Of Spirits and Superstition

by Nyx Halliwell

  After she wins, I divulge the truth as gently as I can. “Gwen, the reason you’re here and not in your room at the nursing home is because you’re dead. You’re in transition, still earthbound, but your body is no longer alive.”

  Her pale blue eyes stare at me for a long moment. I wait for the denial, anger, and sadness, which are usually the stages the dead who linger experience, but instead, she seems mildly relieved. “Is this heaven?” she asks.

  “Not quite. Do you see a bright light anywhere?”

  “It’s over there.” She points toward the fireplace, which is quiet and cold now. “Been following me all day. Is that where I’m supposed to go?”

  I suspect it's been there for more than that, but in the land of spirit, time doesn’t exist.

  She stares at the doorway to the afterlife, as if mesmerized.

  “Yes,” I say to her. “Do you see anyone waiting for you?”

  Her eyes squint. “Eddy? Is that you?”

  Having a loved one to assist them in crossing over is always helpful, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Her gaze dances back to mine. “Do they have cards in heaven?”

  “I believe heaven has whatever you want,” I tell her truthfully. “My guides have explained to me that we can create our own version, so why not?”

  She shuffles the cards into a pile and wheels away from the table. “I’m coming, Eddy,” she says to whoever is waiting for her. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Is there anything you’d like me to tell your family who’re still here?” I ask.

  “That I’ll be with them on Christmas.” Just before she disappears, she looks back at me. “Thank you,” she says. “You’re an angel.”

  Godfrey, who was bedded down with his girlfriend Snow, rises and nudges her. “Angel, bah. All these spirits around here,” he grumbles. “A cat can’t get a decent hour of sleep.”

  They leave, heading to Autumn’s, tails in the air, and all is well inside the shop. Even though I’m tired, I take a moment and call out for my mother.

  I do this all the time, and unfortunately, I never make that connection. The one spirit in all the planes of existence I wish desperately to speak to, and she’s not there.

  Shortly after her death, my sisters begged me to contact her. They didn’t understand why I couldn’t pull her through. I didn’t either. I thought there was something wrong with my mojo. It felt like a flaw, a weakness, a failure.

  It wasn’t until Beltane this year that we realized she couldn’t come to me. Her soul is being held by a demon imprisoned under our wooded land. We’re working on getting Mom released, along with other souls we believe he has, but it’s a tricky situation.

  Just because I can’t hear or sense her, doesn’t mean she can’t discern me. I speak out loud, telling her we’re working on getting her free. I send her love, tell her how much we miss her, and to hang in there. It’s a nightly ritual, praying wherever she is, she can hear me and it gives her hope.

  Hale scooped the path to my cabin, but it’s been hours, and there are certain areas where the snow has banked the path. It’s cloudy, no moonlight, so I create a witchlight to guide me.

  My familiar, a ghost cat named Shade, hurries along in front of me, the snow and cold not bothering her. As I pass Spring and Summer’s cabins, I telepathically wish them goodnight, and receive the same in return.

  Autumn is standing in the doorway of hers, bundled under a blanket and waiting for Sirius to get his job done and come in for the night. “How did it go?” she wants to know.

  I’m carrying the goddess in one hand, two of the leftover bananas in the other. “Good,” I say, and see the slightly surprised look on her face. It’s not often I use that word for anything. “Both clients were happy.” She glances at my hand, curious. “Ronan brought them. Apparently, I need more potassium.”

  She laughs. “Did he make you a present?” Her gaze goes to the other item.

  I hold up the statue, and in the witchlight, the blue flash of the moonstone is prominent. “He was bored,” I say. “Had a few minutes to work on something, so he carved this.”

  She looks skeptical. “Sure, that only took a few minutes, and he was bored.”

  We share a smile. “I don’t know what to do with him,” I confess.

  “I know. That’s okay. You don’t have to do anything with him, just accept who he is and the fact he’s head over cauldron for you.”

  Mulling this over for a moment, I ask, “Why does he like me?”

  She gives me a seriously? look. “Does it matter? Accept his goodness, sister. He didn’t bring you these for no reason. You make him happy, or he wouldn’t hang around.”

  This is a novelty to me, one I’m afraid is a dream, or will end as soon as I relax my guard.

  From behind Autumn, her boyfriend, Quinn, emerges and gives me a wave. “Winter,” he says. “Everything okay?”

  All my sisters have found happiness this year. Is it possible I can, too? “Everything’s good.” I see Autumn smile at my use of the word again. “You two have a blessed night. I’ll see you on the morrow.

  “Blessed be,” Autumn says.

  Sirius runs up the steps and they go inside as Shade and I venture on. My cabin is the largest and closest to the tree line. The snow has created a beautiful canopy on the trees, sticking to the bark, and coating the ground.

  When I was little, the four of us lived here with Mom and Dad. Now it’s just me. My dad had a calling he tried to ignore. Mom, being a witch with a lot of love in her heart for him, finally sent him away. He couldn’t be the shaman and medicine man he needed to be if he was home tending the hearth fire. It was a huge adjustment for us, and I didn’t really understand it at the time, but as I saw him bloom as more and more of the lost people in the area joined his eclectic tribe of misfits, I realized Mom was very wise.

  I still hated not having him around.

  On my doorstep is a black feather. A message from one of my guides—Raven—who leaves them frequently when I’ve helped one of the lost souls find their way across the veil. It’s like a gold star in my world, and I smile as I pick it up.

  Letting myself in, Shade disappears into the shadows of the hall. I put the bananas in the kitchen, the statue in my bedroom, and the feather on my mantel, next to my wishing cauldron. I put on my pajamas, then sit at the loom that used to be my mother’s.

  I’m learning to work it, under the guidance of our neighbor Mamma Nightengale. In the past month, I’ve taken up the work she used to do. She loved fibers and textiles.

  Mamma N has taken on the thankless job of teaching me to knit, crochet, needlepoint. The poor woman. I’m a horrible student, but I’ve managed under her tutelage to make solstice gifts —hot pads for Spring, gloves for Summer, a blanket for Autumn—with the threads from my mother’s favorite cape. Now I’m working on a rug for Ronan and Hale’s mom, Tala. She and my father have found a deeper level to their friendship and I’m glad he’s happy with her.

  As I work a deep red strand into the rug, one of my spirit guides appears.

  Coyote comes to me in human form and sits on the edge of the bed. He’s been showing up frequently since it’s getting closer to solstice and my vision quest. His appearance as a man is a very attractive one. Long dark hair, beautiful dark eyes, a lean body. He’s shirtless tonight, his brown chest smooth and glistening in the light of the fire, beads hanging in long strands over his pecs. “Three visitors. You should sleep.”

  I’d rather he save his cryptic messages for another time, as I need to finish this rug. “That’s nice. What does it mean?” I ask, almost irritably. It could be my sisters, clients, or ghosts.

  There are heavy wards on my cabin to keep the latter out, but some occasionally get through. Spirits, like Coyote, always do, since they are directly connected to me. There’s no ward or spell to keep him away.

  “Too much work. Not enough rest.”

  Story of my life. I continue weaving in the red strip. “Yule is in a few days a
nd I need to get this finished. The sooner you leave, the sooner that’ll happen. Then I’ll go to bed.”

  His human form is stereotypically Native American. He usually attends the shamanic journeys with me, and his energy is closely tied to mine. I sense his tension, and something else unexpected. “No Ronan,” he says in a demanding voice.

  Spirit guides can’t be jealous, can they? Coyote was human once. Still, it’s hard for me to believe he would exhibit such an emotion. As a spirit, I expect he’s beyond ego. “He’s coming, like it or not.”

  Coyote shakes his head. “No Ronan.”

  I ignore him, cursing under my breath when I see a place where I should’ve gone under instead of over with the thread. Now I have to pull the whole thing out. “Ronan’s a grown man who makes his own decisions. I have no control over that.”

  Everything falls silent, and I sense Shade jumping on the bed. I glance over and Coyote is gone. Shade is curling up on a pillow.

  I manage to get another large section done. My eyes blur, and I’m practically falling asleep at the antique loom when I decide to get up and stretch.

  Maybe I should call it a night. I can finish first thing in the morning.

  After reinforcing the wards and sigils, I walk into my room, ready to climb into bed, when I pull up short. There’s a spirit standing at the foot of it, one that makes me drop the glass of water I brought to put on my nightstand.

  The glass shatters at my feet, water splashing everywhere.

  “Winter?” Ronan asks. Correction—his ghost asks. I can see the confusion on his face. “What’s going on?”

  This can’t be happening. My first visitor is… No. “Ronan?”

  He moves toward me, his body like shifting fog. He passes through the end of the bed. “I think I need help,” he says.

  3

  I’m so focused on Ronan, I don’t sense the approach of people to my front door. There’s a loud knock and I hear my father ask, “Winter? Daughter?”

  Dad. I’m frozen for several heartbeats, trying to make sense of the fact Ronan’s ghost was just floating near my bed. My heart is breaking, as I realize…he’s no longer among the living. I can’t seem to move from where I’m rooted to the floor.

  “Winter?” This is Spring.

  “Come in.” With a flick of my hand, I magically unlock the door and it swings open. Dad’s energy is always filled with both air—his eagle nature—and earth. A cool breeze wafts past me as he steps in and I sense another male—Tristan MacGregor, the Chief of police.

  I feel Spring rush in as I sink to my knees, and soon she’s there, wrapping her arms around me. “It can’t be.” I hug my abdomen and rock back and forth. Tears flow down my face. “He was just here…”

  “Shh.” She brushes hair from my face. “It’s going to be okay.”

  I lift my eyes to meet hers. “No, it’s not. He’s dead.”

  She looks bewildered. “Who?”

  “Ronan!”

  “He’s not dead,” Tristan says from the doorway.

  Dad files past him into my room, filling it with his protective energy. “But he is injured.”

  My heart leaps into my throat. “Injured?”

  Spring wipes tears from my cheek. “Ronan’s in the hospital.”

  “But…he was just here.” I point to the spot. “His ghost.”

  My sister looks at Dad. “Is it possible he passed in the time it took you to get here?”

  Dad crosses the floor, lifting me with strong hands. “Ronan’s still alive, but in a coma. If his spirit visited you, it means it’s detached from his body.”

  This isn’t good news, but I’m filled with so much relief he’s not dead, I collapse into my father’s arms. He hugs me and pats my back.

  Spring runs her hand up and down my arm. “It’s going to be okay,” she insists again.

  I pull away and search my father’s features. “Is it?”

  They take me to my living room where Tristan now waits. “Hello, Winter,” he says more formally. “I’m sorry to be delivering this news.”

  I look between the three of them. “Someone tell me what happened.”

  Tristan is in his police uniform, countenance stern. “He and Tala were leaving the soup kitchen when a man jumped them. Technically, he jumped Tala, though Ronan interceded and fought with the guy. The assailant knocked him unconscious with a blow to the head and took off. Hale gave chase, but lost him a few blocks over.”

  It’s horrible, and yet so much better than Ronan being…gone.

  “He’s most likely confused,” Dad says, his brows knitted in thought. “His spirit is traveling, trying to figure out what’s going on.”

  “Is Tala all right?” I ask.

  Tristan gives a single downward jerk of his chin. “She’s upset, but physically fine aside from a few bruises due to falling when the man shoved her. She and Hale are at the hospital.”

  I let out my breath slowly, sending a prayer of gratitude to Rhiannon, my goddess. “What do the doctor’s think? Will he recover?”

  “He’s in serious condition at this point.”

  I feel my eyes burn with tears, my chest with anger. Another prayer leaves my heart to any spirit listening. “Any idea who did it?” I choke out.

  He turns his hat in his hands, fingers working the brim. “No suspects yet, though we’re reviewing some video footage from a camera outside the kitchen. Tala didn’t get a good look at the man, but she did mention something…” He glances at Spring and Dad.

  “What?” I demand.

  Tristan is still fairly new to the world of magick despite the fact he’s a wolf shifter, so he’s not quite comfortable discussing it. Tala, being one herself, has taken him under her wing and is showing him what he needs to know. I see the anger on his face that this has happened. “Supernatural,” he finishes. “Tala had the sense her attacker wasn’t entirely human.”

  The others stare at me to see my reaction.

  “Another shifter?” I ask.

  Tristan shifts his shoulders in what I take to be a shrug. “Neither of them scented that on him, but I’m not ruling anything out. I’m headed back to see if I can pick up the trail.” No doubt in wolf form.

  I glance at Spring. “Demon?”

  Her worry over the same thing is evident. Her earlier brush with the master and his minions is still fresh in all our minds. “I haven’t felt any disturbance in the woods, have you?”

  I shake my head. “None, and the ghosts aren’t stirred up that I can tell.” A sure sign when evil energies are around.

  “Any idea why he attacked Tala?” Dad wants to know.

  “I asked her that myself, and she couldn’t think of anyone who might want to do her harm,” Tristan answers. “If it weren’t for Tala’s theory, I’d suspect it was a simple mugging. Guy wanted money for drugs or alcohol, didn’t realize she wasn’t alone, and defended himself when Ronan tackled him.”

  Shade appears at my feet, her tail encircling my calf. Holy Hecate. My brave Ronan, jumping in to save his mom. “No good deed goes unpunished,” I murmur.

  The others seem to understand and we all fall silent. I scan my memory for the types of supernaturals in the area. There are plenty here in the Pacific Northwest associated with the native tribes, but they’re shifters as far as I know. The Fae don’t intermingle with the human world unless called upon, and the only other option is those like me and my sisters.

  “A witch or wizard wouldn’t leave a scent, but they might leave behind magickal residue,” I say. “I could check out the site after I visit the hospital.”

  Tristan works the brim of the hat once more. “Not tonight, okay? I need to handle this by the book, so I need all of you to stay away from the crime scene until my investigators are done with it. Magickal or not, if the guy is human, I will see him brought to justice.” The hat goes on his head. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  He leaves. “I’ll make soup for Tala,” Spring says on her way out the door, and I know she�
��ll infuse magick into every ingredient to help heal and protect her and her sons. “Summer can do a healing if Tala wants.”

  After the door shuts, Dad takes my hand. “I’ll drive you there.”

  I change into street clothes with shaking hands. Shade does her best to comfort me, and I stroke her ghostly body. “Help me,” I whisper to my familiar. “We need to get Ronan’s spirit back to his physical body, okay?” She meows in answer.

  I throw on my coat and boots and follow Dad along the path past the store. His truck waits in the parking lot, dotted with snow. Telepathically, my sisters send me support, asking if I need them to come along. I tell them no. Right now, all I want is to see Ronan, to see if I can connect with his spirit and explain to him what’s happened.

  Dad and I ride silently, but my mind works overtime. I’ve only ever had one other experience with a person’s spirit who had left the body while she was still breathing. That elderly woman had severe dementia, and was heavily under the influence of drugs. In spirit form, she was perfectly cognizant of what was going on, and her spirit was tired, ready to go back home, but she was hanging around until her granddaughter got married. She had plenty to say about that—they fought constantly over the coming wedding—not exactly information I felt compelled to share with them.

  The woman also knew her granddaughter was pregnant, unbeknownst to anyone else. She had an opinion on that, too, including the fact she wanted the baby to be named after her. It was a sticky situation, and it was actually Coyote who gave me the opportunity to speak with the granddaughter in private.

  If Ronan’s spirit found me once, I have to hope he can again.

  As I enter the hospital which is decorated for Christmas, I’m glad I’ve brought extra black tourmaline to ward off negative energies. Medical facilities are full of them. I also have the goddess statue Ronan carved for me, hoping the energy he left in it will be a beacon.

  There are ghosts everywhere here, and I do my best to ignore them, but when they can sense me, they begin to bombard me with requests. Most have very recently passed and are still attached to this world, wondering what’s going on. Hospitals are full of anxiety and grief, and spirits who haven’t crossed sometimes feed on that.