Free The Ghost Files 3 by Apryl Baker Page A

snaps up. Silas sits on my bed, twirling a purple pillow between his hands.
    I guess a few minutes alone really is too much to ask.
    How am I going to explain a demon in my bedroom?
     

     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Eight
     
     
    Silas looks completely at home sitting on my purple comforter surrounded by the little lavender throw pillows Mary piled on my bed. He isn’t what I imagined a demon to be. For one thing, he’s gorgeous—I mean, he has fall-to-your-knees, salivate at the mouth hotness. Think Johnny Depp at around twenty-five. Not that Johnny Depp looks like he’s aged very much over the years. Secretly I think he’s some kind of supernatural creature. I mean, really, who could look thirty for twenty years?
    Back on track, Mattie , I remind myself. Then Silas just smiles wider. That’s what does it to me—those black eyes burning with delight. His dark coloring blends beautifully with the lighter shades of purple and lavender bathing my room. Today, he’s wearing faded jeans that look softer than even my oldest and most-worn pair. His cream-colored button-down only enhances his dark good looks. I can certainly see why so many have fallen for him over the centuries. He is an absolute hottie with a wicked smile. The only thing it inspires in me at the moment, however, is a healthy dose of fear.
    “What are you doing in here, Silas?” I hiss, going on the offensive. Best not to let him know how much he scares the bejeezus out of me.
    “My darling girl, you don’t sound happy to see me.” He tosses the pillow back on the bed and then gets up to prowl the room. “I didn’t peg you for a purple girl.”
    I’m not,” I answer shortly. His arm sweeps the room in question and I wince in response. “My foster sister decorated it.”
    “You haven’t changed it?”
    “As if I’ve had time?” I shake my head. Before I went to New Orleans, I’d told Mary she could keep it purple if she kept Dan and Meg away from me until I left. She’d held up her end of the deal , so I can live with purple. For a while.
    “Already making deals.” He beams at me. “Though we’ll have to work on you getting the better end of it.”
    “I did get the better end of it…” Then I pause and gape. What does he mean? ‘Already making deals?’ How did Silas get into my thoughts?
    “Don’t look so shocked, Emma Rose.” Silas sits down in the too-short chair in front of the vanity mirror. “You’re only doing what comes naturally to you.”
    “I don’t know what your game is,” I snarl, fear making me lash out, “but I’m not playing.”
    “Ah, but you were a player the moment you were born,” he says and examines the nail polishes lined up against the mirror. “This is a very girly room. Not your style at all.”
    My mind is racing, balking at what he’s implying. He’s really in my head? There is no way… “What do you want?” I demand.
    “I am here to offer my services.” He abandons the vanity and goes over to the open trunk at the foot of my bed I’d stashed sketch pads in. His eyes light up at the discovery. After leafing through the first one, he pulls more out and settles back onto the bed. “No need to have those boys attempt to get the rune right when I can do it for you. Nasty business having to feel everything a ghost went through as they died.”
    “ I don’t want anything from you,” I reply, hoping I sound sharp enough. No way am I making deals with a demon. Not in a thousand lifetimes.
    “Beautiful,” he murmurs. His fingers caress the images in my sketchpad. “Your work is haunting. You have so much talent, Emma. I can make you the most famous artist of this age if you’d like.”
    “No, I wouldn’t like,” I answer, my insides trembling. “If my work is good, then it’ll stand on its own merit.” Upsetting Silas might be a bad idea.
    “That’s what Rem brandt and Picasso thought, too,” Silas chuckles. “Remi used to always make me laugh. He’s not having a