Audrey Claire - Libby Grace 02 - How to Blackmail a Ghost by Audrey Claire Page A

the paper clean of his prints. “Were there others you could identify?” I asked with hope.
    “No.” Clark paused, and tension began in my shoulders. At least, that’s what my mind told me. I had no physical sensation. “There were no other prints at all, Libby. Not even yours.”
    Monica and I glanced at each other and then away so we wouldn’t stir his suspicion. I couldn’t tell Clark because I couldn’t actually feel anything and had no true physical presence, I couldn’t make fingerprints. This was the conclusion I came to the instant Clark shared the news, because without a doubt, I had handled the letter and envelope before I knew what it was and until Monica tucked it into the baggie.
    “Of course my prints weren’t on it, silly. Did you forget that I’ve learned a lot from you? I saw a suspicious letter in my mailbox. I was not going to touch it with my bare hands, and the carrier warned me about it even before I saw it. I was careful so I wouldn’t impede your investigation.”
    As usual, Monica jumped to my defense. “You’re not implying my girl sent herself that letter, are you, Clark? She’s not looking for attention that way. She already had it from you, didn’t she?”
    Clark’s face flamed, and Monica, the imp, grinned knowingly at him. “I-I didn’t think that,” Clark stuttered.
    Monica folded her arms across her chest and shrugged. Clark grumbled at her putting him on the spot.
    “I’ll keep investigating,” he promised. “Call me if you hear from this person again, and I’ll let you know what I find out.”
    “Thanks, chief,” Monica said in a sweet tone. He glowered at her, nodded at me, and was gone.
    “Monica, that was cruel.”
    She chuckled. “It got him off your back, didn’t it?”
    “Yes.” I smiled and kissed her cheek. “Thanks. I had no idea I couldn’t make prints.”
    “Let’s test it!”
    “What?”
    Monica darted from the living room to run down the hall. In moments she returned with an old paint set I had bought Jake a couple years before. For the next half hour, we played in paint like little kids. The theory was solid. I could dip my fingers in paint and even smear it over paper, but I couldn’t make prints like Monica could. In fact, I felt like a poltergeist playing tricks. I was not in direct contact with the human world. I had ways of showing my existence, but it was as if I lived on a different plane, and the sense of separation made me dump my experiments into the trash and make up an excuse to leave the house and wander alone for a while. Not until late that night when I spent time with Ian did I center myself and find peace.
    “You are not alone,” he said.
    I looked up at him as I hovered before his desk and he sat behind it with a book open before him.
    “Are you not reading my mind right now?” I asked.
    He held up the book, and I read the title Institutiones Juris Naturae Et Gentium . Was that Latin? “You are an open book, Liberty, and your emotions speak very loudly to me.”
    I snorted and looked away.
    He lowered his voice still more, but I heard him clear as a bell. “There are many in the world like you and unlike you, many who are not human. I am one of the few. I am here…with you.”
    I gaped at him. This was Ian’s attempt to make me feel better, and I had to admit, it worked. I smiled and thanked him. My face burned, but it didn’t matter. He was not the cold and uncaring creature he seemed. “Why am I special, Ian?”
    “Are you special?”
    “You know what I mean.” I didn’t want to spell it out. I had asked before. Did I want him to say he would date me if I had a body? That was absurd and not what I meant—not entirely anyway. “You let all those other women knock on your door to try to throw themselves at your feet. You ignored them. Why didn’t you ignore me? I mean if I had called something evil to me with my ghostly wail like you said, it would have been no skin off your nose.”
    He seemed to think