Lucy stared down at the pot, wondering if melting it had been the work of her grandmother or the ghosts. She wasn't familiar with fire as part of her family's magic. Did her grandmother even have magic? The Hemingways had been wonderful to her, but growing up without her biological family had left so many gaps in her knowledge.
"They won't listen to reason." Lucy said, watching as more ghosts appeared. They had such maniacal expressions, as if they had been driven completely insane. She took a few steps backwards, looking for an escape route. "Maybe we can get to the corridor on the left."