Bridge of Souls (City of Ghosts #3)

by Victoria Schwab

  “Get behind me!” I shout as Jacob pulls Lara to her feet. One braid has come loose, her black hair escaping its plait, and she’s breathing heavily, but she’s up, and together they hurry toward me.

  The Emissary doesn’t.

  It moves with a terrifying slowness, the steady pace of someone—something—that knows its prey won’t escape. Jacob and Lara sink to their knees beside me. Lara understands what I’m doing. She starts to arrange the stones.

  “Will this actually work?” asks Jacob, still ripping out every rope that reaches up through the bridge.

  “I have no idea,” I say. “I’m making this up as I go.”

  But I saw the way the spell burned through the layers of the world, from the living realm into the Veil. So maybe, just maybe, it will work here, too.

  I can’t make a circle. I don’t have enough dirt, or oil, and even if I did, the Emissary would never step inside it. A line will have to do. I scatter the last of the grave dirt, little more than a smear against the darkened bridge. Lara pours the oil in a thin line, her hands somehow steady, even now.

  I draw a match, before remembering—Jacob. My heart tumbles into my stomach. If I strike the match, if I do the spell, what will happen? Will he be trapped here? Will he be sent on?

  There are no right answers, said the fortune-teller. You cannot win without losing, too.

  Jacob meets my gaze, and smiles.

  “It’s okay, Cass.”

  But it’s not. I fling my arms around his shoulders. Tears slide down my cheeks. I can’t do this. I can’t lose my best friend.

  “We’re running out of time,” hisses Lara as the Emissary gets closer.

  “No matter what happens,” Jacob whispers in my ear, “you’ll never lose me.”

  And then, before I can stop him, he grabs the box of matches and strikes one, dropping the flame onto the oil.

  It catches.

  And burns.

  The fire spreads from the middle out, and the Emissary rears back, away from the smoldering line. Jacob sways, going gray, and I squeeze my hand around his, trying to keep him there, with me, trying to keep our line from breaking.

  Shadows flicker across the Emissary’s mask. “We … will …” but it can’t seem to finish the line. It tips its head, as if trying to remember.

  The spell is working.

  And then the fire sputters, and goes out.

  For a second, I think the spell is done, that it worked, even though Jacob is still here. But then I look down and realize, with a growing horror, that the line didn’t burn. There wasn’t enough oil. The banishing didn’t work.

  The Emissary smiles, and steps smoothly over the ashes of the broken spell.

  Jacob’s hand tears free of mine.

  He lets out a primal shout and flings himself forward at the Emissary, the way he did before, in the graveyard. There, we were in the land of the living, and Jacob was just a ghost. Here, the Emissary may be something more, but so is Jacob.

  He slams into the skull-faced figure, pushing him back across the line, inky boots smearing the grave dirt on the bridge. Jacob slams his hands against the Emissary’s chest, but this time, instead of stepping back, the Emissary holds its ground, and Jacob’s fists sink into its front, like quicksand.

  Jacob gasps and tries to pull free, but his arms sink deeper into the black suit. His sneakers slide on the bridge as the Emissary drags him in.

  “You are in the wrong place,” says the rasping voice. “We will send you back.”

  The color starts to drain out of Jacob’s face, his shirt, his hair, his skin. Something inside me begins to tear. A thread unraveling. A connection breaking.

  “Cassidy …” Jacob says, his voice small and thin. “Go.”

  I start toward him, but Lara catches my arm.

  “We have to go,” she says, but I twist free, surging toward my friend, the camera already in my hands. The flash won’t work, I know, but the camera’s still heavy. I wrap my fingers in the purple strap and swing the camera as hard as I can, right at the Emissary’s head.

  It hits the bone mask with a sound like metal on stone, like breaking pottery.

  The Emissary loses its hold on Jacob.

  Jacob collapses onto the bridge, and I don’t have time to run to him, to see if he’s okay, because the Emissary rounds on me, the ghost forgotten. The rictus grin of the skeleton mask splits and cracks, inky blackness dripping between the broken pieces of the mask.

  “Cassidy Blake, your time has come.”

  It reaches out a gloved hand.

  This time, there is no invitation. No quiet order to come with us.

  It simply drives its hand into my chest.

  I look down and see the Emissary’s fingers, curling around the thread behind my ribs, the blue-white light of my life flickering in its grip. Darkness swarms over my senses.

  My heart stutters, skips a beat.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lara, kneeling over Jacob, and I realize, this is the end, and I’m not scared to die again, not like this, protecting my friends.

  “We will take you back into the dark.”

  My vision tunnels. I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t breathe.

  “What about me?” Lara’s voice is crisp and clear.

  I drag my eyes open and see her, standing there, several feet away, the warm red light of her life shining through her chest. The Emissary’s grip loosens a little.

  “Lara, stop,” I whisper.

  “I fled from Death,” she says, the words as strong as the in-betweener’s oath. Look and listen. See and know. “Why don’t you come for me?”

  No.

  “I fled from Death,” I say, and the Emissary’s broken face swivels back to me. Its fingers tighten around my life, and I shiver, suddenly cold.

  “I stole from Death,” Lara says, as if it’s a contest, a competition. This time, the Emissary lets go. Its taloned hand draws out of my chest, and I slump, dizzy and breathless, to the bridge.

  It starts toward Lara. “We will take you.”

  And despite everything, Lara Chowdhury holds her ground. She doesn’t take a single step back. She is the bravest girl I know. And I can’t let her do this.

  “I stole from Death!” I echo, and the Emissary stops halfway between us.

  “We know,” it says. “We will take you both.”

  “But who’s first?” I ask.

  “It should be me,” demands Lara.

  “No,” I say. “You came for me, right?”

  “You didn’t even notice me.”

  The Emissary looks between us, unsure who to take.

  Which is why it doesn’t see Jacob.

  Not until it’s too late.

  Doesn’t notice how close it’s standing to the side of the rail-less bridge, until the pale gray streak of my best friend throws himself around its skeletal waist, carrying the darkness with him toward the edge.

  And over.

  “Jacob!” I shout, diving forward as he vanishes over the side. I get there in time to see the Emissary fall, down, down, down into the bottomless dark. And Jacob, scrambling to hold on to the lip of the bridge, and slipping.

  I thrust the purple strap of my broken camera over the edge, feel the sudden snag of weight, like a fish on a line, and look down to see Jacob clutching at it.

  “I’ve got you,” I say through gritted teeth. But he’s not weightless here, and the force of him drags me forward toward the edge and the bottomless mist below.

  But just as I start to slip, Lara reaches me, wraps her arms around my waist, and together, we pull Jacob up out of the dark. We all sprawl, breathless, on the polished black stone.

  I crawl to the edge and look down, searching the mist.

  There is no sign of the Emissary.

  No sound, either, just the silence of the empty dark. And my own pulse, like a warning in my ears, telling me I’ve been here far too long. Telling me to get off this bridge, and out of the Veil, and back where I belong—in
the land of the living.

  I get to my feet, and turn to see my friends.

  Lara is trying to smooth her shirt, her hands shaking. She looks more disheveled than I’ve ever seen her. But otherwise, she looks like herself.

  Jacob, on the other hand, looks like a ghost. He stands there staring out into the mist, thin and pale as a sliver of ice, and I remember the horrible feeling I had when the Emissary had him, like the thing between us was breaking. Like I was losing him.

  Jacob, I think, but he doesn’t glance over.

  “Look at me,” I say, catching his face in my hands. “Your name is Jacob Ellis Hale, you have two brothers, you lived and drowned in upstate New York and then you saved my life, and now we’re best friends.”

  He stares straight at me for a long moment, and then he scrunches up his face. “I know,” he says, as if I’ve lost my mind.

  I throw my arms around his shoulders and try not to think about how light he feels, like he’s not all there.

  “I thought I lost you,” I say.

  “Rule number eighty-one of friendship,” he answers. “Friends don’t let friends get murdered by horrifying skull monsters on the bridge between the Veil and the place beyond.”

  I laugh, and pull back to look at him.

  And then I punch him in the shoulder.

  “Ow!”

  “You don’t feel pain,” I say.

  “Says you,” he says, rubbing his arm. “What was that for?”

  “You could have died,” I snap. “Again.”

  “Yeah, well. It worked, didn’t it?”

  “If it’s all the same to you,” says Lara, swinging her red backpack onto her shoulder, “I’d really like to get out of here.”

  “Agreed,” says Jacob.

  “Yeah,” I chime in. Even without the Emissary, the Bridge of Souls is not a friendly place.

  We start back, side by side, Jacob recounting our adventure like a highlight reel, telling Lara about the hearse and the river before diving into the parts she was there for. It feels like we walked so far. But going back the other way, the bridge is short. Soon the mist clears, and the edge of the lake comes into sight. We step off the bridge, back into the pale gray landscape of the Veil, the space flat and blank as paper.

  I’m already reaching for the curtain of the Veil, already dreaming of solid ground and a hot shower, and a long night’s sleep, when Jacob clears his throat.

  “Hey,” he says. “Um, I think something’s wrong.”

  I look back over my shoulder. “What?”

  Jacob reaches out, as if for the Veil, opens and closes his hand, but there’s nothing there. His fingers fall back to his side.

  “I don’t think I can …”

  “Of course you can,” I say. When Jacob pulled me out of the land of the living, I pulled him out of the land of the dead. As long as I’ve known him, he’s been able to move between our world and the Veil. That’s how he can exist so far from the place where he drowned. That’s how he can haunt me, wherever I go.

  “Take my hand,” I say.

  He does, and I try to ignore how fragile his fingers feel—not so much skin and bone as humid air—as I reach for the curtain. But it doesn’t work. I can feel the Veil, waiting, but when I try to pull it aside and step through, Jacob’s hand slips from mine, turns to nothing. Like he’s not even there.

  “It’s okay,” he says, his voice tight.

  But it’s not okay.

  I turn toward Lara, who’s been looking carefully away. As if she knew this would happen.

  “You always said that Jacob and I were tangled up, and that’s why he was getting stronger,” I say to her. “So something came untangled back there on the bridge. How do I fix it?”

  “Cassidy,” she says softly. “Maybe it is fixed.”

  “Then help me unfix it!”

  “Cass,” starts Jacob, “we knew this might—”

  “No,” I snap, turning on him. “I almost lost you twice, and I’m not doing it again. I’m not saying goodbye. I shouldn’t have to.” I jab him in the chest. “We fought Death, and we won. So no, I’m not giving up on you. You’re Jacob Ellis Hale, you’re not like other ghosts, and you don’t belong in the Veil. You belong with me. And I’m not going home without you. Understand?”

  Jacob nods.

  I squeeze his hand, as tight as I can, as if I can pour some of my life back into him. I imagine the blue-white light inside my chest spreading down my arm and through my fingers, wrapping around Jacob’s like a rope.

  He brightens a little, a tiny bit of color slipping back into his clothes, his skin.

  And something inside me breaks, because I know it’s not enough.

  He’s still too ghostly, too gray.

  And then Lara reaches out and takes his other hand.

  “Come on, Ghost,” she says, squeezing tight. I can almost see the red light of her life, spreading down her fingers and into his. I can only hope it will be enough.

  I take a deep breath and reach for the Veil again. And this time, I feel the gray cloth catch in my hand. I grab the curtain tight, and pull it aside.

  And hand in hand in hand, we take a step, and fall.

  The sun is going down over New Orleans.

  Philippa leans against the hood of the hearse, plucking petals from a flower stolen off the funeral wreath. Lucas sits in the passenger seat, reading a book.

  I look down at my hand, where Jacob’s fingers were tight in mine, but it’s empty. I look over at Lara, and Jacob, who’s supposed to be between us, but he’s not.

  It didn’t work.

  Sadness washes over Lara’s face, and she pulls me into a hug.

  “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I’m so—”

  And then we hear a voice a couple of feet behind us.

  “This sucks.”

  Lara and I both turn to see Jacob standing there, the Causeway at his back.

  I let out a sound, half laugh and half sob and all relief, wishing I could throw my arms around him. But Jacob doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s too busy staring down at his hands, his face contorted in annoyance. And I realize why.

  I can see him.

  But I can also see through him.

  I didn’t notice how solid he was getting before, until I see him like this. His colors washed thin, his skin between pale and gray. He was like this in the beginning, when he first started haunting me. When I looked up from my hospital bed and saw him sitting, cross-legged, in the visitor’s chair.

  When he followed me home.

  A ghost.

  And nothing more.

  But of course, Jacob is so much more. And he’s here, and that’s all that matters. He sighs. “Oh well.” And I wish I could hit him, or hug him, but I settle for a ghost five.

  “Ah, there you are!” says Philippa, tossing away the remains of the flower as we return to the hearse.

  “Cassidy, Lara,” says Lucas, climbing out of the car, his expression full of deep relief.

  “Nice to see you all alive,” says Philippa. “Well,” she adds, nodding at Jacob, “you know what I mean.” She squints, studying him. “You are looking a bit thin, aren’t you?”

  “You should see the other guy,” he says.

  “Hah!” chimes Philippa. “I love a funny ghost. Now, tell me everything! How did it go? What was it like?”

  Another car slows at the sight of a man, a woman, two girls, and a hearse on the side of the road.

  “Perhaps we can talk on the way?” says Lucas.

  Philippa sighs. “Fine, fine, but you better not leave anything out.”

  She doesn’t need to drive as fast on the way back. No one’s life is on the line. Time isn’t of the essence. But that doesn’t stop Philippa from swerving through rush hour traffic.

  Lucas braces his hands on the dash. Jacob and I slide more than once. Lara grips the side door and grimaces. I guess the horseless carriage was a smoother ride.

  “Philippa,” she says, looking over her
shoulder. “You do know there’s a coffin in the back seat.”

  “That’s Fred,” Jacob and I answer at the same time.

  “Excellent,” says Lara, as if that answers everything.

  By the time the hearse rolls through the French Quarter and pulls up in front of the Hotel Kardec, we’ve told Philippa and Lucas everything. Lucas makes notes in his book, but says we’ll have to tell Renée or Michael so they can make a proper record of what we’ve seen and learned.

  “For the next time it happens,” he says.

  “Next time?” yelps Jacob. “No thank you.”

  And for once, I’m in complete agreement. I’ve had enough Emissaries and bridges to last me a good long while.

  Lucas, Jacob, and I climb out of the hearse, but when I turn, I see Lara’s still inside.

  “You coming?”

  She shakes her head. “I think your parents would get a bit suspicious,” she says, “if I stayed a second night. Philippa’s offered to let me sleep at her place.”

  “It will be fun,” says Philippa. “Amethyst loves company. Byron, not so much.”

  “Is Byron your boyfriend?” I ask, and Philippa cackles.

  “No, he’s my snake.”

  Lara makes a panicked face.

  “You sure you don’t want to stay with me?” I ask.

  She swallows and shakes her head. “No, it will be fine.”

  A car honks for the hearse to move on.

  “How rude!” says Philippa. “The living have no respect for the dead.” She puts the car into gear. “Sleep sweet!” she calls, and with that, they’re gone.

  Lucas turns to me. “Will you be all right?” he asks.

  I swallow and nod. “I think so,” I say. “At least for now.”

  Lucas flashes a quiet smile. “If history teaches us anything,” he says, “it’s how to live in the present.”

  Jacob and I say goodbye to Lucas, and we go inside the hotel, across the lobby with the still-closed séance room. As we head upstairs, I brace for one of Mom and Dad’s lectures about staying out too long, or wandering too far. So I’m startled when I open the hotel door and find the room quiet and dark.

  They’re not back yet.

  “Whew,” says Jacob.

  Grim looks up at me, green eyes wide, and for a moment, I wonder if he was worried. But then he walks over to his food bowl, and I think he might just be hungry. I’m kneeling down to feed him when the hotel door unlocks, and Mom and Dad sweep through.