The ghost drifted effortlessly through the door, vanishing from view. Kayla followed, and barely stopped herself in time to avoid bashing her nose against the door. She opened the door very quietly, so Elizabet wouldn't hear, and stepped outside.
Outside the house, the street was very quiet, with the faint echo of the late‑night traffic on Laurel Canyon as a distant noise, sounding ­almost like waves on a shore. Kayla followed Gram around the side of the house, along a winding trail that led to the top of the hill—or, rather, Kayla walked and Gram floated.
“Can you tell me a little bit about this ghost stuff<|>?” Kayla asked, trying to catch her breath as they paused at the top of the hill. She looked out at the lights of the city, spread out like a glittering carpet of jewels around her. From this viewpoint, she could see the lights of Los Angeles to the south and the San Fernando Valley to the north.
“Oh, you'll understand that eventually,” Gram said, also admiring the view. “There's not much to it. The basics are simple. There are two kinds of ghosts: people with unfinished business, and ones like myself who are too stubborn and meddlesome to leave. You want to watch out for