by Sam Schenk
“The living have to work to eat,” Greg growled at him. “Or has it been so long that you forgot?”
Robert sniffed. “I’m sure this is all your fault.”
“You’ve been watching me like a hawk. Don’t think I didn’t sense it. I didn’t do anything except send Elizabeth into the next stage.”
Robert was silent, which Greg took for as close to a victory as he was ever going to get. “Where’s Lipman? He usually knows what’s going on.”
“The upper graveyard ghosts are trying as hard as they can to pass over.” Lipman emerged from the mist. He seemed a bit more transparent than normal, swarming with gleaming particles that cut through the veil. He paused as if out of breath.
“It doesn’t seem as scary as all that.” Greg stared into it. If the cloud had the effect of forcing the ghosts back into their graves, maybe this new development wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
“They’ve seen some of the weaker ghosts touched by that mist, and lose cohesion at a much faster rate,” Lipman said, his body slowly filling out again. “One of them had fairly delicate sensitivities before all of this started. He seems to have been shaken awake by the recent quakes.”
“I haven’t felt any earthquakes recently. Was it only in the veil?”
“I’m not sure, how would we tell?” Lipman asked.
“Good point. So where is this ‘delicate soul’?” Greg asked.
“Underneath the marble seats.”
Greg stared into the mist, calculating the straightest line from here. “Elizabeth was hanging out there too. Lipman, I’m going to go have a look. Is there anything else I need to know?”
“Of course he wants to go,” spat Robert as Lipman raised a hand to speak. “Let him. Hellspawn loves company.”
“Neither of them are hellspawn, and you know it.” Lipman didn’t take his eyes off Greg. “It’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?” challenged Greg. “I don’t mind going in there, what could happen?”
“It could be that your consciousness will degrade in the same way that our people have. Having a living body doesn’t seem to protect your spirit any more than ours,” Lipman reminded him.
Greg groaned. “This place belongs to us. We can’t back down from trying to confront them. I’m willing to fight them for it, are you?”
Lipman cleared his throat. “Technically the land doesn’t belong to anyone. He has as much right to be here as any of us do, including you.”
Greg threw up his hands. “You’re no help at all.”
He took a preparatory breath then propelled himself forward.
When his fingers touched the mist, he knew he was in for trouble. Moving through the veil was usually second-nature, now that he'd gotten the knack of it, but now, adjusting his direction was like fighting a downstream current. He was heavy and at the same time, it felt like he needed to focus on keeping his spirit form from flying apart at the elements. But still, he fought on. This thing had invaded his space and had the ghosts all scared.
The edges of his senses blurred with every metre he moved. Where was he? He felt he should have reached the lower graveyard by now. Had he entered the vault or was he closer to the stairs? He couldn’t tell.
Stubbornly, he pressed through until he finally stumbled into view of the familiar marble steps. The moss that usually shrouded the veneer had browned. Particles that were more active and closer together met his senses inside, just like the cloud that had gathered around his crystals. There was a certain relief around that. It wasn’t the crystals that had been corrupted, they’d just picked up the energy in the area, the same as they’d always done.
The connection to the physical world that clawed at Greg's brain felt tight and sweaty. He tried not to think of the consequences if the atmosphere was active enough to interfere with it.
“Hello?” Greg called.
A growl reverberated through the soil. The sound shifted the energy around him, vibrating the part of the veil that touched the physical, Greg could see it lick and escape through. The effects of this ghost could be heard in the real world. Greg held tight to his guts, conscious he had no weapon to use against any kind of spirit nor the knowledge of how to force one to do anything. He should have waited to speak to Lisa. She was a real witch — he was just…a dabbler.
Greg pressed his senses outward to feel where the consciousness was coming from. The further he stretched himself, the more the growling intensified until it felt like he was inside an earthquake.
“I don’t want to hurt you; I want to talk. Maybe we can figure out how to give you some peace.”
A flash of teeth snapped in front of him. Greg recoiled.
The growling intensified. It felt like it was coming apart at the seams.
“I am busy. Get out.” The voice shredded through him worse than if Wellington’s wind was full of blades.
“Oh, you can speak.” Greg cleared his throat, attempting to sound braver than he felt. “Look, this whole spooky ghost thing, I’ve seen what the Wakefield kids get up to in their spare time. If you’re not just putting on a scene, there’s probably something I can help with. I’m living, you know.”
The teeth snapped around his head, making Greg shiver, but instead of recoiling, he steadied himself, and reached out a hand and pushed forward. “Let me know what you want, and I’ll see what I can do about getting it done.”
He finally saw the manifestation of the spirit. He was an old man, tattered and torn at the edges of his long coat. He peered around over his shoulder, his neck swivelling like an owl’s. His eyes were dark and damp, degraded much further than Elizabeth had been. In front of him, near what must have been the far side of the tiered seating, a barely detectable door wavered in the atmosphere. Wordlessly, the ghost turned back to it and put his hand against it. The door shuddered, and the clouds began to form around it, adding to the door’s shape, giving it consistency.
Could ghosts summon doors to the physical world? Greg stared at it with mixed fascination and concern. Was the real world on the other side, or somewhere else?
A shadowy figure walked slowly into view and stood on the other side of the door, staring out with eyes that pierced the veil with a red glow. Veil atmospheric sucked through the gaps below and at the edges of the door, filling out the room behind. The shadow, slowly being enveloped in it, raised its hand.
For the first time since he’d begun forays into the veil, Greg’s spirit form tensed. “Stop,” he quivered, drawing the energised atmosphere around him. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. He didn’t know how to attack anyone, much less attack a ghost.
Both the shadow and the ghost paused their movements. The shadow drew itself up, and the already dense atmosphere thickened even further. The connection to his body burned against his skull. His hand reached reflexively behind his neck. “What are you doing?”
Before he could react, he felt his spirit self propelled backwards and out of the tiered seats. He finally managed to stabilise his movement and forced his spirit form to ground into the earth beside the vault. He scrambled backward, frantically checking for his body.
Lipman leaned over from behind him, his ghostly hand draped around Greg’s shoulder. The corner of his lip quivered with light amusement. “It’s in the Upper Graveyard, remember?”
Greg sat up abruptly. His hand went to the back of his head. This was real. If some kind of damage happened to the link, he wouldn’t ever wake up. What if something in the connection was already broken? What if he could never touch the veil again? Which was worse?
Greg struggled to find his voice. “What… is it?”
“Something different. We’ve never seen him go so far before. You should leave from here. This isn’t your fight, and you have infinitely more to lose. He’ll end up pulling you into whatever plans he has.” Lipman said. “Or is Robert right, is that what you want?”
Robert approached from behind, brushing down his robes and through his hair like he was shooing flies a
way. “Of course it is. He’s drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. Tell our friendly intruder that you don’t know anything and that he can leave this to us. At least he’ll listen to you”
“I have.” Lipman objected. “And your kvetching is starting to bother me, Robert. Neither of us know what’s happened to give him this extra power. He’s never been able to do anything like this before.”
Robert stared at Lipman. “We have our differences, but you know that this…witch… wants nothing more than for all of us to be gone. This is probably a godsend for him.”
Frustration brought Greg back to his senses. “That’s harsh, Robert, even for you. I haven’t said anything to you about crossing over. You don’t want to, that’s your business. We have other things to worry about.”
Robert’s expression softened. “And what is that, pray tell?”
“A shadow behind a door, summoned by the ghost in the trench coat." Greg said, half to himself."I'm not sure whether it couldn't reveal itself to me, or decided not to. Does it come from the physical world, or somewhere else?”
“I’ve never seen any doors other than yours. As for the ghost, he’s just a man. His family searched for him for over ten years, but they never found a piece bigger than his jaw, and they found it there.” Lipman pointed to the centre of the steps. “He’s probably been ground into the stone. There is no body to find; we’ve searched for it.”
Greg regained his feet, gazing first at Lipman, then at Robert. “There was…something, behind that door. Something gathering the energy of the veil. It looked like it was about ready to open it up. Regardless of whether it was the spirit that called him, or something else, I don't think that he is the problem.”
Robert crossed himself reverently. “We need someone who is versed in the arts of our Lord, an exorcist maybe. That ghost has had something to do with this, and we should make due haste to expel him.”
“Maybe it has something to do with you not knowing his name,” Greg shot back.
Robert surveyed him contemplatively. “Maybe as a servant of Satan, you’ll be a fitting vessel for his soul until such time as he can be peaceably sent on.”
“I don’t volunteer to house that thing while an exorcist is sorting him out,” Greg growled. He spread his hands wide in front of him then turned them over to look at the back and palm. They were transparent, covered in energy. “Look, we’re not going to get anywhere by standing around. I’ll do some research, see what I can find out. In the meantime, you three should spread out and see if there’s anyone in the graveyard that has dealt with more ghosts than the two of you.”
Lipman laughed abruptly. “We’ll see what we can do. Now get out of here.”
Greg didn’t need more encouragement. He turned in the direction the two ghosts had come from to retreat.
Once his body opened its eyes, Greg’s hand reached immediately to the back of his neck. There was no trace of any damage to his connection — at least, he didn’t think there was. Lisa would be able to tell tomorrow.
Quickly, he gathered his things and left the amphitheatre. Lipman was right, he’d never dealt with a ghost with no body to find. And that shadow. He felt a shiver roll down his spine at the thought of it. What would happen to this world if that thing managed to get through?
He hoped Lisa would have something helpful to say, otherwise, this would be a place of power for the shortest time in the history of witchdom.
Chapter Six
The next day, Greg was up bright and early to make his way to Lisa’s house.
By the time the train pulled into Upper Hutt station, an entire ocean was coming down around him. Wellington, Upper Hutt included, never just “rained”. It rained sideways or up-ways or down-ways. Greg, like many Wellingtonians, had his first umbrella turned inside out and made into a missile by the wind. Since then, he’d stuck with a water-resistant jacket.
Staring out into the grey from the lip of shelter before the station fell off to the street, Greg tightened his jacket and mentally prepared for the several kilometre trek. As he stepped out into the maelstrom, he was met with the welcome honking of a car horn. Lisa’s Micra was parked up in the rain, lights on, windshield wipers frantically flying. She lowered the window. “Need a lift?”
He gratefully climbed in.
They didn’t speak much in the car, but the silence wasn’t awkward or empty. The energy around her was active and curious, interacting with the world. Her magic asked questions that words would have fumbled and answered incorrectly.
Lisa herself was lovely. She was constantly baking, powdering herbs, or making tinctures — classic witch things. In the old times, they would have strung her up and hung her, but Greg was glad that they lived now. He wasn’t sure she felt the same.
He hadn’t visited much since she’d given her blessing for him to manage his practice.
Her place was exactly as he remembered it. It was a simple brick number, with a wide front yard, impossible to accomplish anywhere near the CBD. The cobbled drive up was a little old fashioned and imperfect, but even that seemed to fit. The exterior was the perfect combination of wild growth and manicured garden — scattered wildflowers lapping up the rain, trees shading a small fountain with lilies and lily pads, a flower bed filled with lavender, sage, and thyme bushes leading to the covered threshold.
When he reached the porch, his movement slowed. Time paused until she shifted past him. The world sped up again. It passed over him like a trick of the mind, but it had never alarmed him. He supposed it was unusual that it shouldn’t alarm him. The glyph he made was designed to be quiet, temporary, aligned to the flow of energy in the graveyard. Lisa's glyph poured energy out and influenced everything around it. There could be no doubt you were entering the home of a witch.
Lisa removed her shawl, rain jacket, and shoes in the foyer. She took Greg’s jacket and pointed to a set of slippers he could use before stepping up onto the wooden floor of the house proper. She’d explained to him once about the feng shui practices her house was aligned with, and the importance of the threshold in many cultures. She said it made her calm, and now after spending so much time in the veil, he could see what she meant. Borders, doors, barriers, and limits were all important to a witch. Sometimes the temptation to chase down a new power source was too much even for the most disciplined witch. She hadn't taught him that, but now he knew, of course. Though, he didn't always mind the lesson.
He took a long moment, standing in the entranceway, absorbing the scents of sandalwood and rosemary, taking in the balance of objects and the way they worked in the veil. He felt like it was his first time again. Despite how differently they saw the world, the effect was the same. As far as he could feel, every small detail from the micro to macro was in balance. It was beautiful and comfortable. Lisa reached over to give him a one-armed hug, interrupting his thoughts. “Greg, you’ve certainly gotten stronger, haven’t you?”
Greg returned his attention to her. The warmth of her energy flowed over him. “It’s good to see you, teach.”
“Now, you’re not going to just run away with my sage, are you? After you’ve come all the way out here, you’re going to stay for dinner.”
“You want someone to knead bread, right?” Greg groaned.
Lisa’s eyes twinkled. She danced towards the kitchen.
“Why don’t you get an electric machine?” he called after her.
“It’s not the same! Bread needs love!” Lisa exclaimed, pots and pans crashing around as she scrambled for bowls. She put a bowl of risen dough on the counter. “You know that! Make sure you put some of your gift in there.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he sighed and collected the bowl.
Greg passed through the sliding door to a warm conservatory. A round, colourfully knotted rug depicting a smiling sun above hills and ocean was centred on the warm wooden landing. Plants hovered at every level, moving around the circular extension — bushy florid things on stands at waist height along the walls, flowers of all colour
s on benches at knee height with comfortable walking space between, a set of four palms centred in a sunken floor in the middle of the room. He took a seat beside the rug, his feet in the sunken floor. He began smashing the dough in, wrapping it around his power, the same as he did with his metalwork. Coming from the gym on arm day, Lisa’s manual baking had hit a few sore spots. But still, he’d missed this.
The first time Greg met Lisa, he had been young, lost. The veil had always been present in his life. His parents rejected complaints of mist in the walls and ghosts in the house. He’d been living in a world he was sure was different from everyone else’s. He had run headlong and screaming from school. A school janitor was desperate for him to find his body, gather the bracelet that was still in his pocket and give it to his daughter.
Lisa was the first person that found him, tired and cold in the rain, hiding in a tree. She had invited him in and given him tea, not unlike the one he was drinking now: floral, herbal, healing. After patching a nicked eye and wrapping his arm, she listened to his story. He was too tough to cry. But she took such good care of him.
He could see the way she worked with the veil and explained it to her.
“It sounds like you see magic in a strange way. Just because we see the world differently doesn’t mean that we can’t learn from each other.” She told him.
He couldn’t help but fall into craft after meeting her. It took him weeks to work up the nerve, but he did go with the old janitor to the place where his body rested and returned the bracelet to the police. After the body was interred, the janitor visited him one last time to apologise for scaring him, and thank him for his role.
“You really should drop by more often, Greg,” Lisa said from the kitchen. “I know we don’t have a Coven as such, but they don’t pop out of the air you know? A Coven of two is better than sitting by your lonesome.”
“I know. Things have been a bit rough lately.”
“Maddie?” She popped her head around the door.
Greg shrugged.
