Phantasm

by Phaedra Weldon

  He came out of Mom’s body at that point, and though he wasn’t solid, he sat on the edge of the bed. We faced each other. “Your father was the Ethereal Champion, Zoë. Being a Symbiont, I was created originally to man the front lines in the war between those that wanted the borders open and those that believed they should be shut. I didn’t care either way—I was a soldier and did what I was told to do.

  “The Irin fought the armies of the Phantasm.”

  “And the Irin lost?”

  He shrugged. “Not exactly. It was a stalemate. Mainly because the Phantasm cannot breach the border to the physical plane even if he wins. He can manifest and touch it in dreams through creatures there—those that have a bit of the Abysmal in them. Like you had. But in the end, the Irin were diminished, your father was gone, and the borders were sealed. The Bulwark is what they call the last stand.”

  I stared at him. I didn’t not believe him, but I didn’t really believe him either. “Are you like . . . talking about a war between Heaven and Hell?”

  “Those terms are human terms, Zoë. It’d be better if you didn’t limit yourself to such beliefs. The worlds as they exist are much broader, and the borders between what is perceived as good and evil aren’t as clear-cut.”

  “You sound like my mom.”

  “Those were her words. She’s a very . . . verbose woman.” He straightened. “Sometimes Irin can be changed, as you were changed. Our encounter was an accident.” He smiled, and it was a pearly white smile. I hated the fact that he was handsome. Damnit. “And sometimes Fate—the bitch—can smile, and something out of nature can be born. Like you.” He shrugged. “I changed you. And you changed your boyfriend.”

  Boyfriend?

  I shook my head. “Daniel?”

  He scowled. “No—the Guardian. He wasn’t born from an Ethereal, but he was touched by an Ethereal power. Madness and death would have been his future—having been touched by the Abysmal physically. But it was your touch that changed him. Just as I changed you.”

  “I . . . changed Dags?”

  I felt my heart skip on the memory of that night—in that basement—after accompanying Dags through the Abysmal in physical form. I could remember it all then—even Alice warning that my memory would be altered. Awakening in the hospital after the altercation in Bonville’s basement, I’d been unsure what was wrong with Dags then. The doctors couldn’t diagnose what was wrong with him. He would shift from lucid moments to a day or two unconscious. When he slept, he’d cry out and be afraid of everything.

  And then came the night he’d coded—and I’d gone to him.

  I had vague memories of power, of needing to help someone. I thought . . . somehow I’d dreamed that I’d saved Daniel.

  Was that only a dream?

  When released, Dags’d kept his distance from me for a while—even through what had happened with Bertram and Charolette, the two Rogue walkers—casualties of Rodriguez’s betrayal—who had taken my mother’s body, and that of Dr. Melvin Maddox.

  I’d only seen him once during that time, when I’d been in the hospital—again.

  Dags had been approached by Randall Kemp, head of SPRITE, and inadvertently given the man my name. I’d been a little irritated with Dags then. But after learning about Rhonda’s duplicity in everything, that March Knowles had been her uncle and she was a member of the Society of Ishmael, then the incident in the warehouse and Daniel refusing my calls—I’d have forgiven him anything. Having him come through that purple flame in the botanica assured me that I wasn’t alone.

  “. . . inevitably going to happen.”

  I blinked, angry that’d I’d allowed my mind to wander and missed what TC had been saying. “What?”

  “Pay attention!” TC looked more irritated than menacing as he sat back on the edge of the bed. “I have a limited amount of time. I haven’t eaten in a while, and I’m starved. The little spell your Guardian’s familiars are casting is chipping away at my capacity to maintain any sort of physical form.”

  All I caught in that was the word eaten. I remembered the way TC had tried to consume the soul of the Cruorem’s leader, like he’d tried to consume mine, like he’d tried to take William Tanaka’s soul that first night. “Don’t look at me—I’m not up for grabs right now.”

  “No, you’re not. I already had a peek in there,” and he reached down between his leather-entrenched legs to touch the rather large package there. “Though you are a bit frustrated. Haven’t had anything good since me, have you? Nothing will compare, doll. I’m the shit.”

  I felt my face flush red with heat. It was a mixture of rage and embarrassment. It’d taken a while to remember that long night out of my body, the one that cinched my transformation into a Wraith. The night he’d stolen my voice.

  TC’s smile beneath his shades was the pure definition of the verb “to leer.” “Ah, you do remember, don’t you? Nothing will ever compare to me.”

  “Shut the fuck up. I’m not fucking worried about you, or what’s happening to you. My only goal right now is to find my mother’s soul and bring it back.” I pushed myself up and stood in front of him. He didn’t rise from his seated position, so I was face-to-face with him. “And since it’s your fault she’s missing—you’re going to help me.”

  “Oh? What makes you think I give a fuck about that talkative bitch?”

  “Because you need me.” And I knew it was true the moment I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. My hunch was right. “It’s why you came back to me at the shop and risked being raked over the coals. You thought that by touching me again the way you had before, you’d regain your power as the Archer. But it didn’t work, did it? Instead, Dags took a piece of you, and now the familiars have a bit of power over your physical form.”

  I thought he was going to explode for a second there. His jaw clamped shut, and I could see the muscles working back and forth. He finally did stand, and again I was taken aback at how tall and menacing he could be.

  A dark eyebrow arched above his shades. “Who’s Dags?”

  “The Guardian?”

  “Oh.” He nodded. “But you’re right. I came to you to see for myself. I knew that if you were still capable of Irin power, then touching you could ignite our connection again.”

  I frowned. “Wait—Irin power?”

  “The power to shift out of the physical plane and into the other planes. As an Irin, you’re not limited to the physical. This is how you were when I found you.”

  I nodded. “So—then there’s something else wrong with me. It’s not that I lost my connection with you. I’ve lost connection period.”

  TC nodded. “Which caused me to fade as well. From the moment we touched, we became linked, Zoë, and from the moment we made love, and you pledged your undying love to me, we became one.”

  Bile rose to the top of my throat really fast. Images flashed in my mind’s eye again, of bodies entwined and a physical and mental ecstasy that only existed in a woman’s fantasies.

  Somehow I could stomach the idea that I’d made love to a Symbiont.

  But me pledging my undying love?

  Oh, puh-lease.

  “It doesn’t matter if you believe it, Zoë. You were the reason I gained cognitive thoughts, the reason I became an independent thinker, the reason I could resist an order given to me by either Rollins or the Phantasm. And the more our connection grew—the more you and I changed—the stronger I became.”

  I watched him, amazed at how at ease I was becoming. The truth was I was standing in front of a powerful Abysmal creature. And I was little more than a retail dropout. Just Zoë.

  “When you destroyed me on that rooftop, you only destroyed what essence I’d managed to make physical for this plane, but not what I’d become. I was still there, a small voice in your conscience. So when you made the deal with me and brought me back so that you could rescue that silly little girl, I emerged again—though not as strong. That proved to me that my power came through my connection to you.

&n
bsp; “You were the stronger one, and have continued to be. You leach Abysmal essence through me, Zoë. I’m that conduit, and I couldn’t stop you from doing it. When the two rogues released your inhibitions with those Eidolons, you grew even stronger, and so did I.”

  It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him—I could almost swallow his explanations—but—

  “So which is it? Is the Phantasm after you or me? Is it you because you’re my crazy straw to the Abysmal plane? Well, as it stands right now, neither one of us is a threat to anyone. Especially you, because—if I’m to believe you—you’re stuck in a fiftysomething-year-old woman. What exactly are you going to ruin for him?”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” he said. “I’m not the problem here—you are. You’re what he’s most afraid of. What you can eventually become if you lose your soul.”

  I blinked. “Me? What could happen if I lose my soul?”

  He sighed. “As an Irin, you would stand in his way between the borders, and he would never be able to cross over. That position is irritating enough to him. But it’s also the will of the Seraphim, not that he has much respect for those nutcases. But you as a Wraith? You would be the only creature of the Abysmal plane that could defeat him, replace him, hurt him. And he knows this. But he can’t touch you directly, so he’s found a way to isolate you, cause you to mentally silence yourself from me—ME—the only key to our survival. The link to the Abysmal.”

  This was going nowhere, and I wasn’t understanding any of it. I put my hands to my head. “Are you trying to tell me that the Phantasm has somehow created a block for me—made me simply a human again so the link between you and me is severed?”

  “Not severed, Zoë. Blocked. If the connection were severed, then this little talk couldn’t happen. You can still see some ghosts, like the one that’s lingering around the rock in your pocket. But others are now invisible to you because that piece of the mental plane is blocked. I think—I think the connection can only be severed if I’m destroyed. And if that happens—”

  “Then what are you talking about? What happens if you’re destroyed first?”

  The room grew physically cold, and I could see my breath. I looked around with wide eyes and watched as the shadows grew as if night were coming faster than the day could retreat.

  “The end, Zoë . . . and nothing more.”

  8

  The agreement

  I laughed.

  It was a nervous laugh, yeah. And it totally blew TC’s dramatic pause.

  But it was just so hokey.

  He crossed his arms over his chest again, and I put my hand to my mouth to stifle my near hysterics. “You care to tell me what’s so funny about Oblivion?”

  I coughed a little and waved at him before moving away to the foot of Mom’s bed. “Sorry . . . really. I spoiled your tagline, didn’t I?”

  “You think this is funny?” He turned to face me. “The Phantasm has somehow found a way to bounce you back to mere human, Zoë. That’s denying you your birthright.”

  “Birthright? You mean this Irin thing because my dad happened to be dead when he conceived me with Mom?”

  TC’s expression changed, and he smiled. “Yes. That in itself is a gift. The Irin are powerful, Zoë.”

  “Geez, Trenchie, don’t drool,” I quipped. “Look—Irin or not, my mom’s lost somewhere. And that’s because you took her.” I pointed at him.

  He opened his arms wide. “I’m sorry—I was pissed at you because you betrayed me before and ate all those Shadow People. I mean—I was starved, and you—no wait.” He lowered his arms. “It was one of those bitches that burned the contracts.”

  I remembered the scene from Bonville’s basement. Of feeling powerful. And very full. “I’ve got to find my mom.”

  “You’re not going to unless you either summon her back to her body or get your power back.” TC shrugged. “That’s the heart of it. And unless we work together, we’re both screwed.”

  He doubled over abruptly, clutching his middle.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. I didn’t really trust him. “What?”

  “Those meddling bitches—they’re trying to summon me back to them—”

  I smirked. “Sucks, doesn’t it? Being a bit powerless.”

  “If they destroy me, Zoë, they destroy the only link you have to become a Wraith again.”

  True dat.

  Maybe.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “But you said my birthright is to be Irin, which means I’m still an Irin. So even if I figure out what the Phantasm’s done to block the power, I’d still be able to shift between planes again. Which means I’d be able to find my mom. Without you.”

  He snarled at me. “You’d never survive without the Abysmal side, Zoë. It’s already touched your soul. And the Seraphim would never allow you to survive as an Irin.”

  Yadda, yadda, yadda. I kinda liked having this asswipe beg me for a change.

  And abruptly he was on his knees beside the bed, doubled over. And I was feeling a bit torn—Yeah I hated this asshole for everything he’d caused in my life. But truth be told, he’d also been the cause of my power. I’d been able to save a child because of the power he gave me. And he was right—about protecting myself better as a Wraith than as just an astral walker.

  I didn’t have Rhonda. Dags would do what he could to help me—that much I knew. But with TC’s knowledge of the Abysmal—

  “Okay—what did you have in mind? Working together?”

  He looked up at me and I could see myself in the reflection of his shades. “Do you trust me?”

  “Hell no.”

  “That’s good enough.”

  And before I could stop him, he was rushing up at me. I thought he was going to go all tentacles and octopus again, the veritable Abysmal squid.

  But he didn’t.

  There was a push against my chest.

  And then nothing.

  I was sitting at my desk, in Mom’s old house. The one we lived in before I graduated high school. I had a term paper due and of course I’d waited till the last minute to write it. I was always late—never on time—even in puberty.

  A ghost sat beside me, the old image of a little boy with a cap on his head. I’d seen it often when I was little, only I hadn’t remembered it. His name had been Bobby, and he’d been in the house before we moved in. He wasn’t happy that we were there, but he wasn’t lonely anymore.

  And with Daddy gone—and Mom working all the time—I wasn’t lonely when he was there either.

  “Whatcha doing?” he asked me, in that little echoey voice he’d always had.

  I glanced at him. “It’s a paper on the effect of the American Revolution on the country’s future economics.”

  “Sounds boring.”

  “It is.” I sighed and put my pen down. I wanted to use the typewriter, but Mom said not until I had it written on paper first. My thoughts down. ’Cause I had scattered thoughts. A lot. “What I want to write about is a love story.”

  Bobby made a face. “Bleck. Why a love story? That’s all soupy stuff.”

  I nodded but felt the nice warmth that thinking about some of the romance stories I’d been sneaking out of Mom’s bedroom gave me. I had memories of my mom and dad, being happy. Laughing and giggling. I could never figure out why he left, and knew it couldn’t be because of Mom, but because of me.

  He’d left because I’d done something wrong, and Mom would never tell me what it was. So I studied hard, and one day I wanted to go find my dad. And bring him home.

  “You shouldn’t think that stuff,” Bobby said. “About you and your dad. I mean, your daddy loved you.”

  I looked at Bobby with the best serious face I could make. “How could you know that, Bobby? You never met my dad.”

  “No, but I’ve seen the pictures. And I’ve seen the gifts.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’d say he loved you lots—especially to make you such a nice necklace.”

  I was confused at what Bobby w
as saying. Pictures? What picture? Gifts? What necklace? “What—what are you talking about?”

  “It’s all down there.” He pointed to the floor. “All in a box. I go through things at night when everyone’s sleeping. I learned how to move things—wanna see?” He jumped out of the chair, and his eyes twinkled.

  I shook my head. “No, no—well, yes, that’s great that you can do that. But—where down there? You mean in the—” I gulped. “The basement?”

  “Yeah. Wanna come see? Your mom’s not supposed to be home for a while. I can show you where they are.”

  Gifts? A necklace. From my dad? I wanted to—but I was deathly afraid of the basement. I hated going down there, even just to grab the laundry. There were voices down there, and bugs, and above all—spiders.

  I really hated spiders.

  And apparently Bobby was getting better at reading my mind. “Aw come on. It’s lots of light before dark. And you can turn the light on. I’ll be with you.”

  I wanted to—I really did. But I was just so—

  “You’re a scaredy cat!” Bobby jumped up and down as he pointed up at me. I was taller than him now. I’d continued to grow while he stayed small. Little. Frozen in time.

  And I wasn’t going to let some punk ghost tell me I was afraid—I already knew that. Maybe I could find some bug spray somewhere and spray all of the corners before I start moving things.

  “Come on!” Bobby said, and vanished. “I’ll race you there!” his disembodied voice called out to me.

  Oh damnit! I needed to get this paper written. But I also wanted to see what was down there and see if Bobby was lying. ’Cause if he was lying, I swore I was going to figure out how to do an exorcism and banish his little butt.

  I went downstairs, very aware of the stairs creaking. I had memorized where each creak was and knew how hard I could step on those spots. Once in the kitchen, I saw the note from Mom, reminding me to turn the oven on. I was over an hour late doing that—so dinner wouldn’t quite be done when she got home.

  After flipping it on, and checking to make sure the timer was set, I pulled out the cookie jar—a replica of R2-D2 someone had done in a ceramics class and Mom had bought at a garage sale—and grabbed a couple of cookies. I took a Fanta Orange out of the refrigerator, then grabbed the flashlight from the standard kitchen I-don’t-know-where-it-goes-so-I’ll-put-it-in-here drawer.