by Catie Rhodes
The mantle responded but without its usual snap. The world brightened a little but not with the ethereal glow I was used to. My power gathered, weak and thready, but better than nothing at all. I aimed at the Chase thing and let go. The thing holding me grew more solid, its arms stronger.
The power flowed from me to the Coachman. I went limp with disappointment. It was no use. The Coachman took another gulp of my power and pulled me closer, opening his mouth for a kiss. Something wriggled in his mouth. My reason fell away, and I howled like an animal.
From far away, too far away, came a raven’s caw. Orev’s bright, simple presence reached out for me. I held onto it, knowing if I let go, this thing would enter me and eat me from the inside out, the way it tried to do earlier this afternoon. It would get into my thoughts again, turn them on me, and I’d burn alive as I relived the worst moments of my life.
Bit by bit, I wrangled control of my emotions. Again, I pulled on the black opal, hoping for enough juice to send this thing back to hell. This time I found a thread of power and wrapped my consciousness around it. The magic from the earth prickled in my skin. I gave the specter a mental shove, straining so hard it hurt in my sternum.
The facade of Chase melted and rippled away, replaced by the Coachman, wide jaw framing thick lips set in a sneer. His broad forehead and thick brow shadowed his small, mean eyes. Moonlight shone off his Victorian vest and ascot. I recognized the style from the costumes people used to wear to Gaslight City’s Heritage and History Week celebrations.
“What do you want?” I used my waning power to keep him from worming his way inside me. My muscles trembled, but I pushed myself to stay strong.
“You.” His voice vibrated inside my head and against my chest. He tightened his grip.
I couldn’t figure it out. A ghost who kidnapped a human, who took on the forms of other ghosts, needed massive amounts of energy. He needed even more energy to hold me like he was. Where was he getting it? There was no way I could try to see inside him. It took every bit of energy I had to keep him from getting inside me. A second’s slip, and he’d have me. This time, there’d be no Mysti to get him out of me.
The caws came closer. I shook with the strain of holding off this ghost.
He leaned close and tried to kiss me. I turned my head away, nearly losing my grip and allowing him inside. I shook with my struggle. Then Orev hit him, claws digging in.
The ghost fought, arms pinwheeling. Earlier in the day, Orev had pulled the ghost away from me with no problem. Now the raven struggled, wings flapping uselessly. The ghost spindled energy from somewhere, his form growing more solid by the second.
The sound of running footsteps came from behind me. Finn and Dillon. I couldn’t have them here. I yelled without turning, “Go away.”
“Throw the salt now,” Cecil yelled from farther away. Granules peppered my arms and the back of my neck, but the salt hit the ghost too. It broke his hold enough for the bird to gain control and lift him off the ground.
An angry howl filled my head. My head popped the way it did when the altitude changed, and my eardrums rattled with the noise. I sank to my knees, hands over my ears.
“I’ll get you. You can’t escape from me.” The ghost’s shouts vibrated in my teeth.
The ghost didn’t so much disappear as it broke into at least a dozen little pieces. They floated off in different directions. I focused on one of them and tried to engage it. It shoved me away. Too weak to fight, I had to let go. Before I did, I realized the spirit belonged to a woman, not a man. That confused me. The Coachman was male. I was sure of it.
Finn and Dillon surrounded me, both shouting questions. I couldn’t hear them over my ringing ears but had enough sense to know they weren’t asking about me. They wanted to know if I was able to get information about Zora. I shook my head. Their shoulders fell, and they stared at each other, looking for all the world like two kids who’d just realized they were grownups and didn’t want to be.
“You all right?” Cecil joined us, breathing hard, one hand on his chest.
I nodded and leaned over to put my hands on my knees. The exhaustion was worse this time, and a headache burned at the back of my neck.
“Lucky you bought your ghost hunting kit.” I tried to smile at my great-uncle.
“And lucky I watch a lot of TV. That’s where I got the idea for the salt.” Cecil took my arm and led me back toward the golf cart. He had to help me inside it. We headed back for camp.
“What are you going to do next?” Dillon didn’t so much ask a question as she demanded an answer.
I only knew one place to turn. “My bosses are an investigator and a witch. They’ll have some ideas.”
Before long, they had me at my car. The crippling fatigue had ebbed enough for me to get myself inside it. I drove back to The Woodlands, this time too distracted to enjoy the tall trees and cloudless night.
8
I ATTEMPTED the drive through the spider’s web of asphalt roads to The Woodlands without GPS and got lost a couple of times. An hour later, I pulled into Mysti and Griff’s driveway.
The porch light glowed like a lighthouse across a turbulent sea. I needed to thank Mysti for leaving it on for me. She did every time I was out after dark. It reminded me of the way Memaw cared about me.
Mixed with my gratitude lurked emotions that disturbed me. Here I was, past thirty, needing, wanting, another adult to watch out for me. Did I trust my own judgment so little? Maybe so. I did some pretty stupid things from time to time.
Mysti met me at the door. “Oh good. Griff and I were just about to go to bed, but we wanted to hear what you found out.”
We sat in the living room on Griff’s cold leather furniture. Mysti heated up some milk and served it in mugs. I didn’t realize how cold I was until my lips touched the warm liquid. Between sips, trying to ignore the growing need to sleep, I filled Mysti in on what little Cecil told me about the spell. Then I told them about the Coachman’s kidnapping of Zora and his appearing as Chase.
“The worst part?” I directed the question to the shocked faces of my friends, not really expecting an answer. Griff tried to nod but only managed a tip of his chin. “I could feel the mantle trying to help me, but it was like when you try to cram too much stuff into a too small container. It hurt. Bad.”
Mysti glanced at her mug of milk and set it aside, a sick expression on her face. “Because that’s almost exactly what’s happening. That crack was small, tiny. If more of the mantle tried to go through it, it would be like pouring too much liquid into a small funnel.”
“Does that make it easier for the Coachman to steal her power?” Griff gulped down the rest of his milk, his eyes bright and awake. He thrived on fixing problems and would probably lie awake the rest of the night working on this one.
Mysti groaned. “Probably. And now that he’s fed off Peri Jean three times, he’s gained a taste for her.” She curled her legs around her and draped one arm over them, hugging them to her. “This is so terrible.”
“It gets worse.” I explained, in halting words, about Jadine’s vision of the Coachman sacrificing an infant and bargaining with a goat man for immortality. “But when he died, he should have been confined to wherever he stowed his soul.”
Griff leaned forward, eyes crackling with energy. “Then it’s our job to find how he got out. Somewhere in that story is the way to get rid of him again.”
The memory of what I saw in the old schoolhouse flooded back. I’d gotten so focused on the horror of the Coachman tricking and attacking me, I’d nearly forgotten. “I found where someone did a spell, right near where the Coachman posed as Chase and attacked me.”
Mysti rose and began collecting the empty mugs. “If we combine our gifts, we might be able to see what kind of spell it was, maybe even who was involved.” She waved off my offer of help and disappeared into the kitchen. Water ran in the sink, and the dishwasher door squealed open.
Griff stood and paced the living room, hand over h
is mouth. He muttered to himself behind his hand. “There’s something else, right on the edge of my mind.” He paced some more.
Mysti came back into the room, sat down on the couch, and watched. She fisted one hand and leaned her cheek on it. Her eyelids drooped and slid shut. Her elbow slid off the spot where she’d anchored it on the armrest. She yelped into surprise and sat up straight.
Griff stopped mid-stride. “Maybe it’ll come to me if I lie down.” He went into their bedroom and shut the door without so much as a goodnight to either of us.
Mysti leapt off the couch. “Goodnight.”
I headed for the stairs. “Same to you.”
It wasn’t until I lay down in bed and began drifting off to sleep that I remembered the way the Coachman broke apart into little pieces, how the one piece I connected with didn’t seem like him at all. No answers came, and I fell asleep thinking it over.
I woke after only an hour to the sound of Zora crying. The crying got louder and closer until it vibrated my teeth. It was coming from inside my head. Some part of me recognized it as Zora. It went on and on until I wanted to scream.
“It’s going to be all right,” I whispered. “I’ll come get you.” But I didn’t know if I’d ever find Zora. All I could do was listen to her cry and worry.
LOUD 80S MUSIC blasting from next door woke me again after dawn. I groaned and checked the time. Barely past eight. Unreal. I flipped off the covers, slid my feet into my house shoes, and went to the window to glare out.
The view of the next-door neighbor’s poolside bar greeted me. He sat in a lounge chair wearing sweats with the hood pulled over his head, a beer bottle pinched between his first and second fingers. The idiot raised one hand in a wave. He knew we could hear the music, knew it was annoying, and didn’t care.
I turned away, fantasies of using my magic to short out his stereo dancing in my head. Mysti would never approve. She’d talk about karma and tolerance. She’d tell me the irritation was the price of all the good stuff the city had to offer. Maybe so, but the idea of living here long term made my heart hurt.
Much as I loved her and Griff, it was past time for me to figure out my next living arrangements. I’d sacrificed so much to find the Mace Treasure. Might as well use some of the money on making my life pleasant. The problem? Finding a place where I could commit to staying more than a month or two.
I wandered downstairs and found Mysti, Griff, and a bleary-eyed Brad sitting at the wrought iron and glass breakfast table. They all turned to watch my approach but said nothing until I sat down at the table with a cup of coffee and one of the doughnuts Griff always bought on Saturday mornings.
“I was right.” Griff took a bite of his bear claw. “It hit me in the middle of the night.”
Mysti yawned. “So he got up, turned on all the lights, and rummaged around for a place to write it down. Then he woke me to send an email.”
“Are you going to let me tell this my way?” Griff waved one hand at Mysti for her to shut up. She shook her fist at him. He pretended not to see. “Today, you and Mysti are going to research the Coachman. It’s obviously a regional piece of folklore, maybe an urban legend. There’s bound to be documentation.”
“This is where I come in.” Mysti held up her hand to Griff. “One of my Tarot clients studies local folklore. Last night, Griff had me send her an email to see if she can meet with us.” Mysti smoothed her napkin out. “She sent a reply early this morning offering to meet us on her lunch break. She’s a little out there, but she’s sincere.”
I nodded my thanks and forced down a bite of doughnut, too nervous to enjoy it the way I usually did. “You aren’t going?” I asked Griff. He always asked the best questions and had a talent for getting information out of people.
“I got a call from a client this morning. Could mean big bucks. I just can’t join the two of you.” Griff took a sip of his coffee. “Let’s talk about what we hope to get out of this information.”
Mysti pulled her robe tighter around her. The house, elegant with its high-ceilings and stone floors, was cold as a hooker the day before payday. “The Coachman has called you by name, your full name, has he not?” She waited for me to nod, and I did. “See if we can find out his real name. I think we can use it against him.”
Griff gave Mysti his nod of approval. “Look for ideas on where he may have taken Zora. A ghost can’t hide a corporeal being.”
Was Zora still alive? I didn’t see how a ghost could take care of a little girl, especially one Zora’s age. “Have you ever heard of a ghost kidnapping a person?”
“Not a ghost. Other entities, yes.” Mysti watched my face as though she knew there was more to my question.
“I’m worried about her having something to eat, staying warm.” Zora’s face appeared behind my eyes. I remember you from before. Way in the back of my mind, terrified wails started up. My teeth snapped together. The sound cut off.
“You okay?” Mysti squinted at me from across the table. I nodded.
Brad drained his coffee, eyes clearer than when I first sat down, and spoke for the first time. “Peri Jean’s got a good point. A ghost’ll just let the little girl starve or die of exposure.” He propped his elbows on the table. Mysti swatted him, and he removed them.
“Tell me something.” Griff turned to Brad. “Do you make it a goal each day to be so encouraging? Or does it just naturally flow from you?”
“Don’t be mean to my brother.” Mysti’s voice rose. No matter how awful Brad acted, she’d defend him to her last breath.
Brad gave Griff a triumphant smile and put his elbows back on the table. “If the folklore expert is that Tyler chick, I want to go with you and Peri Jean.”
I tuned out their banter so I could fully focus on worrying about Zora. Mysti rose from the table. I reached for her sleeve. “Wait.”
She took one look at my face and plopped back into the chair, nearly leaning over the table. “Tell me.”
I did. I went through the way the Coachman broke into little pieces but stopped as I tried to describe the female entity. I was still missing something big. It wouldn’t come out. Finally I waved my hand in frustration.
Brad rubbed the stubble on his chin. “That makes sense. If a bunch of ghosts band together, you get a supercharged ghost like the Coachman. I still think if we find out his name, we can break up their little party.”
“But the spell in the old schoolhouse. Zora’s kidnapping.” Who was I kidding? I couldn’t even articulate it. How did I expect to put it together? Then it clicked, at least partially. “He has humans helping him.” I struggled with all the threads again but still couldn’t tie anything together.
“Either way, there’s a trail leading back to him. Ghosts, humans, whatever.” Griff checked his watch and stood. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
Mysti gathered the dishes from the table. “We do too. Bradley, if you’re going, be ready in an hour. No excuses.” She crossed the room and stared out the window, glaring at the source of the loud music. “I can’t believe this guy. We ought to make his stereo short out.”
“Really?” I hurried to stand next to her at the window.
“Don’t you dare.” She continued to stare into the gray day. “You know something?” Her tone of voice indicated she didn’t expect an answer, so I didn’t bother to give her one. “The Coachman wants to be resurrected. He needs Zora because she can raise the dead. I get that. But he needs you too. I wonder why that is.”
“Do you think his history is going to help us figure that out?” I didn’t see how.
Griff joined us, also staring at the source of the noise coming from next door. “Know your enemy like you know yourself. Sun Tzu.” He stepped out into the backyard, walked across the cobblestone courtyard, and shouted something through the fence. The music shut off.
AN HOUR LATER, we left for the library, Mysti driving. We were to meet Mysti’s contact at The Woodlands Waterway, a place neither Mysti nor I had ever visited. Brad said he to
ok dates there occasionally. He sat in the passenger seat to navigate. Mysti coasted down the right hand lane that emptied onto a larger, four-lane road.
“You gotta speed up, Sis.” Brad put his hand on his sister’s knee and pushed down. Mysti would have smote me, and righteously, for pulling such a stunt. But from Baby Brother? She ignored it and went along.
I buckled my seatbelt and held tight to the oh-shit bar as Mysti swung into traffic, speeding up to sixty miles per hour to merge onto the busy road. I said a silent prayer we wouldn’t have to get onto the freeway. My asshole might chew a hole in my panties if we did.
Shopping centers and entrances to subdivisions flashed past. I paid close attention to what I saw but knew there was no way I’d remember if we passed anything I’d want to explore. With a population fifty times bigger than Gaslight City’s, The Woodlands was my first dose of living somewhere other than a small town. I’d thought Nacogdoches was a large town when I lived there. It had been Hicksville compared to this place.
A suburb of Houston, thirty-some-odd miles away, The Woodlands was home to warrens of housing subdivisions full of identical, mostly fancy, abodes. The first month I lived with Griff and Mysti, I went to the wrong house on three separate occasions. One lady called the rent-a-cop hired to patrol the neighborhood. The off-duty deputy escorted me to Griff’s house and then made sure I belonged there.
And the neighborhood rules. Sheesh. The deed restrictions for Griff and Mysti’s subdivision could have taken up a law library. I knew because Mysti and I printed a copy after the Christmas light fiasco.
Mysti and I decorated the house for Christmas, which she called Yule, and thought it very pretty. A certified letter came a few days later informing us we had three too many items standing on the front lawn and we couldn’t string lights on the shrubbery. The letter made vague threats about removing our indiscretions and billing the homeowner for the service.
