Of Spirits and Superstition

by Nyx Halliwell

  I tense as Dad walks me to the elevator. A man who’s been in an accident and lost a leg swarms past me, angry, even though he’s a spirit now and no longer needs the limb. A teen ran a red light and plowed into him, and he’s only now realizing he’s no longer in corporeal form. His family is in one of the waiting rooms, and I hear someone crying. He stops and comes back to me. I’m not dead, he insists. Tell them I’m right here.

  Instinctively, I lean closer to Dad but the ghost gets in my face until I say, “You are dead. I’m sorry, but you need to find the light and move on.”

  Dad takes my hand and grips it tight. He’s used to the consequences of my gift, and since he, too, can sense spirits at times, he understands how challenging it is for me in the world.

  The tourmaline and my words deflect the ghost as the doors open, and he silently hovers. Dad doesn’t question who I’m talking to, just guides me inside. “Leave my daughter be,” he demands. “She has her own family to attend to now. You go be with yours.”

  When we make it to the room, I take a deep breath. I sense Tala’s energy and send out magickal feelers to see if I can hone in on Ronan’s spirit. There’s so much of Tala and Hale’s anxiety in the air, I can’t perceive anything else.

  Dad opens the door when I give him a nod and we go inside. The sight of Ronan, hooked to monitors, is nearly too much for me. Tala is holding his hand, and I move to his unconscious form, allowing her to embrace me briefly before she resumes her seat. Hale is on the other side of the bed, his dark eyes heavy with grief and fear.

  I’m not one to show emotion, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it all the way to my bones. When Mom died, I had three sisters who needed me to be strong, and I wrapped them in every ounce of fortitude I could manufacture and pulled them through the worst time of our lives.

  In this moment, I need to do the same for Tala and Hale.

  I tell myself I will not cry again tonight, especially when they need my strength to hang on to. “What are the doctors saying?” I ask, quietly, placing the statue on the nearby nightstand.

  “There’s swelling in his brain,” Tala replies, her fingers worrying his limp hand. “They have to reduce the swelling, because if they don’t…” Her eyes are rimmed with red and she starts crying. Dad hands her a tissue and she gratefully accepts it, getting up to let me take her place while Dad comforts her in the corner.

  Taking Ronan’s hand, I give it a squeeze, the feel of his skin too cold and lifeless in mine. “He’s going to be just fine,” I affirm to all of them, to myself as well, needing it to be true.

  “His spirit isn’t here,” Tala says sadly, as she and Dad return. “I don’t know where he went.” Drawing on that well of strength deep inside me, I close my eyes and touch my magick.

  “I do,” I tell her, reaching through the veil and into the world of spirits. “And I’m going to bring him back.”

  4

  For the next hour I try, but with no success. My eyes burn, my stomach feels like a lead weight, and my gift has attracted all kinds of spirits, but not the one I want.

  Storm, Hale’s girlfriend, who had been in Eugene visiting friends, arrives in a flurry of concern and snowflakes, and we bring her up to speed. At midnight, a nurse tries to kick us out. Visiting hours are over, but Tala almost gets into a fist fight with her, refusing to leave. Dad and Hale calm her down and Dad offers to drive her home and stay with her. Reluctantly, the five of us go—Hale insisting he’s returning to the scene to see if he can pick up any trace of the perpetrator; Storm going with him. Dad warns them off, reciting what Tristan said, but we both know Hale needs to feel useful, and he won’t rest until Ronan is well again and justice is done.

  Tala probably won’t allow herself to, either, but she’s exhausted. Dad drops me off first, making sure I’m okay. He hugs me goodbye in the parking lot. “You get some sleep, too,” he suggests. “Don’t be exploring the underworld looking for him. His soul shouldn’t be there yet anyway, and we’re not sure what we’re dealing with when it comes to the person who attacked him.” Yet—the word hangs in the air between us like our frosted breaths.

  “Do you know something I don’t?” My father sometimes sees the future when it comes to souls. “Is Ronan going to…to…?” I can’t say it.

  He shakes his head. “I’ve had no vision of him in the spirit world, but I don’t think this is a normal concussion. I placed a spell around him asking for his guardian and his inner world to protect him, but if his spirit is out of the body, I fear they may not be able to keep him safe.”

  My entire being trembles from fatigue, both mental and physical. Fear is mixed with it. “He came to me at my cabin. Maybe I can reach him there and he’ll find his way back.”

  Dad squeezes my arm. “You know what happens if you spend too much time with ghosts.”

  The fear blooms into irritation. “I can save him. I know I can.”

  Dad’s eyes are in shadows, but I feel their intensity, their sadness. “Get some rest, my daughter. We will tackle this again in the morning.”

  He turns to go and I silently whisper, “What if we don’t have until tomorrow?”

  Once I watch them drive away, I head to my cabin. Shade appears on the path, and I don’t call any witchlight up this time, letting the darkness wrap around me. It’s quiet and soothing, the opposite of the harsh light of day.

  It feels like a cruel trick for the universe to show me true happiness then take it away. I’ve always loved my family and enjoyed my life here, but Ronan’s special influence was an unexpected gift—one Santa might leave under the tree. He carries a unique spirit, a light that brightened my sometimes dim world. Without him, it’s gone, too.

  I feel the energy of my sisters waiting for me and push the broody ponderings aside. I have to be strong, no matter what.

  Inside, a fire burns, the lights are on, and they’re in my kitchen. Summer and Autumn’s boyfriends are also here—Hopper and Quinn. No one says anything, but they don’t have to. I see the questions on their faces, hear my sisters’ voices in my head. Their familiars are gathered in the living room, along with Godfrey, Snow, and all her kittens, nearing seven months old now. The house is so full, I’m stunned into silence for a brief moment. This many beings haven’t been in here since Mom died. It’s like a bloody wake, I think, heaviness filling my heart.

  I take my time shrugging off my coat and removing my scarf, putting my thoughts in order. I untie my boots and place them on the mat to dry. Rubbing my eyes, I take the seat Spring vacates at the breakfast bar. She plunks a cup of tea in front of me, and while I prefer coffee or brandy, I take a sip. It’s one of her bestselling herbal blends that folks buy to help them sleep. I wonder if it will work on me. If I ever go to bed that is.

  I give them the details of what happened at the hospital, noticing with a flicker of jealousy how Hopper gently massages Summer’s neck as he stands behind her. Quinn is next to Autumn, holding her hand. Tristan is missing, of course, as he’s looking into the attack, or some other holiday related crime. Spring refills everyone’s tea, and I start answering the questions they shoot at me. Both Hopper and Quinn throw out ideas regarding who the culprit might be and how we can find him.

  After a bit, I’m anxious for everyone to go as I want to search for Ronan again. I try to suppress my anxiety, knowing they’re just as worried and are being supportive—something Autumn tells me I need to get better at accepting.

  When Mom died, I took over all her responsibilities. I kind of suck at dealing with people and normalcy. It’s hard to see things the way others do when you have one foot in the here and now, and the other in the spirit world. The day to day calamities and dramas they become so involved in mean little to me because I have the perspective of Spirit guiding me.

  In the end, we all pass. The possessions, the power, the ego just goes poof. We leave with the spark of soul we came with. The spirits that return to visit the living retain a bit of their personality to help me validate who they ar
e to my clients, but in reality, it appears our spirits go back to Source, to total bliss and peace. I’ve experienced a tiny bit of it through some of them, and let me tell you, it’s amazing. We no longer care what kind of car we owned, the house we lived in. Politics, religion, or any of the other things that drive people crazy while they’re in the physical world, cease to influence us at all.

  I look at my sisters and see our parents in their features. Spring and Summer have Mom’s fair complexion, scattering of freckles, and pale hair. Autumn and I resemble Dad. Our skin tone is more like his, our eyes dark. Autumn has beautiful red hair, which is similar to Mom’s, but it hangs as straight and thick as Dad’s. I sport the dark hair he used to have before it turned white. I’m not sure where I got the kinky curls from, but the single swatch of white at my left temple is straight as an arrow, like his. I’ve never been sure if it’s caused by genetics or my spirit walking.

  “Is there a spell we can perform to find him?” Summer wants to know.

  I thought about it on the way home but came up with nothing and tell them that, adding, “I’m open to ideas, though.”

  We all look to Autumn, the keeper of our Book of Shadows, and she shakes her head. “Unless we do a séance, I don’t know how to call his spirit here.”

  “Since he’s not actually dead, would that help?” Summer asks.

  “Doubtful, but…” At this point, I’m getting desperate. “We could try scrying for him first, then perform one if it doesn’t work.”

  Spring looks wary. “What if we bring something through we don’t want? Winter, you always tell us not to mess with that stuff.”

  “We can focus on Ronan, but you may be right that it could be dangerous. Anything can latch onto him if we try to force him to appear. He’s sort of floating in a space between here and the otherworld.”

  “Is he in the in-between?” Quinn asks, referring to a dark hole of sorts where time and space don’t exist. At Samhain, Autumn scryed and found his brother—who everyone believed dead—there. It’s the place we intend to send the demon we’ve imprisoned when we figure out how.

  “No, more like the place between this world and the next.”

  “The crossroad,” Summer says softly.

  “What’s that?” Hopper inquires.

  “It’s my word for those who can’t decide whether to stay or move on to the afterlife,” I explain. “Most don’t get a choice, but a few do.” Everyone is silent, chewing over their own thoughts. Hopper and Quinn exchange looks. Neither possesses magick of any kind, but they’ve come to accept it as normal, everyday life for us.

  “Ronan appeared to me in my bedroom,” I say. “I think my best bet is to keep trying from there, reaching out as I would any spirit and see if he shows up.”

  My sisters nod, understanding this is different than creating a séance to call in a spirit. My gift straddles a thin line with that, but because I only work with those who walk in divine light, I haven’t had problems with lower world entities or dark magick beings coming through the portal I create.

  Because séances involve multiple people whose energies may not be at the same level, the negatives can hitch a ride no matter how clear the intention. Even with my sisters, I’m hesitant to try anything beyond simple scrying. Reading my mind, Autumn goes into my bathroom, bringing back a small, handheld mirror. Knowing what she’s up to, Summer pours a few drops of her tea on it.

  “Let me see what I can See,” Autumn says, beginning. She holds her left hand out to me and I take it with my right. “Everyone focus on Ronan,” she quietly commands. “Picture his face as clearly as if he were standing here. Imagine you can hear his voice; smell his aftershave.”

  “Wait,” I stop her as I jump up and grab the goddess statue. I bring it back in and set it in the center of the mirror. “His energy is imbued in the wood and stone,” I explain to no one in particular. “It might help.” I clasp my sister’s hand again and she begins her spell.

  “Mirror, mirror,

  Let me see

  The lost I seek

  Bring him to me

  Connect us once more

  So mote it be.”

  Energy flows from her into me. Spring and Summer each take our free hands, and it continues through them and back to Autumn, I feel it, our combined magicks, flowing around and creating a circle of protection.

  In my mind’s eye, I see Ronan as he was earlier at the shop and ask Rhiannon, to guide our attempts to locate his spirit. We’re not trying to bring him to us, we’re going to him. I imagine his short-cropped hair, his beautiful eyes, his full lips. Envision him in front of me, kissing my cheeks as snowflakes fall on me. I taste the bananas he provided.

  “Winter?” I startle, hearing his voice next to my right ear. Eyes flying open, I swivel in that direction, but don’t see him. I scan the room, and everyone follows suit, looking for him as well.

  “Is he here?” Spring whispers.

  “Ronan?” I call out. “I can hear you. Tell me where you are.” Static stings my ears.

  And then very faintly, my name reaches me once more. “…Winter…”

  “I’m here.” I stand. “If you can hear my voice, follow it. I know you can do it.” This time, the only response is the howl of a wolf. Or maybe it’s Coyote. I glance around the circle. “Did anyone else hear that?” Blank stares come back. Not a wolf. “Coyote,” I command. “If you’re here, I need help.” My guide doesn’t appear, and there’s no other sounds. His howl is usually a sign I’m on the right track. If he growls, that means danger is ahead, and I need to turn back. “Are you getting anything?” I ask Autumn. She’s always been the strongest at pinpointing locations from our scrying.

  She shakes her head. “It’s like a radio station I can’t tune in. I feel his energy off and on, but before I can nail down where—here or the spirit world—it blinks out.” That’s one of the problems with this—unless it exists on this plane, it’s not easy to find a specific area. People think of other planes of existence as being in space or a physical dimension like ours, when in reality, we don’t have a good concept of where they exist. Some are time oriented; others don’t rely on time or space. To say we’re looking for a needle in a haystack is an understatement.

  Eventually, we give up, and I’m alone, except for Shade. I stoke the fire, adding a written wish to the black cauldron. It was Mom’s, and while I don’t use it to mix potions—or even my dinner—I do to ask my guides for assistance. It’s my own type of wishing well.

  “I need help with Ronan,” I mutter, and chant a spell as I place his name in.

  “Divine Father, Mother Divine,

  Show me the way to bring Ronan home,

  Give me a clear cut sign.”

  I drag myself to bed, even more exhausted from the tug of war between the physical and spiritual. The last thing I think before I fall asleep is that I’ll need a lot more bananas if I’m going to make it through this.

  5

  Something warm and wet drips on my hand, waking me.

  I crack one eye open to find I’m lying on my side, arm hanging off the bed, and Coyote is sitting there panting over it.

  Saliva drops onto my skin again.

  “Eww.” I shake my hand and eyeball my spirit animal. In this form, he’s larger than any of the actual coyotes who occasionally roam the woods. He’s taller, almost wolf size, with thick hair and golden eyes.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, wiping my hand on my comforter. He whines in response. The clock on my nightstand tells me it’s barely after six. I’m used to staying up most of the night and sleeping until noon, and although I was up past midnight, the few hours I dozed were filled with terrifying dreams. “I need coffee,” I say to no one in particular.

  “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine?”

  My heart skips a beat as I realize there’s a ghost across from me in the rocking chair. It’s a woman whose features are familiar and my heart drops. I sit straight up, fear in my voice. Not another! “Mama Nighte
ngale?”

  “Don’t look so alarmed.” She rocks, looking down at herself. “They told me to take someone’s form that wouldn’t scare you, someone you knew. Not exactly my style, but it’ll do, I suppose.” Her voice is not that of our neighbor’s. Her energy isn’t either.

  “Who are you?”

  She crosses one leg over the other and eyeballs Coyote. “Name’s Persephone. You can call me Seph. I’m your new spirit guide.”

  I brace myself with one hand as I scrub at my eyes with the other. Swinging my feet over the edge of the mattress, I hold my head in my hands for a moment, and pray she’ll be gone when I look up.

  No such luck. She’s still there, rocking away.

  “By the goddess, I really need some coffee.”

  Persephone chuckles. “I miss things like that. Say, I’m kind of new to this stuff. They told me you have a bright future ahead of you, but you’re not using your skills to their full potential. We have to get you in front of bigger crowds, more people. I’m supposed to help you find the right path. You wouldn’t happen to know what that is, exactly, would you?”

  Coyote whines, his hot breath entirely too close to my face as I sink it into my hands again.

  “Look,” I begin, finally, rising, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, or who they are, but right now is not a good time for me to train a new spirit guide. If you’re learning the ropes, you need to find someone else to do it with.”

  “They mentioned you might be difficult,” she says, sounding bored with the whole thing. “This isn’t exactly my idea of fun, either, you know. I was hoping for someone…” She looks me over. “Famous, or at least a sexy billionaire. Anything more interesting than this.” One of her hands waves around, indicating me, the cabin, and Coyote.