Spirits of Ash and Foam

by Greg Weisman

  The girl didn’t answer right away; she was too busy staring wide-eyed at Cash, who actually checked behind him to make sure he was indeed the subject of her gaze. Bohique was right. The girl can see ghosts. He was tempted to approach. To talk to her. She gave him a quick shake of her head. She’s right. Gotta wait tillshe’s alone. He nodded to her and kept his distance for now.

  “Rain.”

  Rain turned back toward her mother. “Sorry, what?”

  “Where have you been?”

  “I … Well … Miranda, Charlie and I went out on Miranda’s father’s boat to help look for the Kim kids.”

  “Rain, I told you—”

  “Mom, please. I feel bad enough.”

  “But look at you. You’re soaked.”

  “The storm came out of nowhere. And Ariel took us back as soon as it started.”

  “Ariel?”

  “She’s like the Guerrero boat-chauffer or whatever.”

  Judith moved between them and put a hand each on Iris and Rain’s shoulders. “It doesn’t seem like any harm was done.”

  Iris softened, really looking at her daughter for the first time. Rain was on the verge of tears—and had been on and off for a good two hours. Iris wrapped her arms around Rain.

  “Any news?” Rain asked desperately.

  “No. But I’m sure your dad will call soon.”

  Then, on cue, what could only be the dad came in the front door. Like his daughter, he was soaked to the bone. Lightning flashed behind him, and the thunder crack followed. He held the door open.

  “Anything?” Iris asked.

  Alonso shook his head. “Storm drove me back. It’s breaking up now, but for a while there…” He glanced over his shoulder and moved aside. “Thibideaux’s called off the search until morning.”

  An Asian woman entered, leaning against a uniformed female cop. Cash caught himself looking for an exit—a Pavlovian reaction to the appearance of any badge—and almost had to laugh. For the first time in memory, he was well out of reach of the long arm of the law.

  Both Iris and Judith moved to Esther Kim’s side. She looked cold and wet, and also numb—though for reasons that had nothing to do with being cold and wet. She said, “Fred’s staying in Windward. But he and Constable Thibideaux thought I should come back here, in case the kids called.”

  Iris and Judith exchanged a glance. Iris said, “Let’s get you upstairs. You can catch a few hours’ sleep.”

  “I don’t think I could sleep.”

  “We’ll stay with you either way. Do you want anything?”

  “No, I…” She trailed off.

  “Some tea, maybe.” Iris glanced again at Judith, who nodded. Iris said, “I’ll bring it right up.”

  Judith wrapped an arm around Esther. The Tall Woman slowly escorted the petite Mrs. Kim up the stairs, under the watchful eyes of Rain, Iris, Alonso, Deputy Constable Viento and Cash.

  Iris turned to Alonso. They both looked at Mariah Viento. She shook her head. “It’s been over twenty-four hours. Even if we find them, the news isn’t likely to be good.”

  Iris looked away to hide her face. Then she said, “I’ll go get the tea.”

  Cash turned toward Rain, expecting to see her weeping. Then he took a step back. The look of fury on the young girl’s face was enough to frighten the dead.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  TEARS

  TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 16

  With the storm raging above, ’Bastian remained beneath the surface of the water, propelling himself on what? Ghost power? Though there was no solid ground beneath his feet, he was, perhaps from sheer force of habit, putting one foot in front of the other, though somehow he doubted his forward momentum had anything to do with his stride.

  It was very dark, his own soft white glow providing the only light. When he had left Rain and the boat, he had had a clear view of the dolphins. No longer. He had spent hours traversing Back Bay, from one end to the other, and hadn’t seen a single fluke. He surfaced to pouring rain and a view of the rocking Bootstrap not too far away, but he couldn’t see the Aunties anywhere. He thought perhaps they had sounded, so he allowed—or willed—himself to sink down, too.

  He searched deep. Do dead eyes adjust to the dark? Because, gradually, the world far below the surface was filled with a strange light. The light of living creatures. A jellyfish passed close to his face, seemed to startle, and briefly glowed whiter than the dead, before undulating away. A midwater squid shone like moonlight above him. Below him, various mollusks and sponges shrugged off subtly different shades of pale blue radiance.

  Eventually, this bioluminescence seemed to swirl around him, bathing him in cold blue light and illuminating a sextet of dolphins swimming close to shore. With some difficulty, owing to their incessant frolicking, he counted them again, just to be sure. Six large dolphins. No trio of pups. And no manatee in sight. Still, he headed toward the movement amid the glow.

  His progress was slow. By the time he reached the silty seabed just off of Punta Majagua, he’d lost sight of the dolphins again. He surfaced. There was no rain on the island. He could still see the nightmare storm—no longer a hurricane but not insignificant—just offshore. But on the beach, the air was calm and sultry, and the precipitation had ceased. He glanced around at the blue flame of dinoflagellate plankton illuminating the water. He tried to read the fire for the silhouettes of the Aunties but saw nothing.

  He heard something, though. The slicing of oars through water. He turned in time to see Callahan achieve the shore in a dinghy, which he dragged high up onto the sand. The big man, oblivious to the beauty of the sparkling sapphire sea, donned a pack and marched straight into the dark jungle of the Witch’s Finger.

  ’Bastian hesitated, unsure how to proceed. Like Rain, he couldn’t believe Callahan’s presence was a coincidence, but like Rain, he couldn’t yet connect the dots. The priority right now was finding those lost and transformed kids. They should be in the water with Aycayia and her Sisters, but he couldn’t search an entire ocean, and the dolphins appeared and vanished at will. His gut told him to follow the brute, so he followed both gut and Callahan.

  Catching up was easy enough. The big man made rapid, determined and steady progress, but ’Bastian could walk in a straight line through the drenched flora. Soon he was marching parallel to Callahan, matching the man’s pace, step for step—while careful to always keep a tree or fern between the big Aussie and the disembodied floating snake charm on his wrist.

  Then Callahan stopped and sniffed the air. ’Bastian couldn’t smell anything until both men turned and spotted the rising smoke and heard the distant crackle of a campfire. Then the smell of burning copperwood and copal, ceiba and cedar rushed back to the Dark Man like a memory—which perhaps was all it was.

  Instinctively, Callahan’s hand slid down toward the knife in his boot, but he stopped himself. He didn’t need to go looking for trouble. Avoiding whoever might be out there was not a problem, whereas dealing with them—harshly or not—would eat up precious zemi-hunting time. He straightened and continued on his nearly silent way.

  ’Bastian didn’t follow. His gut had told him to follow Callahan, but now it was speaking a new language. He could feel it. Something old was calling out to him from afar. He answered that call.

  The Dark Man stepped through a ring of mahogany trees and banana plants, not unlike those that encircled the N.T.Z., and found a clearing. In the center was a small, rather pathetic campfire being tended by a crouching woman wrapped in seaweed. Instantly—before he had even seen her face—’Bastian knew this was the enchantress Aycayia. He circled her slowly. From every angle, she was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes upon. A woman he might even have left his beloved Rose for, if the truth be told. She was making some kind of soup, adding herbs and roots to a charred wooden pot and stirring the contents with a stick. Even this simple act seemed to accentuate her loveliness.

  So fascinated was the ghost, he didn’t notice the clearing
’s other occupants until one of them spoke. “What’s that?”

  ’Bastian looked around. Michael, John and Wendy—all three quite human and naked as the day they were born—gingerly stepped forward from the edge of the clearing to observe the floating golden snake charm that had attracted Michael’s attention as it slowly circled the fire.

  Aycayia looked up and tilted her head to observe the zemi. Her expression was neither curious nor disturbed. If anything, she seemed … numb.

  The Kimlets approached the armband. Michael reached up and poked it. John stepped right through ’Bastian’s side to get a closer look.

  ’Bastian said, “Kids, can you hear me?” though he wasn’t surprised they didn’t respond.

  Aycayia tapped the wooden pot with her stirring stick to get the children’s attention. They turned and smiled at her, the zemi immediately forgotten. They crossed to her on bare feet. From somewhere, she produced three plain wooden cups and carefully poured soup into each. ’Bastian thought it smelled like the ajiaco his abuela used to make.

  The Manatee-Woman mimicked blowing on the broth, and the Kimlets understood, blowing vigorously into their cups before taking their first sips. Whatever the concoction contained, it clearly pleased the little ones, warmed them. ’Bastian could almost see the emotional infrared shining from within.

  Aycayia took no soup for herself, taking sustenance from watching Wendy, John and Michael eat. She knelt beside them and stroked the hair of each one in turn while they sipped and slurped. When Michael looked up, sporting a brown soup mustache and a broad grin, Aycayia smiled. It was a smile informed by sadness, ’Bastian knew, but it was so painfully beautiful, he almost didn’t care.

  He found himself waving his arm to get her attention. He desperately wanted her attention. Firelight glimmered off the golden snakes and caught her eye. She turned to look, and though he wasn’t sure, she seemed to be looking at him, not the zemi. And for a few long seconds, it was enough.

  Ultimately, though, he tore his eyes away to observe the three happy Kimlets, sitting in the sandy dirt, drinking soup from their cups and occasionally glancing over at Aycayia with an adoration he understood all too well. His adoration had abated enough that it no longer held enough sway to divert him from his task, the spell sufficiently broken for ’Bastian to remember why he was there.

  “You have to bring those kids back,” he said. “Or at any rate, you have to let them go.” He had no idea if a creature such as Her could hear him let alone understand English or the concept of human love, but he had to try. “We know you’re working with Santa Julia. The hurricane-woman. We know she’s helping you, sending storms to discourage pursuit. But she’s dangerous. She kills people. She killed my crew, my friends. And she tried to kill me. Twice. And my granddaughter too. She doesn’t care about the lives of children. But I can see you’re different. You’re feeding these children, taking care of them. You’re tender with them. Their names are Wendy Kim, John Kim and Michael Kim. They have parents, who love and miss them. Parents who are going crazy right now. Parents that these kids will need one day. No spell you cast could ever erase the love they have for their father, their mother. Let them go.”

  Aycayia’s eyes had lost focus. She was no longer looking at ’Bastian, assuming she had ever been looking at ’Bastian. She wasn’t even looking at the zemi anymore. He thought perhaps she was looking at something long ago and far away.

  Her head tilted down and she stared into the little fire. She listened to the pop of drying wood and the sizzle of flame dancing across mossy bark. Her gaze floated upward, following the smoke and the ash.

  Perhaps the smoke made her eyes tear. Perhaps it was something else entirely. Either way, she wept. ’Bastian watched the tears emerge as small but perfect pearls, which dropped into the sand by her knees.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  DREAMS LIE

  WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 17

  Physically, mentally, emotionally, Rain was exhausted. She’d spent nearly an hour repeating her previous statement to the deputy. Another hour explaining herself to her father. She had looked in on Mrs. Kim, who hardly seemed to recognize her. The poor woman just sat on the bed between Judith Vendaval and Iris, not sipping her tea.

  Then at last, she was alone in her room with the ghost. The second she had closed the door, he had begun speaking at a rapid pace. She could tell as much by looking at him, but without the zemi, she couldn’t hear a sound.

  Nevertheless, it had been difficult to get a word in edgewise. “Listen!” she finally shouted. “Listen to me! You can stop talking, cuz I can’t hear you!”

  He said something else then, but all she could read from his expression was confusion. Then he used two fingers to point from his eyes to hers.

  “I can see you, but I can’t hear you.”

  He made another hand gesture that she couldn’t understand at first. He was holding up fingers near the top of his head. Then he stood at attention and saluted. Then he walked to the wall and put his hand through it.

  She got it. He was talking about ’Bastian, with his hawk-feather hair, his Army Air Forces uniform and his noncorporeal body. She said, “I know my grandfather probably said I’d be able to hear you, but…”

  She stopped. He looked even more confused.

  “My grandfather. The other ghost. ’Bastian Bohique.”

  She thought she saw him mouth the words That guy’s your grandfather? Or something like that.

  “Yeah. ’Bastian’s my grandfather. I know he looks young, but he’s not.”

  The ghost spoke again, rambling rapidly, but this time Rain couldn’t catch a single word.

  “Stop, stop. I can’t hear you. Normally, I could. But I need the gold armband to hear you, and ’Bastian has it right now.”

  The ghost seemed to understand now. He started to speak, then shrugged weakly and closed his mouth.

  What had ’Bastian called him? Cash? “Is your name Cash?”

  Cash nodded.

  “’Bastian will come back. He went looking for the missing kids. But he’ll come back, and he’ll bring the armband, and then I’ll be able to hear you. Or, wait—” She stepped forward, and he reflexively stepped back. She shook her head. “Hold still. I won’t be able to hear you. Not really. But I’ll sort of know what you want. Maybe.”

  She reached for him, as if to put a hand against his chest. As Cash’s chest was substance-free, her hand passed into his body, as if reaching for his heart, as if she were touching his soul. He clearly didn’t appreciate the sensation and jumped back. But in that second or two, she’d heard one whispered word. Well, not heard it exactly, but she’d felt it. It was liquid, washing in and sweeping away, like a wave lapping at her mind. Or maybe it was a whiff of smoke carried past her consciousness on the wind. One wave, one whiff, one word: DEATH. In any case, neither ghost not girl seemed anxious to repeat the experiment. Rain looked around the room, frustrated and helpless. Finally, she said, “Could you leave? I need to change for bed, and, well…”

  Again Cash looked briefly confused, and then he seemed to get it. He headed for the closed door.

  Rain said, “If ’Bastian gets back before dawn, we’ll come find you. Um, down in the lobby. If not, we’ll talk after sunset, okay?”

  Cash looked back, started to speak, caught himself and nodded. Then he walked through the closed door and was gone.

  Rain stood there for a good three minutes, staring after him. Composing herself. Then she got ready for bed.

  Wearing a long T-shirt, she turned off the lights and slipped under the covers. The room was dark but not pitch. She stared up at the ceiling. She missed her armband, and not just because of Cash. It had begun to feel like a part of her. It seemed to give her strength. She hadn’t been the only one to miss it, either. As Rain and Charlie were getting off the Guerreros’ boat earlier, Miranda had noticed Rain wasn’t wearing it. Charlie looked instantly panic-stricken. Rain’s knee-jerk response had been to lie, to tell Miranda she hadn�
�t worn it today.

  Miranda had said, “But I’m sure I—”

  Rain had cut her off. “I usually wear it, but I left it home.”

  Miranda shook her head slightly. Then nodded, suddenly doubting her own memory.

  Rain hated lying to Miranda, who deserved better. In fact, she hated lying about this, period, because she—Rain—deserved better. But what other choice do I have?

  Slowly, all that exhaustion crept up on her. She began to drift. Her last conscious, coherent thoughts were of the Kimlets at the mercy of First Witch.

  At that moment, as I felt her fears for the children from across town, I began to growl reflexively. It was a low guttural noise born of my own frustration. I was under yet another bus bench on Camino de las Casas, trying to stay out of the rain, out of the storm caused by Hura-hupia to interfere with the search for the kids, not because she cared what happened to them one way or another, but because their abduction provided a useful and serendipitous distraction for Rain that interfered with the Searcher’s search for the next zemi.

  A hand reached down and rubbed my neck, roughly scrunching up the fur and skin, and gently rubbing it back down with the grain, the way I liked it. It stopped me from growling. Maq was above me, lying across the bench with his straw hat over his face. Up to this point, he had seemed oblivious to the rain and indifferent to the fate of the Lost Girl and Boys. But the words he spoke belied that impression. “You know I can’t break the rules, Opie. You know that.”

  I gruffled some sound or other, acknowledging as much.

  “Can’t break ’em. But no one said anything about bending ’em a mite. If Hura-hupia can send Rain a dream or three to set our girl thinking down the wrong path, then I can certainly spin one of my own for a minor mental course correction. Heck, I wouldn’t even be sending a new dream exactly. If anyone asks, it’s really just a do-over of one of Hura-hupia’s reveries, spun a bit closer to how I remember the story…”