It was the last place I expected to be on Halloween: an underground chamber lit by flickering blue flames, hosting a ghostly soiree I hadn't even known existed until about two hours earlier.
I was tucked away in a dimly lit corner of the library, flipping through an old tome on Obscure Magical Creatures—not because I actually cared about obscure magical creatures, but because it was a convenient way to hide from the chaos of the common rooms. Slytherin had been particularly loud that evening, something about Flint arguing over the upcoming Quidditch match, and I wasn't in the mood for that kind of headache.
I was just about to turn the page—some nonsense about a Hungarian Vampyrmoth—when a chill ran down my spine. The air around me dropped a few degrees, and the hairs on my arms stood on end.
That's when Moaning Myrtle drifted up behind me, clearing her throat with a sound like nails on a chalkboard scraping through waterlogged wood.
I flinched so hard I nearly flung the book across the room. "Sweet Merlin, Myrtle! Could you not haunt so aggressively?"
Myrtle huffed, crossing her translucent arms, floating just close enough for her chill to seep through my robes. "Aggressively? Oh, I'm so sorry, Arthur. I didn't realize there was a polite way to haunt," she said, her voice thick with sarcasm.
I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Alright, alright. What's up, Myrtle? You usually only seek me out when Peeves has been extra mean, or when you're feeling especially tragic."
She gave a dramatic sniff, adjusting her thick, ghostly glasses. "I am always feeling tragic," she declared. Then, a little more softly, "But actually, I came to invite you to something."
That got my attention. I closed my book (marking my place, because let's not be reckless), and raised an eyebrow at her. "Invite me?" I repeated. "To what, a crying circle? A bathroom haunting seminar?"
Myrtle scowled. "No, you insufferable boy, to a party."
That got both of my eyebrows up. "A party?" I repeated. "Myrtle, no offense, but your idea of fun usually involves wailing and making first years regret their bladder control."
She pouted. "It's not my party," she corrected. "It's the Deathday Party of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. He invited me, and I thought—" She hesitated. "Well, I thought maybe you'd like to come. Since you don't mind talking to me."
I blinked. Sir Nicholas' Deathday Party. Right. I vaguely remembered hearing about that kind of thing—ghosts celebrating the day they died instead of their birthday, because, well… they're dead. I'd never really thought about what that entailed, but I was betting it wasn't the most lively of events.
Before I could formulate a polite excuse, Myrtle suddenly gave me a suspicious squint. "Unless… you're too afraid to be the only living person at a ghostly event."
I scoffed. "Afraid? Myrtle, I face Draco Malfoy before breakfast and survive. You think ghosts scare me?"
She smirked, clearly sensing victory. "Anyway, you owe me. Remember, I helped you find the Greenhouse shortcut last week when you were late to Herbology, didn't I?"
She had a point there.
I opened my mouth to argue, but she had already started floating away, clearly expecting me to follow.
I was about to resign myself to my fate when an idea hit me—one that could potentially make this marginally less miserable.
"Hold on," I said, catching up to Myrtle before she could vanish through a wall. "What if I bring a plus one?"
She turned midair, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "A plus one?" she repeated, like I'd just suggested we turn the party into a ghostly Quidditch match.
"Yeah," I said, already scanning the hallway for my perfect candidate. Someone who would suffer alongside me. Someone I trusted to make things at least entertaining. And then I saw him.
Elias.
He was walking ahead, completely unaware of his fate, humming some off-key tune and flipping through a book that I was pretty sure was about Quidditch strategies.
I smirked. Perfect.
I turned back to Myrtle, mustering my most casual tone. "I mean, you did say I was the only living person coming, right? It'd be kind of rude not to share the experience."
Myrtle huffed. "Ghosts don't care about rudeness, Arthur."
"Yeah, well, I do," I said, already making my way toward Elias. "Hold on, I'll ask."
"Arthur—" Myrtle called, but I ignored her, quickening my pace until I was walking side by side with my unsuspecting victim.
"Hey, Elias," I said, slinging an arm around his shoulder like we were the best of friends (which we were, but still).
He glanced at me, immediately suspicious. "What do you want?"
"Whoa," I said, clutching my chest. "That hurts. Can't a guy just say hello to his best mate?"
Elias shut his book, giving me a dry look. "Every time you say hello like that, I end up barely escaping detention."
"First of all, rude. Second of all, this is actually a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."
His suspicion deepened. "Go on."
I grinned. "How would you like to attend a Deathday Party?"
Elias blinked. "A what?"
Myrtle chose that moment to float up behind me, cutting in. "A gathering of Hogwarts' finest spirits, celebrating the anniversary of their tragic demise," she said, sounding dramatically morbid.
Elias just stared at me. "Arthur, did you—did you voluntarily sign up for this?"
I coughed. "It's a long story. But the important thing is—you're coming too!"
"Absolutely not," Elias said instantly, turning on his heel.
I grabbed his arm before he could flee. "Come on," I pleaded. "Think about it! The stories! The history! The sheer amount of haunted drama we'll get to witness!"
Elias shot me a look. "We already live in a haunted castle."
"Yeah, but this is exclusive haunted castle drama," I said. "It's invite-only."
Myrtle huffed. "It is an honor, you know."
Elias groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Arthur, this is going to be awful."
"Okay, yeah, probably," I admitted. "But imagine—just imagine the material we'll have for storytelling later. We'll go down in Hogwarts history as the first students to make a Deathday Party fun."
Elias frowned, considering.
I pressed on. "Also, if you don't come, I'll be alone with Myrtle the entire night."
Myrtle gasped. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Elias, sensing the imminent disaster, sighed. "Fine," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "Fine, I'll go. But if we get cursed or stuck in some ghostly limbo, I'm blaming you."
I grinned. "That's fair."
Myrtle clapped her hands together excitedly. "Oh, this is going to be wonderful!" she declared. Then, more menacingly, "Just don't embarrass me."
Elias looked at me in panic. "Wait. That's an option?"
I just laughed as Myrtle began leading us toward what was definitely going to be the strangest night of our lives.
Don't get me wrong—I love weird Hogwarts traditions. Floating jack-o'-lanterns in the Great Hall? Sign me up. Bats swooping overhead? Fine. But a Deathday Party? My best friend Elias—and half of my common sense—told me I was signing up for a top-tier fiasco.
Yet there I was, stepping through a crumbling archway in the dungeons, with Elias trailing nervously behind me, because Moaning Myrtle had practically cornered me. She wanted me, a living student, to help "liven up" the gloom-and-doom vibe her ghost friends usually had.
"Just imagine how impressed they'll be!" Myrtle had said, eyes glittering. "A Slytherin, a Gryffindor, and a whole lot of spirit—pun intended."
I'd only sighed. This was typical me: roped into potentially life-threatening nonsense out of guilt or curiosity. Usually both.
Hogwarts dungeons at night have this knack for turning your spine into a popsicle. Dim torches flickered along the stone walls, casting long, dancing shadows that messed with your peripheral vision. You'd swear you saw shapes flit by, but once you turned, it was just a pillar or some random tapestry.
Elias followed close behind me, his usually bright grin replaced with a wary half-smile.
"Arthur," he muttered, glancing back over his shoulder. "If I get turned into a ghost tonight, I'm haunting you forever."
"Deal," I joked, plastering on a grin that probably looked a little too forced. "Who else can you haunt? Hermione's too sensible—she'd probably try to exorcise you with a well-researched counter-curse. And Caitlyn? She'd just chase you away with a hex and then write an entire essay on ghost deterrent spells for extra credit."
Myrtle narrowed her eyes at me, floating a little closer until she was practically nose-to-nose with me. "Are you implying that I'm easily chased away?" Her voice took on that signature wounded tone, like I'd just personally wronged her entire existence.
Elias, ever the instigator, leaned in with a smirk. "I mean… Caitlyn is pretty terrifying when she wants to be."
Myrtle huffed, crossing her ghostly arms. "Well, I am not afraid of some overenthusiastic Hufflepuff with a wand! If I wanted, I could haunt her relentlessly! I could drip water onto her parchment every time she tried to write! I could float through her dormitory walls at just the right moment to make her lose her place in a book! I could—"
"Whoa, whoa," I said, hands up in surrender. "Let's not declare ghostly warfare on Caitlyn. She'd probably find a way to make you regret it. And I'd rather not witness Hogwarts' first-ever ghost vs. human prank war."
Elias snorted. "Yeah, knowing her, she'd somehow convince Peeves to take her side."
Myrtle paused, her expression shifting like she hadn't actually considered that possibility. "Peeves?" she repeated, her nose wrinkling. "Ugh. Filthy little poltergeist. No class."
"Exactly," I said, nudging Elias. "So let's stick to haunting me, yeah? I'm clearly the safest option."
Myrtle huffed, floating back a bit, but there was something almost smug in her expression. "Fine," she said, with an air of great sacrifice. "But only because you asked so nicely."
Elias nudged me. "Congratulations," he whispered. "You just willingly signed up for a lifetime of ghostly harassment."
"Yeah," I muttered, shaking my head. "Fantastic life choices all around."
We reached an old, warped wooden door that looked like it had been here since before Hogwarts was even built—crooked hinges, deep claw marks, and an unsettling groaning noise whenever the wind hit it just right. Definitely not something on any official Hogwarts map.
Myrtle, being a ghost and all, just phased right through like it was nothing.
I stopped dead in my tracks, staring at the door like it had personally insulted me. "Yep. That's a definite safety hazard. You first, Elias."
Elias scoffed, crossing his arms. "No way. You agreed to this little haunted field trip."
"Right, but you let it happen." I turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "If I get cursed, eaten, or worse—" I motioned dramatically to the very cursed-looking door "—I'm blaming you."
He gave me a look, then pointed at himself like I was the crazy one. "Me? No, no, no. This has your name written all over it. I was just dragged along for emotional support."
I narrowed my eyes. "If we die, this is entirely your fault."
Elias just smirked, clapped a hand on my shoulder, and nudged me forward. "Nah. It's yours."
Myrtle's muffled voice floated through the door. "Are you coming, or do I need to start haunting someone else?"
I sighed. "Great. Peer pressure from a ghost. Love that for me."
And with that, I pushed the door open, fully expecting to regret everything on the other side.
The door creaked open, loudly, like it wanted the entire castle to know I was about to do something stupid. Elias and I stepped inside, and immediately, I knew we had made a mistake.
The air was cold, not just chilly like an autumn night, but the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, like stepping into an abandoned crypt. The room was massive, its high, vaulted ceiling covered in cobwebs that swayed in a nonexistent breeze. Candles floated in midair, but their flames were blue, casting everything in an eerie, ghostly glow. Long tables stretched across the hall, groaning under the weight of food that looked questionable at best—moldy cheese wheels, blackened turkey legs, goblets filled with something thick and oozing.
And the guests.
Hundreds of ghosts hovered in the air, draped in tattered robes and decayed finery. Some looked like noblemen from a time when plague masks were considered fashion statements, others had swords sticking out of their chests like misplaced accessories. A few were just heads, floating above the tables and chatting like being bodiless was totally normal. The entire room was filled with hushed whispers, the occasional clink of an intangible goblet, and the general vibe that we had just walked into a really depressing afterlife conference.
Elias leaned in. "You owe me for this."
"Shut up and pretend we belong," I muttered.
Myrtle appeared beside us, beaming. "Oh, this is perfect! Come on, come on!" She grabbed my arm—her ghostly touch sent a chill up my spine—and dragged me toward the center of the hall. "Arthur! Elias! Welcome to the Deathday Party—the exclusive one! We hold it deeper in the dungeons to avoid prying eyes."
"I can see why," Elias muttered under his breath.
I elbowed him, biting back a grin. "Show some manners, oh mighty Gryffindor."
He gave me a mock bow. "As you command, oh cunning Slytherin."
The other ghosts noticed us. Some turned, whispering in their faded voices, their glowing eyes flicking between me and Elias like we were a couple of lost mortals who had taken a wrong turn into the afterlife. I gave them a thumbs up, because what else was I supposed to do?
A tall, imposing figure floated toward us. His beard was so long it practically phased through his own chest, and his expression was the exact kind of judgey I expected from someone who probably died of disapproving too hard.
"A living boy at our gathering?" His voice was deep, cold, and very much not thrilled.
Myrtle stepped in. "This is Arthur. My guest."
The ghost peered down at me, his glowing eyes narrowing. "And the other one?"
"Elias," Elias said, offering a charming smile that immediately faltered under the ghost's stare. "Uh, pleasure to be here. Love what you've done with the place. Very… medieval crypt chic."
The ghost raised an eyebrow. "You are fortunate to be invited, living ones. This is a gathering of the departed, and few are given the honor."
"Right, honor," I said, nodding like I totally understood ghost etiquette. "So, uh… what exactly do we do here?"
"Reminisce. Reflect on our past regrets," he said gravely.
Elias shot me a look. Oh, great. We're at a ghost group therapy session.
Myrtle, still cheerful, clapped her hands together. "And dance! There's always a dance!"
That was when I noticed the band. Well. What was left of them. A group of ghostly musicians huddled in the corner, looking like they hadn't actually played in a few centuries. One of them held a broken violin. Another had a flute that was missing half of it. The drummer looked bored out of his mind.
It was painful.
Elias nudged me. "We could do better."
And that was how we accidentally hijacked a haunted
Elias sat at the ancient, out-of-tune piano and ran his fingers across the keys, wincing at the terrible sound it made. "Alright, yeah, this thing is dead—no offense," he added quickly to the ghosts watching.
I grabbed the violin off one of the spectral musicians, gave it a once-over, and instantly regretted my life choices. The strings looked like they were made from actual spiderwebs.
Elias cracked his knuckles. "Okay. Let's try something… different."
I raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"
He grinned. "Ever heard of Stayin' Alive?"
"Seriously?"
"Trust me."
I sighed, adjusted my probably cursed violin, and gave him a nod. "Fine. Let's do this."
Elias slammed his fingers onto the piano, and suddenly—boom. The opening chords of Stayin' Alive echoed through the ghostly hall. The ghosts all jumped, their ethereal forms flickering like candles in the wind.
I joined in, the violin wailing in a way that sounded shockingly good considering it was literally held together by the afterlife. The entire room froze as the beat kicked in.
And then… it happened.
One of the ghosts tapped their foot. Another started swaying. A headless noble stood up, eyes wide as he actually felt the music.
Myrtle squealed. "Oh, I love this!" She grabbed my hands and dragged me into the middle of the floor.
"What are you doing?!" I yelped.
"Dancing!"
And then, somehow, I was waltzing with Moaning Myrtle in the middle of a ghostly disco party.
More ghosts joined in. Someone somehow summoned a spectral disco ball. The air shifted—the cold, eerie feeling melted into something warmer, the room itself responding to the energy. The candles flickered gold, the rotten food vanished, replaced by something that actually looked edible.
It was magic, but new. Hogwarts itself was watching, responding.
And then it happend. The music cut off as the door exploded open.
A massive shape loomed in the doorway, hunched and reeking of something that made expired pumpkin juice smell like perfume. The troll's tiny eyes blinked slowly, confused by the scene in front of it—a ghost rave, a kid on piano, me being twirled by Myrtle.
For a long moment, it just stared.
Then, it roared.
And everything descended into chaos.
The ghosts screamed—which was weird, considering they were already dead—and scattered. Elias jumped up from the piano. "WHY IS THERE A TROLL IN HERE?!"
"I DON'T KNOW, ELIAS! MAYBE IT WANTED TO PARTY?"
Myrtle shrieked and phased right through me. "DO SOMETHING!"
The troll lumbered forward, swinging its club. A spectral knight floated beside me. "Aim for the knees!" he bellowed. "That's where the armor is weakest!"
"IT'S NOT WEARING ARMOR!" I shouted back.
"*Then hit it with something heavy!"
"LIKE WHAT?!"
The knight pointed at a giant, rusted sword mounted on the wall.
Oh.
I sprinted for it as the troll swung, barely missing Elias, who yelled something in Romanian that I was pretty sure translated to OH NO, I AM GOING TO DIE.
I grabbed the sword. It was way too big, but I didn't think—I just moved.
The troll turned.
And I charged.
Because why not?
This was Hogwarts. And apparently, this was my life now.
The sword was massive, definitely meant for someone twice my size and already dead, but I didn't have time to be picky. The troll saw me charging and grunted, like it couldn't decide whether to be amused or just annoyed that its meal was coming to it instead of running away.
Elias dodged another swing of the club, barely managing to roll out of the way before it splintered a nearby bench. "Arthur, whatever your plan is, hurry up!"
"Plan?" I gritted my teeth as I hefted the sword. "I don't have a plan!"
"Fantastic!" Elias ducked another swipe. "Love that for us!"
The troll lumbered forward, its club whooshing through the air, but before it could turn Elias into a Gryffindor pancake, a trio of spectral knights materialized between us and the beast.
"HOLD FAST!" one of them bellowed. "LAD, IF YOU'RE GOING TO FIGHT, THEN FIGHT PROPERLY!"
"How about you fight?! You're ghosts!" I hissed through clenched teeth.
"GLORIOUS AS THAT WOULD BE, WE LACK THE MEANS TO LAND A STRIKE!" another knight roared. "BUT YOU, YOUNG HERO, YOU CAN—"
"YOUNG HERO?! Wait, no, don't start making this a thing!" I cut in. But of course, the knights ignored me, already launching into dramatic monologues about battle and honor. Because of course they did.
"AIM FOR THE KNEES!" shouted the first knight.
"GO FOR THE THROAT!" yelled another.
"BREAK ITS GRIP! WEAK HANDS, STRONG ARMS!"
"GUYS, PICK ONE STRATEGY!"
The troll snorted, like it was offended by all this backseat fighting advice, and swung its club straight at me.
I jumped, barely dodging as the weapon demolished the table behind me.
"Do something already!" Elias shouted, yanking his wand up. "Flipendo!"
A blast of magic hit the troll's shoulder. It staggered, blinking down at Elias like it had just been pelted by an angry fruit bat. Not hurt—just annoyed.
"Right," Elias muttered. "Need to upgrade that spell…"
The knights were still yelling advice. The ghosts at the party were panicking. Myrtle was sobbing in the rafters. The troll grunted, rearing back for another swing.
And then, instinct took over.
I dropped into a low stance, gripping the sword with both hands. The weight felt unnatural, too heavy, too foreign. But something in me—something old—made it feel like I'd done this before.
The troll lifted its club again.
And I moved.
I slid under its arm, dodging the downward swing, and with everything I had, I swung the sword at the troll's ankle. The blade bit deep, carving through rough, calloused skin, and the troll roared in pain, staggering to the side.
"YES!" one of the knights cheered. "STRIKE TRUE, WARRIOR!"
"Not helping!" I panted.
The troll stumbled, grabbing onto a pillar to steady itself, but I could already see it recovering. This thing wasn't going down from a paper cut—I needed a real finisher.
"Arthur!" Elias called. "Get back!"
I didn't have time to question him—just moved. I rolled aside just as Elias whipped his wand up.
"Expulso!"
The spell blasted one of the floating chandeliers, sending it crashing down onto the troll's back. The creature let out a deafening bellow, its entire body buckling under the sudden weight.
It tried to rise—one last effort—but I was already there. With one final swing, I slammed the flat of the sword against its head, and with a groggy grunt, the beast collapsed.
The room fell silent.
For a moment, nobody moved. The ghosts stared. Myrtle had stopped crying. The knights were gaping like I'd just pulled Excalibur from the stone.
Then, Elias let out a long, shaking breath. "That was… the dumbest thing we've ever done."
I let out a hysterical laugh, dropping the sword with a loud clank. "You're the one who took out a chandelier!"
"It worked, didn't it?!"
"BARELY!"
The ghosts suddenly erupted into applause. Well, most of them. A few were still in shock. One particularly old spirit clutched his spectral chest like he was going to faint.
"Magnificent!" one of the knights bellowed. "A TRUE WARRIOR IS BORN!"
"No, he isn't!" I yelled back. "This was an accident!"
The knight ignored me, puffing out his chest. "A BATTLE WELL-FOUGHT! A BLOW WELL-STRUCK! THE HONOR OF—*"
"He doesn't want a knighthood, Sir Geoffrey!" Myrtle interrupted, rolling her eyes. "Give him a break!"
Sir Geoffrey looked genuinely disappointed. "But he's such a natural!"
"And nearly got his head taken off!" Elias added.
"All in the spirit of battle!"
"What battle?! That was survival!"
"Same thing!"
Elias shot me a look. "This is getting out of hand."
"Welcome to my life," I muttered.
Just then, the wrecked entrance groaned under the weight of approaching footsteps, and the remains of the doors were shoved aside as Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn swept into the ruined hall, wands drawn.
Their robes billowed as they took in the scene—the unconscious troll sprawled across the broken remains of the ghostly feast, chandeliers hanging by threads of cobwebbed chains, overturned tables, and, oh yeah, a couple of first-years standing smack in the middle of it all.
McGonagall froze mid-step. Her already stern features turned positively granite as her eyes darted from the limp troll to the broken candelabras still smoldering from stray magic.
Professor Slughorn, who was usually more concerned with his personal comfort than Hogwarts emergencies, let out a wheezing breath and clutched his chest as if he were about to faint. His mustache twitched violently, like it was attempting to detach itself from his face and escape before things got worse.
Behind them, Lily Potter stepped cautiously over the debris, her wand raised, eyes scanning the wreckage with sharp efficiency.
For a few seconds, nobody spoke.
Even the ghosts—who had been buzzing with excitement—fell silent. The knight in silver armor that had handed me the sword floated awkwardly, clearly reconsidering whether he had made the right decision entrusting an artifact of medieval warfare to a twelve-year-old.
Lily finally broke the silence. She took in the unconscious troll, the smashed furniture, and our extremely guilty expressions and let out a very slow, very measured exhale.
"Merlin's beard…" she whispered. "What happened here?"
McGonagall, who had just found her voice again, turned sharply to Elias and me.
"Mr. Belmont… Mr. North…*" Each syllable landed like the ticking of a doomsday clock. "Would you kindly explain what in the name of Hogwarts just happened here?"
I knew that voice. That was the McGonagall is this close to turning you into a ferret voice.
Elias and I exchanged a single look. That look contained an entire conversation's worth of panic and mutual betrayal.
And then, as if possessed by the same survival instinct, we both immediately pointed at each other.
"It was his fault."
McGonagall's nostrils flared dangerously.
Slughorn groaned so dramatically, you'd think he was the one who just fought a troll. He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, "Oh, Arthur… It has been barely two months since you arrived, and already you've managed to add 'troll-fighting' to your list of reckless decisions?"
Lily crossed her arms, arching an eyebrow at us. "You do realize that this was not part of the school's Halloween celebrations, yes?"
"We didn't start this!" I protested, gesturing to the destruction around us. "We were at a party. A boring party. We were about to leave, and then—BAM. Troll!"
McGonagall's pinched expression did not ease.
"Ah, yes," she said icily. "So, naturally, instead of running away, you both chose to—what? Engage in armed combat with a fully-grown mountain troll?"
"It was blocking the exit!" Elias said, throwing up his hands. "Would you rather we sat there and let it turn us into pasty first-year pancakes?"
McGonagall exhaled sharply and muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Gryffindor-level stupidity in a Slytherin."
Lily frowned, but she didn't look angry. If anything, she seemed troubled. Her gaze flickered to the sword still clutched in my hand.
"Where did you get that?" she asked.
I hesitated. "Uh. The Knight Sir Lancet lent it to me?"
Everyone—including the ghosts—turned to look at the silver-armored knight hovering proudly behind me.
The knight lifted his chin and declared, "Indeed! This young warrior fought valiantly! 'Twas an honor to lend my blade!"
Slughorn rubbed his forehead like this was giving him a migraine.
McGonagall sighed deeply. "As much as I disapprove of this level of recklessness, it would be unfair to punish you for protecting yourselves."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. No punishment! We were off the hook!
Slughorn coughed loudly.
"However—" McGonagall continued, giving me and Elias a very pointed look. "You will both serve detention with Filch. If you have this much energy, you may as well use it to scrub cauldrons the non-magical way."
Elias groaned. "Oh, come on! We fought a troll and won! That should at least be worth some house points—"
McGonagall held up a single finger.
Elias snapped his mouth shut.
Slughorn sighed deeply, shaking his head. "As much as I… admire your courage, I must agree with Professor McGonagall."
Lily watched us carefully, her expression unreadable. But then, she said, "They were brave."
McGonagall sniffed, but I didn't miss the smallest twitch of approval at the corner of her mouth.
"Go. Get cleaned up," she said at last. "And no more secret ghost parties."
Elias leaned over as we turned to leave. "So, uh… sword thing?"
I grinned. "Yeah. That was kind of cool."