After Valentine leaves her alone and lonely on the steps of the club, the new ghost hunter begins to question everything about her new life. Luckily R.J. is there to remind her why she started in the first place...
The bar was as busy as it had been when we arrived. The place was awash in a ghostly blue light, the music thumping loud enough that I could feel it reverberating in my bones. The dance floor pulsed with bodies. Every table was full, and the bars were lined with people waiting for cocktails.
R.J. led me to the bar, her hand around my waist so she wouldn’t lose me in the crowd. She leaned over the metal bar and yelled so the bartender would hear her over the noise.
I watched the crowd, watched the humans and ghosts intermingled on the dance floor. Since R.J. had made me a ghost hunter—or an apprentice at least—I found I could see things I hadn’t seen before, without even trying. I could point out more than two dozen ghosts on the dance floor without even trying. And I could see ghost hunters. They had a look about them, once you knew how to look. There was no uniform, though most seemed to be fans of tattoos and piercings and colorful hair. But it was the attitude that gave them away. They carried themselves with a devil-may-care grace. They were confident and concise. They looked like they could kick the crap out of you or kiss you raw, and it would be a hard toss to decide which one would be more pleasurable. They looked like they knew what they were doing. Once you knew how to look, you could see them from a mile away.
I wanted to look like that.
This 10,000 word novelette is intended for mature audiences.
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