Brock was mortified that the ghost didn’t recognise the Guide of the Dead. He gritted his teeth audibly and his eyes swivelled to Aura, face twisting up in guilt. He should’ve done something – said something – introduced her properly.

He relaxed at the sight of his friend’s face, which contained nothing but unconcealed curiosity. Aura had stopped tossing her apple and was gazing at the girl, her vibrant blue eyes alight with interest. Evidently she hadn’t noticed that she’d lost her page in the book on her lap: the pages flicked over by themselves one at a time until the book reached its end, where the last page strained to pull the hardcover back over with it. She listened without interrupting, leaning forward a little the longer the girl kept talking. She came to the Realm of the Dead as a ghost when she slept? That was new. New things, when you’d lived thousands of years before submitting to a grey afterlife, were damn exciting.

She glanced at Brock, catching his permanently nervous eye. “You ever heard of anything like this?” She enquired keenly.

Brock shook his head, glancing sideways at the ghost girl with his brow furrowed. His mouth was downturned, but there was no way he wasn’t also fascinated. As an academic, his scholarly instincts would be tingling.

Brushing the apple and the book absent-mindedly onto the floor, Aura pushed herself onto her feet and came forward, manoeuvring her way around piles of books and a poofy leather armchair. She stopped in front of the young lady, studying her with penetrating eyes which seemed to probe every crevice.

“What’s your name?” She asked, holding out her hand experimentally. Aura didn’t usually shake hands with people upon meeting them. She mostly just wanted to see if she could shake hands with a ghost. “I’m Aura. I’m the Guide of the Dead. This is Brock, he’s a friend.”

Brock shifted slightly, as though uncomfortable that someone else was making friends for him on his behalf. Aura ignored him.

“It definitely looks like astral projection.” She muttered, half to herself. Directing her voice at the young girl, she continued, “does this happen often? What do you mean, usually when you die? When you say wait it out, do you mean you usually return to the Realm of the Living by yourself? What – ”

“Aura.” Brock uttered in an exasperated, but also faintly amused tone. The edge of his lips twitched. Aura smiled in acknowledgement.

“Sorry. You’re not dead,” she added to the young woman, “I’d know if you were.” I think. I’m pretty sure.

She flicked her eyes up and down the translucent form, absorbing the colours and details. None of the grey dust of the underworld seemed to cling to her at all – which was, frankly, unfair. Aura had given up trying to get that stuff out of her hair.