Chapter 6: Burned Offerings

After Derek left, Caleb was no longer as polite as before.

He stood over me, eyes hard, voice stripped of any friendliness. “Why are you pretending to be Megan?”

I steadied myself, met his eyes, and asked, “How do you know I’m pretending?”

Caleb held my gaze for a while, then gave up first.

His shoulders slumped. “I don’t care if you’re pretending or not. Just don’t try to get close to my uncle again. He hasn’t been well these years. After a serious illness, he finally managed to recover. I’m begging you—if you want money, a house, a car, I can give you. Just please, leave my uncle alone.”

His words were desperate, thick with something like fear—a kid’s need to protect what’s left of his family.

I caught my breath. “When did he get sick?”

“The year before last, I think. He was in and out of the hospital for almost a year. Lauren took care of him, and after he got better, they decided to get engaged.”

So the timeline matched up.

Derek hadn’t left money for me because he was ill.

A strange, guilty relief washed over me, even as regret settled deep in my bones. Maybe I’d misjudged him. Maybe grief had just made me selfish.

Honestly, it was my own fault for not planning ahead.

I’d always thought I hadn’t enjoyed life enough while alive, so after death I could just splurge.

I bought houses and fancy cars on a whim, even kept a bunch of handsome male assistants.

Didn’t know how to run a business, but still wanted to try. I couldn’t even handle people, let alone those cunning, resentful ghosts in the afterlife.

By the time I realized I couldn’t keep it up, I was already in deep trouble.

Since Caleb offered, I didn’t stand on ceremony.

I figured, why not? When the world hands you a lifeline, you take it, no questions asked.

When I asked for a mountain of afterlife money, his eyes went wide, as if he’d seen a ghost.

Well, I was a ghost, after all.

If it weren’t useless to leave money for myself, I’d have asked for real cash.

But Caleb still did as I asked.

He returned from a novelty shop—one of those kitschy places near Chinatown—with a trunk full of spirit money, the kind with cartoon presidents and weird gold foil. He looked both amused and slightly horrified.

He moved the money to an open space in the yard, and without looking up, asked, “You should at least tell me who to dedicate it to, or the recipient won’t get it.”

“Megan,” I said calmly.

Caleb stood up, eyes wide in shock. “You really are Megan?”

I sat on the bench, watching the flames dance, and smiled. “Didn’t I already tell you?”

The scent of burning paper drifted upward, mixing with the night air. The backyard glowed orange, fireflies hovering at the edge of the light.

Caleb squatted next to me, confusion all over his face. “So are you dead or not?”

“What do you think?”

“Then why didn’t you tell my uncle just now?”

“Why are you being silly? You want him to be well, and so do I.”

Caleb hugged his knees, buried his face in his arms, and his voice came out muffled. “Sorry, for thinking of you that way before.”

Seeing him blaming himself, I reached out and ruffled his hair, pretending to be relaxed: “What are you thinking? Actually, I should thank you for leaving me so much money.”

Once I pay off my debts in the afterlife, let’s see who dares look down on me again.

A little mischief sparked in my chest—after all, a girl’s gotta have ambition, alive or dead.