Page 35 of You'll Be the Death of Me

Dell scrunched her face in distaste. She didn’t have anything against public transportation in general, but riding it in her current state was not appealing. “Are there any other methods of transportation for ghosts?” she asked. “Maybe the rule book sayssomething.” She reached for Cole’s satchel, and he tried to turn away again.

“Yeah, right,” he said with a huff of a laugh. “We arenotgoing to attempt teleportation.”

“Ha!” Dell cheered, hoping he’d fall for her trick. “So, itispossible.” She reached for the bag again, and he shot out a hand to grab her wrist.

A charged moment passed between them. Her skin tingled where he gripped her. His soul-deep eyes narrowed. “Yes, it is possible. But it will certainly get us in trouble for attempting it.”

She held his gaze with a steely determination. “What do you suggest as an alternative, then, if we are on a time crunch?”

As he stared down at her, she could see in his eyes he was mentally scanning for an answer. When he didn’t come up with one, he released her arm with a sigh.

Dell victoriously grinned and gestured at the satchel.

He dug his hand in it with a grumble and pulled out the book. She watched him flip to what must have been an index in the back and then turn a chunk of pages to an earlier section. His eyes darted over the page.

“Ha, there. See?” he said, and whipped it around to show her. “?‘Postmortem teleportation cannot be conducted without express written consent from the Afterlife Administration.’?” He pointed at the words in bold under a longer passage, which surely described the process.

Dell squinted at the small print and frowned. “Well, you’re an employee of the Afterlife Administration, so grab your pen and write us some consent. Easy.”

Cole snapped the book shut. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s above my pay grade,” he said.

“You actually get paid?”

“Yes, it is a job, after all.”

“Huh. Well, I’m more of abeg for forgivenesstype of person, especially with my life literally on the line. So I’m fine if we skip the fine print and give it a go anyway.” She reached for the book still in his hand.

“Ms. Rodgers, please!” he said when she successfully yanked it from him.

She spun away and began flipping pages. She found the correct section and read aloud: “?‘Successful postmortem intra-dimensional relocation requires uninterrupted focus on the desired location. If relocation is attempted with more than one individual, both or all parties must be physically joined.’?” She stopped reading and looked up at Cole. “So, we basically have to hold hands and think really hard about where we want to go?”

He wore an exasperated expression. One of nerves, frustration, and, if Dell wasn’t mistaken, a hint of interest. “Sounds like it, but we can’t—”

Dell reached out and gripped his hand. His warm palm was rigid at first but then cupped around hers like a large glove. The feeling caught her breath in her throat.

“M-maybe we should hold both hands,” she offered, thrown by how much she liked the feel of his in hers.

He studied her with a curious expression now. Like he was trying to interpret something he didn’t understand but wanted desperately to figure out. “Good idea.” He said in a trancelike growl.

Dell handed him the book so he could replace it in his satchel. She held out her other hand, and he slid his into it. The feeling ofboth their palms touching felt intimate on a level Dell couldn’t quite describe. But she liked it.

“Look at you,” she teased. “Breaking the rules.”

He smirked at her, but it was half-hearted. “Okay, if we’re going to do this, where are we going?”

Disbelief that any of this was happening spun around Dell’s head. But it was worth a shot. “The Gorman Building in the Financial District,” she said. “Just picture a skyscraper, and I’ll do the heavy lifting, since I’ve been there before.”

He nodded. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Dell closed her eyes and squeezed his hands.

He squeezed back, and she noticed him take a step closer. They were nearly chest to chest, their hands clasped between them. It felt beyond silly, but Dell pictured the building where she wanted to go: its shape, the street it was on, the front doors. Slowly, her home’s entryway started disappearing around them. The sharp hook behind her belly button she’d felt when she sat into Robbie in the park hooked her again, except this time it yanked her forward, as if they were flying down the wormhole tunnel her entryway had become. In an instant, they were standing on the sidewalk outside the towering building that housed Brooks, Sterling, and Hoffman.

“We did it!” she exclaimed as she found her footing.