by Drew Hayes
Velt took a breath as those last two words crashed through the floor of her mind. The air stank of neglect and rotten flesh. A rat had once died in the floorboards of Velt’s apartment. She’d thought the stench had been horrific, but it had nothing on this. Somewhere in this place were dozens of rodent bodies, left where they lay by their scavenging brethren, soaking the air with the stink of their decomposition. It was the smell that drove it home; that horrifying taste careening down her throat sent the message clearer than any of the visual stimuli possibly could have. There was no way around it: Velt had been tricked.
The marble, the walls, the tapestries, Jeeves; none of it had been real. That, in itself, was a terrifying concept. Geists and poltergeists were both capable of producing illusions that even mediums couldn’t penetrate, but nowhere had Velt ever encountered a spirit who could do it on such a large scale. To have hidden this many sensory cues, to have led her safely to the room and then left her there… it would have taken a tremendous amount of power. Velt stopped and looked behind her, realizing that this room, the one she’d been left in, looked the same. The burning candles, the pink wallpaper, the smiling photographs all remained. They weren’t part of the illusion, which meant they’d been physically prepared. This wasn’t just some poltergeist luring in an idiot traveler. Those candles had been burning when she arrived. This was a trap.
She would have cursed Adrienne under her breath, but it was too late for that to do any good. Right now, Velt needed to focus less on how much she wanted to punch the woman, and more on how to get the hell out of here. Velt had a few advantages, at least: she was seeing through the illusion, she’d shaken off whatever mental fog had left her willing to sit complacent for nearly an hour, and, of course, she had her talent. Whatever this poltergeist might be expecting, it wouldn’t be a girl who hit back. If she could move fast and make ground before it was ready, she might be able to get out with minimal tussling. Velt wasn’t normally one to shy away from a fight, but going against something this strong with so little information was just plain stupid.
Velt took a delicate step forward. Dust rose off the floor, which protested loudly but held her weight—at least, for the moment. Many people would have gone slowly, testing each board one by one before advancing. Velt knew the folly of that strategy; the more time spent on each board, the greater chance of it giving way. She moved fast, like she was walking over hot coals, her steps light and continuous. Occasionally, she would spot breaks in the board, each one treating her to a sight of the concrete basement floor several feet below. If she went through there, it would hurt, no question of that. One might survive the tumble without breaking any bones, but that was an awfully big chance to take on a maybe. She kept moving steadily, eyes never wavering from the path before her. It was this singular focus that got her as far as she went, and it was also what allowed her to get ambushed.
She was stepping from one particularly treacherous board to the next when a scythe of shadow flashed out from the wall toward her head. She reacted without thinking, dropping to the ground in a forward roll, and then jumping back to her feet. The wood beneath her groaned angrily, and a trickle of blood ran down from her forehead. She’d ducked most of the attack, but she’d gotten a deep slice near her hairline.
The weapon still hung in the air, a piece of true darkness in an area that was merely lacking in light. Velt blinked and realized she’d been mistaken on her first impression. It wasn’t a scythe that had struck her. It was a claw. The figure bubbling out from the wall had elongated fingers, each tapering off in a sharp point. It was all one inky mass of emptiness with a fluttering piece on its back, like a shadow that had donned a cloak. Velt knew it was supposed to look like a nightmarish version of Death, and to nearly everyone else in her situation, that’s precisely what they would have taken it for: a Grim Reaper, if not the true freer of souls from their earthly vessels, then clearly one of his servants. It was a visage that told the viewer all hope was lost, there was no need to struggle, and it would all be over soon.
Velt never wavered, stepping forward on her right foot and bringing the left around in a kick. The shadow turned its hood, a smooth and empty spot where the face would be staring back at her. Even if she couldn’t see it, Velt could still feel it laughing at her, laughing at the silly girl striking a being beyond the reach of mortals. Laughing at how helpless it knew she really was.
Velt laughed too, a sizable snicker as she drove her foot into where its spine would have been, following through with all her might and sending the creature careening through the wall. A pool of darkness evaporated off her foot as she brought it back down onto the floor. She could hear the snapping and splintering of wood, but at this moment, it was low on the priority totem pole. The thing would still be active; colliding with the wall and other matter was utterly irrelevant to it. The only thing that could hurt a spirit like that was Velt. She never knew why. It was never a thought she focused on. Something about her, about her skin, about her body disrupted the energy spirits were made of. Velt didn’t know why, and days like this, she didn’t care. She just wanted to disrupt this shadowy cocksucker until her fists were numb.
She didn’t have to wait long before five blade-like fingers swung at her from the side wall. She shifted her weight and let them slide by her, snagging the hand by its wrist once the sharp side was past. Velt gave the bony wrist a hearty tug to pull her opponent free of its material shield. Even poltergeists were made of mostly energy, which meant someone with mass could toss them around if they could get a solid grip. She might not have their illusions, incorporeality, or other talents, but so far as any spirit was concerned, fighting her strength was like trying to stop a tank with a daisy.
That was how it always had been before, anyway. Velt could barely move this spirit, her full-bodied jerk scarcely freeing more than half its arm from the wall. The fingers rotated around, not bound by fleshy sockets to protest, and flew at her once more. This time, Velt had to sacrifice her footing and still came away with five identical slashes across her ribs as she tumbled along the floor. She drew up again near the other side of the hallway, far enough away from both walls to at least have some reaction time for the next attack. The pain in her side caused her to wince, and she tried to wrap her mind around what was happening.
She’d fallen for an illusion, she suspected her mind had been fogged, and now, she was fighting an evil spirit that was so powerful, it was nearly as strong as a corporeal person. Her kick hadn’t done nearly the damage it should have, and while the act of touching her had to be hurting her opponent, it was still pressing forward relentlessly. Velt had fought many a ghast and poltergeist before, and the strongest ones couldn’t have pulled off half of this. There was only a single other option, albeit one she was loathe to face.
“Wraith,” Velt whispered as she put her hand against the wound gently weeping blood down her side. She pressed her right hand to her temple, smearing the rest of the shallow cut’s drippings away with her knuckles. Wraiths were the darkest of spirits, ones fueled not just by anger and hate but by actual death. They evolved beyond poltergeists by capturing the terror of their victims in the moments of their demise. Velt had never really believed their existence was possible; however, she wasn’t the kind of person to deny what was right before her. Either it was a wraith, or it was a poltergeist so damned strong that the difference was academic. It didn’t change anything for her.
“Call me what you will, mortal. I wear many names, but all mean the same.”
Its voice came from in front of her as it slid free of its last attack position. Velt briefly thought it sounded like snakes writhing across a grave. She pressed her left hand hard against her rib wounds, cupping the hand so as not to spill too much blood on the floor.
“So, you’re claiming to be Death?”
“For you. For all, eventually.”
“Just one problem with that,” Velt said, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. “I’ve met the actual Death, and
he is nothing like you. For one thing, he isn’t such a dick, and for another—” Velt whipped her left hand forward, spraying the accumulated red fluid in the air and across the wraith’s body “—he’s not dumb enough to stand still and taunt.”
There were few hard and fast rules of magic and monsters a person could depend on, but one of them was the potency of blood. Blood was always vital; blood was always necessary; blood was always powerful. If Velt’s body was a hammer to spirits, then her blood was extra-strength acid.
The wraith screamed a horrible hissing wail as the red droplets struck its body, each spot immediately bubbling and smoking as its essence was scorched away from the central form. Velt didn’t wait for it to recover; she charged forward and swung with everything she had, the blood on her knuckles shredding the wraith’s outer shell as her fist drove deep into its chest. The wail intensified and Velt reared back for another blow. She never got the chance to deliver it; unfortunately, the wraith had already focused through the pain.
It snared her legs in its massive claws and lifted her easily into the air. Velt had a moment to appreciate the role reversal in being the one tossed about effortlessly, before the wraith slammed her forcefully into the crumbling, wooden floor. She passed painfully through it, her body continuing its descent until she finally came to a jarring stop and the world went black.
Chapter 5
Velt let out a soft groan as she swam through her mind and surfaced in the waking world. Judging by the way splinters were still raining down around her like a wooden shower, she hadn’t been out for more than a few seconds. Carefully, she tested her body for injury. She’d landed on her side, breaking her left arm and cracking what felt like about three ribs. Her spine and head were fine, which was surprising, given the length of the fall and the force with which she’d been flung. As Velt began to take in her surroundings, though, the source of her miraculous survival became sickeningly clear.
Beneath Velt’s bruised form was a human body, its torso crushed from the impact of the copper-haired girl falling on top of it. The face was twisted in a mask of pure terror, eyes bulging and mouth wrenched open in a never-ending scream. All of this was disturbing, but none of it would have affected someone with Velt’s experience. No, the part that turned her stomach was something different entirely.
It was Adrienne’s body she had landed on. Adrienne’s face twisted in horror, Adrienne’s skin that strange symbols had been carved into. Velt was only alive now, because no one had been there to stop her friend’s demise. She pulled herself slowly to her feet and looked beyond the twisted body of her friend, taking in the rest of the room.
The basement was concrete all around, bare save only for cobwebs and dust. The only door out was opposite Velt’s current location and hung slightly ajar from the frame. Around Adrienne’s corpse were candles that had burned down and a series of arcane marks that encircled her.
Velt took a ragged breath and felt her sternum protest. She mentally adjusted the injured rib count to four. The circle, the candles, and, of course, the fact that Adrienne’s ghost had appeared before her all pointed to this spirit, this wraith, being competent with magic. People often forgot that there was a reason corpses were blessed and stored on hallowed ground as quickly as possible. The physical shell and the soul were intertwined for so long that the wrong kind of person or thing could work all manner of mischief with access to a fresh body. Sometimes, they were used as vessels for foraging monsters. Other times, the spirits themselves were subjugated.
Velt had only heard of such things. Never had she experienced it, though there had been all manner of rumors among the fellow mediums when her mentor died. She never put stock in it, never believed any ghast or poltergeist could work such manner of wickedness on one as strong as him. This was different, though. This was right in front of her eyes.
She crouched down and began wiping her blood across the marks carved in to Adrienne’s face and hands. The wraith would need to recover after her assault, so she expected she had a little bit of time: probably not enough to get this job done, but that didn’t matter. Adrienne was a friend; Velt couldn’t leave her like this. Admittedly, she didn’t know much about magic; however, it stood to reason that whatever energies the wraith was using were still based in the spirit’s spectrum, so maybe her blood would disturb them. Or maybe it would do nothing. Velt was pretty much swinging blind.
After coating the marks in blood, Velt turned her attention to the floor. She kicked over the stubby little candles and dragged Adrienne’s corpse out of the circle of symbols. That done, she checked her friend’s mouth and eyes for any totems or items of power. She found a single hair on Adrienne’s tongue. Velt plucked it out and set it down across the room. Then she closed Adrienne’s eyes while her own stared at the shell of what was once a fellow medium.
“Sorry you got killed,” Velt said lamely, the sound of her own voice foreign as it reflected off the thick walls surrounding her. “You were a nice person to me, and if you had to go, I wish it had been more peaceful. I’ll help Abby where I can, but we both know Shel—”
There was a rippling across Adrienne’s form as her ghost emerged, hazy and unfocused at first, growing sharper as it ascended. It clawed its way forward, sparks of blue energy crackling off her fingers as they contacted the concrete. Adrienne stayed on all fours, hair dangling down and eyes facing the ground. Velt couldn’t even make out her face with the long, spectral hair tumbling down around it. She could hear her, though, hear the shredded voice that emerged with considerable effort.
“Abby,” Adrienne croaked. “Carol. Shel. Molly.”
“They’ll be okay,” Velt assured her. “I’ll get out of here and tell them you passed. I’ll soften the details, too.”
Adrienne shook her head weakly, her hair dancing about as she did. “Sent . . . me . . . to . . . them.”
Velt’s skin felt like ice. She’d thought it was only her who was in danger, that she could get away and come back to fight this thing when she was better prepared. If the others were on their way . . . well, Velt’s options became more limited. Pragmatism overcame fear or sentiment—they always did with Velt—and she addressed the first issue at hand.
“How long until they get here?”
“Not long. You were . . . closest.” Adrienne’s form was wavering as she struggled to keep focused.
“Can you tell me anything about this monster? Anything at all that might help?” Velt asked, her eyes sweeping the room. If she’d really managed to free Adrienne, then there was no way the wraith didn’t know. Sooner or later, it would be coming down here. She needed to be ready.
“Old one. Knows magic. Wants . . . needs us. Mediums.”
“Why us? This thing has more than enough power to manifest and fuck up some mortals.”
Adrienne slowly lifted her head, allowing Velt to see her ghostly face. Both eyes had been torn out and a sizable chunk of her cheek was missing. There were gouges taken out of her chest as well, along with a ragged chunk vacant on the side of her neck.
“Eats us. Eats souls. Says mediums are . . . the . . . the best.”
“Motherfucker,” Velt said, her hands balling up unconsciously. Killing someone was bad enough; binding their soul was an evil step above. But to destroy their spirit was something else altogether. It removed them from the cycle of life and death, stole away whatever came next. It ended them, in a way more permanent than any other. It was supposed to be nearly impossible to do. Even Velt’s ability of destruction merely unformed their energy and forced them to move on.
“Save them,” Adrienne begged weakly. “My daughter . . .”
“Your daughter will never see this place. I am going to wreck this wraith and make sure the others never set foot in this house. I promise you.”
Adrienne gave a weak smile, a small bit of comfort on her mutilated visage. “So kind.”
“That’s your bag; I’m just doing my job,” Velt assured her. “On that note, I should probably hurry. A
nything else you want me to know?”
“Need . . . help.”
“Nah, I got this one. You rest.”
“No . . . I need help.”
“Oh.” Velt felt her eyes try to moisten and fought back the sentiment. “Oh. Are you sure? You can hang around a bit, learn to change your looks, say some goodbyes . . .”
Adrienne shook her head, her hollow sockets staring directly in to Velt’s eyes. “Goodbye.”
Velt let out a sigh and twitched at the fresh wave of pain. She didn’t want to do this. She wanted to let the woman recover and take the path in her own time. Velt understood, though; she’d have to go wraith hunting soon and leave Adrienne alone. There was nothing to stop it from circling back and coming after what remained of her. Adrienne didn’t want that any more than she wanted to see her daughter while in this state. She wanted to go with dignity and peace. She wanted it over. And this was what Velt did.
Velt crouched down carefully and lifted her right arm. Adrienne lowered her head once more, eyeless sockets now staring at the ground. Velt would be fast; one good blow to the head should do it if Adrienne wasn’t trying to hold together. She steadied herself and took careful aim.
“Thank . . . you . . . Charit—”
Velt’s fist smashed Adrienne’s form and dissipated it before her sentence could be completed. There was a quick swirl of loving white smoke, and then nothing remained of the wispy woman. Velt carefully pulled herself to her feet and scanned the room to make sure the wraith hadn’t come for her yet.
“You know I hate that name,” Velt whispered to no one in particular. She walked back to Adrienne’s physical body and tore off strips of material from her long, flowery skirt. It was dangerous to take all this time, but not nearly as dangerous as fighting both a wraith and blood loss simultaneously, which was precisely what she would be doing if she didn’t bandage some of these cuts. Besides, she was beginning to suspect her opponent would wait until she emerged from the basement to attack. It was too open and spacious to accommodate surprise strikes like the wraith seemed to favor.
