bump into a mountain of a man in camo pants and a serious expression.
“Watch it,” he growled.
“Sorry,” she said automatically.
He stared at her like she’d insulted his ancestors. “You one of those ghost fakers? Or one of the real ones?”
Before she could reply, a chipper voice popped up behind him.
“She’s the science chick, Bear. The one who thinks our trauma is imaginary.”
Bear and JoJo were a viral ghost-hunting duo who got their start chasing shadows in abandoned truck stops. Bear specialized in intimidation and quiet growls. JoJo, ever the theater kid, could find a ghost in a salad bar if given half a chance.
JoJo waved brightly. “You’re gonna hate our vibe. We sage everything.”
“I figured,” Mara said dryly. “The smell gave it away.”
Later That Night
At 1:13 a.m., her tablet pinged:
TEAM PAIRING CONFIRMED:
MARA BLAKE + EZRA CROSS Team Name: To Be Decided
She groaned and rolled out of bed, her thoughts spinning. That’s when the whisper came.
Low. Ragged. Not quite a voice, not quite a breath. You don’t belong here.
Then: thump.
She crept into the hallway with her flashlight on, tracking the sound until she nearly collided with Ezra, shirtless and clearly half-asleep.
“You ghost-stalking me?” he asked.
She blinked. “No. You didn’t hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“You always walk around haunted mansions like that?” Ezra asked, eyes dropping to her bare feet. “It’s a vibe.”
Mara narrowed her eyes. “You always open the door shirtless like you’re auditioning for a ghost-themed romance cover?”
He smirked. “Only when the energy calls for it.”
“Well, the energy can knock it off.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Because I was busy trying to remember if ‘accidental manslaughter’ covers paranormal mediums.”
Their eyes held a beat too long. The banter slowed, but neither stepped away. Something heavier crackled underneath the snark, and neither of them had the language for it yet.
Flashback
A hospice ward. A medium with warm eyes and soft lies.
“Your husband says he’s proud of you.”
Her mother wept. Mara walked out. Leaving her mother alone with the fraud.
Ezra lay in bed, attuned to the mansion’s energy. This wasn’t the usual performative haunted house vibe. It felt like something was watching.
He opened the door at just the right moment to bump into Mara sneaking down the hall, bare feet, flashlight, and that deeply suspicious frown.
“Ghost-stalking me?” he asked, mostly to annoy her.
But something was different in her eyes. Not just annoyance. Fear.
She asked if he believed ghosts could intentionally lie. An odd question but he didn’t so much as hint to how out of place it was. He would have to poke at that one later.
“The worst ones,” he’d said, “are the ones that tell the truth.”
After she left, he lit a candle from his bag. Whispered into the stillness.
A knock.
Ezra smiled faintly. “Thought so.”
