by Drew Hayes
* * *
That wasn’t Auggie. Topher never would have been fooled by the fiend possessing his friend’s flesh, even if he hadn’t known the exact circumstances. Auggie didn’t move like that, for one. His steps were measured and careful, a practiced precision that he wove in to every aspect of his life. This Auggie was loose, yet aware, like a snake weaving through the grass. Auggie’s eyes were never set like that, either. They furrowed in worry, rolled in exasperation, and glowed in quiet joy. The eyes glaring down at Velt were filled with violence and blood.
No, from the instant Topher caught sight of the imposter, he knew it wasn’t really Auggie. That was why he had no trouble dashing forward and closing the distance between them. Fake-Auggie looked over at the last minute, clearly surprised that anyone else was there. His head was turned just in time to show Topher an expression of shocked pain as the bigger man buried his fist in the body-thief’s guts.
The Emissary fell back, letting out a strangled grunt along with an involuntary dry heave of air. His breath was gone, knocked out cleanly by a practiced blow from the much larger opponent. The Emissary struggled to keep the body on task, even as the sense of suffocation triggered a myriad of deeply-ingrained survival instincts. They were loud, unwelcome distractions, clouding his thoughts as he tried to focus on handling his next opponent. The Emissary was so distracted, in fact, that he didn’t notice the human advance to press the attack. Another punch caught the side of the borrowed head, adding dizziness to the internal clusterfuck as The Emissary spun over and fell to the ground.
“Get out of Auggie. Now.” Topher took a step back, momentarily halting his barrage. While he understood that this wasn’t his friend, he also knew that any long-term damage dealt to the body would be something Auggie would have to deal with.
It was a gesture of basic human kindness and decency. It was also, unfortunately, the exact wrong thing to do in the given situation. Though Topher couldn’t see them, inky black fingers shimmered into view just outside of Auggie’s body’s own digits. They warped and twisted in the air, growing large, clawed, and horrid-looking. The Emissary commanded his vessel to its feet, regaining some control as air at last began seeping back into its lungs.
“Stupid flesh. Soon, there will be no more. Soon, you will be free. Stay silent and wait for the dawning of a new world.” The words were strange, foreign clicks of syllables to The Emissary, but they were familiar to the lips of the flesh he commanded. Stifling as bodies could be, they did have their uses.
“Yeah, that’s not happening. One more chance: get out of my friend, or this time, I’m not stopping until you do.” At the end of the day, Topher was pretty sure Auggie would prefer a banged-up body to no body at all.
“Perhaps you shall be freed before the rest.” A sharp smile sliced across the face that had once belonged to Auggie. It was all the answer Topher needed.
He darted forward again, sure, he could take this thing down. Unfortunately, the hands of shadow that stretched up from The Emissary’s arms swept through the air, unseen by Topher as one curled around his torso and lifted him into the air. It squeezed mercilessly, pushing the air from his body in a far slower, more painful fashion than his own earlier one-punch method had.
Topher struggled vainly, clawing at a force he couldn’t see, let alone grip, all while trying to fight back the instinctive panic flooding his brain. If he lost control now, that would be it. He had no doubt Fake-Auggie would kill him. Topher had to stay lucid, had to think of something he could do. If he didn’t save himself, no one would.
“Nice sucker punch earlier, fucko.”
Fake-Auggie’s head swiveled around, and Topher focused through the slowly-forming black spots in his vision. Velt’s angry glare greeted both of them. She was off the ground and looked no worse for the wear, despite her wall-smashing performance only a few minutes earlier. The only outward sign of damage she showed was a trickle of blood from a cut in her bottom lip. With her right hand, she carefully smeared the blood across her fingers.
“Never occurred to me that you could use your power while in a body. It was a good trick, I’ll give you that, but it only works once. Now, drop the idiot, and let’s you and me have some fun.”
Much as Topher resented the slight at his intelligence, he did appreciate that she was at least showing concern for his safety.
The Emissary, however, held no such gratitude for this strange woman. He was ready to be done with the lot of them. With his free claw he swiped, intending to skewer or crush her. To his surprise, she nimbly ducked under the blow, moving past the claw with confident speed and then surging forward. For a moment, The Emissary thought she meant to strike his body, and tensed in preparation for more discomfort. His instinct was off, however, as she made a beeline right for Topher: or, more specifically, for the shadowy claw crushing the life from him.
Velt reared back her right hand, extended each of her blood-smeared fingers, and drove them forcefully into the mass of ectoplasmic energy that composed The Emissary’s hand. For the barest of instants, nothing happened. Then, the screaming began.
To Topher, it appeared as though Velt were making weird motions toward empty air. It was only when her fingers struck that he saw something around them. A patch of shadow shifted in and out of view, easy to dismiss as nothing more than his imagination, yet undeniably there. He still might have written it off if not for the horrendous noise that filled the night.
At first, it sounded like a human’s screams: disturbing, but well within the realm of normalcy. But after a moment, another sound came on its heels—a horrible wail, like the sound of a thousand men’s guttural grunts as nooses snapped their necks, and vultures cawed in anticipation of tearing at their innards. It was impossibly awful, far worse than the sensation of being crushed to death. Even Velt was gritting her teeth, worming her fingers in deeper to keep her grip on the invisible being.
Topher felt himself jerk up, just the slightest bit, and then come crashing down all at once. He landed in a heap atop something that smelled like dirt, sweat, and just the slightest hint of lavender. It took him longer than he was proud of to realize that he’d been tossed on to Velt, who was struggling to untangle herself from his bulky limbs. Due to pain, numbness, and the brain fog of near-suffocation, Topher wasn’t able to help much with the process.
It didn’t take Velt long to get free, but it took her long enough. By the time she was back on her feet, The Emissary was gone, stolen body vanishing into the woods at the far side of the clearing. If she gave chase, he’d have the advantage, since his wraith arms could attack her through physical obstacles like trees. Plus, it would be too easy to lay an ambush. No, she needed to regroup first. Wraiths were dangerous opponents, even for her. If she took him lightly, there was a very real chance she could end up dead. And if she fell, so went the rest of the world.
“Hey,” Velt said, looking down at a still-recovering Topher. “We need to have a talk about what ‘stay the fuck out of the way’ means to you, because there’s no chance we’re working from the same definition.”
“You’re . . . welcome,” Topher wheezed out. Each breath was painful, causing a sharp bite in his lower chest. He’d played enough football to know a cracked rib when he felt it. Given what that thing had been trying to do to him, that little of an injury would be getting off easy.
“I didn’t need your help, I was playing possum. Wraiths are powerful as all hell, but they’re also cruel and full of ego. After his sucker punch, I wanted to lure him in close so I could get a good grip and tear him out of your friend’s body.”
Topher stared at her then barked a short, slightly painful laugh. “Doesn’t that just figure: I finally get the chance to play hero for a beautiful girl, and it turns out all I did was get in the way.”
Velt started visibly at the word “beautiful,” then immediately composed herself. Still, her face and voice softened a few degrees when she spoke next. “Look, I appreciate the sentiment. And to be honest, wha
t you did was kind of brave. Stupid as playing the lotto for retirement, but brave. I’m just not the kind of girl you need to worry about saving.”
She reached over and took his arm, helping him back to a standing position. He leaned on her slightly as he found his balance. Thankfully, nothing in his legs protested beyond voicing the presence of bruises and stiffness. Given the harshness of his landing, he’d been braced for a sprain or a break. Luck, it seemed, hadn’t entirely abandoned them tonight.
“Thanks. So . . . what was all that? What did you do?”
“I stuck my fingers into his arm. His real arm, not the one from your friend’s body. Normally, that wouldn’t have been quite as painful as it was, but my blood added a bit of extra kick.”
“You say that like you think it’s an explanation. It’s really not,” Topher said.
Velt shrugged, a motion he could feel against his chest as she helped him take the first few steps back toward the main hall.
“I hurt spirits. Something about me, in my blood and my touch, it causes them pain and destroys the cohesion of their energy. Spirits are usually holding on to this plane through force of will, fueling their grip with the emotions of the living. I pry that grip off, sending them on to whatever comes next. No one knows why I can do it, or at least, no one who is willing to tell me. It’s just something I can do.”
“You . . . unmake ghosts?”
“No. I send them on to whatever comes next.”
“How can you possibly know that? If you don’t know what comes after this life, how do you know you aren’t just destroying their souls?” Topher was aghast at the idea, a shiver of terror running down his large back.
“Because, when I first started, I was afraid I was doing exactly that, so I tracked down someone who does know what comes after our world and demanded some answers. He assured me that they were still crossing over.”
“And you just trusted his word? What if he was a fake scamming you?”
“I’m not stupid. I didn’t go to some hack or con. Remember, I’m the real deal. That means I know how to spot my own kind.” Velt let Topher go; if he was strong enough to question her judgment, he was strong enough to walk on his own. “And yes, I trusted his word. He damned sure knew the truth, and he’s not the type to lie. Actually, I’m not even sure he can lie, and that’s all I’m going to say about him. Trust me; you’ll sleep a whole lot better at night if you don’t press the subject.”
Topher wasn’t sure he believed that, but it was clear Velt was finished discussing the issue. Anyway, at the moment their most important task was finding Auggie’s body. Maybe once it was over, he could try to wriggle more information out of her.
Assuming they all made it through the night, of course.
Chapter 8
She was sacrilege. There was no other term or explanation, nothing that encompassed her wicked and horrific actions. For the flesh to see the spirits was a rare gift, one that granted perspective and guidance for those still encumbered in their living cages. The Emissary’s people had honored and respected those who were one step closer to what they saw as the ultimate form. But that was merely seeing in to the spirit world, speaking with the more enlightened beings.
What she had done, to lay flesh upon spirit with such impunity, to sear him with terrible pain, it was wrong. It went against everything he knew, everything his people had sacrificed for. This woman . . . this abomination . . . she could not be allowed to enter the new world. For her flesh to be so corrupt that it could wound even a spirit, her soul must have rotted away within its breathing shell.
That woman was beyond saving, beyond redemption. She could neither accept the freedom The Emissary was here to usher in, nor would he risk her taint spreading to others. It was his job to prepare the way, to open the gate and raise the curtain on a beautiful world that belonged to the greater beings—the dead. The Emissary would handle any obstacle that threatened the destiny of his people.
She was sacrilege, and she had to be destroyed. He would rend the body first. Then, he would shred her soul to ribbons, ending the threat before it began. For a spirit to destroy another was usually impossible, but The Emissary was not bound by the limitations of his own power. Soon, he would have the backing of a god, and they played by different rules than mortals.
The Emissary drove his human vessel forward through the woods, all thoughts of fuel and food forgotten. There was no time for such diversions, pleasant as they might have been. He needed aid to stop the woman, and there was only one way to get it.
It wouldn’t be long now before the wraith would arrive at the site of the second ritual.
* * *
“Holy shit, did you see that? She just grabbed him. Just . . . fucking grabbed his arm and made him scream in pain. What is she?” Irwin was dumbfounded at the show he’d just taken in.
“Personally, I’m a bit more curious as to why that spirit in question had such strange lookin’ appendages to begin with. I ain’t ever seen another spirit that looks like pissed-off darkness,” Art added.
Clinton gave a small shake of his head. “I don’t have any clue about that, either. Maybe if we’d been wandering around and talking to other spirits, we might have heard about stuff like this, but I barely know more than when I died.”
The three ghosts were floating just over the treetops, watching Velt and Topher climb back to the main hall, while also trying to keep an eye on Fake-Auggie’s location. After Art had spotted the body-thief, he’d doubled back to watch the carnage from a hiding place with Clinton. Irwin had been hanging out by the cabins; it was only by dumb luck he wasn’t noticed. When the battle ended, the three had gathered to compare notes.
“Do you think there’s any way that crazy broad was right? That these old ghosts are going to make it so the dead rule over the living?” Irwin glanced down toward the lake where the mass of half-formed spirits were milling about on the island. They’d have been an army if they seemed to possess any cohesion or independent thought. Instead, all they served as was a harbinger.
“I think we’re a trio of dead men who just watched a woman terrify the hell out of a spirit doing things we’ve never imagined possible. Impossibility is an evolving spectrum for us,” Clinton replied. “I’m not saying I buy the story entirely, but it seems irresponsible to completely discount it.”
“Agreed. We gotta help run that sumnabitch down. Even if she’s full of it about getting us free, or the end of the world, we can’t take the chance.”
“You know, guys . . . it seems to me like we’re getting free no matter what happens.” Irwin spoke slowly, choosing each word with what he thought was cunning precision. “Think about it: if the ceremony succeeds, then all these dead are going to break free of the camp. Why wouldn’t we be able to leave too?”
“Right, and all our freedom would cost is the entire world of the living,” Clinton said.
“But we’re not living. Not anymore. I’m just saying we should think it through. This will be the only shot for dead like us to have a world for our kind.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Art said, putting a hand on his fellow ghost’s shoulder. “If we’ve learnt one thing from all this, it’s that there’s a shitload more to this life and death hooey than we ever imagined. There’s another side for us to get to, and that’s the world meant for us. We need to leave the land of the livin’ to those with time left.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Irwin said. “I guess I’m so desperate to get out of here, I let myself get overwhelmed. We have to protect the rest of the world, even if we’re no longer a part of it.”
Irwin wasn’t quite as won over by the sentiment as he made himself pretend, but he understood the idea of going along with a crowd for safety. There was no strategic advantage to helping the other side . . . yet.
“Well said,” Clinton agreed. “Let’s head over to the cabin and see what Velt wants us to do next. I think I’ve at least got an idea of where that possessed body is heading.”
The three ghosts floated off, down toward the hall, where two humans were just stepping in the front door.
* * *
Topher had largely recovered by the time they made it back to the cabin, though his ribs still groaned with every jarring motion. Nothing short of time and some solid painkillers was going to fix that injury, though, so he did his best not to dwell on it. It was surprisingly easy since there were already vastly more important things to occupy his attention.
“We lost him,” Topher announced as soon as he caught sight of Kay and Auggie. “The bastard was right there, and he got away. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I know you did the best you could.” Auggie did know that, too; they weren’t empty words meant to soothe his friend’s sense of guilt. Topher had plenty of failings, but he put everything he had in to the things he undertook, especially when others were counting on him.
Kay noticed the slight wince on Topher’s face whenever he drew in a deep breath and walked over with an open bottle in hand. He accepted it, taking a generous mouthful, then handed it back. Tonight more than ever he needed his wits about him, but he didn’t want to slow everyone else down because of a little pain. Besides, he was self-aware enough to know that his body was far more useful than his wits had ever been.
“So . . . we lost him,” Velt said. She dropped onto one of the benches and stretched, letting a series of pops echo from the bones in her back. The throw hadn’t done any serious damage to her—she’d long ago learned to go limp when falling or being tossed—but she was still going to be sore as hell come morning. At least if she was hurting, she was alive, so that was sort of a silver lining.
“I don’t suppose Auggie’s body showed up on any of the other cameras?”
Kay and Auggie both shook their heads.
“Of course not; that would have been too easy. Maybe the spirits I used as scouts will be able to follow him, but I might be hoping for the moon with that one. No, he’s probably going to get to the second site and perform the rites before we can stop him. The odds of running into him in the forest are just too great.”
