Portals Heather

by Leslie Edens Copeland

"Okay, okay. After Dad got out of the Dead Sea, I got one visitation from him. Just one," said Sam.

  I stared at my brother, who cringed and glanced down at the brightly lit tiles of the sunny kitchen floor.

  "And, unnaturally, you didn't tell me," I said.

  "I'm sorry. Dad always thought you'd be scared. We—we did cut you out of a lot." Sam lowered his green eyes to the table.

  —It's okay, Sam. Just tell me from now on.

  Sam's head jerked up at my message, then he relaxed.

  "I will. You're not a little kid anymore. I'm going to make sure Dad remembers that too. If we see him again."

  Sam's forehead crinkled with worry, then he said, "In the visitation, Dad said he'd be going where we couldn't reach him. Turns out, he went to the far dimensions with his spirit girlfriend. He intended to find the Bellum and—I don't know what he was going to do, Heather. He's not a match for Bellum, but you know Dad. Bellum afflicted him, and I guess he wanted revenge. Or maybe he thought he could protect us. Dad's one-man band against universal evil."

  Sam put his hand to his forehead, still in disbelief. "Anyway, didn't matter, because when he got out there, his girlfriend didn't like the idea at all. She basically entrapped him. Good thing, too. But he was stuck existing in a half-reality maze for almost four years. Then I found him."

  I shot Sam a sharp glance. "You found him?"

  "Yes, Heather Esperance d'Espers, I found him." Sam's voice turned sarcastic. "I can occasionally do something useful."

  "Oh no, I didn't mean—of course you can." I fumbled to make up for my blunder. "How did you do it? I mean, you went to the far dimensions?"

  "Dad left a trace behind, like psychic resonance. I followed it. This is after I convinced the spirit council to leave me alone. When I first arrived, they pestered me so bad I had to give them all headaches until they'd let me go find Dad. And once I found Dad, he kept trying to remain in the maze, and I had to convince him to follow me out. He couldn't see what I saw. But I followed the trace and led him back to Dead Town."

  Sam gave a wry smile. "Once Dad realized his girlfriend had trapped him, he said he's definitely breaking up with her."

  "That's amazing! Sam." I put my arms around him and hugged him. "Thank you for saving Dad. No one else could've done it. I couldn't. I didn't see any traces of him in Dead Town when Emmett and I were there."

  "Yeah." Sam grinned. "A couple spirits said that to me. No one else can see the trace. I may have to do it again, too. He's gone. What if she's got him? He might have gone back to her."

  I sat thinking. "Unless it's Bellum."

  "Could be," said Sam, his voice faltering. "When we split up, he was talking about going after Bellum again."

  "What?" I grabbed him and shook him, as angry with him now as I'd been pleased before. "You let him go?"

  "Course, he was wrong," said Sam, nonplussed. "I knew he was, but he wouldn't let it drop. His visions said Bellum was in Dead Town. Mine said the junkyard."

  "You know you're infallible! Why didn't you make him listen?" I socked Sam on the arm in my fury.

  "Ow! He wouldn't listen! You know Dad! He's always so sure he's right." Sam sulked, rubbing his arm. "Anyway, I thought he was just talking."

  "Oh . . . I'm sorry. He was—he is—like that. Anyway, we did a better job of facing Bellum than Dad could have." I let out a long, slow breath. Not a sigh.

  "Yeah." Sam grinned, still rubbing his arm. "You hit like a girl. But I wouldn't want to go up against that spectricity."

  I crackled a flame in my hand. I watched it, contemplating. "Maybe we should let him go," I said. "Something out there keeps calling to him. He's not happy staying put."

  "But I want him to come back," said Sam, closing his eyes. "He keeps leaving, and each time I think I'll never see him again. I need him!" He opened his eyes, and I saw the tears he was trying to blink away. "I'm going to find him."

  "You can't go alone. Let me come," I said.

  "Yeah, and what about Emmett?" said Sam.

  Sam was right. Someone had to keep an eye on Emmett, at least until we knew he could function on his own in the mortal world. But I didn't want to admit that.

  "What do you mean?" I said, staring past Sam and out the window.

  "C'mon, Heather," said Sam. "It doesn't take a seer to know that Emmett needs babysitting. I've seen how he acts. You ask me, Bellum did something to him so he'll never be right."

  "He's not that bad. I'm sure he could take care of himself for a few days. I think he's getting more savvy. He found books on his own. Although he's having trouble reading them," I added sadly.

  "We're going to have to split this duty," said Sam. "I got Dad before, and I can do it again. You take care of Emmett. It's you he needs. You're the reason he's here."

  My ears grew hot, for I'd suspected this, but having Sam say it gave it the weight of his infallibility. "Emmett can be alone for a few days. I'm not letting you do this on your own again," I said.

  "Heather." Sam grinned at me. "Let me be a big brother."

  In the end, Sam got his way. He left the next morning at the crack of dawn, wearing his leather jacket and carrying his rucksack. I was still drowsy and yawning, though I came to argue with him about going, then to plead with him, and then to hug him.

  Finally, he leapt into the portal, alone and resolute, while I stood in the Round Room and cried. At least this time, I'd had a chance to say good-bye.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Haunted: Paranormal Books Extraordinaire

  That day, Emmett, the Paranormals, and I took a turn around the Vic's grounds. We explored tiny, overgrown gardens, poked our heads into empty bedrooms, and wandered through kitchens and bathrooms and closets. I lost track of the others until I entered the bookstore.

  I came in from the heavily-overgrown front garden, through a covered porch in need of repair. A sign hung from the ancient trellis, words sketched in spidery writing: THE HAUNTED: PARANORMAL BOOKS EXTRAORDINAIRE. Under the words, an arrow pointed to the door.

  Whose idea was this? I touched the sign, and one of the chains holding it snapped. The sign spun on its remaining chain, the arrow pointing every which way but the door. I backed off and went inside.

  The room was dark and echoing. Even before my eyes adjusted, I could see glowing shapes flitting by on the ceiling. I strolled toward them. Maybe I'd call them down, make their acquaintance. Before I'd gone two steps, I slammed into something solid. I hopped back, holding my shin. Who left all these boxes here?

  A glowing form, hair wild, mouth distended, rose up from behind a counter, and I shrieked.

  "Seriously, Heather d'Espers, are you that jumpy?" said a petulant voice. The glow switched off, and I recognized Trenton holding a flashlight.

  "Oh, it's you. What are you doing back there?" I said, my voice still shaking.

  "Getting things in order. See—it's on the to-do list. Your dad left very detailed instructions for getting this bookstore running," Trenton said. He handed me a piece of old parchment, around two feet long. It was literally covered in words, schematics, diagrams, lists. I mean, there was not one inch of blank space, and the writing was microscopic. I held it under the flashlight, and even then, I had to squint to read it. "Dad didn't write this," I said.

  "He did. It's signed 'Abel Despair.'" Trenton pointed to the signature.

  "I don't know who that is, but it's not my father. Besides, the name's misspelled, and 'Despair' is just plain wrong," I said.

  "You mean somebody is spoofing Able?" Trenton looked all around, his eyes big. He glanced past the ghosts on the ceiling, and into the dark corridors between the shelves and stacks. "Who could it be? More importantly, should we follow their instructions?"

  "It's unclear to me why we even have a bookstore," I said. "Dad wasn't big on collections. He always preferred a more active, social approach to spiritualism. He didn't look things up much. Just found the people who needed his services, and got it done."

  Trenton shru
gged. "I'm going to follow these instructions. If your dad has a problem, I'll just say I thought they were from him. Because it says here I'm acting manager while Able is in absentia."

  I grabbed the paper. "What! How come I don't get a job? Where does it say that?"

  "You do have a job." Trenton pointed to some tiny text, at the very bottom. By squinting until my head hurt, I could make out "Heather d'Espers, owner and primary stockholder."

  "That's just silly. This place has no stock to speak of," I said. "What confused spirit wrote this thing? I bet it was one of those ceiling ghosts."

  "Hello, Heather," said Emmett, putting his arm around me from nowhere. I squeaked.

  "She sure is jumpy," said Trenton. He tsk-tsked, and popped below the counter, rummaging around. "Oh, boy! A feathered quill!" he shouted.

  "Where did you come from?" I said to Emmett, but I relaxed into his embrace. I kept hoping he'd do more than hug me, but so far, the Victorian gentleman in him seemed to be winning. Or he just had no clue. He linked arms with me and led me between dark stacks, gesticulating wildly with his free hand.

  "You wouldn't believe what I've found. It's purely remarkable!" he said. "Deadzines! A huge collection!"

  "Yes, that's remarkable. What again are deadzines?" I tripped over a loose box on the floor, and Emmett had to help me up. I positioned my face close to his, and tried to make a pouty face.

  "Thank you," I said in a low, maybe-sultry, voice. I looked into his eyes . . . and he went running off down the aisle.

  He called back, "Deadzines are spirit-mortal publications! Or was it mortal-spirit? Can you imagine? There are people who believe in the paranormal enough to publish something as weird as this. Heather, you've got to see these things."

  Oblivious to the spirit world. And now he was calling me Heather, too. Despite reminding him hundreds of times not to call me Aether, I missed it.

  I tried to follow him, but I lost track in the winding aisles, which seemed positioned with no specific aim in mind. Emmett had disappeared into the shadows. I was reminded of our first encounter, when he appeared to me from the blackness of a junkyard corridor. He seemed to have a knack for fading into darkness, even as a mortal.

  I heard whispering as I rounded another confusing turn in the shelves and hit a dead end. Between shelves, there was a slight gap. Through this gap, I could see Oskar's auburn hair. Then a hand on Oskar's hair. Then another face, pressed against Oskar's—was that Trenton? How did he get back here so fast?

  "Mmm," said Trenton. Oh, no. I'd walked up on them kissing in the aisles. I backed away and bumped into Emmett. I almost screamed.

  "Isn't that nice," he said in a calm voice, and slid his arm around my shoulders again. I wanted to sigh. More hugging?

  "Does it give you any ideas?" I said, in my maybe-sultry voice.

  "Yes. Yes, it does!" His lips moved closer and closer to mine. I tilted my face up, closed my eyes . . . he was really going to do it this time! He was going to kiss me!

  Suddenly, I felt nothing but air. I opened my eyes to see him running back down the aisle. Oh, crux. Where was he going now?

  I followed, morose, and found him digging through the box I'd kicked earlier. "Deadzines, deadzines, deadzines. Heather—I think this is a paranormal bookstore!" he said. He held up an ancient black periodical, with sedate Victorian styling. "Spirit-Mortal Relationships," it proclaimed.

  "Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous! I think we could get a mint for these things, if we sell them. They're probably some kind of rare collector's item," he said, tossing them all over as he dug deeper into the box.

  "You can just forget it!" Lily came down from the stairs, where she must have overheard. "I'm starting an ILL program, and those deadzines will be a major boon! They're extremely popular among spirits and mortals alike. I checked!"

  "What do you mean, an ILL program? Like the library has?" I asked. That made sense. She did work in the town library.

  "No, they have an interlibrary loan program. I'm starting an interspiritual library loan program. Books loaned from spirit world to mortal, and vice versa. We'll all be so much wiser for it." Lily folded her arms, triumphant at the perfection of her plan.

  "So I'm running a paranormal bookstore, Emmett's going to sell collector's items, and you're running some kind of spirit library program?" I said.

  "No, I'm running the bookstore! You're just the owner!" shrieked Trenton, coming out of the stacks. He towed a smiling, befuddled Oskar behind him.

  "What's he going to do, then?" I indicated Oskar.

  Trenton giggled. "He doesn't have to do anything. He's my boy toy. Aren't you, sweetness?"

  "Okay," said Oskar, his eyes glazed with infatuation.

  They rubbed noses. Lily went, "Aww."

  "Why don't you two both work here? Trenton can't do everything. Then you can spend more time together," I said.

  "Oskar doesn't need to work. He's loaded," Trenton informed me pompously.

  "No, I like that idea," said Oskar. "I'm very knowledgeable about paranormal texts. Please, Trent?"

  "I'm the owner," I said, outraged. "Why don't you ask me?"

  "The manager hires the employees, Heather. That's why you have a manager. Come on, Oz. Here's the to-do list." Trenton handed him the parchment.

  "Wow." Oskar squinted. "That's very small spirit writing."

  "Where did all this come from?" I said. "Oh!"

  A gauzy, transparent spirit was peering at me, upside-down. His features shifted into a blurry grin as he held out a misty protuberance. "Pleased to make your acquaintance," he said. "I'm Hannigan."

  I tried to shake his hand, but my own slipped right through, so I just waved. "I'm Heather d'Espers."

  "I know who you are. The word's all over Dead Town about your relationship with Emmett. Also, how you two fought the Bellum together and entrapped him. You're a local hero!" Hannigan lifted his misty limbs and cheered.

  "Who are you talking to?" Emmett stared upward, mystified. Oh, no. He couldn't be. Spirit blind?

  "Thank you. Although I don't know about a relationship. Emmett and I are friends," I said. At least, it certainly appeared so, for the moment.

  "Aren't you my sweetheart?" Emmett tried to hold my hand. My face got so hot, it probably glowed like a flashlight.

  "Ah. That's what they're saying in Dead Town, too," said Hannigan. "Well, nice meeting you. Good luck with the relationship." The misty ghost whizzed up and away, joining the other spirits on the ceiling.

  "Oh, now I'm your sweetheart?" I was so flustered, I didn't know what to think.

  "Didn't I give you this ring?" He lifted up my hand, where the ring sparkled in the light, and looked at me with expectant eyes. I gazed at him, mesmerized.

  "I think he did give you that ring," said Oskar, smirking.

  "Shut up, Oskar," I said. Trenton gasped.

  "Don't talk like that to my Oz! Unless you want to find yourself another acting manager and . . . and . . ."

  "Boy toy," said Oskar, chuckling. "Come on, Trenton, Lily. These two need some time alone." He led Trenton away, into the stacks. Trenton grabbed Lily's hand and pulled her after.

  "I thought I was your beau," said Emmett, taking both my hands in his. "Do you have another suitor?"

  Beau? Suitor? What in Bellum's crux was he talking about? I just stared at him. Into those well-dark eyes. Eyes I could get lost in, and never find my way out. I moved closer.

  "Yes," I said stupidly, tilting my head back for a kiss.

  "I might have known!" said Emmett. "A girl as beautiful as you, of course you'd attract rivals for my attention. But I shall prove myself the superior choice. Who is the cad? I'll challenge him to a duel!"

  "No! Emmett, there's no one else," I said.

  "It's Oskar, isn't it?" Emmett eyed the stacks suspiciously.

  "That doesn't even make sense. I mean, I did flirt with him once. I had a crush on him, but that was before . . ."

  Emmett interrupted me, waving a deadzine ar
ound. "I've seen you smiling at him. Don't tell me you find that popinjay attractive?!"

  "I'd . . . tell you if I knew what that meant," I said. Popinjay?

  Emmett clutched at his heart. "You wound me, madam. I must make ready for the duel." He stalked off.

  Oh, crux. Don't tell me he was going to slap Oskar with one of his kid gloves. At least Oskar would probably know what was going on. I really didn't know that much about Victorian customs.

  "Everything okay?" Trenton popped his head from behind a bookshelf and gave me a thumbs-up.

  I shook my head no. My brother was gone, my father missing somewhere in the spirit world, and mortal Emmett was glitchy, accident-prone, and about to duel Oskar. Plus, he wouldn't kiss me.

  I wondered then if I'd made a huge mistake bringing him to the Vic. How could I keep him here, living as a mortal? I had no idea how long Emmett could remain mortal, with the spirit god All trapped inside him, hidden somewhere in the depths . . . behind those dark eyes.

  END

  OR IS IT?

  Heather's adventures continue in

  SPIRITS: Heather Despair Book Three

  Go to the next page for a sneak preview!

  Chapter One

  Sweethearts

  A dark form, falling out of the window. That's all I saw when I entered the Round Room that lazy afternoon. Someone was already there. And that someone was going out the open window.

  "Emmett!" I screamed. I recognized his coattails, black as Victorian coal, as they slipped rapidly over the sill. I lurched, gave myself a bit of float and struck out with spectricity. The blue fire of spectral electricity flowed from my fingertips and latched on to his coat. I pulled, drawing the stream of energy back into my hand. Emmett fell back inside the Round Room, reeled in by his coattails, and sat bewildered on the cushioned floor.

  I quickly hid my hand behind my back. I busied myself in putting on a sweater to distract him. The temperature actually was pretty chilly in the Round Room. We kept sweaters and blankets here for that very reason, hanging on a hook beside the entrance.

  "Heather! What happened?" he said, his black eyes focused on mine. He scratched at the perfectly straight part that divided his dark curls, causing his hair to frizz up. In his stuffy Victorian suit with its high collar, he was the picture of befuddlement.