Our eyes met.
“That’s a bad thing, no?” Carlotta demanded.
Why, yes
, I thought. In general, death threats were a bad thing. Death threats from ghosts? Even worse.
Carlotta’s gaze shifted to a spot behind me, and her eyes widened. Her face went pale, her body rigid. I swung around to see what she was looking at.
But I saw nothing except the kitchen door, standing open.
Wait—hadn’t it been closed?
And then I saw it: a footprint in the dust on the floor.
I turned back to Carlotta just as she wobbled, then crumpled. I grabbed her before she could fall to the floor.
Another print appeared, then another. They were coming toward us.