A Song of Redemption

by Lillian I Wolfe

  “Don’t talk to me about guts,” I shot back angrily. “I have been through more in the past year than you can probably imagine. I have guts, but I am not keen on ending up in prison or dead.”

  She jerked her head back. “Wow! Prison? Really? For getting justice for Saffi and me. Do you really think you’d get convicted?”

  “I’ve been told to leave it to the authorities. They’re doing what they can. Besides, I have bigger problems. Remember the big black blobs? They’re winning.” I spat it out at her.

  She pretended to study her nails, which looked like they’d just had a manicure. Did ghosts have a beauty parlor? “Look, I know they’re tough, and I know you’re worried and frightened by them. But you’re tough, too, and you’ve got a secret weapon.”

  “A secret weapon?” I echoed. “Tell me what that might be.”

  A wicked grin bloomed as she whispered, “It’s a secret. But if you help me, I will tell you.”

  “Zoe, that’s blackmail.” I frowned at her, angry that she’d pull this.

  “It’s important to you and getting Nick prosecuted is important to me.” She drifted off the coffee table and rose with her legs crossed until she was about two feet above it. “You help me, and I’ll help you. I just put a time limit on it.”

  “You shit,” I muttered wanting to take a swipe at her smug face. Knowing it wouldn’t do any good, I made a slapping motion at her to vent my frustration.

  She laughed. “Is it a deal, angel girl?”

  I took a deep breath. Did she actually know something that would help me or was she bluffing? “These are high stakes, Zoe. Answer a question for me, and I’ll agree. Are there any of the shades on your side of the light?”

  She hesitated a moment, her eyes thoughtful. “I haven’t seen any where we are. Others have seen them before crossing over, but we don’t talk about it much.”

  Relieved that at least the yiaiwa hadn’t seemed to breach the tunnel, I nodded my head. “Deal. I’ll work on getting something set up as soon as I can. But I do have a few real-life priorities, like work, paying the rent–things you didn’t have to worry about. So it may be a while. How will you know?”

  She smiled, her face looking almost angelic except for sly twinkle in her eyes. “I’ll know. Trust me.”

  She snapped her fingers and vanished.

  I stared at the empty spot and wondered if I had really spoken to her or if I was dreaming–

  Or had I lost my mind completely?

  Chapter 3

  SATURDAY STARTED OFF with a call to Japan and my contact there. Yoshi, as he called himself, was slowly warming up to me and confiding a little more about the few yiaiwas he’d spotted on his level. Like me, he could travel to a different plane, although his was a garden rather than a cemetery. I thanked my lucky stars that my computer face-to-face sessions didn’t cost me the extra that a phone call overseas would have.

  Younger-looking than I’d expected, I placed his age anywhere between the late twenties to early forties. In short, I couldn’t really tell, and I knew that many Asian faces didn’t seem to age as fast as some other races. But when he spoke, I felt like he was an older person or at least, an older soul. He remarked about the importance of his job as a poet and writing final verses for the departed.

  I agreed and tried to steer the conversation around to the demons in the garden where he visited the deceased.

  “Yes, yes, I have seen,” he replied without reservation. “They are dark, very dark. I do not like them. They give off bad...”

  He paused to search for the right word and finally said, “bad feelings. They have bad aura.”

  “Can you actually see the aura on one?” Personally, I’d only seen auras a few times and didn’t recall seeing one surrounding any yiaiwa.

  “Not actual halo, no. It is a foul...vibration, I think that is more the word, from the beings. Like it flows through the air and makes you feel uncomfortable and worried. You understand what I say?”

  I nodded my head as I pieced together what he meant. “They are emitting a feeling of evil?”

  His dark eyes grew wider as he connected my words. “Yes, that is it. They feel evil.”

  “Have they ever bothered you in the garden?”

  “No. When one is there, it just watches from a distance. It seems curious but not threatening, so I do not worry.”

  I thought that was curious, but perhaps Yoshi’s deceased were spirits the yiaiwa couldn’t claim. “When you recite poems, are the dead spirits with you? Can you see them?”

  His curiously long hesitation provided the answer before he even spoke. “Not entirely, no. Sometimes I see a transparent form, but not like a solid body. I merely provide a poem of remembrance. The soul has already departed.”

  “So there’s no danger to the soul on your plane,” I concluded. “On mine, the soul is in transit. I wonder how many sub-planes there are.”

  He shook his head, not following my train of thought very well. I thanked him and told him more about the group I was forming, and its purpose to fight the demons and secure the transitory level. I described my cemetery, relating the interactions there with both the soul in transit and the yiaiwa. Then I told him about my proposal to connect us using an energy-charged object. If that worked, I would then bring his spirit across to my cemetery.

  He seemed a little hesitant to be part of the experiment and asked a few questions, like how it worked? Would it leave his body vulnerable while he was away? Was there any danger in doing it?

  I answered him as best I could and told him frankly that I didn’t think there was a danger while we tested the theory, but once we went up against the yiaiwas, it would be riskier. We could be hurt, even in spirit form. I did tell him about my trial excursion with Madame Astrid.

  His eyes grew wider as his mouth dropped open while I described the events and the yiaiwa attack on me. He almost cheered when I told him how Nygard and I defended against it but grew grim again to learn that our combined power couldn’t destroy it.

  Of other events and attempts against the lower-level denizens, I said nothing. Yoshi didn’t need to know yet how poorly we fared against Belphegor in our encounter in India. If I could successfully get a team prepared to battle them on the transitory level, then I would tell them exactly what we were facing, and what had happened in our first attempts to fight them.

  By the time we signed off, I felt confident I’d secured a volunteer to at least try the experiment. He was going to consider what object he could divide in two in order to send half to me to provide the connection.

  So far, I had six, counting EllyJ, who had agreed to attempt it, and another thirty-five on the list who were curious. Of those, some wouldn’t want to try, and others might not be able to link. If I was lucky, I might end up with a team of twenty, myself included. We’d have to be miracle-workers to take on the yiaiwa hoard.

  As I cut the connection, an email from Father Garrity popped into my inbox. I clicked on it and scanned the short message. He confirmed that Rome was taking the information very seriously and that a specialist would be contacting me soon. He added that he wished us luck and saying he would be “praying for a righteous resolution to the problem.” He did not volunteer to be part of the expedition team though.

  I shrugged. At least, Rome was showing concern. I hoped the specialist was a demon hunter, ‘cause we could sure use one.

  After lunch, I picked up a call from Stephen, who was in a dither about a digital postcard he’d gotten from Digby. “He sent it to all of us, Gillian. You, me, Ferris, and a couple more friends. I don’t think he’s coming back.”

  My bandmate, Digby, returned home to Australia for a visit after he’d been injured in a brawl at one of our gigs leaving his partner Stephen behind. Unsure of his current status with Dig, Stephen had a propensity to panic.

  “Hold on. Let me take a look,” I said and opened my email on my tablet to see the card. My screen displayed a stunning view of the big rock in the middle of
the Outback desert. “That’s Uluru, isn’t it?” I pulled the name out of my memory, recalling a similar real postcard my dad had mailed to me when he’d gone traveling in Australia. One of the few times Dad remembered he had a daughter.

  “Yeah, and that’s him standing in front, like about two hundred feet away from it.”

  I peered hard at the image. Digby looked like a miniscule stick figure with a hat standing in the foreground and barely discernible next to the magnitude of the rock. With nothing else around it, you wouldn’t get the impression that it was easily over one-hundred-fifty times Digby’s height, making it well over nine-hundred-feet high.

  I clicked for the message included with the card and read: Having a super awesome time seeing all these great sights in Oz. Really loving it here. I’d forgotten how cool a lot of these places are. Love to all, Dig.

  “Stephen, why does that message make you think he’s not coming back?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered with a hint of fear in his voice. “To me, it sounds like he’s feeling at home there and loves it so much that maybe he’ll just stay. He’s not saying anything about coming back.”

  “You’re reading too much into it. If I were standing next to the Eiffel Tower in Paris, I’d probably say I was really lovin’ it, too. But it wouldn’t mean I would want to stay there forever, especially when there’s someone I love and care about back in Reno.” I hoped he would take heart from the comparison.

  Of course, I hadn’t come from France to live in the Biggest Little City, whereas Digby had returned to his home country. Don’t they say you can’t go home again? Instead of mentioning any of this, I just added, “Have you asked him when he’s coming back?”

  “I did text him after I got this, and he said he didn’t know yet. Like he’s made no plans to return.”

  “Well, it sometimes takes time to get your head back together after you’ve been hurt in that kind of brawl. It really messes with your mind. Ask him again next week and let him know you’re really missing him, Stephen.”

  “Yeah, okay. Seems like he would be missing me a little.” His voice bordered on the edge of crying.

  “I’m sure he does, but there’s so much to occupy his thoughts right now. Look, would you like to join Ferris and me for dinner this evening?” I felt obligated to invite him although we were heading to a musical production after dinner.

  “Thanks, but no. I have to work tonight. I appreciate your offer, Gillian.”

  As he hung up, I sat back and growled a bit about Digby not being more considerate of his partner. It didn’t seem like the guy we knew and loved. Annoyed, I sent Dig a short text message. ::Good you’re enjoying yourself. Stephen is worried. Keep in touch.::

  After that, I went upstairs to shower and clean up my bedroom space. I had been neglecting it a bit, and it showed signs of getting too cluttered with papers, strewn clothing, and the like. Plainly put, I hated housework. I’d felt on edge before Stephen’s phone call, and now it had increased. I likened it to the sense that something was going to come crashing down in your world, and you just didn’t know what it was.

  Nervous energy propelled me as I put clothes and shoes away, stuffed things into the dirty clothes hamper, and straightened up my computer desk, placing paper and pens away. Still fidgety, I checked the drawer for my gun and double-checked it. I kept it loaded in the locked drawer most of the time but usually unlocked it at night for quicker access. When I felt really jumpy, I slid the gun under my bed where I could grab it in seconds.

  Deciding to change my bed, I removed the sheets, put on clean ones, and fluffed up the pillows before I replaced the covers. I shooed a determined and resistant Nygard off the bed after he decided to lie in the middle of it while I tried to spread the blanket– all the usual stuff in the process.

  As I started to change for the evening, I heard the signal for a text message coming through and picked up my phone. I half expected a response from Digby, but the text came from Orielle.

  ::On plane for SF, take off soon. Taking Gavin straight to Stanford. Will txt on arrival.::

  So, there was that. They were on their way back to the States. I was relieved that he would be back on American soil, but nothing had changed in his condition.

  I couldn’t help but wonder how Orielle had managed the flight back. Did she have extensive financial resources or was she independently wealthy? When I’d asked Gavin about the trip to India, he’d told me he had supporters who provided the travel funds. Was this the same sort of deal?

  When she got back, I’d have to learn more. If we needed to muster a defensive group, we might need some financial resources, and that sure wasn’t going to come from me.

  I sipped at the pleasant-tasting white wine Ferris had ordered to go with our seafood feast dinner, a huge platter of shrimp, lobster, and crab legs, that was a special two-person meal at a downtown restaurant near the Pioneer Theater where we would see the musical.

  We’d just finished a plate of fried zucchini appetizers while Ferris talked about his progress on the film score he hoped to finish this weekend. That had alerted my worry button as I echoed, “This weekend?”

  He nodded.

  “Have you forgotten about the club thing for Janna tomorrow afternoon? I told her you’d probably do it.” I peered at him over the top of my glass, debating whether I was going to drink it or throw it at him if he came up with the wrong answer.

  “No, I haven’t forgotten. But...do you really need me? You’ve done solo gigs many t—”

  “Yes, I need you,” I shot back, doing neither option with the wine. “Please, Ferris. I could use the extra support on this. It’s a big deal for Janna, and a duo is way better than a solo in this situation. She’s paying us both to do it.”

  He fidgeted with his fork, then stabbed another zucchini spear. “I know. Of course, I’ll do it. It would just be nice to wrap up the film project while I’m on such a high with it.”

  “Work on it later tonight or early in the morning,” I implored. “You can pick it up after the party. It should be over by five. Won’t that work?”

  He shrugged and managed a half-hearted smile. “Sure, yeah. That will probably be fine. If it means that much...”

  “It does.” Now, I took a big swig of wine. That was settled. So I broached a different subject. “Did you see Dig’s e-card from Uluru?”

  “Yep.”

  “What did you think?”

  “Big rock.” He dipped the vegetable into the spicy sauce.

  “I meant about what Dig wrote. Do you think he might be thinking about staying there?”

  His eyes came up to meet mine, and he looked surprised. “No, not a hint. Where did that come from?”

  “Stephen’s worried.”

  “Oh, I see. No, I don’t think Dig’s going to stay in Australia. Look, he flew eighteen-plus hours to get there, so he’s taking the time to have a holiday. Wouldn’t you? It may be another eight to ten years before he goes back again. Stephen is just antsy.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I conceded and finished off the last of the appetizer. Still, something nagged at me; something I couldn’t pin down.

  Chapter 4

  I PICKED UP A GLASS of diet soda at the buffet line, smiling and chatting politely with the guests of the Raw Data Corporation, the sponsors of this afternoon extravaganza. From what Janna had said, the company was seeking both investors and potential employees at this event, so the mix was pretty interesting. Both Ferris and I had chatted with dozens of people after the first set we played, and we tried to guess if the person was an investor or a future worker. Of course, we had no way to be sure of our picks, but it was fun.

  The Zephyr Ballroom, the largest meeting space in the Zephyr Hills Casino and Resort, still carried that new housing scent that was fresh and clean with a hint of glue and paint. Four chandeliers hung from the ceiling, one near each corner, but the bulk of the lighting came from recessed lights at frequent intervals across the ceiling. Janna
said the LED lights could be color changed from a computer so it would work well for all kinds of events. Near the west side of the room, a decent-sized stage could be lowered beneath the floor allowing it to elevate right through an opening and adjusting to different heights. Impressed me.

  For this afternoon, the stage locked at three feet off the floor, so it wasn't too noticeable except for the grand piano and the stand holding my guitar, plus the sound equipment and microphones. Behind it, a vast, thick window gave people a splendid view of the Sierra Nevada Mountains and the meadow leading to them. The casino and resort had been built on what, until recently, had been a ranch in Washoe Valley. Gazing toward the view as I sipped my soda, I could still see snow capping the higher peaks although the few warm days we'd had recently had melted quite a bit of it at the lower elevations.

  I noticed Ferris heading back to the piano and figured I'd better get back up there also. He looked pretty sexy in his dark blue suit and pale blue shirt, no tie or top button. I rarely saw him that dressed up. I'd worn a violet cocktail dress with a sweetheart neckline that barely made the grade next to some of the gowns the women were wearing. Figuring my standard black dress might be a little too dark, I'd borrowed this one from Janna, so it was, at least, a few steps above what I could afford.

  Ferris and I had two more sets to do, then we could leave Janna and her team to take care of the rest of the event. At the next break, the company vice president planned to present a slideshow about their company, and their plan for bringing their business to the area. While the county had negotiated this one for quite a while, several new tech companies already had offices in Reno, so they would be competing for talent, not of my kind, unfortunately.

  From the stage, I heard the opening bars of a dramatic score coming from the piano. With a shock, I realized Ferris was playing the original piece of music from the film he'd been scoring. Of course, no one else knew that or even cared, but it surprised me that he'd play it there. I shot a sharp look at him. He lifted an eyebrow but kept playing.