Sisters of Blood and Spirit

by Kady Cross

I never would have guessed that in a million years. Funny thing was, I could easily imagine him in front of a room of people, holding their attention. “Cool. Any particular period or civilization?”

  “Mostly European—Second World War.”

  I nodded. “I think you’d be good at that.”

  Mace stopped paddling, and I had to stop so I wouldn’t lose him. “Did you just pay me a compliment?”

  Heat rushed to my face. Thank God for the sun. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  “My heart, buttercup. I’m going to let it go straight to my heart.”

  I didn’t like to be teased—it felt too much like mockery—but I didn’t feel like Mace was making fun of me. What I did feel like was returning the honesty. “I want to be a shoe designer.”

  He started paddling again. “I can see it.”

  “I’ve never told anyone that,” I blurted. Now, why the hell did I do that? “Not even Wren.” I was sure she knew, though. She saw me drawing shoes all the time.

  “Neither have I.”

  We paddled in silence for a bit—a comfortable silence. It was...weird. Nice.

  “I was thinking,” I began as we reached the opposite shore and began to turn, “that we might find answers faster if we all go together and researched Haven Crest.”

  “Good idea. I’m free this afternoon.”

  I blinked. “Okay.”

  “I’ll call Kevin and the others. Meet at ’Nother Cup?”

  I’d rather eat glass than have Kevin around. It wasn’t that he was a jerk, though he could give me a run in the obnoxious race, it was that I didn’t trust him with my sister. “Provided no one calls the cops on me again, that should be fine.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got an in with local law enforcement.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  By the time we made it back to shore it was almost noon. Mace helped me strap my kayak to the Beetle, even though I said I didn’t need his help. I felt compelled to help him lift his boat into the back of his father’s truck.

  “Give me your phone,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “Why?” I didn’t know why I was so suspicious. What was he going to do? Change my ringtone? Criticize my choice of apps?

  He gave me an impatient frown. “Hand it over, buttercup.”

  I took my phone from the pocket of my shorts and slapped it into his palm. “What’s with this ‘buttercup’ crap?”

  “You don’t like it?” He wasn’t even looking at me as he tapped away on the screen.

  I shrugged. “Just wondering where it came from.” Great dodge. I couldn’t very well tell him that part of me liked it very much.

  “I dunno. It suits you.”

  “Is that supposed to be a good thing?”

  He laughed as his own phone rang. A man’s muffled voice shouted, ‘Answer your phone, idiot!”

  “Nice,” I commented. “Filled with self-loathing much?”

  Mace only smiled. Then, he tapped my phone again and gave it back to me. The man’s voice cut off. “Now you have my number and I have yours.”

  I stared at the phone. His number. I only had Nan’s. Roxi had given me hers but I hadn’t added her to my contacts yet. “Thanks.”

  “Sure.” He started around the truck. “So, I’ll see you around two at ’Nother Cup?”

  “Sounds good.” I turned to open the car door.

  “Hey, Lark?”

  I turned. He was looking at me over the top of the truck, the open door helping him balance as he stood on the threshold. “Yeah?”

  Mace smiled. “We should do this again sometime.” Then he dropped down into the seat and shut the door. The truck’s engine roared to life as I stared dumbly. Then he was gone with nothing but a little puff of dust as his tires stirred up the sandy road.

  What the hell had just happened? Had Mace Ryan and I just become friends?

  WREN

  The Shadow Lands were a lot like the living world, but less vibrant. The only way I can think to describe it was a perpetual twilight, caught between night and day. Everything was muted, but there was something shimmery about the place. It sounded like it ought to have been depressing and dark, but it was actually a beautiful place. Magical. I was real there—tangible. I’d forgotten how good that felt, I’d been spending so much time in Lark’s world.

  I wished she could have spent more time in mine, but she’d have to have died for that to happen, and I wasn’t in a hurry to repeat that experience again. When Lark had tried to kill herself... No, she hadn’t tried. Lark had succeeded in killing herself, at least for a short time. When Lark had killed herself it had felt like someone ripped my soul out. It hurt so much. Maybe it hurt because it wasn’t her time. Regardless, it had pushed me into a state of manifestation that allowed me to reach out to Kevin—the first medium I’d found—and make him understand me. I was getting better at that now. I didn’t need to get so upset to communicate, but I still had a lot to learn.

  I wished I had someone to teach me, instead of figuring it out on my own, but the Shadow Lands were a huge place—just like the living world. My corner of it wasn’t terribly populated, and those who were there weren’t actually social. Ghosts were a lot like the living that way.

  Though, I always wondered—how had I managed as a baby in this place? I didn’t need to eat or drink, but surely I’d required some sort of care? It hadn’t been Iloana who’d cared for me because I remembered the moment we met. So, who had it been, and why had they abandoned me just when I started having questions? I had no memory of anyone being there, but I’d never felt alone. Maybe there was someone who watched over dead children. To be honest, I’d never really cared enough to find out. I’d had Lark, and that was all that mattered.

  I walked down a fairly modern street and turned a corner onto a Victorian alley. Pavement gave way to damp cobblestones and gas streetlamps. I loved this section of town, though it could be dangerous. Some humans—creatures—carried on in death as they had in life. Contrary to how humans seemed to act, death didn’t make saints of them all. If you were unpleasant in life, you were probably unpleasant in death.

  It wasn’t just that the Shadow Lands looked like another time and place—it was another time and place. All of time and space existed here in various incarnations. There was a strange part of town not far from here where the ghosts weren’t human. I didn’t know where they came from. There were creatures like that all over—and strange little neighborhoods where they carried out their afterlife. And everyone usually kept to themselves. I used to find that safe and comforting, but now I blamed it for my ignorance of this world and my place in it.

  A horse and carriage rattled past—they did that sometimes. I walked to the end of the alley and turned another corner onto another cobblestone street. This one was lined with fancy buildings—the kinds lords and ladies would have lived in. It inclined slowly up a low hill, and at the top of that hill sat a large stone building with huge columns and wide steps leading to the door.

  The library.

  I walked up the steps and through the double doors. There were a few spirits around but the cavernous building was much bigger on the inside than the outside. I didn’t believe the laws of physics applied to the dead at all. There was a front desk, a few tables, and then rows of books that stretched on for miles and rose as high as a skyscraper. It went on for eternity.

  Where did I even start to look?

  “You look lost” came a voice from beside me.

  I turned my head. A beautiful woman with long white hair like Lark’s stood beside me. Her eyes were like ice, glittering brightly. She smiled, and I felt compelled to smile back even though something about her scared me a little.

  “I came here to do some research,” I admitted. “It’s a little...overwhelming.”

 
“Come with me.”

  I followed her to the desk, careful not to step on the hem of her long, opalescent gown. Sitting there was what looked like a small ivory horn mounted on an ebony stand. “Say what you want into this, and it will be brought to you.”

  I looked at her. “Really? That’s it?”

  She nodded, still smiling that serene yet sharp smile. “That’s it.”

  “But how does it know to bring me the right one? What if there are books written by different people with the same name?”

  She shrugged. “The library knows.”

  Lark would have called her a liar, but I didn’t quite have the nerve. Instead, I decided to trust her. I leaned toward the horn and said clearly, “Haven Crest.”

  It was as though the building came to life—nothing quite so dramatic—but I could feel a vibration beneath my feet, like a giant creature far below had just woken up. In the distance I heard a whisper—was it something moving, or simply a sigh? It was coming from one of the stacks. I turned my head and watched as a small speck came toward me, growing ever larger. It was a spirit from some race I couldn’t identify—a wraithlike creature with several arms and no discernible face. In its fingers it held several leather-bound volumes, which it placed on a podium at the end of the aisle.

  The woman gestured for me to collect the books. “Ask and you shall receive.”

  “Weird,” I whispered.

  Soft laughter followed. “Indeed. I am glad to see you availing yourself of this world, Wrenleigh Noble. I had begun to fear the living held more appeal for you.”

  I went still. Slowly, I turned my head to look at her. She was watching me, still smiling. “How do you know my name?”

  “I know all about you, Wren. I have ever since you first came here.”

  What? How was that possible? I’d never met her before. Had I? Was she one of those I’d wondered about just a few minutes ago? Someone who cared for dead children? “Who are you?”

  “Emily.” She said it like it ought to make sense to me, but it didn’t.

  “Nice to meet you, Emily.” It seemed the right thing to say. “Thank you for your help.”

  I thought she might leave then, but she didn’t. “What did you want to know about Haven Crest?”

  “History,” I replied. Lark must have rubbed off on me, because I thought twice about telling her everything. “Interesting stories. That sort of thing.”

  She smiled. “Let me guess, some children from the town have gotten themselves into trouble with a ghost from there.”

  I kept my eye on her. “How did you know?”

  Emily shrugged. “Because they were doing that in my day, as well.”

  “You’re from New Devon?” This was good! Wasn’t it? If she was here, then she wasn’t tied to the asylum. This place was like a halfway house for the dead, but those who haunted a place usually put so much of their energy into the haunt they couldn’t come here—or they wouldn’t. Haunting was a big commitment, meaning the spirit was very attached to that person, place or thing and didn’t like to leave.

  She tilted her head. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

  “Should I?”

  “I suppose not. You haven’t seen me since you were very young. Yes, I am from New Devon. What would you like to know about the unfortunate place known as Haven Crest?”

  “Inmate information. We’re looking for a ghost that might have used a straight razor as a weapon when it was human.”

  “A cutter?” She arched her eyebrow. She really did remind me of Lark. “That’s something like the needle in the haystack, is it not?”

  I shrugged. “It’s a place to start.”

  “I suppose so. And these are things you and your sister must figure out for yourselves if you’re going to traffic in both worlds.” She walked over to the podium and picked up one of the volumes the library had brought forth. Then she offered the book to me.

  “I shouldn’t interfere, but take this.”

  It was huge. As far as places to start went it was one big shiny haystack. “What about the other volumes?”

  “You don’t need those.”

  “But there might be information—”

  “Wren.” She put her hand on my arm, squeezing hard with her fingers. She glanced over her shoulder, as though worried someone might be watching. “This is the book you need.”

  I stared at her. She was so familiar and yet a complete stranger.

  “Who are you?” I demanded. “Why are you helping me? Why now?”

  “I’m a friend,” she insisted. “And I’m helping you now because I am able. I’ll explain everything when I can. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  She didn’t even wait for me to promise before she simply disappeared. One moment she was there and the next she was gone, leaving me holding the book she’d given me with a stupefied expression on my face.

  “Helpful,” I muttered. “Helpful and weird.” My sister was definitely rubbing off on me. Holding the book to my chest, I closed my eyes and let this world slip away. It was like peeling back layers of spiderwebs—only not so sticky. For a moment, I existed in between dimensions. It was always tempting to just stay in that void where there was nothing but peace. I didn’t stay, though. I didn’t even linger. I opened my eyes to the familiar sight of my sister’s bedroom—our bedroom.

  I was alone. Where was Lark? And more important, what had we gotten ourselves into?

  LARK

  “Melanie’s cousin bought the house. She said they had to rip up the carpet in that bedroom. Her blood soaked right through to the floorboards.”

  I froze a couple of feet away from the table where my new “friends” Sarah, Ben and Gage sat. Was Sarah talking about my old house? About me?

  “You shouldn’t repeat that kind of shit,” Ben said.

  “You’re just saying that because you’ve got a thing for her,” Sarah goaded.

  Ben leaned forward on the forearm he rested on the table. “No, I’m saying it because I’m not a gossipy bitch.”

  I could kiss that boy.

  I had two choices. I could be ashamed of what I’d done and walk away, or I could say fuck it. I pulled out a chair and sat down. They seemed really surprised to see me. “Actually, my parents had the carpet changed before they even sold the house. I don’t know if there’s a stain or not—I was locked up in Bell Hill at that point.”

  Sarah flushed. Now who was ashamed, bitch?

  “You don’t owe us an explanation,” Ben reminded me. I looked at his mouth. Definitely kissable.

  Sarah played with the plastic lid of her cup. “I didn’t mean to be a bitch. You’re just...” She met my gaze. “You’re the only person I know who ever had the balls to actually, you know, do it.”

  “You mean try to kill myself?”

  She nodded. I doubted her sincerity, but at least she’d apologized.

  “If the idea of slicing your wrists open isn’t appealing, you’re probably not too keen on dying. Balls has nothing to do with it. I just really wanted to die.”

  Gage perked up, dark eyes brightening. “But Mace saved you.”

  I opened my mouth to congratulate him on his ability to tell me what I already knew, but never got to say a word because Sarah’s head had snapped up and she was looking at me like I was contagious. “Mace saved you?”

  “Yeah.” How could she not have known that little tidbit? Maybe Melanie ought to have filled her in.

  God, I wished I had a chai.

  She looked completely pissed. If I was her I’d be more concerned about that narsty-assed scratch on her cheek. It was starting to look bad. In fact, none of them were looking too hot. Their wounds may not be visible to norms, but the circles under their eyes and their pale skin were.

  “He
never told me about that.” And obviously she wasn’t impressed. How long had they been dating? And just how did you work finding someone practically dead into conversation?

  Out of the corner of my eye I watched Ben leave the table. “To be honest, Sarah—”

  “It wasn’t any of your business” came Mace’s voice from behind me. I didn’t have to look to know that he had his gruff face on. And where did he get off finishing my sentences?

  Sarah flushed, but her chin came up defiantly. “Everyone else seems to know.”

  “They didn’t hear it from me.” He sat down in the empty chair between me and her.

  “That’s true,” Gage said. He had little drops of sweat beaded on his upper lip and pink splotches high on his cheeks. Was he running a fever? It was a warm day, and maybe his coffee was too hot, but I didn’t think that was it. “Word got around about it, but Mace never said anything about any of it. To anybody. We were all pretty pissed at him, too.” He chuckled—it turned to a strangled wheeze when I looked at him. “Sorry.”

  “Forget about it,” I said, my gaze locked with his. I really didn’t want to talk about it. “You feeling okay, Gage?”

  He shrugged. “My little brother’s sick—kept everyone in the house up half the night. I’m beat.”

  Maybe it wasn’t the ghost riding him, then. These kinds of infections—and I’d only ever seen one like it before—were a ghost’s way of marking humans as their own personal buffet. The ghost left a bit of themselves behind and that allowed them to feed more easily on the life force of their victim.

  Ben returned to the table. He set a paper cup in front of me. It was a chai latte—I could smell the spicy deliciousness. How had he known? And why was he being so damn nice?

  I lifted my gaze—right into his as he sat down. Out of all of them he looked the healthiest. I mean, aside from that healing black eye. He wasn’t bulky, but he was definitely ripped. His snug T-shirt showed off his tanned, muscular arms. Made me wonder where the ghost had gotten him, and if he’d let me look...

  I picked up my drink, the sweet-spicy smell filling my nose as heat filled my cheeks. “Thanks.”