On the train to Edinburgh, Niall and I caught up on four years apart and have settled into our old familiar patterns of patter. Now our separation feels more like four days. ‘So this American burd of yers, what’s her name again?’ he asks me as we follow the Saturday night crowd across Waverley Bridge. Above us, on the long high spine of Castle Rock, a spotlit Edinburgh Castle gleams before a dusky sky. ‘Aura. Aura Salvatore,’ I add with a flourish. ‘Italian?’ ‘Aye, one hundred percent. Her dad was Sicilian, no less.’ I of course don’t mention he was also a ghost. ‘Hot. So she’s a temper, then?’ ‘A wee bit. No more than me.’ ‘You think you’ve a “wee bit” of a temper? My ribs beg to differ.’ He hugs his side where I punched him. ‘I was holding back. Otherwise you’d be in hospital and I’d be in prison.’ ‘Naw, I’d’ve had my foot down your throat in another five seconds if the lads hadn’t pulled you off.’ ‘Then why’d it take three of them to do it?’ And so on.
What do You think about Shattered: A Shade Novella?
