We stopped outside door number 220. I glanced at it, a cold chill stealing its way down my back. Even from outside the room, I could feel Diago in there. The energy was cold and wet, sticky like a frog’s tongue. Peggin had disappeared into a side room, and now she came out, wearing booties over her shoes and a white smock. She handed the rest of us booties and masks.
“If he’s as sick as Corbin says, then we don’t want to chance exposing him to anything.”
“My tools aren’t sterilized, Peggin.”
She glanced at the doctor.
“Good thought, but I doubt if it matters at this point.” He turned to me. “Do what you have to. If we just leave him be, Mike won’t last another hour. Diago works that fast.”
Ellia set her violin case down and pulled out the instrument. The wood gleamed with a rich luster beneath the stark fluorescent lights. I opened Lila’s bag and looked at the jumble. I was wearing the necklace. Rest Easy powder wouldn’t work—Diago couldn’t be dispelled to the Veil. But the wand spoke to me, as did the crow feather fan. I removed them, then snapped the latch shut on the bag and handed it to Peggin.
“Guard this. Don’t let anybody else touch it.”
She nodded. “No problem.”
“Bryan, you stay here with Peggin and the doctor. Ellia and I will go in alone.” I hated taking charge when I didn’t know what I was doing, but this was the way a spirit shaman worked. If I gave control to Ellia now, I’d lose confidence. I had to step up and take the reins. It was my place. “Ellia, start your playing.” I paused, feeling so out of my league. “What . . . do I tell you what song to play?”
“Normally you would, but don’t worry. I’ll know the drill with Diago. My song will allow you to see him easier. It’s not a song for the dead, but one to help illuminate the dead. These are things you’ll learn as we go along. But remember the tunes—it’s important that you come to know my melodies.”
She lifted the bow and set it to the strings, and began to trill over the notes. They ricocheted off the walls, like drops falling in a waterfall—each one making a soft sound that joined with the others to produce a cascade of sound darting over the rocks.
The energy began to rise around me and I caught my breath—the music was shifting something in the room. My inner sight began to open up like a camera lens as I began to notice a sweep of movement through the halls. Misty shapes wandered back and forth. Spirits walked the halls—spirits I could normally see if I focused my energy but now were just as clear as Peggin and Bryan and Corbin. They took no notice of us. They were the Wandering Ones, the Mournful, those who had died over the years and either had elected to remain in the hospital or had forgotten they were dead and now traversed the spirit world, confused and lost.
I gripped the wand in one hand and the fan in the other as Corbin opened the door for us. I stepped into the room first, Ellia following me, her bow flying over the strings.
The room seemed oddly out of phase—a blur of two worlds colliding.
The man in the bed was hooked up to so many machines that he looked cybernetic. I stared at him, gauging his energy. A swirl of mist seethed around him, exiting his body as Diago drained him. I followed the trail of mist and vapor and found myself turning to the far corner. There, crouched in the shadows, was the Scuffler under the Bed.
He was tall and long, gaunt, like a walking stick insect or a walking skeleton. His skin stretched over the bones, paper thin and flaking, and covered with rashes and sores. Diago’s eyes sank into the sockets, dark purple circles bruising his cheeks beneath them. He wore a top hat over long ratty hair that coiled down his back. He wore no shirt, showing his long, jointed arms, and his ribs pushed against his chest. His pants were so loose that they barely stayed up, kept on by a belt cinched to the last hole. Diago’s tongue flickered out like a lizard’s as he inhaled the stream of energy coming from the man in the bed. He sucked it in with a greedy smile.
Diago suddenly seemed to realize I was watching him. He slowly rose, standing on the tips of his toes, and leaned backward from his waist at a ninety-degree angle as he twisted his head to hold my gaze. His gaze was hypnotic and beckoning. As mesmerized as I was repulsed, I found myself stumbling forward a few steps, before Bryan’s warning echoed in my head and I managed to stop myself.
“Hold steady”—a whisper behind me. Ellia changed her song and a dark melody poured out of her violin. The music energized me and I could hear the cawing of crows at my shoulder. Averting my eyes from Diago, I focused on the wand and the feathered fan. The crows screeched in my ear. Holding up the fan, I swept it three times. A faint breeze sprang up, crackling around him. I could see pale sparks light the rippling air that had come from the fan. The shriek of crows grew louder.
Diago pulled back with a hiss. “Spirit shaman . . .” His words flew by on the crackle of autumn leaves, and he crouched, tiptoeing toward the bed. “Leave me with my prize.”
I shook my head. “I will not allow you to claim him. Go back to your thicket. Go back to your nest.”
“You cannot destroy me, spirit shaman.” Diago’s eyes gleamed with the glow of decay and forest mold. A cunning smile crept across his lips.
“No, but I can cut off your supply, you freak of nature.” I pocketed the fan and, with my right hand outstretched, I moved forward. I thrust my left arm into the air, holding the wand high. Ellia’s music shifted again, her violin emulating a drumbeat.
Diago glared at her. “Old woman, go home. Leave me to my feast or one day I will come for you.”
I stepped between them. “Not as long as I stand as spirit shaman in this town. Go home, Diago. Go home to your nest and hide in your lair, nursing your hunger!” The force was building, though I had no clue where I was drawing it from. But, as with Betty’s spirit in the cemetery, I could feel the power rising. I jumped toward him as a bolt of energy spiraled down my wand, into my body, and out my other hand. Focusing it squarely at Diago, I let loose a pale mesh of violet light to wind around him like a lasso.
He screamed, struggling as he backed away from the bed. As the light faded, he turned back to the patient and a huge crest of mist rose from Mike’s aura. This would finish him off if I didn’t stop Diago. Not knowing what else to do, I rushed forward and slammed the tip of my wand against his back.
Instead of passing through him like it would most spirits, the wand hit solid flesh.
Oh shit.
Diago roared, spinning to face me. He loomed over me and I cringed, suddenly aware that I was out of options. Grabbing me by my right wrist, he squeezed and I cried out as the bones begin to give under his unnatural strength.
“I will teach you what it means to disrupt me, girl . . .” Diago’s tongue flicked out, long and snaking. As it touched my cheek, a burning pain knifed through me. I screamed.
Ellia had stepped up her music, and she was moving closer, attempting to drive him back with her playing, but she wasn’t strong enough to take him on by herself.
Just then, the door burst open and Bryan rushed in. I caught sight of him, his eyes blazing, and then—the next moment—a sparkling shower of color surrounded him and a massive wolf stood in his place, growling at Diago as it slowly inched forward, eyes flashing ice blue, rimmed with black, that glowed like polished jewels.
Diago let out a hiss—“Shapeshifter”—and let me go in his haste to back away. The wolf bounded past me, his jaws snapping at air as Diago spun into a whirl of dark mist and smoke and vanished. The next moment, Ellia and I were facing the wolf, alone in the room. Shaking, I started to take a step back, but then—another shift in the air, and Bryan was crouched on the floor in front of me.
Ellia set down her violin. “So, shapeshifter, you have decided to introduce your true self and join the fray. I told you the fight would come to your doorstep and so it has, though sooner than I predicted.”
I could barely hear her speak, my thou
ghts were racing so quickly. Bryan was a shapeshifter? And then, another thought hit me—was he my shapeshifter? My guardian? And that thought opened up a whole new batch of questions.
CHAPTER 8
You’re a shapeshifter?” I started to back away, instinct taking over—after all, he’d been one freaking huge wolf just a moment before. But then I thought, no, he’d also saved my life and helped chase Diago away. I steadied myself.
“We’ll discuss that in a bit.” He slowly rose to his feet. “First things first. How is the patient?”
I shook my head, bringing my focus back to where it belonged. “I don’t know—Ellia, call Corbin, please?”
As she peeked out into the hall, I edged my way over to the corner where Diago had been hiding. The spirit was the reason for Whisper Hollow’s rule number four: Try not to end up in the hospital. Because the hospital wasn’t always the place of recuperation and healing it was supposed to be, thanks to his appetite.
Corbin entered the room and examined Mike. After a moment, he pulled the stethoscope out of his ears and straightened up. “He took some damage, but I think we will be able to pull him through now. I wish there were a way of keeping Diago from returning. He’s got a taste for Mike’s life force now. Do either of you know of a good warding sigil or spell?” He turned to Ellia and me. “Security sure as hell can’t do anything about him.”
“I’ll look through my grandmother’s Shadow Journal, but offhand, I don’t know what to tell you.” I shook my head. “I’m still new at this, Corbin—very new. While I worked the ghost hunting circuit in Seattle, mostly I cleansed houses of the Mournful or the occasional Haunt. I have never had dealings with spirits like this before.”
“But you have, child.” Ellia spoke softly. “When you were little . . . don’t you remember the Shadow Man?”
I froze as a cold snake of fear wrapped around my throat. Something . . . the Shadow Man had been dangerous and terrifying . . . but I couldn’t place him. “It won’t come back—I know the name and I feel fear, but . . . What about him?”
“I can’t tell you, because your grandmother only mentioned it in passing, but I remember her mentioning that you met a Shadow Man and how terrified she was for you. I’m afraid this is one of those memories you’ll have to unearth on your own. I can only be the catalyst.” She lifted her violin. “Doctor, I can play a song to protect the room for the rest of the night. Tomorrow, I’ll have Ivy come over and set some wards. She’s good at that. They will help, though against a spirit like Diago, it’s impossible to have any permanent effect.”
“Thanks . . . until then, your song will have to do. And I will have a nurse watch over him the rest of the night. Can you be on call for a while, in case the Scuffler returns?” He jotted down a notation on the man’s file.
“I have no problem with that. Kerris?” Ellia turned to me.
“I’m good with being on call.” As we walked out of the room, I gave one last look toward Mike. He was breathing easier and his energy was secure again—there was none being siphoned off, as far as I could tell.
“I’ll just help Corbin a moment,” Peggin said. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
When we were in the hall, I dropped to the bench. I was exhausted, wrung out like a wet rag. “What should we do next?”
“Let me call Gareth to keep him in the loop. I can’t use a cell phone in the hospital, so I’m going to ask the desk to let me use their guest phone. Wait here till I return.” She strode off down the hall. How she had so much energy after what we’d gone through eluded me.
Speaking of . . . I glanced at Bryan, who was regarding me quietly. “Shapeshifter, huh?” So that was why he had used the word clan when talking about his father.
“You have a problem with that?” He stood beside me, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
I considered his question. I’d been brought up to fear Skinwalkers, Native American shapeshifters. And I knew that various forms of shape changers existed—under one name or another. Truth was, shapeshifters were a worldwide phenomenon. And there were differing tribes and clans of them, all with their own unique abilities. Some were as evil as they came, others not at all. My immediate reaction was concern, but I pushed it aside as I remembered him jumping between Diago and me, knocking the spirit aside.
And then . . . there are the shapeshifters who guard the spirit shamans . . . The thought wouldn’t quit running through my mind.
“You saved my life, Bryan.” I gazed up at him, my voice soft. “You could have let him attack me . . . feed off me, but you didn’t. You exposed what you are in order to save me. And for that, I will forever be grateful. So, no, I don’t have a problem with it. I’d like to know more, though. I’d like to understand you better.”
He was suddenly sitting beside me, searching my face with a question I couldn’t quite place. But the energy had thickened between us, and I couldn’t look away from him.
“If you understand me better, it means you let me step into your world, Kerris. It means you open the door, knowing that once I come in, I won’t be leaving. There are consequences for that, and not all of my own making.” His voice was husky and I realized his face was mere inches away from mine.
As if in a dream, feeling like I was falling over the edge of a cliff willingly, I whispered, “I think I’ve already dragged you in.”
Who moved first, I don’t know. But the next moment his lips were on mine and he was holding me, one arm around my waist, the other holding the back of my head as he explored my mouth. His chest pressed against mine, warm and strong and muscled, and his arms held me firmly. I inhaled a deep, rich scent off him—the smell of cinnamon and cedar, of the mist rolling through the trees and strong rum and power.
My lips parted and he gently slid his tongue between them, and then the kiss exploded into a frenzy and all I could think about was that only the thin material of my shirt stood between his fingers and my bare skin, and how much I wished that barrier weren’t there. The chasm between us blurred and I felt myself melt into him as he entered my psyche. There was no separation, no division between us as our connection buoyed us up, darker and deeper with every passing second. Shaking, we pulled apart. He looked as dazed as I felt. I’d never felt such passion in a kiss before—never this much intensity.
“What was that?” His voice trembled. “Did you . . . I just . . . Kerris . . .” He cupped my chin with his hands and gazed into my eyes.
“Is it always like this with your people?” I could barely contain my breath. I was still panting and I tried not to shift on the bench, I was so wet and hungry for him.
He shook his head. “No. It’s passionate, yes, but I’ve never . . . Kerris, I’ve never felt myself merging like that with anybody. Ever.”
“What are you two up to?” Peggin emerged from the hospital room, slipping out of her white coat. She looked tired.
I gently disentangled myself from Bryan, not sure what to say.
He stroked my arm, then turned to her with a smile. “Just getting to know each other better, it seems. How’s the patient?”
“Mike should be fine if we can keep Diago off him the next few days.” She shuddered. “I hate that spirit. He’s taken so many over the years. Your grandmother and Ellia would come in and set what wards they could, but we’ve never been able to keep him out.”
I frowned. “If Lila was able to set up wards, there’s bound to be something about it in her Shadow Journal. I’ve got some late-night reading to do.” With a sideways glance at Bryan, hungry to see if we could re-create the passion that had ignited between us, I let out a shaky sigh. “I wonder if Ellia’s gotten through to Gareth yet. Speak of the devil . . .”
Ellia was striding back from the nurse’s station, a somber look on her face. The soft tapping of her boots against the floor and the swish of her cape were the only sounds in the hallway beyond the soft hum of the air condi
tioner and the static white noise all hospitals seem to have.
“Gareth says it’s fairly quiet out. I suppose we’re done for the night. Kerris, at some point, you need to go have a talk with both Penelope and Veronica. You’ll have to come to terms with them and their subjects at some point. Better sooner than later.” She sat on the bench that was against the opposite wall. “Though I’d advise leaving that little chat for another day. At least we took care of tonight’s problem.”
“I’m not champing at the bit to go hunting around Veronica’s lair right now, I’ll tell you that for certain. Or Penelope’s tomb.” I glanced at the clock. I couldn’t wear watches; I stopped them cold. I had finally gotten the clue after the fifth watch I bought in six months had died on me.
“Ellia, I need to tell you something we found out today.” Not at all sure if I was doing the right thing, I told Ellia about my mother’s spirit and the jacket. “I think my grandfather may have had something to do with her death. I think that’s what he might have been going to tell you about the day he and Lila died.”
Ellia paled. “Then it’s true. Your mother is dead.”
“Do you know anything about this?” If she’d been holding out on me, I wasn’t going to be a happy camper. I was getting awfully tired of pulling the secrets about my life out of the woodwork, one painful nail at a time.
She ducked her head. “We didn’t know . . . not for sure. But Ivy and I suspected your grandfather might have had something to do with her disappearance.” Ellia’s face fell and she crumpled against the wall. “If he did, then rest easy that your grandmother never knew all of those years. Though, perhaps at the end . . . maybe she knew by the time they were coming to see us. I suppose we should have said something, but . . . Duvall was a powerful man with powerful connections. Making an enemy of him entailed severe consequences.”
I glanced around the hall, suddenly uncomfortable discussing the situation in public. “Come on, let’s get back to the car if we’re done here.”
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