“Hey, rock dude, are you destroying the house? Causing mayhem? Who’s a ferocious gargoyle? Stoney’s a ferocious gargoyle.”

“Stone growled and stepped toward Dad, fangs bared. That’s a good gargoyle. Take a bite out of Daddy for me.”

“And you thought that rock was just ugly,” Shame said. “It’s ugly and powerful.” “No wonder you like it so much. Birds of a feather . . . ” Terric mumbled”

“Rock, meet stubborn place.”

“The three women laughing over there? Dark wavy hair, coffee skin, and beautiful matching sets of big, lovely—” I slapped him on the arm. “Hey. Eyes. I was going to say eyes. What were you thinking?”

“Maybe in the morning, sunlight would to turn him back into a statue; then I could take Stone out to the forest where he could frolic among the ferns, gurgle at streams, and make friends with the other interesting rocks.”

“Listen,” I said, cool as a 911 operator talking someone down from a ledge, “you’re dead. I’m sorry about that, but I am not going to let you possess me. So follow the light, or go to the other side, or hang around your own house and haunt your accounting ledgers or something. You do not get to stay in my head.”