It takes me thirty-five minutes to find a payphone.

I'm standing eight blocks from my house in an actual blizzard, poking at the clumsy square buttons. I fat-finger the wrong number, groan, and start over. Mittens and payphone dial pads are existentially incompatible.

Theo has been texting me with updates all day. My text log is a rambling, monologuing mess:

6:15 - Good morning. I think the ghost is in my heating ducts.

6:33 - I am hitting the vents with a broom. It keeps moving around. By the way, the water thing worked. Now our apartment is covered in water. Good. Job.

6:34 -Just kidding, love you. appreciate the advice, teach! Lol

7:18 - We have evacuated to a coffee shop. Still in pajamas. Lol. There are so many people here, who gets up this early? Do you think all of their apartments are haunted?

11:15 - Nitiya seriously, I know the coin is like really really important to you or your family or whatever, so I'm sorry I keep asking for it. But can I seriously please borrow it.

11:26 - Raya is telling me to drop it but we can't afford an exorcist or a paranormal investigator or a new apartment. And the building manager isn't doing anything about it until we produce tangible proof but like how do you get proof of a ghost they're literally invisible

11:33 - Sorry if I'm bugging you

1:20 - I will pay you 200 dollars just to borrow it.

1:32 - When does your sister get here?

I'm pretty sure he's doing it to make me feel guilty. It's working.

The first few times my phone buzzed this morning, I hoped it was Clara texting me with the details of her arrival. That hope diminished with each subsequent message. It's irritating to know she answered Theo's email and none of my texts. Clara is a flake, sometimes a pain, and usually a bit too much for me, but she is genuinely good at her job.

I think that's how - between me, Clara, and my half-brother Griffin - I'm the one who inherited the coin Theo keeps asking for. I'm not above admitting it: Clara and Griffin can handle paranormal junk without it. I can't. In the twenty years since inheriting the warding coin, I have slept with it, showered with it, everything with it. When you've had one really bad experience, it's worth it.

I punch another wrong digit, grit my teeth, and pull off the mittens. I can't handle another three days of constant messaging from Theo. But I still have one trick up my sleeve. It's one that I don't like using, because it makes me feel bad. It makes me feel bad as in guilty, but also literally bad, as in I want to throw up.

I press my ear to the payphone and clear my throat into the frizzling chirp of the dial tone. I clear my throat, clear it once more for good measure, and exhale.

Theo's voice crackles through the speaker. "Hello?"

"Hello, um..." Pause for effect. "Theodore?"

When I speak, it's Clara's voice that fills the phone booth. Theo gives an adorable little star-struck gasp; I wasn't sure if he'd recognize her. Clearly, he'd been a diligent viewer of her TV show. That it, before it was cancelled in the wake of the incident about which our family does not speak.

"Hello! Um, wow. Hi. Also, no 'dore', just Theo," he says in a rush. "How did you-"

"Nitiya gave me your number," I say, pulse throbbing in my head.

There are a few things that make Clara Clara. She's clippy, chirpy, and mystical, like her voice is struggling to be contained in one body. I know this because I'm her sister, and I know this because I'm good with voices. It's just a thing I've been good at, since forever. I mean really good at. Like, good enough that any reasonable person would recognize their freakish skill and make a living off appearing on talk shows, if they hadn't promised their father to never, ever tell anyone about it.

The least fun part is that it makes me black out. Already, my vision has gone dark, and my head is pounding.

"Nitiya told me your ghost is still causing problems," I say.

"I couldn't find a gopher-" he starts to explain, sounding apologetic.

"No one knows where to find a gopher," I agree. "That was a silly suggestion."

"Um-"

"Listen," I say. "Take it from a professional. Sometimes ghosts just need to blow off steam and wreck a few things before they're done with their tantrum and ready to pass on. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is get out of the way and let it do its business." I hear him start to argue, but I keep talking. "If you can't, then unplug all nonessential electrical devices, move all furniture to the walls, and open all doors and windows."

"But-"

"I know it's the middle of winter, but if possible, you want to get this thing outside. You disperse spirits like you disperse smells: ventilation. Sometimes, all it takes is a little rearranging."

"Yeah," he says. "Bad feng shui."

I glow a little at the reference. Turns out I do have some good advice. Theo rarely lets me get that far before cutting to the chase and asking for my ward.

I rattle off all the statistics I've memorized about hauntings during my childhood obsession. "Most paranormal violence is provoked. You're more likely to be killed by a grizzly bear than by a ghost. And nine in ten hauntings resolve themselves within three months. Okay?"

I expect him to say you sound like your sister. Instead, he echoes, "Okay," and sounds genuinely relieved. I'm a little annoyed that he needed to hear this from Clara, when no amount of Nitiya telling him this has thus far made him feel better.

"Alright, see you in a few days." I'm desperate to hang up the phone; it feels like I've been holding my breath and all I can think about is getting some air.

"Hey, before you go," he says quickly.

My head somehow simultaneously numb and screaming. "Yes?"

"I don't know how close you and your sister are," Theo says, "but will you let her know we miss her? I'm glad she landed the professorship, but I miss seeing her around."

I sigh, a fresh wave of guilt settling in. "I'll let her know."

"Thanks," he says, and I hang up, gasping. I notice a chill against my right side and realize I'm slumped against the side of the payphone. It takes a few minutes for my vision to return to normal. Maybe I wouldn't be such a fun talk show guest after all.

I lean against the payphone door and recuperate. I think that makes four times I've impersonated Clara. I wonder if she'd be more bewildered to discover that I've done this multiple times, or that I could do this at all. Only my dad knew, and he was very clear not to mention this bizarre skill to anyone, right up until the point he was murdered.

I'm a good daughter, and I've kept my promise.