High pitched and shrill, like a teenage girl, and coming from somewhere ahead of us. We both stopped mid-stride, looking at one another with surprised eyes as another frightened shriek cut the still, chill night air. The sound bounced echoes randomly off of iron, dirt, and dilapidated towers; I had no idea exactly where it was coming from.
“There!” Charles said his first word since before we’d parked, pointing toward the long, low structure—the same place where the sacrificial ritual had taken place nine months ago.
Since he had fully functioning ears, I took the wizard’s word for it and launched abruptly into a full run in that direction. I only slowed a little as my clothes jerked tight around my throat, the tall magician firmly grabbing the back of my outfit and letting my momentum haul him along with me.
We could have entered from the side; my dead legs could have easily handled the drop from the gaps high on the amphitheater's walls, and I could have simply cradled Charles in my arms like a blushing bride. But the dark, yawning mouth of the front entrance was closer. The dynamic entry wasn’t necessary, anyway; I rounded the front at top speed, wizard still in tow, just in time to see two teenage boys backpedaling away from the entrance.
Following them closely, almost within arm’s reach, was a hovering, indistinct humanoid form about the size of my torso, but topped with an eerily serene, childlike face. Even as we entered the scene, the younger of the two boys stumbled and fell, the creature following with flawless precision and hovering dangerously close. It held out a translucent arm, face cracking into a friendly smile that made my skin crawl.
“Ashley! Specter!”
For once, Charles didn’t have to tell me my business. I’d fought more than my share of spirits since the death-energy rift had cranked the dial on hauntings up to eleven, and I could tackle them on far more equal terms than a member of the Magisterium ever could. The wizard stumbled and let go of me as I threw myself toward the hovering ghost, its sharp-fingered hand only an inch from the young man’s face.
“Get away from him, you ghosty bastard!” The older boy swung a flashlight furiously at the floating figure, but it simply passed through it with only a little blur of static, like an old television set tuned to an empty channel. The specter paused long enough to hiss with dry, fearsome venom at him in response, buying me just enough time to close the distance as it refocused on the prone boy scrambling to get away.
“Come closer. Be my friend! I won’t hurt you.” The ghost’s voice slithered through the air like stale promises, bypassing my ears and scraping directly at my brain. The kid started to go still, his eyes wide; I heard his heartbeat beginning to slow.
I hit the ghost in a full-on tackle that would have made my dad proud, tearing it away from the two teens. Most things—like the older boy’s flashlight—would pass right through a ghost, since the apparition was actually Next Door and only reaching across.
Most things, except me.
I grabbed the ambient energy of Sloss and yanked myself sideways mid-leap, transitioning Next Door right as I impacted the floating figure. The world stretched and distorted around me, and Sloss Furnace was no more.
Monument Valley! Of fucking course.
We hit the ground hard with the specter trapped between me and the gray, grassy earth. I rolled off it before the apparition could get any ideas, claws bursting from my hand and latching onto what passed for its shoulder. I came to my feet and twisted, throwing the small specter as hard as I could into the first thing I laid eyes on: the nearest black obelisk.
Charles had told me—repeatedly—that “apparitions” or “ghosts” were divided into “specters,” the really angry, focused ones, and “spirits,” which were generally harmless and not self-aware. But as far as I was concerned, ghosts were ghosts, and I hadn’t met one yet that wasn’t some kind of an asshole. I didn’t know if anyone else could feel the palpable, subtle malice this thing radiated, but I sure as hell could.
Rebounding off of the solid onyx obelisk with a soft crunch, it looked up and met my eyes.
Maggie had looked a lot better in my dreams.
Her true form now visible, she was a dirty, bloodstained bundle of rags and gauze, the tattered cloth flapping gently in a nonexistent breeze. Her hazel eyes still gleamed brightly in the dim, this time with a bit more bloodlust and a tad less sanity than when last we’d met. The bits of her exposed flesh were still as dead as mine, but also waxy, unhealthy, and laced with the evidence of extended torment.
Much more disturbing were the half dozen appendages that burst raggedly from her back, a set of chitinous, spider-like limbs each tipped with a glinting blade; ranging from shining skinning knife to dull and stained hatchet, they mirrored the sharp edges bristling from her ragged sleeves where fingers and hands should have been. Her childish face no longer smiled, instead twisted with savage rage, a porcelain doll’s mask fashioned by a skilled but demented creator.
She recognized me as I was still processing her, and everything changed in an instant.
Six leg-things trembled and retreated into her back with a sound like cloth ripping in reverse. The specter floated into the air, her bare, dangling feet and trailing rags staying barely above the ground. Tucking away her disturbing blade-hands, she tilted her head, the mask of rage dripping away to be replaced by an expression of curious confusion.
“Why… Ashley, why… We are similar, you and I—”
Listening to these things monologue never ended well; unfortunate little spirit or not, I wasn’t about to give her the opportunity to get into my head again. I slammed into her, the rest of my claws tearing free and pinning her to the stone behind her. Up close, Maggie stank, even by my standards; the scent of old, stagnant human blood mixed with an odor of lingering pain and decay.
“Ashley…You’re hurting me!” I wasn’t doing anything but pinning her, at least not yet. But that didn’t stop her from snarling as if in pain. Her face flickered and warped, transitioning to outrage and panic. In a frenzy of desiccated, angry hisses, she tore at me with her hands, shredding my hoodie and diving at my flesh with all of the purposeful precision of a possessed sewing machine.
Ghost-claws etched scratches into my skin. I knew spectral weapons could break Strigoi skin and sunder my own unnatural flesh; fortunately, my kind were still as tough as worked iron. I didn’t want to hurt the little specter, but I couldn’t let her carve me like a Thanksgiving turkey either.
So I did what I do best and ignored her attacks while flailing at her, shredding her form like I was desperate to get to the candy inside. Cloth fluttered into the air around us as I tore away chunk after increasingly larger chunk. Her struggles quickly shifted from trying to slice me into pieces to desperately trying to pry herself loose. Finally, I winced away reflexively as an ice pick-like blade came perilously close to landing in my eye, and she wrenched herself out of my grip.
“Ashley…please don’t hurt me…” She fluttered to the ground and struggled to rise, now a tattered husk with a cracked porcelain mask. Hazel eyes peered up at me, rimmed with stale, bloody tears. “Why… I trusted you…”
I froze up, unable to advance. I hadn’t imagined the malice earlier or the assault on the two kids. She was obviously hostile and needed to be put down.
Right?
“Please…No more pain. Just need meat…and blood…” She shuddered, finally rising to her feet. “Father needs meat...”
I blinked. Wait, what? If she was trying to confuse me, it was working. I shook my head, shaking tatters of ghostly cloth free from my long iron claws. “Sorry, no can do,” I rasped. “You’ll feel better when you’re at peace.” I hoped. What else could I do? I took a slow step forward.
The floating figure began to tremble, Maggie’s pallid face turning fearful. “Please…I can’t fight you…Father will be…so angry.”
I’d never seen a ghost behave like this. Ambient energy from Monument Valley soaked into my flesh; I could probably end her suffering right here and now, but s
till I hesitated. Could there be something to what the poor thing was saying? And if so, what?
A whisper cut the air, some distant call that I could hear but not decipher, and Maggie’s ghost shuddered, hugging herself fearfully, maybe even ashamedly with each of her bizarre limbs.
For an instant, the hidden whisper took on soothing tones of disapproval and chastisement. I knew I wasn’t hearing things, because Maggie reacted to the sound as well, gripping herself tightly and trembling. I glanced around, my eyes piercing every shadow, but no one else was here.
While I scanned the shadows, Maggie curled into an airborne ball, convulsing with tremors, the Next Door air tightening around her. Too late, I realized what she was actually doing; I tossed my indecision to the winds and lunged for her, claws extended, but even my superhuman speed wasn’t quick enough to stop her from imploding upon herself. With a dull tearing of cloth and an empty fwoop of air, the specter was gone. Still in motion, I dove through the space she had just occupied, coming up with nothing more than a tiny strip of decaying cloth for my efforts.
Whatever the hell Maggie Keys was now, she had gotten away.
CHAPTER EIGHT
New kids on the block
Why was I suddenly seeing a ghost of a girl seven years dead?
It had started the night Tamara had shown me Maggie’s picture and part in the story. I knew Charles would say “there’s no such thing as coincidence,” but I wasn’t so certain.
No closer to answers, I stepped back Home.
Monument Valley swam before my eyes, breaking apart only to resolve into the familiar shapes of Sloss. Charles seemed to have everything under control, having gathered everyone together in the deeper shadows along one side, just out of sight of any casually patrolling night guards. The younger, smaller boy was still on the ground, but now leaning against the cold metal siding of the amphitheater wall. His friend bent over him, worried and wary, knuckles white from their grip on his long-handled flashlight. Their eyes went wide and round as, to them, I stepped out of thin air, heralded by a dull crackle of static.
Charles relaxed as soon as he saw me, easing out of his protective posture. He might not be able to dive Next Door at a moment’s notice and punch a ghost in the face, but he was far from defenseless. The silver wire sigils inlaid in his long, polished staff gleamed with Next Door energy, spiraling along its length and setting the stubby eagle feather on the end to spinning. Clutched in his other hand were the leather strings of a preemptively loosened pouch; it likely contained a hefty faceful of rock salt, unless I missed my guess.
That or drugs.
“About time you came back,” the wizard groused immediately upon my arrival. He lowered his staff, which had been extended to keep the two young men where they were for the time being, and out of danger. Charles thumped the butt end of his staff into the ground, and I felt the hair raise on the back of my neck as he grounded whatever ghost-flaying energies he’d raised in my brief absence.
“They okay?” I rasped in return, watching the boys eye me uneasily.
“Okay? Yes,” the older, taller boy responded before Charles could say anything. “Confused? Also yes.” He started helping his friend to his feet. “So what the hell was that thing? What are you guys doing here? What—”
A sharp elbow in the ribs from the younger boy cut him off. “Um, I think what we’re trying to say is, um, thanks. A lot. And…was that a ghost? A real, live—”
“Ghosts aren’t alive, yo.” His friend elbowed him in return.
The slender teen twisted to glare over his shoulder like it was muscle memory, not even missing a beat. “A real, live ghost? So this place really is haunted?” He glanced between us, his body language nervous and excited at the same time. “Was that magic? Are you both wizards? How did you disappear and reappear like that? Do you fight ghosts often? Is it your job, like—”
“Like Ghostsbusters?” I chimed in excitedly. I really, really wanted to claim that. I sighed. “I wish. At least they got paid.” I nudged Charles. “Eh?” He just stared at me. “Or not.” I sighed again.
“Okay,” the older boy cut in, “before we settle in for story time, is that thing gone? Or do we need to get out of here?” His body language made it pretty clear that he was considering hauling ass either way and dragging his younger friend along with him.
I looked over to Charles, hoping he’d weigh in, but the stoic magician just shrugged, rubbing at his face with one calloused hand before gesturing as if telling me to have at it. I narrowed my eyes at him. Discussion time is not my forte, I mused. Then again, maybe it’s still better than hearing a catastrophically misanthropic opinion from everyone’s favorite wizard.
I took a deep breath, the air wheezing in and out of me like a damaged accordion, and looked the pair of young men over. “You’re safe. I chased it off. It won’t be coming back anytime soon, anyway.” I stepped forward, trying to appear unthreatening—probably unsuccessfully—and stuck out a friendly hand toward the closer of the two. “I’m Ashley. My friends call me Ashes.”
The younger teen immediately started forward to take it, but his older friend put a hand on his shoulder to halt him. “Jason,” the unkempt youth said, still watching me with caution. Something strange in his eyes made him look older; he looked world-wise beyond his years. Maybe it was the way the light from outside gave his eyes a strange tint. I couldn’t put my finger on it. We shook hands, and I tried not to crush his.
“I’m Rain.” The slender boy smiled up at me, youthful exuberance showing through as he slipped past Jason to take my hand. He seemed genuinely happy to meet me. “I know, it's an odd name.” He ran his other hand awkwardly through his hair.
I gave him a quick, non-bone-crushing shake and watched him shiver as if cold. “It’s better than Ashes,” I grinned. He chuckled, more awkward and curious than nervous or scared.
Rain was shorter, scrawnier, and skinnier than I was, which was saying something. That awkward uncertainty of adolescence colored every move he made, reminding me how I’d once been just as young and inelegant myself. Ahhh, the freakish deformities of youth. But instead of looking weird or ungainly, with his light brown puppy-dog eyes and messy black hair, he somehow managed to pull it off, looking clumsily, nervously cute instead.
He looked to be about Corey’s age—about fifteen or sixteen, most likely. For sneaking into
Sloss, he’d worn simple, nice dark jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. An odd light gleamed from his youthful, clever eyes; it was mirrored in the older boy’s jaded, blue-gray ones.
Lanky, lean, and taller than his friend by a few inches, the wary teen had an underfed runner’s build. His complexion was hard to read in low light and monochrome colors, but he looked to be Latino or maybe Native American. It was a stark contrast to his friend’s fair skin and made the thin lines of his own scattered, pale scars stand out distinctly. His dark, ash-brown hair was a disheveled disaster, and his threadbare, wrinkled clothes—worn, hole-in-the-knee jeans and a faded black shirt proclaiming “primary function: sarcasm”—looked like they’d been slept in at least once.
“Um…” Rain hesitated, then looked up at me. “I just wanted to thank you for getting rid of that ghost girl-thing. I don’t know, well, anything about what just happened, but...” He shuddered. “As soon as you attacked it, or her, and you both disappeared...” I nodded, encouraging him to continue. “My mind just went blank when she was staring at me. But as soon as you got her away from me, I had the most horrible feeling. Like I’d almost been in a car accident, or something.”
I exchanged a considering look with Charles, then glanced back at the two boys. “Just glad we we happened to be nearby.”
Jason sighed and finally nodded. “Yeah. Thanks, yo. Sorry about being unfriendly.”
I shrugged. “No problem. I’m used to it.” I nodded over my shoulder at Charles.
The wizard just grunted and crossed his arms. “Suspicious is good. Keeps you safe.” I rolled my eyes and
mouthed the words along with him, drawing a hesitant smile from Jason and an honest chuckle from Rain. I could feel Charles’ glare boring into my back, no doubt scowling and wondering what I’d done.
“So, what the hell just happened?” Jason asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “If you don’t mind.”
“And,” Rain butted in, “are you okay?”
I blinked. I hadn’t even thought about it. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Glancing down, I was obviously down one more hoodie, no doubt about it. With a shrug, I peeled myself out of it and slung it over my shoulder, the heavily lacerated clothing trying to fall apart completely. Underneath, I just had a tight, ribbed tank-top over my sports bra, though even those sported a few gashes that stopped at my skin.
Without the shredded garment, it was all too obvious that I was too thin and too pale to be healthy and human. And that was without the liberal bloodless scrapes, some recent and ghost related, some not. Not to mention the duct tape and black, heinous-looking bruise where my forearm had been broken the previous night.
“Holy crap!” Rain burst out, a little too loudly considering how much we were all trespassing. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he reiterated. Jason looked me over again, instantly uneasy once more.
“Okay, kids,” I rasped before things could get out of hand. “Here’s the rundown. That was a ghost—or rather, a ‘specter’.” I made quote fingers. “I’m a vampire. And that’s an asshole.”
Charles gave me a deadpan stare. “Also a wizard.”
I grinned. “Magic is real, and between us, we just chased off a dangerous spirit that didn’t have your best interests in mind.” I glanced back at Charles, but he was useless. He just leaned casually on his staff, nodding and encouraging me to continue.
I sighed.
“Wow. And it didn't even buy you a drink,” Jason slapped Rain on the shoulder, earning a glare from his younger friend. Then he eyed me. “Vampires. Wizards. Next you’re going to say shapeshifters.” Rain raised an eyebrow. “It’s all more than a little crazy, homes.”
Blood Red Ashes (Dying Ashes Book 2) Page 9
